Why I Hate and Love Ash Wednesday - A Pastor's Reflection

 

Today is Ash Wednesday. In many churches, the pastor will have ground up the dried palm leaves from the previous Palm Sunday, milling them into a fine powder. Then, with his thumb dipped into the grey schmutz, he will place a ashen cross onto the forehead of his parishioner with the solemn intonation, “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” It’s an incredibly somber reminder of the curse placed upon Adam and Eve after their fateful fall. “By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread, till you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; for you are dust and to dust you shall return,” (Genesis 3:19). It’s a bit of a linguistic pun for Adam’s name: Adam, the man, will return to adamah, the dirt and dust, from which God created him.  That brief sentence is a prelude to the sentence spoken at the graveside: “Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.”

Every year, I wrestle with Ash Wednesday. I wrestle with it because I am placing a physical, tangible, visible reminder of mortality upon the heads of the people whom I serve and the people I love. The irony is they don’t see it until they get home and look into the mirror. Then, and only then, do they see it. Since we have an evening service, it is highly unlikely that anyone else will see it, either, besides a spouse, child, or parent. I see it all service long. I see it, because I placed the mark of mortality on them and I see it all service long.

I usually start out ok on Ash Wednesday, not exactly on “autopilot,” but simply performing the rite – thumb into the ash, wipe on the forehead, speak ten words, and do it again. But somewhere around person number fifteen or twenty, the rite stops being a rite and it becomes a sacred moment. I never know exactly when this happens, or the person who will spark the shift, but it often begins with the eyes. They look into my eyes, and I look into theirs and in that moment, it stops being a rite for the congregation and it becomes words spoken to that person: you will die in your flesh one day, and your body will return to the dust from which it was originally made.

It’s funny how fast thoughts fly through the mind. The speed of sound is approximately 1200 feet per second. I wish there were a way to measure these thoughts. As I look into the persons eyes and smear the ash across the forehead, the realization hits me that it is conceivable I could be burying that person in the near future, repeating the words as I dump a couple handsfull of sand on to the casket, “Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust.”

And in those moments, I hate Ash Wednesday. It isn’t just a reminder to the individual receiving ashes of their mortality, it is a reminder that I am a serving among a dead congregation.

Years ago, I was in such a state of depression that I literally could not do the rite of ashes. As I tried to prepare the ashes in the afternoon for the evening service, I sobbed in the empty sanctuary. I soon realized that it would be impossible for me to complete the rite in the service. The weight of what I was feeling was just too great. To see death’s brand that I was placing on people, and having to repeat it dozens of times, it was too much. I began the service with what I thought was a reasonable explanation – we are Easter people, not people of death, so no ashes tonight – but, like an old cash register, it was “no sale." No one was buying what I was selling. A couple of people were really mad at me. For them, I had robbed them of this pious act and reminder. I didn’t know how to explain what I was feeling, where I was, what I would have to do one day to their kids, or their spouse, or their mother or grandfather, and in that place and time, it was just too much. To them, I offer a belated but heartfelt apology. "I just couldn't do it." 

In the liturgy for leading the casket from the hearse to the graveside, pastors will sometimes speak this sentence: “In the midst of life we are in death…” It comes from an ancient 14^th-century hymn which, in Latin, sounds much more impressive: Media vita in morte sumus. I think those words on Ash Wednesday as I am almost to the point of being overwhelmed by what I am doing, saying, and seeing. If parishioners look closely, they might see my eyes starting to well up, perhaps even a tear sliding down my cheeks.

I have often found it funny that we do this ash-marking with the sign of the cross. In Holy Baptism, I place the sign of the cross on the forehead and heart of the candidate, “in token that you have been redeemed by Christ the crucified.” Later, the passage from Romans 6 will also be read, connecting our baptism to both the death and resurrection of Jesus. In Baptism, we believe we both die and rise with Christ. Just as water washes clean dirty skin, Baptismal water – that is, water with the words of Jesus, “I baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit – washes away sins.

Yet, here we are, putting dirty ashes on that which has been washed clean in Baptism.

I’ve contemplated writing my own Ash Wednesday liturgy. Someday, some year, I’m going to stand at the back door as people enter and place the ashes on them immediately. I might even have a mirror there, so people can see for themselves what has been done to them. It would be a reminder for them that “the wages of sin is death.” From dust you are… Media vita in morte sumus. Then, in the service liturgy, instead of people coming forward to receive ashes (they will have been previously ashed, remember?) they will come forward where I will be standing the font, the vessel filled with water. As they stand in front of me, branded with the cross of death, I’ll take a clean cloth, dampen it in the font’s water, and wipe the ash from their forehead while proclaiming the words of absolution to them along with the proclamation of Jesus, “I am the resurrection and the life,” or perhaps, “Once you were dead in your trespasses and sins, but now you are alive to God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Then, I’ll give them the ash-stained cloth as a tangible, visible reminder for themselves of what absolution means.

I’ll do that some day. Tonight... tonight, I’ll place the mark of ashes on the heads of those who gather. I’ll swallow hard while saying those horrible words, “Remember you are dust,” yearning for the moment 46 days mornings later when I will practically shout, “Christ is risen! He is risen indeed!” Then, and only then, I’ll add the wonderful “Alleluia” of Easter.

 The rest of that ancient hymn I mentioned before speaks to that hope. "In the midst of life, we are in death; from whom can we seek help?" Perhaps Psalm 121 is the best answer: 

I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come?
My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.

He will not let your foot be moved; he who keeps you will not slumber.
Behold, he who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.

The Lord is your keeper; the Lord is your shade on your right hand.
The sun shall not strike you by day, nor the moon by night.

The Lord will keep you from all evil; he will keep your life.
The Lord will keep your going out and your coming in 
from this time forth and forevermore.

So, tonight, it’s ashes. And tears. And hope. And faith in the promise that, yes, we will return to ashes, but we will be raised in glory when He returns.

 

Prophets, Mountains, and Promises - Deuteronomy 34: 1-12

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is the Old Testament lesson from Deuteronomy 34.

As I read the Old Testament lesson for this morning, I found myself standing in Moses’ sandals for a moment. There he was, standing on the top of Mount Nebo, looking around and down into the Promised Land, the fulfillment of the promise that God made to Moses and the Children of Israel when they left Egypt forty years earlier. God promised that they would return to the land of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, the land their forefathers left so long ago while Joseph was still second over Egypt, the land they had wilderness wandered for, waiting to see. It was down there, at the base of the mountain, stretching out as far as Moses’ perfect vision could see it, so close he could practically taste the milk and honey. Yet, he would never set foot in it. That mountaintop view was as close as he would get to the Promised Land.

For the preceding forty years, Moses acted as prophet, interceding to God on behalf of the people and proclaiming “thus saith the Lord,” to the people as God’s spokesman. When God had threatened to destroy Israel because of their incessant grumbling and complaining and begin anew with Moses, it was Moses who reminded God that Israel was His people. If He were to destroy them after taking them that far, His name would be a laughingstock among the world. When Israel grumbled and complained about God and His care for them, it was Moses who called them to repentance and pleaded for God to have mercy. 

So why wouldn’t, why couldn’t this faithful prophet of God enter the Promised Land?

Although Moses stood as God’s prophet for the people of Israel, he was not a perfect prophet. He was at times a hot-tempered man. While Moses still dwelled in the house of Pharoah (remember how he was rescued as a boy by Pharoah’s wife?), he saw a slave master whipping an Israelite. In a fit of rage, he killed the master. When the murder was discovered by fellow Israelites, he fled for his life. Years later, in the Wilderness, the constant complaining and whining finally made him snap. They were thirty or so years out of Egypt and, again, they had run out of water. The Israelites assembled against Moses and Aaron, quarreling, blaming them for no water, grumbling Moses led them into the wilderness to die. Moses and Aaron again went to the Tabernacle and, pleading for the Lord’s mercy, cried out for water. The Lord, in His mercy, commanded Moses to speak to the rock at Meribah and water would come out. Even rocks obey when the Lord’s Word is proclaimed!

But Moses had enough. He gathered the obstinate people together and thundered, “You rebels! Shall we bring forth water for you out of this rock?” and, instead of proclaiming the Lord’s Words to the rock, Moses instead struck the rock with his staff, just as he did 30 years earlier after leaving Egypt.

Moses’ anger had gotten the better of him. His anger, his pride got in the way. He saw himself as the answer to the people’s complaints. Did you catch it? He had said, “Shall we bring forth water,” not “the Lord will bring forth water.” He confused the prophet of the Lord with the Lord; his anger with the Lord’s anger; his justice with the Lord’s mercy; his staff with the word of the Lord.

So, God declared to Moses, “Because you did not believe in Me, to uphold Me as holy in the eyes of the people of Israel, you shall not bring this assembly into the land that I have given them.”

Imagine being in Moses’ sandals at that moment: realizing the depth, the gravity of your sin, realizing that your anger, jealousy, and sinful ungodliness had just cost you the reward you had – literally – spent your last three plus decades working toward. And then, finding yourself standing on top of the mountain, looking down at the Land promised to Israel, knowing you will never set foot there yourself because you sinned against God. What do you do?

Have you ever made such a mistake, such an error of judgement, have you ever sinned so greatly against a brother or sister in Christ in such a way that you wondered if you would ever be in their good graces again? That you knew, you just knew, that there was no way out of the mess you got yourself into, no matter what you would do? That’s a hard place to be. In that hardness of space, it seems that mercy is unobtainable, that forgiveness is impossible, that love and compassion are such unattainable ideas that you are left hopeless, helpless, for the idea that the relationship could be restored? You come up with ideas, ways to try to show your remorse and regret, hoping to maybe break down the wall you built.

We sometimes mistakenly allow that same fear we have about sinning against our brothers and sisters to carry into our perception of the Father in heaven. If my brother or sister in Christ can’t forgive me for the singular offense of what I did to him or her, then, we falsely conclude, the same must true of God who knows all – all – my sins and against whom all – all – my sins ultimately fall, and He finally declares “enough.” In this view, when we stand before God, we only see our own sins. The forgiven becomes the unforgivable. The mercied one becomes the one not worth mercy. The loved one becomes the unlovable.

Satan loves to tell us this view is the only view. He drags us into the valley of the shadow of death where all we can see is our sins, our unworthiness, our failures. The shadows lengthen and, surrounded by the darkness, we feel trapped with nowhere to go in the valley.

SO, what do you do when you are in the Valley of the shadow of death because of your sins, knowing you can’t restore the relationship with God no matter how you might live the rest of your life, and no matter how well you have done before. Your sin, your great and grievous sins against God, are there and they will otherwise prevent you from ever leaving the Valley of the shadow. What do you do?

You repent of your foolish, sinful arrogant pride. And, you trust His promises.

Go back to Moses for a minute. About mid-point in Deuteronomy, God had promised that He would send Israel another Prophet, one even greater than Moses, and this Prophet will do that which Moses could never do. It would take a long time, millenia, for the Prophet to come. This Prophet would be a human, like Moses, raised up from among Israel. He would be the perfect intermediator between God and man. With both words of Law and Gospel, He would speak the truth of the Lord God. Where Moses mediated the promise of grace and truth, grace and truth would come through this Prophet. Moses offered sacrifices for the sins of the people. This Prophet would offer Himself as the sacrifice. Moses’ covenant would come to an end when this Prophet would fulfil the once-for-all sacrifice, satisfying the Father’s wrath against man’s sin, and this Covenant would be without end.

Moses trusted this promise of God. Just as he would not set foot in the Promised Land, he would not see this Prophet with his own eyes. But, Moses had the promise of God. Faith is the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen, and Moses had faith that God’s promise of a prophet, of THE Prophet, would come about, in God’s time, in God’s way.

The Valley of the shadow of death is a lonely road, filled with desperation and despair. So God, in His mercy and compassion, which is without end, reaches into the valley and puts this Prophet on the road. The Prophet enters the Valley for us. The Valley road rises to another mountain. It wasn’t much of a mountain, really. It was more of a hill, on the outskirts of the city walls. If you were Roman, you called it Cavalry. If you were a Jew, you called it Golgatha. Translated, it meant the Place of the Skull. The Prophet, the sinless Son of God, would die on that mountain, raised up those who mocked and laughed and scorned Him. Instead of striking with His staff, He spoke, praying His Father’s forgiveness for those who crucified Him, finally declaring the payment price to be complete. With a final word, “It is finished,” His blood served as the propitiation, the covering, over all our sins.

When Moses stood on Mount Horeb, permitted by God to see the Promised Land, it was because God, for the sake of the Prophet to come, had mercy on Moses who trusted that very promise. In spite of his sins that deserved his eternal death, Moses trusted God would rescue him into eternity. That hilltop moment was a gift of mercy, a demonstration of God’s grace for sinners. Although Moses would not enter the earthly promised land, and he would die in his body, the eternal promised land was already his, and his sins of idolatry, anger, and foolishness were already redeemed by the Prophet who had not yet come.

Today is Transfiguration Sunday. Between Horeb and Golgatha was another mountain: we simply refer to it as the Mount of Transfiguration. Jesus would be transfigured; His clothes and appearance shining brightly in holiness. Moses would make an appearance there, along with Elijah, and they would speak with Jesus. Luke says it was about Jesus’ departure; Matthew describes it as Jesus’ exodus. Either way, the conversation is one about the cross. Peter wanted Jesus to stay up on the mountain where it was safe and sacred. Jesus would not stay on that mountain. He would descend into the valley of the shadow below, and then ascend to the holy city where He would be crucified, the sinless One for the sin-stained ones. 

That is what you do. When you realize you have sinned against your neighbors, your brothers and sisters in Christ, against people you don’t even know, and against God Himself, you stand at the hillside cross and repent of your sins, trusting the promises and words of God, that Jesus both entered that valley and hung on the cross for us, rescuing us and redeeming us from satan’s clutches. In His death, He paid your price. In His life, He promises your own resurrection. And, in joyful thanksgiving, you renew your battle against the devil, the world, and our flesh, trusting the promises of God for you in Christ Jesus your Lord. Amen. 

The Life of Discipleship: Mercy In - Mercy Out! Luke 6: 28-36

In this morning’s Gospel lesson, Jesus speaks to His faithful and offers us a glimpse of both discipleship and how the Kingdom of God comes to earth in Christ Jesus.

They sound almost like proverbs, these pithy statements of Jesus. A disciple is hated and responds with love. A disciple is cursed and responds with blessing. A disciple is abused and responds with prayer. At first glance, it seems this is to be a sermon on forgiveness, refusing to hold a sin against those who have sinned against us. That would be the Old Testament lesson from Genesis. But, then the narrative shifts slightly: when encountering a beggar, a disciple gives. When having things stolen, a disciple does not seek repayment. That’s not exactly speaking of forgiveness. And again, the narrative goes deeper: “love your enemies and do good, and expect nothing in return.” What is Jesus doing?

Again and again, in real-life situation after situation, Jesus reveals one principle that rules over all. Mercy. "Be merciful even as your Father is merciful" (6:36).

What delights me about this list is that these are only moments. Moments of mercy. I had a conversation with a person the other Sunday and I was asked how do people perceive us as Missouri Synod Lutherans. I’ve heard it said that people sometimes accuse Lutherans of having faith that is too much head or too much heart and not enough hands. One of the harshest comments I have every heard is we are the “frozen chosen.” I felt slightly vindicated when I googled the phrase and saw it applied across denominational lines, not just to Lutherans.  People want to see skin on your theology, so to speak. By listing a series of situations in rapid succession, Jesus overwhelms us with how practical, how real, how tangible, how concrete, how utterly achievable life as a disciple of Jesus in the kingdom can be.

Here’s the beauty: we don't need special skills to be a Christian. Having received mercy, we offer mercy. It’s a gift given to all of God’s people of great and overflowing measure. There is an old saying in academia: repititio est mater estudiorum – repetition is the mother of learning. So, mercy is repeated from God to us. Having repeatedly been mercied, that is, been given mercy, we share mercy to others. Filled with mercy; overflowing with mercy. Mercy in, mercy out.

Sociologists tell us that Americans are becoming more and more polarized, not only politically but socially. You know that; it’s no surprise. What’s sadly interesting, though, is that these polarizations are impacting our lives, across the board – not just with ideas, and not just social media, but in where we work, play, and even shop. More than ever, we are living in places that mirror our own ideas, ideals, political beliefs, religious ideas, and educational or professional standards. The danger of that is we aren’t seeing others as flesh-and-blood people, but as things to either win to our side or defeat. And, when confronted with people or ideas we don’t like, conventional wisdom says overwhelm and overcome.

It's a sad commentary that even the Ad Council is now running commercials encouraging people to practice compassion. You know what one of the most well-received non-food or beverage Super Bowl commercials was? The “He gets us,” campaign.

Jesus says we don't need to surround ourselves with only certain kinds of people. When confronted with anger, disparagement, and rejection, we suffer without vengeance. When coming across those who are homeless, helpless, and hopeless, we love without distinction. We continue to live in the world, but we do so fully invested in our daily lives because we know that the kingdom of God is present here. Anytime and everywhere, moments of mercy can break out in our world.

Look no further than the cross of Jesus. The Innocent one prayed for forgiveness of those who murdered Him. The beguiled one spoke words of eternal power to the man who, only moments earlier, mocked Him for being powerless. The dying Son commended His own mother into the loving hands of St. John. The King of the Jews, thirsty for righteousness, denied himself even a sip of water to slake His thirst, suffering in our place to the end. The Son of God, who sacrificed Himself for all of the world, pleaded for the Father’s mercy, only to be met with the silence of separation that we deserved. The Lamb of God, with His dying breath, delivered mercy to a world of sinners with His cry, “It is finished.”

The beauty of this is that moments of mercy can be quite powerful. God can use a moment of mercy to change a person's life.

We are soon approaching the season of Lent and we will again hear the Passion of Jesus, His crucifixion and death. When Jesus died, St. Matthew records that a centurion stood at the foot of the cross and confessed, “Truly, this Man was the Son of God.” According to tradition, the centurion’s name was Longinus and his confession was soon put to the test as Jewish and Roman leaders worked in concert to spread rumors that Jesus’ body was stolen by the disciples, not resurrected. Not only did Longinus refuse to be part of the scheme, he openly and publicly spoke of Jesus’ bodily resurrection. Later baptized, Longinus went to Cappadocia where he became a powerful evangelist even in the face of persecution by Jews and prosecution by the Roman government as a traitor. When he was finally trapped, he prepared a meal for his captors-to-be. Following in the footsteps of His Savior, Longinus said, “I am the man whom you seek,” and surrendered himself. He was taken to Jerusalem and, tradition says, he was martyred not far from where he made his first confession.

In the hand of God, one small act of mercy can be the beginning of new life for the lost.

To those fully schooled in the ways of the world, this way of the kingdom seems wrong. Backwards, at best; unfair and unjust at the worst. Our conventional wisdom says you should defend yourself, claim your rights, guard your possessions, and repay evil with evil. Fight dirty. Do unto others before they do it unto you. And if they do it to you first, then get even plus one. But in the kingdom of God, moments of mercy are the “wrong” that makes things right.

Consider how Christ made us children of the kingdom. He came to us in our sinfulness and bought our lives with his innocent suffering and death. As Luther reminds us, "he has redeemed me . . . not with gold or silver but with his holy, precious blood and with his innocent suffering and death." The death of Jesus is the wrong that makes things right.

God the Father sent his Son into our world to be the spring of his bountiful mercy. By his death and resurrection, Jesus opens a fountain of mercy that has a never-ending stream flowing from His side, to the Font. Just as water can awaken life in soil that has been dry and dead for years, so too God brings life in the wilderness of our world through moments of mercy.

This is important because we live in a world that has lost sight of mercy. Our culture is changing – not always for the better. We are a cancel culture. If you’ve not heard this term, in a cancel culture, if a moment of sin or error is uncovered, then the one who committed that sin is canceled: declared irrelevant, unimportant, not worthy of time and effort. Like a stamp that is cancelled, a cancelled person is seen as worthless. A text message from twenty years ago containing a racial slur is enough to cancel someone’s career. A poorly chosen social media post cancels someone from the cheer squad. It doesn't matter that a teenage boy or a young woman can grow and change and even repent of earlier actions. Society’s answer to sin is cancelation. Not forgiveness. And certainly not restoration.

In a cancel culture, the supposed cure, cancellation, actually kills. Cancellation purifies by exclusion. It sanctifies by silencing. And soon our streets will be filled with people who don't matter. If all our dirty laundry were aired, who among us isn’t deserving of cancellation?

Into such a world, Jesus speaks these words to his people. He awakens in our lives an echo of his grace. Repentance, forgiveness, new life are foreign concepts in a culture obsessed with canceling. But in the kingdom of God, these are the ways of God's working. So, it is a blessing not only for us but for our world that Jesus comes and speaks these words today.

He reminds us that the kingdom we live in is a kingdom of grace, filled with moments of life-changing mercy breaking out in our world. Having received mercy, we share mercy with those who need it most.

In Jesus’ name. Amen.

No Doubts in the Resurrection! - 1 Corinthians 15: 1-20

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

I want you to know that as a Christian, as a baptized child of God, the resurrection of Jesus impacts you in ways you probably don’t even realize.

Author Paul Maier – no relation – wrote a novel, a fictional account, of a Christian archaeologist who discovered bones while digging in Israel. That, in and of itself, was not that big of a surprise – bones are all over in that part of the world – but the other things discovered with the bones were earth-shattering. In the grave with the skeleton was evidence that the bones, in fact, belonged to Jesus. Realizing how devastating this could be to Christians and, in fact, the entire history of the world, the team of scientists conducted multiple studies that all seemed to support the likelihood that this was, in fact, Jesus of Nazareth. A piece of a manuscript is found, saying that Jesus died and, when he didn’t rise from the dead on the third day, the disciples squirreled his body away to perpetuate the lie. Suddenly, the ending of Mark 16, “and they were very afraid,” took on a new meaning.

Again, this is a work of fiction, but play “what if” for a moment – what if that was, in fact, the truth? What if that all happened and, suddenly, every news station, website, and podcast declared Jesus to be a liar. By extension, then, everything that the Church had proclaimed for 2000 years was a lie and every Christian sermon was a perpetuation of the lie, every Christian pastor nothing but a con man who had himself been conned, and every Christian was nothing more than a rube that fell for the worst and greatest fable ever concocted: God became flesh to die and rise from the dead for the sins of the world. In the novel, Easter comes, and churches were nearly empty. The Easter declaration, “Christ is risen!” was met with question marks instead of exclamation points – people didn’t know what to say. Joy and hope – the Christian hope, the Christian confidence – were left behind like flotsam and jetsam bobbing on the sea of uncertainty.

What if that were true? What would you do? What would you believe? Don’t be too quick to assume you would stand fast. Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the Bible says, and the evidence of things not seen, remember? If faith in the unseen, resurrected Christ is suddenly left shaking because of the seen, buried body of the one who seems to be Jesus, I suspect many of us – and, yes, I say “us,” me included – might be sorely tempted to surrender the faith for what seems to be fait accompli. How would that impact your life? The resurrection would suddenly be meaningless. Even Christ’s death as a redemptive and atoning sacrifice for the sins of the world would be called into question. Am I forgiven child of God? For that matter, am I even a child of God? What of my baptism? You see the dominoes start to fall – was Jesus the sinless Son of God? Were any of His words true? What can we trust? Were His promises of a three-day resurrection, the sign of Jonah, the rebuilding of the Temple just pep talks for the disciples?

Paul began chapter 15 with this statement: “For I delivered to you as first importance what I also received: that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the Scriptures, that He was buried, that He was raised on the third day in accordance with the Scriptures…”  Of first importance – everything else is secondary to this redemptive act of Jesus. The Church confesses it in our creeds: crucified, died, buried, raised – in that order. That is what drove Paul to preach and teach, so that others might also believe and also be saved through Christ Jesus.

These young Corinthian Christians, still wrestling with what it is to be a child of God in a heathen culture, to receive His Word and to live according to it, must have been questioning the truth or the necessity of believing the death and resurrection of Jesus for Paul to have addressed it so powerfully and thoroughly.

You know what “if-then” statements are. We use them all the time. You tell your kids and grandkids, “If you have cookies after school, then you don’t get dessert tonight.” You tell your spouse, “If you remember to take your vitamins, then you’ll feel better.” Your kids ask you, “If I clean my room, then I can go to the movies?” If this, then that.

Paul uses this a rhetorical device to show how the resurrection is no mere myth, a figment of their congregational imagination. He begins with the simple absolute about resurrection in general: there must be a resurrection, because if there was no such thing, then it would be impossible for Jesus to have been raised. And, if Christ was not raised, then our preaching of the resurrection was a waste of our time and your faith, grounded in the preaching of the resurrected Christ, was also a waste. This is so paramount, so important, that he repeats it. If there is no resurrection of the dead, then the crucified Lord isn’t raised either, and if He isn’t raised, then we are still trapped in our sins. And, if all that is true, then all who die, die into eternity. If the only reason for believing in the resurrection is to fill the life with some kind of hollow hope, a nebulous “maybe,” a holy “who know’s,” then, Paul says, we are to be the most pitied because we wasted time, energy, and in fact our very lives in pursuit of the proclamation of the resurrected Jesus who didn’t rise.

I cannot count the number of times I have been with a family or with friends at a funeral home or at the graveside when I heard someone say something like this: I do not understand how people can get through this without the hope we have in Jesus of the resurrection. For the Corinthians, that is what they were facing if the resurrection was not true.

But! Paul interjects a powerful contradiction, breaking the if-then pattern. If this, then that, but now! The whole predicated argument about if there is no resurrection is cast aside as Paul begins the affirmative argument.

But, in fact – notice, no “if” - Christ has been raised from the dead, Paul says. How can he be so sure? He was one of the last eyewitnesses of the resurrected and glorified Christ on the road to Damascus. He had intended to hunt and persecute Christians; instead, Jesus called Paul into apostolic ministry. An eyewitness to Jesus, Paul’s preaching has authority.

Jesus is the firstruits, Paul says. Firstfruits are exactly that – the very first fruit that is produced in the spring. Firstfruits are anticipated, yearned for, longed for. It means the winter season of death-like rest is over and new life begins. And, where there are firstfruits, there is more to come. Because Jesus is the firstfruits, because He rose first, the promise extends to those who come after. The death-rest of the tomb is now but a brief time while the Christian rests from his or her labors, awaiting their own resurrection moment.

But what of the forgiveness of sins? Paul speaks to that as well. The fruit image hangs rich in Paul’s words. Adam and Eve’s forbidden bite of fruit from the Tree in the Garden. Through one man came death and sin, Paul says, continuing to pass down generation to generation. We call this “original sin,” inborn sin, concupiscence if you want the ten dollar theological word for the week. You cannot undo it; you cannot cleanse yourself from it; you cannot out-good the sin that is within you. People get this confused, thinking people are good until they sin, that suddenly by sinning they become a sinner. Nope. The opposite is true. WE are sinful from birth. We sin because we are sinners. And, because the wages of sin is death, death awaits all who sin. That’s what it means when Paul says sin and death came through one man. It’s the terrible consequence that befalls all mankind for the failure to obey God’s Garden command.

But in Christ, this is no longer the end, for the Son of God and the Son of Man, having been raised, has also conquered death and the grave. One man brought death; this Man – who is God in flesh – this Man brought life and in Him, through Him, all who believe in Him shall have life eternal: Christ the firstfruits, then all others who have fallen asleep in Him.

This is our Christian life: you are already alive in Christ. You died with Him in your baptism; you were raised with Him in your baptism. Your old adam and old eve, that is the sinful nature within you, drowned. Satan’s grasp over you and death’s hold over you have been destroyed. When Christ rose, satan was crushed; when his grave opened, death lost its terrible power.

Yes, death is still scary. It’s OK for the Christian to say that. After all, none of us have done it before. But we do not need to fear the grave because Christ is the firstfuit, remember? He opened the grave so that yours, too, will be opened.

This, then, frees your everyday life to live in the joy and certitude of the resurrection.  There are no “what ifs.” The what ifs – what if my sins aren’t forgiven, what if Jesus didn’t rise, what if I am not good enough, what if I am not sorry enough, what if I die mid-sin, all the what-ifs satan throws at you to tempt you to take your eyes off of the resurrection – all what-ifs are silenced in the resurrection of Jesus from the grave. Every day, then, is resurrection day. We might only celebrate Easter on the first Sunday after the first full moon after the first day of spring – and, yes, that is the literal formula to determine where Easter falls on the calendar – but every day is resurrection day because you are already and always risen through Christ your Lord.

In this morning’s Gospel reading, Jesus offered four blessings. They seem quite backwards, don’t they? Blessed are the poor, the hungry, the weeping, and the hated. Even if those are your place, now, you are already blessed. Remember: God’s Word delivers exactly what it says. You live that right now; you are blessed because Christ was poor and hungry, He wept and was hated for you. The culmination, the consummation of those blessings will be realized in the resurrection. But the gifts are yours, now, because of the power of the resurrection.

In a moment you’ll say it again: I look for – I yearn for, I trust in, I believe in, - the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come. Not just today, in this place, but every day, looking for resurrection to come. Amen.

Jesus Helps Us In Our Temptations - Hebrews 2: 14-18

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen “For because he himself has suffered when tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted.”

There’s a country music song, sung by Marty Stuart, where he sings about being tempted by a woman, presumably who is not his wife, who is trying to steal his heart. “Tempted and tried, deep down inside, I can’t deny I’m tempted,” he sings. The upbeat tempo makes it sound like it’s a good thing to be tempted - or, at least, a whole lotta fun.

It’s interesting how we use that word, tempted. It’s often thrown around, like temptation is no big dea. You go out to eat and you are trying to eat responsibly – you have the grilled chicken, not the marbled steak, the asparagus, not the cheesy, ooey-gooey casserole, and tea, not the wonderful beer your dining companion is enjoying. And, then the dessert tray comes by and the server, half joking but half serious, says, “I thought I might tempt you with dessert,” and the crème brulee, the 7-layer fudge cake, and the cheesecake all look, well, tempting. But temptation is no small matter, a much more serious issue than a forbidden dessert and a few extra calories.

You’re walking down the street, minding your own business, when an attractive woman steps out of the building in front of you and you notice that her skirt is cut up to here and the blouse is down to there. The temptation isn’t just to sneak a peek but to allow lust to enter the heart and mind. You’re going clothes shopping and the family budget allows for this much and not much more, but you see the outfit on the mannequin and the shoes to match and you are tempted: what’s a little more on the credit card, you rationalize, pushing aside the thoughts about the bill you already can only make the minimum payment on. It’s been a day, a really, really tough day. You head home, just wanting – needing! – a little quiet time, but the kids are wound up and won’t settle down. Homework is a battle. You have one nerve left and someone just stomped on it, and suddenly, you feel it rising up from deep inside, like mercury in an old thermometer, and you are tempted to snap and bark and act in a way that you know, later, you will regret, but for now, it will let a little steam off. A friend asks you about Jesus, something that they heard or read, and knowing you are a Christian, they want your answer, but you’re tempted to keep quiet because you’re not sure what to say, and, to be honest, you’re a little bit afraid. You go to the doctor and the doctor says, “I’m sorry. There’s nothing left to do.” The temptation to be overwhelmed with despair is right there. Or, you stand beside the casket of a loved one, not sure how you’ll go on, now sure how the hole in your life will be filled, and the temptation is one of allowing grief to overwhelm you with doubt God’s promises.

Being tempted. Yes, we know it. We know it well. It’s much deeper than the simplistic idea of being tempted to take something that’s not yours. Satan knows your weaknesses better than you, and he will work, he will tempt you, utilizing those against you.

Listen again to these words from Hebrews. “For because he himself has suffered when tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted.” These words aren’t so much about our temptations, but about Jesus who helps us in our temptations. How does He help? What does He do? It’s in these three words: flesh and blood.

Flesh and blood. He became one of us. He took on flesh and blood just like us, taking on our humanity, experiencing every temptation that you and I know all too well. Jesus is God. Jesus is also man, full and completely. He bled when He was cut. His legs hurt when he grew into a teenager. He had headaches when it was allergy season in Israel. He had a stomach that growled when it was hungry. He had eyes to see, hears to hear, a mouth to speak, a nose to smell. He had glands and hormones. All of the parts of us that can be tempted, He had those, too. He knows what it is to be tested, rejected, hated, and despised to the point of betrayal and death. He was tempted to give up, to turn His back on His Father and His plan of salvation. He was tempted in every way as you and me, but there was one major – and perfect – exception: He does not surrender to those temptations. He does not give in to pride, arrogance, anger, hunger, greed, lust, doubt, despair, or anything else that would strip Him of His holy ability to be the perfect sacrifice for the times we fail in our temptations. He knows exactly what is needed to stand against these temptations because He is stronger than any and all temptations.

So, the help He gives is holy and stronger as well. You know how you feel when someone comes to you, lamenting, hurting, grieving, struggling. Your friend, your spouse, your child needs your help but there is, literally, nothing you can do except to offer a modicum of consolation, a hug, and a whisp of encouragement to “hang in there; it’s gotta get better, right?” In that moment, you don’t know what to do; you don’t know how to help. Jesus knows the help we need, and He gives it.

Here’s a good analogy: Alcoholics Anonymous. I have some issues with the theology in their program, the reference to a “higher power,” for example, but what they do well is that the people who give the help are fellow alcoholics themselves. If you are an alcoholic who needs help, seek out an alcoholic who also needed help themselves; if you want recovery from alcoholism, find an alcoholic who is also recovering. They are the best ones to give the help, because they’ve been there, themselves.

Jesus knows the help we need because He is fully human, flesh-and-blood human, with experience of all and any temptations, and He offers to help those who are being tempted. Now, exactly how He will do that as you face your temptation, and you face yours, and you face yours, exactly what that will look like, I don’t know. Sometimes He will remind you of a Word you learned in Sunday school, or from Sunday’s sermon that stuck with you. He might provide a friend who comes alongside you. He might even be giving you the strength to literally close your eyes, to tell a friend to “stop,” or even to get up, shut up, and walk away. But I know this: He has flesh and blood. He has been tempted like you. And, when you are in the middle of that struggle against satan, and your own sinful flesh, and the world around you, any or all tempting you to just give in and surrender, Jesus stands with you. Because He is just like you.

Of course, we aren’t just like him. We don’t say no to every temptation. We are contaminated with sin. We have failed. We have given in to the fear and the greed and the lust and the doubts and the despair and pride and the anger and the jealousy. We’ve given in. What I want you to know is Jesus doesn’t only help us in facing temptations. He has already helped us – not just in the facing of temptations, but in the failure of them.

How? Flesh and blood. Look at the cross. Flesh and blood. He bleeds. He takes your punishment for your failures of temptations. He dies, flesh and blood.

The help you need is described in this word, propitiation. That is Jesus disposing of our sins by the shedding of His blood; it’s His taking care of God’s anger for us; it’s Jesus bringing forgiveness for us. He helps us in our failures on temptation.

It doesn’t stop there. He even helps in the future of temptation. When He rises on Easter morning, how does He rise? Flesh and blood. Of course, you remember Thomas. He doubts – he’s tempted to ignore the promises of Jesus. But, Jesus allows him the privilege of touching flesh and blood. Later, the disciples think Jesus is a ghost. How does Jesus calm them? He eats a piece of fish. Only flesh and blood need to eat – not ghosts. And, when He rises, He does so with a glorified body. That is the greatest help of all: when we die, we too, shall rise. We do not need to be tempted that our sins are still held against us: Christ is risen. We are risen. Risen, indeed. Alleluia. Flesh and blood, glorified bodies, temptation left behind: no more lust, greed, anger, fear, despair. We will simply be like Jesus. Sinless, deathless, eternal.

When tempted, Jesus is able to help us. In the face of temptation, in the failures, He helps us. And into the future, Jesus helps us.

A moment ago, I said that Jesus will help you in your temptations, but I don’t know necessarily how He will do it. That’s true. But, let me show you one way He will very likely help you. He will help you turn to him. That’s his invitation: look at me! Turn to the cross. That’s where Jesus has helped you, past, present and into eternity.

God Meets Us in the Holy Space - Nehemiah 8: 1-10

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is from the Old Testament lesson read a few moments ago.

Walt Wangerin, Jr., begins his book, The Book of God: The Bible as Novel[1], with this scene:

Now comes Ezra the priest down from the old palace mount, carrying the scrolls in his arms. He enters the square before the Water Gate and passes through a great congregation of people all sitting on the ground. At the far end, they have constructed a wood platform. They’ve built a pulpit for this reading. Ezra ascends the platform, steps to the front, and unrolls the scrolls. Spontaneously, the people rise up. Ezra blesses the Lord. All the people raise their hands and answer, “Amen! Amen!” And then, as they sit down, Ezra the priest begins to read:

“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was without form and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep; and the Spirit of God was moving over the face of the waters. And God said, ‘Let there be light.’ And there was light.”

Wangerin sets out to locate the reader in a holy space. While it is a novel, a fictional interpretation to tell the story of the God’s promises in the Scriptures, Wangerin wants us to see the Scriptures and the reading of Scripture as holy space. He locates us, along with the people of Israel on that day who sat in front of Ezra, He locates us in the presence of God in the written, read, and preached Word. He puts us in the holy place.

Preaching often gets a bad rap, doesn’t it? It’s often thought of as a dull, boring – but necessary – part of a worship service. I wonder how many Christians wake up on a Sunday morning saying to themselves, “I get to hear a sermon today!” I suspect that’s why many churches have tried using synonyms to replace the words “preaching” and “sermon” with words like “the message,” or “the teaching,” or perhaps a little more sanctified word like “homily,” which is derived from “homiletic,” which is, in fact, the study of preaching. Whatever you call it, and whether you might call it a sermon, a message, or teaching, and whether you call the deliverer the preacher, the proclaimer, or the teacher, the purpose is the same: to locate you in the place of holiness, the place of God’s Word being read and taught, because God is present in those words.

The people of Israel had returned to Jerusalem after decades in Exile in Babylon. A generation has grown up away from the Promised Land, away from the Temple of God, away from the worship life that had been central to God’s people for centuries. The sacrificial altar had not been lit in 50 years to make atonement, and the sacred scrolls of scripture had lain unused, gathering dust in the libraries of the Babylonians and Persians. The people’s memories of God, His Word, and both His commands and promises had, at best, been blurred; at worst, lost. So, one of the first things that needed to be done after the Temple was rebuilt, the people had to be reintroduced to the holy space that was God’s Word.

As Ezra begins to read, slowly and deliberately enunciating each divinely inspired word, his reading an act of love for what is inscribed on the scroll and for Whose words it is. I suspect he may have known the words by heart, but he reads them so to not miss a thing; he reads so the people can be sure and certain as to whose word it is; he reads so the full power and weight of the words fall into the ears of the people. Our translation says he read “the Law,” but don’t think of this as merely the Law as we think of it, Law and Gospel. He reads the Torah, the Navim, the Katavim – the Law, the Writings, the Prophets – the whole Word of God, the whole counsel of God. He read the text in the Hebrew language with which it was written, but the people, having been so long gone from their motherland and their mother tongue, needed it in their more familiar Aramaic, so Ezra translates for them. Then, his eyes raised from the pages, he preaches, proclaims, teaches, explains the words – what they meant to God’s people, their forefathers, and what it means for them as they stand among the rubble of their homeland and the city of David. With the full-throated voice of a prophet, “Thus saith the Lord,” is heard again.

This was new to the people – both the words and the act of reading. They may not have understood all of it, but they understood the significance of it, standing when the scrolls were opened, bowing, humble before the Lord and His Word. As the words sound, moved by both God’s Spirit and God’s Words, they weep. With tears of sorrow, as they hear how God’s Law was broken by them, by their fathers and forefathers, and how He was angered by their sins and they lament the sins that led them into captivity they only recently left. But, there are also tears of joy, hearing God’s faithfulness to His people, remaining, even as they broke the covenant He established with them. The same God, who allowed His people to be driven into captivity, had again rescued them, returning a remnant to the land of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. The promise, “I will be your God and you will be my people,” was given new life as the Word was read, translated, and preached to new people, with new ears, with new life.

In that holy space of the Word of God, the people rejoiced in what they heard and in the words they received – words that gave life, mercy and grace to a people who needed to be restored.

As Lutherans, we speak often of the Means of Grace, the ways God delivers His grace, love, mercy, and compassion to us as His people. We usually focus on the Sacraments: Baptism and the Lord’s Supper, both having physical elements connected to the Word. But, I suspect that we sometimes forget the holy space of God’s Word also as a Means of Grace. As we sit in the presence of God’s Word, both Law and Gospel, as it the Word is read to us, as the Word is proclaimed and preached to us, as we read and study it in our homes, that place – this place – becomes holy space as the very words of our Lord are delivered to us, sometimes cutting deeply to expose our sins of omission and commission; other times, binding up those wounds with the balm of grace. God comes to us – in the words on the page, in the vocables from the pastor, in the teaching of Sunday school teachers – and in that moment, we are in a holy space.

I will tell you that it is a powerful thing and a humble thing to stand at the lectern and read the Word, and to be inside the pulpit and proclaim the Word, giving the sense of it for God’s people when it was given and interpreting it for our modern milieu, for you in your life as a child of God. That’s what Ezra was doing and I suspect he was deeply moved, both in the moment but also by the words themselves. Digging into the Scriptures, studying, praying, considering what God says and then delivering that word to you is a daunting thing. Any pastor, any preacher, who doesn’t have at least a little bit of fear and trembling when preaching, doesn’t realize the power of what he is called to do, to speak God’s Word on His behalf, to speak to God’s people, and with those words, to call them to the holy space before God.  It’s been said, if there isn’t at least a measure of fear, he should consider another vocation. Yes, it is a blessing, and yes, it is a gift to be called into ministry, but it is a holy calling for holy work with the Holy Word for holy people.

You’ve heard the old saying, that familiarity brings contempt. I suspect that is true, to a greater or lesser degree, at times when it comes to our attitude towards hearing preaching in the Divine Service. It happens to me, too – another week, another sermon – and it is a temptation to give it a hit and a lick and call it good enough. Perhaps contempt is too strong of a word; loss of curiosity, interest, or desire to hear might be more accurate. Regardless, satan does what he can to keep our ears separated from the Word. Part of it is our sinful nature –our Old Adam and Old Eve has other things to do, seemingly more important, whether it is taking a nap or watching TikToks. Part if it is our culture. Other than in a classroom, where else do we just sit and listen to someone speak for 15 minutes, give or take? Sure, President Trump’s inauguration speech lasted almost 30 minutes Monday, but honestly, how many sat and listened to the whole thing, actively, intentionally engaging with his words for more than a soundbyte? Probably not many. It’s not that we despise God’s Word or the preaching of it, but, well, it’s preaching. When was the last time you asked someone to preach to you? In fact you probably say the exact opposite – don’t preach to me!

Yet, this human act is what God uses to come to His people. Through a human mouthpiece, through human language, God creates a holy place and comes to us.

This should not be a surprise. Last week’s Gospel reading was from John. I love the way John begins His Gospel, making this connection for us: In the beginning was the Word. The Word was with God and the Word was God. The Word, in these verses, is Jesus. John locates us in the holiest of all places: the Word of God is Jesus; in Jesus, the Word of God dwelled among us in flesh. He who was present in the beginning, whose declaration, “Let there be,” brought every thing into existence, spoke with a voice, calling sinners to repentance and faith. Some received the preaching with faith, believing in Him as Savior of the world, the fulfillment of all what Scripture promised. Others could not get past Jesus as the son of Mary and Joseph, and sought to destroy Him as a heretic. And, when He hung on the cross, that voice pled for the forgiveness of those who crucified Him, promised life to the dying criminal, cried out to His Father in agony, yet in faith, and declared the battle against sin, death and satan to be finished. When He rose from the dead three days later, His voice spoke to the disciples, telling them to continue that same message.

Luke puts us in the holy place of Capernaum synagogue as Jesus opens the scroll and reads, declaring the Words of the prophets to be fulfilled in the hearing. The Word became flesh and was among them. What began at Capernaum in the synagogue continues today as the church proclaims that in the reading and preaching of the Word, the Scriptures are fulfilled in your hearing, and in these words, forgiveness, life and salvation are yours by God’s grace through faith.

I had a friend who told me once that he hated to miss church. I kind of puffed up a bit and, expecting a complement about my preaching, I fished a little bit and said something like, “And why is that?” His answer let a little air out of my sails, but it also reminded me of what this sacred vocation is about. With a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his face, he simply said, “Because Jesus is there.”

That’s the holy space.

---

[1] Wangerin, Walter. 1996. The Book of God: The Bible as a Novel. Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan Publishing House, Introduction.

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Jesus in the Small Stuff - John 2: 1-11

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

I was having a conversation with an individual the other day and he said, “I know Jesus cares about me and my family. I know He died on the cross for my salvation. I know He provides daily bread for me. But, you know, some days, it would be nice to know Jesus cares about the little stuff.”

You ever feel like that? You know Jesus has cared for you into eternity, but The check engine light came on while driving to work the other day. That’s going to be a couple hundred bucks, and you’re still paying off the Amazon charges from Christmas. The last quarter’s reports weren’t as good as the company hoped for and your department was given a not-so-subtle suggestion that the numbers could be much better. The tickle that you’ve had in your throat and the nagging cough that has been there since Thanksgiving just won’t go away. We’ve got weather coming and you are, shall we say, in a heightened state of curiosity about the pipes freezing like they did in ’21. Your sibling called and bragged about how great the family is doing, practically a 21^st century Brady Bunch Meets the Huxtables, and meanwhile you feel like you’re stuck in a rerun of the Simpsons meets Peg and Al Bundy. It would be nice to know Jesus cares about the little stuff.

In this morning’s Gospel lesson Jesus is invited to a wedding. That always strikes me as interesting. Here He is, the Savior of the world, God who has taken on flesh to dwell among us, who is doing battle with satan and all of his evil minions, who will face both His mortal death as well as our deserved eternal death, and He takes time to attend a wedding.

In the ancient world, weddings were a week-long event, a celebration that involved the community as well as the families of the bride and groom.  Can you imagine the logistics of planning for this? To run out of food or drink at a wedding in our culture is a terrible embarrassment. In the ancient world, with no easy and rapid way of resupplying, it was a faux pax of the highest order. To run out of wine at only day three of the seven-day feast would forevermore brand this groom as incapable and incompetent.

Over and against this personal disaster, Jesus acts. He changes the water into wine – not just any wine, mind you, but the best of the best.

But it’s just a wedding. Why does Jesus care? It’s just some wine. It’s just a moment of embarrassment. This is small potatoes. It’s not like other narratives we know, other times when Jesus steps in, life-and-death moments like the centurion’s servant who was dying, or the demon-possessed boy who threw himself into the fire, or the 5000 who could riot if not fed. It’s surely not as important as Lazarus who was 3-days dead in the tomb.

So, why? Why does Jesus act? Jesus does this to fulfill the Law: Love your neighbor.

The Law is a funny thing. We think of the Law as being bad but, in truth, that’s because we look at the Law through the back-side. We look at the Law through our sinful nature. What I mean is when we get caught, the Law is bad. You get a ticket for speeding, you get caught sneaking out of work early, the teacher discovers you used AI for your paper, and we grumble and grouse about the “stupid rules.” The image we often have of God is like the stern Uncle Sam, pointing his finger at us. Rather, we should have a mental image of a father gently teaching and instructing his children. The law, both man’s law and God’s Law are good. In the case of God’s Law, it is, in fact, holy. The purpose of the Law is to prescribe how God’s people are to live, and to describe what it looks like as a child of God. The Law is good. In fact, if you want to summarize God’s Law, you can do it in one word: Love. Love God and love your neighbor.

 Love your neighbor. Luther explains it this way: you show love by not hurting nor harming our neighbor, but helping and befriending him in his needs. Jesus helps and befriends the unnamed groom.

Jesus is fulfilling the Law by demonstrating what love looks like, even if it is “only” over wine. Jesus demonstrates His love for us, even in what seems to be the small stuff. Jesus doesn’t quantify love as big or small; He simply loves. Yet, His love is anything but simple. It is full, complete, love without boundary or limit. Jesus’ love is perfect in quality; it is unending in quantity.

Imagine it was your best friend’s wedding in crisis. In a pinch, you could hit 7-11, Specs, and Canes Chicken. It might not be high cuisine, at least you keep the party going until the final toast. You would do this for your best friend’s wedding; you would do it for a family member. But, what if it’s just someone you know, and aren’t particularly close to, would you do the same? We qualify our neighborly love to determine who we serve. We quantify our love to figure out how much we will love. Or, we put ourselves first. We'll let others know just how inconvenienced we are by having to run to the store, and had we not rushed in to save the day, this would have been a total disaster. Maybe we'll snap a few photos to post on social media, or share some snide comments: well, what else do you expect from the likes of him.

Jesus does nothing of the sort. Jesus’ love is extraordinary, demonstrated in His own time and in His own way to his neighbor. It’s also demonstrated without qualification or quantification. What else can Jesus do, but bring the best in caring for His neighbor? This isn’t Two Buck Chuck or Mad Dog 20-20; it’s not even the twenty-dollar twist-off from the grocery store. This is the kind of wine spoken of with reverence, kept in locked, climate-controlled cellars, described as having rich, complex flavors and nuances that most palates cannot discern, the kind of wine reserved for only the most intimate of friends and family.

That’s who these people are for Jesus: the groom’s guests are Jesus’ neighbors, all of them recipients – even unknowingly, but still recipients – of His loving action. And, it’s not just a little bit of the good stuff. This is somewhere around 150 gallons, which would be around 700 bottles of excellent, magnificent wine. Jesus has saved the best – both in quality and quantity – for last.

Jesus loves His neighbors perfectly. There is no joyful laughter at the groom’s poor planning; no social media posts to shame his lack of preparation. There isn’t complaining about how the guests are being mistreated. There isn’t gossip questioning where the money for the wine has gone, or why there seems to be missing wine. There’s no trying to manipulate the crowd. There’s no with-holding the best wine for his own private after-party. Instead, Jesus loves; Jesus gives. He gives the best – even in the small stuff, the seemingly insignificant stuff. He gives the best.

In the text, only the master of ceremonies recognizes the gift, but he misses out on the giver, mistakenly giving credit to the groom. St. John makes sure we know: the giver is Jesus; He saves the best for last.  He saves the best - Himself - for the last - the sins of the world. While the sign does show Jesus’ glory as the Son of God, it is not yet His hour. His hour is yet to come. There is much foreshadowing here: the water to wine foreshadows when Christ takes the cup with His disciples and says “This is my blood, shed for you.” The sign of water to wine is also reversed at the cross when blood and water are separated and flow from His pierced side. And, to make sure you know that this is all pointing to the cross, at Cana, Jesus hour had not yet come. In the Garden of Gethsemane, with His disciples resting nearby, Jesus prays, “Now the hour has come,” (17:1). The cross is – literally and figuratively – on the horizon. Mary, Jesus’ mother, is present here, at the wedding. The only other time Mary appears in John’s Gospel is when she stands at the foot of the cross when her Son shows His perfect love for a sinful world.

John tells us this is the first of Jesus’ signs – you’ll note, he doesn’t call it a miracle. It’s a sign. That’s John’s way of illustrating Jesus isn’t just a miracle worker; He is God in flesh. He is Messiah. Remember, Jesus means “Savior.” John names seven signs in His Gospel, the 7^th being Lazarus’ resurrection. Seven is a number of completion; eight is a number of a new beginning. There is an eighth sign, but it isn’t named because it’s so obvious: Jesus own resurrection.

Now, take that truth and go back to the beginning when I shared this person’s desire to know Jesus cares about the small stuff. What does that look like? Your child is acting up in church and it’s a struggle to even be here, let alone listen. A friendly face and gentle hands offer to help, giving you just a moment’s respite. That’s Jesus caring about the small stuff. You’re wrestling with what the doctor has just told you, trying to figure out how the treatment plan is going to work and how you’ll manage the deductible. A friend calls and after the polite back and forth, she says, “Now, how are you really doing?” and then she gives you space to tell your concerns and fears. That’s Jesus caring about the small stuff. You didn’t do so well on that homework assignment and test last week, and you’re feeling pretty bad. The teacher says, “You know, I had a bad week, too, but I think we’ll both be OK” and suddenly you don’t feel so alone. That’s Jesus in the small stuff. 

You open your Bible tonight, looking for a word – just a word – of hope and encouragement before you fall asleep. He is there, in those words on the page. That’s Jesus in the small stuff. In a moment, you’ll come to the altar and you will receive what appears to be a flat piece of bread and a sip of wine, but combined with His Word of promise, it is also His body and blood. That’s Jesus in the small stuff. And, when you leave here shortly, you do so under the Lord’s three-fold blessing. That’s Jesus in the small stuff.

He's in the small stuff because of His perfect love for you.

In the name of Jesus.
Amen.

 

"Set Free From Sin" - Romans 6: 6-7

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

Today the Christian church celebrates the baptism of Jesus. If you stop and think about it, it’s an odd event, at multiple levels. Let me explain.

About 15 years ago I was privileged to baptize a young girl who was probably around four or five - I forget exactly. In the rite of holy baptism, there's a question that is asked: do you renounce the devil, all of his works, and all of his ways? The answer of course is yes, I do renounce them. When a child is being baptized, the parents and sponsors speak on the child’s behalf, but this little girl, when she heard the devil's name being spoken, she spoke up for herself. When I asked, “Do you renounce the devil, all his works and all his ways?” she answered for herself with an emphatic, “No!” It took just a few seconds for everyone, including the girl’s family, to realize what had happened and then the chuckling started. It took a few moments to get everyone refocused and back on track. The grandpa summed it up later: as cute as the moment was, the devil never quite wants to let go, does he?

Turn to page 325 in the front of your hymnal. If you didn’t know this, Luther’s Small Catechism is printed there. For a moment, let’s look at what Luther teaches us about Baptism. First, what is Baptism? The answer is relatively easy – even if you can’t read the Catechism, you can probably answer this. It’s not just plain water, but water combined with the word of God, “Go, make disciples of all nations, baptizing in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” Again – easy stuff. So far, so good.

But, what gets interesting is in the second part. “What benefits does Baptism have?” Luther writes that it works forgiveness of sins, delivers from death and the devil, and gives eternal salvation to all who believe this, as the words and promises of God declare,” and then it refers Mark 16:16. That moment back in Crosby, and in other Baptismal moments across the globe, as water is poured over the baptismal candidate and the Trinitarian name of God is spoken, sins are washed away and the enemy of God becomes the child of God.

I have lost track of the number of baptisms I have been privileged to do. I have baptized infants who were prematurely born with a dropper of distilled water who could not speak for themselves and I have baptized grown adults whose voice was clearly heard across the sanctuary. Some wore a special, family heirloom baptismal gown; others wore what they had. Boys and girls, men and women, each baptismal rite was somewhat unique. But one thing was always the same: a sinner was made a child of God and, this side of heaven, the old adam would constantly be a struggle to keep at bay.

This is a real struggle, a true battle for the child of God. I had another parent ask me once if I would consider redoing his son’s baptism because, he joked, it appeared that the first one didn’t take. I empathize – not only as a parent, but as a child of God myself. I wonder if Paul didn’t wrestle with it as well. In Romans 7, he will lament that the good things he wants to do, he doesn’t do and the evil things he doesn’t want to do, he does. IF that’s true for the apostle, what hope do we have?

There are two verses I want to draw to your attention this morning. While all of Romans 6 is good stuff, these two verses help us see ourselves as God’s people who wrestle with this specific temptation of how we see ourselves, and whether such a view is congruent with how God sees us.

In verses 6 & 7, Paul writes, “We know that our old self was crucified with him in order that the body of sin might be brought to nothing, so that we would no longer be enslaved to sin. ⁷ For one who has died has been set free from sin.”

The key word there is “from.” Some people misunderstand this. They think that a child of God should be free of sin, that is, without blemish, unable to make mistakes, to no longer err and sin against God and neighbor. That’s not what Paul says. He says free “from” sin. Think of it this way: if you had a few days off between Christmas and the New Year, you were free from school, or free from work. You were not free of school – you had to go back this week. You were not free of work – you still had a job to do. But you were free from it, if only for a short time.

Apply that idea to these words of Paul. You are set free from sin, so sin no longer holds its guilty power over you and satan no longer has his eternal claws in you. This side of heaven, you remain a sinner, and your old adam and old eve continue to be a thorn in your flesh, tempting you to sin and then tempting you to disbelieve God’s grace for you. Satan might lie, he might tempt, entice, torture and even hinder you as a child of God, and he will do all he can to tell you that yours is a hopeless situation – “if you were really a child of God, you wouldn’t do such a thing, would you?” – but you are Christ’s remember? Don’t you know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ have been baptized into His death? We were bured therefore with Him by baptism into death, in order that just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, you might walk in newness of life. In other words, you are free from sin because you are alive in Christ.  Satan might roar and throw a fit, but he cannot make Christ’s forgiveness go away, and he cannot pry you away from Jesus when we live in His kingdom.

A moment ago, I said today the church remembers the baptism of Jesus and that, at many levels, it is an odd event. Baptism is for sinners; it is for forgiveness of sins; it destroys satan’s power and removes his ability to hold guilt and shame over the child of God. Yet, Jesus is baptized. The holy, sinless Son of God, who entered into human flesh, taking humanity into Himself but without the original sin that would condemn us, He who is God of creation and Lord even over the devil, He is baptized. Why? If Baptism is for sinners and Jesus is sinless, why be baptized?

Jesus must submit to John’s baptism, not for himself, but to save the very people John has baptized, that the Church has baptized, that have been baptized in this font. In that Jordan river moment, you see a picture of how Christ will save His people from their sins: He stands among us, with us, and for us. He takes our place, and in receiving the sinner’s baptism from John, it’s as if all of the world’s sins that have been washed away from us are washed onto Him. God made Him who knew no sin to be sin for us. This baptismal picture is a foretaste of what is to come. Jesus doesn’t stop standing among us, with us and for us when he leaves the river. He continues in our place all the way to the cross. Ultimately, that is where all righteousness is completed and fulfilled, where and when the innocent Lamb of God is offered as the once-for all, one-for-all sacrifice in the place of many. That is why it is fitting for Jesus to come to the Jordan and be baptized to – literally and spiritually – stand in the place of many.

In Christ’s Baptism, He joins Himself with us. In your baptism, Christ joins you to Himself. Joined to Jesus in our baptisms, His perfect life, ministry of word, death and resurrection become the seal of the cross, marking us that we are redeemed, rescued and saved. A wonderful exchange takes place in Baptism. With your sins removed from you, Christ’s righteousness rushes in. You are declared holy, washed clean in Christ. So you do not doubt this, not only does Jesus die, He also rises. His death pays the price; His resurrection is the proof-evidence that satisfaction is made. Baptized into Christ, you died with Christ; baptized into Christ, you have risen with Christ. Do you understand what a remarkable gift this is? All of your sins, removed from you in Christ. They can no longer be held against you. The debt is paid in full.

That is what it means to be set free from sin. This side of heaven, there will always be a wrestling match between your old self and your new self. In those moments of weakness, when the old self wins with its evil desires, drag it back to the baptismal promise of God and drown it again. You don’t need to be rebaptized; you only need to remember and trust the promise of God that are yours in Christ. You are set free from sin and God sees you, in Christ, as righteous and pure, holy and blameless.

Amen.

An Epiphany Devotion - Matthew 2: 1-12

A Devotion for Epiphany – January 6

Based on Matthew 2: 1-12

January 6 is the day of Epiphany, the day the Christian church celebrates the arrival of the wise men to the child, Jesus, and give homage to the newborn King. Epiphany means “revealing,” literally “to shine light upon,” and during the season of Epipany, Jesus is revealed as the Savior of the world. But, the season begins with the arrival of the Wise Men.

I say “wise men” – depending on the translation or the song, you might know them as wise men, Magi, sages, or even kings. Usually, they are described as astrologers, but the term used in the Greek New Testament implies an interest in dreams, stars, and perhaps even magic. They were from the East, presumably the area of Babylon, the region where the Israelites had been taken into captivity 700 years earlier. As to how many wise men there were, we simply don’t know. Traditionally, the story says there were three men – one for each gift. There is another story about a fourth wise man who gave his gift away, so that by the time he arrived at Jesus’ side, he was without a present and, thus, overlooked. Regardless, what we know is what Matthew tells us in chapter 2 of his Gospel: they brought gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh.

Gold, you know: a very expensive, precious metal, useful for the buying and selling of goods. You’re probably less familiar with the other two gifts. Frankincense is a tree resin that can be either dried into granules for burning or infused into an oil. If you know anyone who uses essential oil, there is often a scent called “Frankincense.” Myrrh is a spice, either dry or added to oils to be used for both perfume and for anointing. All three were expensive, special gifts that you didn’t just pick up at the corner market. These were gifts from kings; gifts fit for a king.

What gifts are you giving to Jesus this year? What kind of gifts have you brought that are worthy for the Newborn King? It’s tempting to tap our wallets and checkbooks, thinking we bring Jesus our gifts of finances. How about our prayers and our praises? That’s a good, sanctified answer. Perhaps we owe him good, Christian living.

He doesn’t want any of those things. Jesus doesn’t you to bring to His crib your gold-plated, incense-infused, myrrh-scented self-righteous life. He doesn’t want your money. He doesn’t want your goodness. All Jesus wants from you is your sins, your guilt, and your shame. This is the only gift Jesus wants from you this Epiphany day: your sins, because that’s the entire reason He came – to save you from those damned – I use that word deliberately – and damning sins.

That sounds backwards, doesn’t it? Why, the Wise Men brought gifts fit for a King – gold, frankincense and myrrh – shouldn’t we at least try to do the same, give Him our best?

If Jesus were an earthly King, an earthly ruler, then yes, this might be true. But Jesus is a different kind of King. The perfect, holy, sinless Son of God, born of the Virgin Mary, announced by angels, witnessed by shepherds, whose name is Jesus, is a King who will save His people from their sins.

These gifts from the wise men also have a certain amount of foreshadowing to them. No one knew that day as Mary and Joseph oohed and aahed at the expensive treasures that one day the gold would be replaced by 30 pieces of silver that would be used to turn a disciple into a traitor. Mary certainly had no inkling that three decades later, she, along with some other women, would be carrying frankincense and myrrh and other spices to embalm her son after His crucifixion and His death for the sins of the world. Those events were far in the future, but in God’s plan of salvation – His heilsgeschichte, for you German lovers – they were already in place for the redemption of the world.

On this first month of the new year of a new decade, take all of the sins of the past and leave them with Jesus. Don’t carry them any further. Your sins of cursing and swearing, dishonoring your parents, speaking ill of our elected officials, hating the ex, yelling at the kids, gossiping, lying, stealing time from our employers, holding grudges; of having emotional affairs, alcohol and drug abuse, failing to love, honor and cherish your spouse; failing to fear, love and trust in God more than all other things; thinking that you can make yourself better all by yourself… There are many more…those sins you try to bury deep within, but the guilt keeps dragging them to the surface; those things you try to shove into the dark corner of your memory, but the shame – the devil’s favorite lie that you should know better because you are a Christian! – keeps shining a light into those corners and illuminates them for you to remember. Of these, of all of these, give them to Jesus. Bring them to the Infant King in repentance, confess them, and believe that Jesus came to take them from you.

Those are the gifts that Jesus wants. You don’t have to wrap them up pretty; they don’t need bows and ribbons; they don’t deserve pretty wrappings. Give them to Jesus with all their ugliness and nastiness.

Start the New Year fresh, free, and forgiven. Jesus gives you the gift of forgiveness, destroying sin’s damning power. He gives you the gift of joy, that you are no longer burdened by the weight of your griefs and shame. He gives you the gift of peace, that the relationship with God is restored and whole. He gives you the gift of salvation, that eternity with God is yours. He gives the gift of love, that you are able to share with those around you. He gives the gift of faith that enables you to say, “This is most certainly true.”

With Epiphany joy, peace and hope, amen.