"Call Upon Me In Trouble' - Psalm 50: 13

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

From Psalm 50:13: Call upon me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you and you will glorify me.

Wednesday morning, St. Paul’s Lutheran School gathered here in the sanctuary for chapel: 80-some kids, fourteen staff, about a dozen or so parents, and me. We heard the same Gospel reading you heard a few minutes ago, Jesus healing on the Sabbath Day. We sang and prayed together, giving thanks to God for the gifts He gives to us in Christ. When we were done, we went about our day, back to classrooms, offices, and homes.

Meanwhile, about 800 miles away, at Annunciation Catholic School in Minneapolis, Minnesota, approximately 400 students were gathered for their weekly chapel service, joined by members of the parish, giving thanks to God and celebrating the start of their school year. Unbeknownst to them, a troubled young man was outside, determined to do what thirty years ago was unthinkable: he opened fire into the church, killing two and injuring seventeen more, some children, some adults. I don’t need to tell you the specific, graphic details – you can read that for yourself at your favorite news website.

I can tell you, when we heard the news here at the school, the reaction was swift. While there were lots of individual and shared thoughts among faculty and staff, the central thought among us was the same, the cry of “Lord, have mercy.”

I’ll leave the temporal search for the “why” to the politicians, medical professionals, sociologists, and others to explore. There will be arguments about red flag laws, transgender rights and care, guns, and the need for better mental health care in our country. As our oldest daughter is fond of saying, “That’s not 100% right, but it’s not 100% wrong, either.” They may wind up getting to the heart of the issue, but they will never get to the actual heart of the problem. In other words, they will address the symptoms but they will never address the illness. God provides the diagnosis: “For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places,” (Eph. 6:2). This is a cosmic battle, satan and his minions of the world and man’s sinful flesh, their desire to destroy both temporally and eternally against God and His loving mercy, always inclined to rescue and save.

People say, “the world is getting worse.” I don’t think so. It’s that we see it, we hear it immediately. Already in Genesis 6, Moses reports that “The Lord saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and that every intention of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually,” (Genesis 6:5). Jesus echoed this, saying, “For from within, out of the heart of man, come evil thoughts, sexual immorality, theft, murder, adultery, coveting, wickedness, deceit sensuality, envy, slander, pride, foolishness,” (Mark 7:21-22). 

So, when terrible and violent things happen, we – sadly – shouldn’t be surprised. Consider how our world, our culture, our society treats life. From abortion to euthanasia, society has cheapened life to the point that life is a commodity. A mother is told that her baby will be an inconvenience because it has potential genetic issues and is advised to terminate the life. An elderly person is afraid of being an inconvenient burden to loved ones and choses to take a one-way euthanasia vacation. A punk sees a box for a large screen TV at the garbage can at the curb and decides he’s going to get it for himself, and if the homeowner tries to stop him, well, that’s too bad for him. And a person, so filled with rage and hatred, overwhelmed by satan’s lies and fury against God’s gift of life for himself and others, somehow decides that killing is his only way of making things better.

It didn’t take long, Wednesday, for the politicians and pundits to start using the very tired and very blasé phrase about “thoughts and prayers.” To be clear and to be fair, they might be very sincere people who mean those words sincerely, but in the moment, because of both overuse and because of the ache we feel of wanting to do something, anything, the offer of thoughts and prayers seems trite. I hate to admit it, but I have used the phrase myself, only to realize just how empty it sounds. But when a community has been washed away by flash flooding, or blown away from a hurricane, or shredded by gunfire, in the moment, I can’t fix that. That is all I have: my thoughts and prayers.

I found myself reflecting on Psalm 50 the last few days. Psalm 50 is a beautiful Psalm, written by one of King David’s musicians named Asaph. The Psalm speaks to what true worship and sacrifice is, contrasting that of God’s people to the false religions. Where God’s people receive God’s mercy and grace and respond with prayers, praises and thanksgiving. At the same time, God’s people cry out to God for His continued mercy and grace, especially in the face of attacks by their enemy. In the Psalm, God promises that His judgement against Israel, His people, will couched by trusting His mercy and grace and love for His people, where His judgement against the world will have no such buffer. Instead, they will be judged by what they have done and haven’t done.

In the middle of the Psalm, between God’s promise for Israel and His warning to the world, lies this beautiful word of encouragement and hope: “Call upon me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you and you will glorify me.” In our times of trouble and distress, God invites His people to call upon Him for deliverance.

Wednesday morning, God’s people were praying at Ascension Catholic School. Wednesday morning, God’s people were praying at St. Paul’s Lutheran School. Wednesday morning, God’s people across the world were praying in their homes and businesses, in hospital beds and in living room rocking chairs, in shelters and in five-star hotels. In all kinds of trouble, from health concerns to homeless needs; from bankruptcy to broken contracts; from shattered marriages to prodigal children, from a bullet-ridden sanctuary and from an damp music room in our basement, God’s people were carrying their troubles to the merciful ears of God. And, in His own, perfect will, in His own perfect way that we do not, that we cannot always see or begin to understand, He was answering - and continues to answer - the prayers of His people. 

“If God was listening, why wasn’t He doing something?” people ask. They are quick to offer explanations. “Either He really isn’t loving, like you Christians say, and He doesn’t care what happens, or He is incapable of stopping evil and He is as impotent as a telephone pole.” Two answers… First, it’s a false dichotomy. God doesn’t function with a “if not this, then that,” way of acting – and, certainly not when it is according to our standards. Second, God was answering prayers. Our problem is that we are very near-sighted. We expect answers now, immediately, as we expect them to be answered – if not today or tomorrow, then at least by the end of the week. We miss what is in the distance. God sees today and tomorrow and tomorrow’s tomorrow, seeing into eternity.  So, whether the comments were made by well-intended but misinformed Christians, or were made by combative media, they miss the obvious. As people were praying, “Lord have mercy,” from their sanctuary floor, God was answering many prayers by sparing lives. He answered prayers by teachers and students sheltering each other from harm and danger. God answered prayers with the first responders who arrived to help the wounded and dying, potentially putting themselves in harm’s way. He was answering prayers of all those in trouble, whether in a home or business, a hospital bed or rocking chair, in a shelter or a 5-star hotel. He was answering in His perfect way, according to His will, sometimes in ways that we can only begin to understand later, through eyes of faith.

That’s hard because prayer is an act of faith. “Thy will be done,” God’s will, takes us out of the picture. Our ability, our response, our wanting to do something are removed from the equation and places everything at the foot of Jesus. Yet and still, our human condition wants to do something, anything. So, I can empathize with Jen Psaki, former White House spokesperson and now MSNBC reporter, when she exploded and said, “Prayer is not freaking enough,” she wrote, and went on to say prayer doesn’t stop these kind of actions.

As a father and grandfather to be, as the husband of a school administrator, as the pastor serving in a school full of kids, I get it. There is part of me that wants to strap up and stand a post, to buy my wife a Kevlar coat, and armor plate our sanctuary. But, remember, the hearts of man are inclined to evil. What stops one evil heart, another evil heart will find a way to do harm somehow. So, I do what I am called to do in this vocation of calling upon the Lord in these grey and latter days of trouble.

Ms. Psaki was right about one thing: prayer is not enough. Prayer is not enough. But Christian prayer is never an end to itself. Prayer is grounded in the mercy of God, that He will hear and He will answer. And, the mercy of God is always grounded in the cross of Jesus.

Remember, I said the problem, the diagnosis is the sinful hearts of man, that man is inclined to evil. God chose to rescue His people from the evil of man’s hearts through His Son, Jesus Christ, whose heart was pure, sinless and holy. He sent His Son, in flesh, to live among us. He experienced Himself the evil inclination of man’s heart. He faced jealousy of the Jewish leaders. He experienced hatred of those whom He showed love. He was called demon-possessed for driving demons out of people under satan’s control. The people were going to take Him and stone Him because He didn’t do what they wanted Him to do. He was mocked, scorned, and vilified. People lied about Him, laughed at Him, and finally, condemned Him to die. They crucified Him, a death so torturous that we still use the word today to describe insufferable pain: excruciating – ex crucis, from the cross.

From the cross, having absorbed the full hatred of man’s hearts, our Lord called out to His Father in trouble. Remember, prayer is grounded in the mercy of God, and Christ’s prayers and words were rich in mercy towards those wicked and evil hearts: Father, forgive them for they know not what they do. For the prayer of the repentant thief, crying out in his trouble, the Lord’s of mercy was beautiful: Today, you will be with me in paradise. Even in His Father’s silence, Jesus trusted God’s promise. God’s pledge in the Psalm, “Call upon me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you and you will glorify me,” is complete at the cross.

Back in 2008, seventeen years ago, we were still living in the Houston area when Hurricane Ike came ashore. We chose to stay and ride it out. As the winds were roaring outside, we had the radio on, listening to the news reports. It was a day of trouble, I assure you, and the prayers of many, many faithful people were ascending because that was all you could do – for yourself, for the people calling the radio station asking “What do I do?”, for the first responders who were eager to start responding. The storm was awful, causing almost 200 fatalities and millions and millions of dollars of damage.

A few weeks later, we had a work-day at our church. An old, standing, dead cedar tree had been blown down in the wind and I salvaged a chunk of that old tree. From it, I made this cross. It hangs on my wall in my study, a reminder that our troubles and sufferings are carried to the Lord through the cross of Jesus. But, I want you to notice that the arms of the cross aren’t neat and clean. They are rough, with broken edges. I made it that way on purpose, to remind me that this side of heaven, we are still waiting for God’s deliverance, won at the cross, to be consummated, fulfilled, completed on the day when Christ returns. Until then, life is still sometimes a bit rough, but it is always lived under the sure and certain hope in the cross of Jesus.

Last Wednesday, at Ascension Catholic School in Minneapolis, MN, we had a terrible reminder of that hardness and difficulty of life, this side of heaven.

But even though we see through the lens darkly, we trust the promise of God that He will deliver us into eternity. Both now, and forevermore, we give Him thanks and praise through Christ, our Lord.

Amen.

Through the Door!

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is the Gospel lesson from Luke 13.

Jesus is speaking spiritual language, spiritual door language, spiritual entry language. This is in answer to a man’s question, “Will those who are saved be few?” Jesus’ gives a non-answer answer: “Strive to enter through the narrow door. For many, I tell you, will seek to enter and will not be able.”

I love this sanctuary – well, besides all the steps. I love the sense of tradition and history that the building holds. I love the details that have been done to the walls. I love the place worn in the carpet in front of the altar where pastors stand, interceding for the people of this congregation and community. I love the altar, the detail, the gold edging contrasting against the white, the spires pointing upward, with the arches and high ceiling, all drawing the eyes and the spirit heavenward, joining the Psalmist, “Let my prayers rise before Thee as incense; the lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice.” I feel like St. Peter on the Mount of Transfiguration: “’Tis good, Lord, to be here.”

But I do not like that door to (your) right of the nave and chancel. You might imagine why: it’s terribly narrow. I measured it. It’s only 23.5 inches wide, and when you open it, the way it swings on the hinge, it reduces the doorway to 22.5 inches of usable space. I’m roughly 26” at the shoulders, so if I want to go through that door, I have to go through by leading one shoulder and stepping through. If I were carrying something, like a copier paper box, I don’t know if I could do it. I don’t think I could fit through that door.

Perhaps you know that feeling from an attic door, or a door that leads to the basement, or a door that leads to a crawlspace under your house. Or, maybe it’s that door over there for you as well. It’s uncomfortable, it’s difficult to pass through a narrow door.

But Jesus says, “Strive to enter through the narrow door.” Strive, struggle, endeavor, make every effort, do your best – we like those kind of words. They’re American. Work hard, pull yourself up by the bootstraps, “git-r-dun,” “just do it.” Obviously, Jesus isn’t talking about physically entering a door. This is a spiritual door, and it sounds like we best get busy doing some spiritual weight-lifting so we can get ourselves into and through that doorway. After all, we don’t want to miss out on the party Jesus describes. 

Perhaps we should read our Bibles more, or go to church more often. Maybe we should pray harder or longer, get on a couple of different groups or committees, maybe even teach Sunday school. No…that’s not what Jesus means. Perhaps we should practice care for others, we should spend Saturdays at Forgotten Ministries and evenings at Hope Outreach and afternoons here, mentoring a student struggling with his or her schoolwork. Yes, those things are important, but that’s not what He means here. Maybe we should be better Christians, living moral lives so people can see our good deeds. Watch our mouths, don’t watch members of the opposite sex, and keep our hands to ourselves, like our parents taught us. Again, important work, but that’s not going to get us in the door.

In fact, those very things can make us stumble at the door step, at the stoop of the door. They can make us trip over ourselves, thinking we can somehow slim ourselves down enough so we can fit. Drop a couple pounds of our favorite sins here, clean up our act there, and we’ll be in good shape shortly. Anything that makes us think we can do something to make ourselves entry-worthy is, in fact, the very thing that keeps us outside. We might change our behavior, the external things that people see around us, but what about what’s inside? What about those things we keep locked up behind closed doors? In Matthew 15: 19-20, Jesus says, “19 For out of the heart come evil thoughts, murder, adultery, sexual immorality, theft, false witness, slander. 20 These are what defile a person.” We dare not stand in front of Jesus’ door, thinking we’re all sparkly clean, arguing we should be allowed in because we’ve somehow made ourselves presentable. That’s not the case at all. There are things we simply cannot fix.

So don’t hear Jesus’ word to “strive” as though He is giving you a prescription for what you must do. Rather, He is speaking of what the struggle is: repentance. Repentance is God at work in the sinner. The light of God’s word opens the doors we would rather keep closed and it shines into the nooks of our lives and crannies of our minds and hallways of our hearts and it sees and identifies our sins. All those things we want to keep behind closed doors, locked away in the closets, God calls out into the light. The world calls it efficiency; God calls it laziness. Friends call it truth-telling; God calls it gossip. The media calls it unbiased reporting; God calls it slander. Society calls it freedom; God calls it lust. Self-help gurus call it self-worth; God calls it arrogant pride. Advertising implies you have to take care of good ol’ number one; God calls it idolatry. Shining into the darkness of our hearts, God reveals our sins for what they are and that they separate us from God and they divide us from one another.

And repentance is God exposing it for what it is. Repentance calls evil, evil; sin, sin; and leaves no room for excuses or for our half-hearted, self-righteous attempts to fix ourselves. Repentance surrenders ourselves, with our sinful thoughts, words, and actions, and lays them at the foot of Jesus.

Jesus is going to Jerusalem. There before Him is the door of the city gates. Soon after this, He will be met by welcoming crowds, but only a few days later, He will be hauled through the door of Pilate’s chambers where Jesus will be judged innocent, yet condemned to die. He will be drug back through the door, down the streets, and out the door of the gates that He once entered in triumph, but this time in shame, taken outside the gates and nailed to the cross for all to see. And, when He finally breathes His last, His body will be carried through the narrow door of the tomb where He will be laid to rest, and the door blocked by a massive stone. Jesus says, “I am the door.” Neither stone nor death stops this door from opening and on Easter, the doorway of the tomb is open so that Jesus, who is the door, stands open so all can see: Christ is risen indeed! In His death, He paid the full price for all those sins which serve to keep the door closed, that would otherwise keep us locked in the darkness of sin, death and damnation. In His resurrection, He opens the door to the Father’s mercy. 

There is one aspect of striving that we know full well. We are striving, struggling, making every effort on this journey of faith in life. To us, Jesus encourages us to strive. But, how? And for what? The answer is the opposite is what we might normally think. Our world says strive to be the best and the first. Jesus instead says, strive to be last; strive to be least. Strive to be nothing. Jesus said there are last ones who will be first, and first ones who will be last. So, we strive, not to be good Christians, but to be repentant and faithful Christians. Jesus will teach us how, how to be last. He will make us, in and of ourselves, to be nothing – nothing about which to brag or boast. If there is wisdom and learning to be done in this life, it will be done in us according to His will and in His mercy. He will enable us to strive to be last. Strive to be last and let God make you first. Strive to do nothing. God has done it all. It is what He has done and continues to do with us.  “Strive to enter through the narrow door.” How Jesus delights to stand and welcome you through that narrow door. In His resurrection, He has opened the door of eternal paradise for you and for me, and says, “Welcome, you who are blessed by my Father. Enter.”

I began by saying that I very much dislike that door over there. I gradually changed my mind this week. It stands as a reminder of Jesus’ words – both of warning, but also of promise. So, when you sit in the sanctuary and see it, or when you pass through it, remember what Jesus says. Strive to enter through the door. In other words, repent and enter through Christ. Through Christ, you are welcomed to the feast. Through Christ, you are ushered into the presence of the eternal banquet. Through Christ, you are declared righteous. Through Christ, you will be in the presence of Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, and all of the prophets of old. Through Christ, you will be joined with others, from east and west, from north and south, who likewise entered through the door.

 

Faith Always Points to Jesus - Hebrews 12: 1-3

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is the Epistle lesson from Hebrews 11 and 12, especially these words:  Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us,  looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.

Across the hall from my study hangs the photos of the pastors of St. Paul’s. We had a similar wall at Zion in Mission Valley. Both here and at Zion, more than one parishioner referred to the wall as a wall of honor. I don’t know about that. Maybe I’m still too close to it. I’ll tell you, I have spent more than a little time in both places, looking at those faces and the time that those men served the parishes. It’s humbling to stand in the long shadows of those who served before me.  What I have come to realize, though, is that those photos aren’t so much about the men and their time of service, as it was the Lord working in and through, pointing God’s people to Jesus and the promises of God that are both already fulfilled and are yet to come.

Perhaps that’s why I was drawn to these words in Hebrews. I would encourage you to go back and re-read all of chapter 11 this afternoon – it won’t take you long, and it’ll help make the connection. If you do spend the time, you’ll see the refrain repeated over and over, “by faith.” Those two simple words are worth taking time to explore this morning.Across the hall from my study hangs the photos of the pastors of St. Paul’s. We had a similar wall at Zion in Mission Valley. Both here and at Zion, more than one parishioner referred to the wall as a wall of honor. I don’t know about that. Maybe I’m still too close to it. I’ll tell you, I have spent more than a little time in both places, looking at those faces and the time that those men served the parishes. It’s humbling to stand in the long shadows of those who served before me.  What I have come to realize, though, is that those photos aren’t so much about the men and their time of service, as it was the Lord working in and through, pointing God’s people to Jesus and the promises of God that are both already fulfilled and are yet to come.

Perhaps that’s why I was drawn to these words in Hebrews. I would encourage you to go back and re-read all of chapter 11 this afternoon – it won’t take you long, and it’ll help make the connection. If you do spend the time, you’ll see the refrain repeated over and over, “by faith.” Those two simple words are worth taking time to explore this morning. 

As Christians, we speak of faith in two aspects.

The first is faith as a noun, as in the Christian Faith. This is the faith as revealed in the Scriptures, confessed in the Creeds, and taught in our Lutheran Confessions. This is the faith that teaches we are saved by God’s grace through faith in Christ Jesus. You said it a few moments ago - “I believe in God the Father Almighty…and in Jesus Christ, His Only Son, our Lord…and in the Holy Spirit….” This is the sure and certain Christian faith that proclaims Christ’s resurrection as the Lord of Life and that those who believe in Him will also live eternally. Most importantly, the empty grave demonstrates the Father accepted the Son’s payment on our behalf and it is the prelude of our own resurrection when He returns. This faith is objective: it is steadfast and true and does not change like shifting shadows.

This is the faith that the writer of Hebrews speaks of through chapter eleven, the refrain echoing over and over, “By faith.” Maybe it would be helpful, here, to think of faith as promises, that The Faith is the promises of God which were to come. The Promise, begun in the Garden that God would provide a Seed to crush Satan’s head, continued to Abraham and on and on, generation to generation, the Promise, the Faith, remained constant. He lists the heroes of the faith: Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, the story of the Exodus, Rahab, Gideon, Barach, Samson, Jepthah, David, Samuel, the prophets – the list is veritable catalog of who’s who among the Old Testament. By faith, these men – and Rahab, the single named woman – trusted the promises of God, even though they were unsure of what was ahead. For God's Old Testament, the Promise was ahead of them, in Messiah to come; for us as New Testament people, the Promise is both behind us, fulfilled in Christ, and yet to come in the Resurrection of all flesh.  

And then there is faith that is personal, a Christian’s trusting and believing, as in “I have faith.” e are enabled to speak of my faith and say, “I believe these sure and certain promises of God” only by the power of the Holy Spirit working through Water and Word. Spirit-given faith, even the size of a mustard seed, is saving faith because it trusts Christ alone as the source of our salvation. Where the Bible and the Creeds proclaim, “This is the Christian faith,” subjective faith says, “Amen,” and makes it personal. A long time ago in my confirmation class, Pastor Rossow taught us to think while making the sign of the cross, “I know, I believe + I trust, I rely.” To the Creeds, faith says “I believe that Jesus Christ, true God, begotten of the Father from eternity, also true man, born of the Virgin Mary, is my Lord. Who has redeemed me, a lost and condemned creature, purchased and won me from all sins, from death, and from the power of the devil; not with gold or silver, but with His holy, precious blood and his innocent suffering and death, that I may be His own and live under Him in His kingdom…” This faith is personal, but it is always a gift of God to His children. It also ebbs and flows, sometimes it is a hot, roaring fire, sometimes it isn’t much more than a smoldering wick, but it is always grounded in the sure and certain faithfulness of Jesus. This faith takes the objective faith, we are saved by grace through faith, and in that personal, subjective believing, Christ’s faithfulness becomes ours.  

We speak of faith these ways, and they are both true and both are good. Subjective faith – my faith, your faith, our faith – clings to the objective faith – the solid truth, the Promise of the Scripture - which always rests in Christ Jesus.

That’s the definition of faith, remember, “the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things unseen,” (11:1). When the writer says “hoped for,” don’t think of this like we use hope so often: “I hope I win the lottery,” or “I hope the electric bill isn’t so high next month.” Not much of hope there is it? Often, hope is rather wishy-washy; to use the expression, we don’t hold our breath with this kind of hope. Christian hope is certain; it is expectant; it is the “amen” that allows us to cling to the unseen, yet-to-be-fulfilled promises of God.

But, I suspect that sometimes, and I think this is truer in our generation today than in previous generations, I suspect sometimes we look at those heroes of old and we stand in awe of them, for the greatness of faith that enabled them, by faith, to cling to the faith, those unseen-yet-certain promises of God. That expectant, trusting, confident hope allowed these heroes of the faith to cling to His Word, even when it seemed to contradict itself – like Abraham being told to sacrifice the very son through whom the promises are to be fulfilled – or when it seemed to make no sense – like march around Jericho while carrying torches and shouting.

And, to be very honest, there is part of us that is jealous. Yes, jealous, because in each of those people, God worked remarkable things, giving them extra-ordinary faith to trust His promises against extra-ordinary moments. Well, I say, “us,” but maybe I should just say “me.” There is part of me that is jealous. See, faith is not my spiritual gift. O, I know The Faith. I trust Jesus is my Savior. I trust that in Christ, my sins are paid in full. I trust that baptized into His name, I have the promised assurance of salvation into eternity. I have faith in these Second and Third Article gifts of God. But when it comes to living the faith, when life is hard, and it narrows down, that subjective daily faithfulness under the cross of Jesus, I struggle. I struggle  with First Article gifts, daily bread gifts, and I struggle with the word “enough.” I’m not proud of that fact. In fact, I even struggle with knowing that about myself.

Perhaps you do, too – especially when life hits hard, and there is more uncertainty than certainty, and your prayers seem unanswered, and your hope, that sure, confident hope that we are called to have as Christians, is more like a question mark than an exclamation point.

So, I take great comfort in these words from chapter 12. These first three verses of chapter 12 take the wow of the catalog of the heroes of the faith and deposits you firmly, terra firma, at the cross of Jesus.

First, you are not alone. Those heroes, that cloud of witnesses, surrounds you at the cross. They know what it is to live under the cross, this side of heaven, with promises – The Faith - spoken by God, having to look to those promises with eyes of faith, seeing what is ahead, not yet seeing what is in store in their lifetime. Those witnesses share the same faith, the “I believe,” even when those promises seemed impossible. Centuries before Christ was conceived in Mary’s womb, they believed this would happen because it was God’s promise – spoken, yet unseen; pledged, yet unfulfilled. 

It wasn’t their own doing, by their own power that they believed the promises. Jesus is both the author of the faith and the finisher of the faith. He sends His Spirit to His People, to His Church, calling, gathering, enlightening, enabling the child of God to believe the promises, to declare, “I believe,” even if having to add, “help my unbelief.” You know, there is a vast difference between “I am struggling to believe” and “I refuse to believe.” He has great sadness for the latter who reject Him; He has great mercy and compassion for the former.

We are not called to have perfect faith. We are called to have faith in the One whose perfect faith sent Him to the cross, who perfectly believed the Promise, even when it seemed impossible. “Father, if possible, take this cup from me; nevertheless, not my will, but yours be done.” In the silence of the cross, the damnable weight of the world’s doubts and lack of faith pressing down upon Him, His perfect faith clung to the Father’s mercy. In the silence of the cross, the Father’s absence making it hell on earth, Jesus still believed the Father’s will was being done. And, when He breathed His last, He commended Himself to His silent Father’s mercy.

Christ’s perfect faith-filled and faithful action perfectly satisfied the Father’s plan of salvation, the promise complete. With His resurrection, the Church knows that The Faith – the Promise – is believable, it is trustworthy, it is most certainly true. So, the Church proclaims The Faith, we as God’s people live The Faith with Easter joy and hope.

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

That is the faith that you live. That is the faith you believe and confess. That is the faith that you share with each other. That is the faith that enables you to say, we don’t know how today will go, let alone tomorrow, but we trust the promises of God, which are both now and not yet in Christ Jesus.

Don't Be Anxious (Really!) - Luke 12: 21-32

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is the Gospel lesson from Luke 12.

“Therefore, do not be anxious about your life…”

Don’t get anxious? That’s like telling someone who’s amped and worked up to “just calm down.” You know how well that goes… Just saying it doesn’t make it so. 

After all, consider all the things that are going on around us. You left the house this morning with your latest retirement fund statement sitting on the kitchen table, thinking that it looks less like a 401K and more like a 200.5. The check engine light lit up Friday, and you need to get that to the shop this week, but the kids still need a few more things before school, but the budget is already tight right now. You made the mistake of listening to the news before bed last night, and the saber rattling in Europe and the Middle East left you restless in your sleep. Your doctor said she wants to do some more bloodwork because something just isn’t quite right. And, speaking of school, you kids, that’s a whole basket of anxiety, isn’t it? Who will you sit by at lunch? Will you make new friends? Algebra – ‘nuff said. Will you like your teacher and will your teacher like you? If any of these things raised your blood pressure, you’re not alone. We are an anxious nation, an anxious people, filled with anxious hearts, minds, and souls.

A very simple, layman’s definition of anxiety is how the mind and body reacts to stressful, dangerous, or unfamiliar situations. Sometimes, it’s helpful. For example, I always get a little anxious on a Sunday, and it helps me focus. Other times, like those examples I mentioned a moment ago, anxiety causes a sense of unease, distress or dread, leaving us with upset stomachs, headaches and lost sleep. While all of us experience varying levels of anxiety now and then, millions of Americans suffer from anxiety disorders that cause problems in their ability to function on a daily basis, ruining employment, relationships, even the aspect of a healthy life.  

There is much that can modern medicine can do to help someone suffering from anxiety, and if you are one of the estimated 40 million Americans who struggle with it, please know three things: one, I along with others in this sanctuary, we empathize with you because we have been there or even are there ourselves. Please do not be embarrassed or ashamed; two, as you would treat a broken body by seeing a medical doctor, do not hesitate to see a mental health professional to get help for mental and emotional needs; three, if the prospect of getting help scares you, I will gladly go with you to find help. You are not alone. Do not let that anxiety about being anxious drive you to do anything that you cannot undo.  

Medicine and psychology and psychiatry are great tools and gifts God has given to us. The doctors prescribe medications. Therapists listen and provide coping strategies. But there is one aspect of anxiety that doctors usually miss. They can't speak to the soul. 

A therapist asked me how I, as a pastor, view anxiety; do I see anxiety as a lack of, or absence of faith? No; I see it as faith that is turned either inward or at least away from Jesus. Theologically speaking, spiritually speaking, pastorally speaking, anxiety is our offering to the false gods of the world to try to keep what we have or gain what we don’t.  It’s a First Commandment issue that robs us of the joy of receiving daily bread and other first article gifts. Anxiety takes faith in Christ alone and focuses it elsewhere. Anxiety lies, saying God isn’t doing something about it, so someone, something, needs to step in and do it for Him.

There is an entire pantheon of other gods lining up, too, to be the objects of our anxiety. No – they aren’t small statues made of stone or wood. Most don’t have faces. These are the gods – lowercase g – the idols of health, wealth, happiness, self-identity, self-worth, physical security, property, career, education, job. There are more, of course; the list is almost endless. And there’s the god of ourselves. If we can worry enough, fuss enough, hand-wring enough, it’ll all work out. Anxiety is faith that is inverted. If faith is the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen, if Christian faith is grounded in Christ, then anxiety flips it all upside down. Anxiety fools us to think that the unholy trinity of me, myself, and I can save wealth, get healthy, protect against all possible threats, be popular and smart without being arrogant or smug, and perfectly balance home, work, school, the kids, the spouse, and our own mental health and well-being.  The anxiety slowly consumes. I think I can! I think I can… I think I can? By way of analogy, anxiety is to the conscience and soul what cancer is to the body: it keeps gobbling up until it overwhelms and drives us to despair. 

So, when Jesus said, “Do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat, or about your body, what you will put on. For life is more than food and the body more than clothing,” it makes us pause and wonder how on earth we're supposed to not be anxious when all of these things are going on around us. 

It might seem odd that Jesus points us to the birds and the flowers as examples of how not to be anxious. After all, birds don’t have mortgages on their homes and notes on their cars and new schools to attend and cost-analysis reports to run. Flowers don’t need air conditioners fixed and new clothes for school and blood pressure reduced. They aren’t worried about the economy or the possibility of war or Avian flu or root rot. Their lives, their existence is so simple because they have nothing except what God provides them. Their very existence, from what and where they eat and drink to where they live, is all under the merciful and watchful eye of God who cares for them.

That is Jesus’ very point.  It’s an argument from lesser to greater: if it’s true for this little thing, then it’s even more true for that greater thing. If God cares for common, ordinary lilies and ravens, then how much more will God care for you whom He speaks of as His little flock, the sheep for whom Jesus stands as Good Shepherd. 

Little flock…That’s shepherd talk. That’s Good Shepherd talk. This is Jesus talking - not a doctor, a therapist, your mother, your best friend, a barber, a hairdresser, a bartender or any other person you pour your anxiousness out to. This is Jesus, and He is speaking of His Father’s flock.  He is speaking of you. Sheep are always calm when they are in the presence of their shepherd. They know his voice, his hands, his calming presence. So, dear little flock, listen to the voice of the Good Shepherd. When He says “Do not be anxious,” heed His words. After all, He knows full well what it is to have nothing – not even a place to lay his head. He knows what it is to face uncertainty, hunger, the loss of a friend. He knows what it is to face death, both of others and His own. He knows what it is to be completely alone. He knows what it is to be mocked, betrayed and hated to death. He knows what it is to be surrounded by the silence of God, who doesn’t seem to answer His cries of agony while sweat and blood dripped from His body. Instead of anxiety, Jesus trusts His Father so deeply, that whether hungry and alone against the devil, or thirsty and alone suspended on the cross, He is able to commend Himself to the Father’s perfect will, the Shepherd who will die to rescue and save the sheep from their anxieties.

I want you to know, I am preaching to myself today - not just you. I have a couple of things that really make me anxious and two in particular. No, I won’t tell you what they are. But, I will say that when it kicks in, boy is it a doozie.  Anxiety turns me into a hand-wringing, chin-rubbing, do-it-myself-er. One of my favorite BIble verses is 1 Peter 5:7, “Cast all your anxieties on Him, because He cares for you.” It’s the exact, same word Jesus uses: do not be anxious; instead, cast the anxieties upon Jesus. He has taken them from you, placed them on HIs back and took them to the cross. He bled for them. He died for them. He drug them with Him to the tomb. And He did not bring them back to life with Him on Easter morning. You have been baptized into His death. Your anxious, Old Adam and anxious Old Eve also died with Jesus. Leave them in the tomb. Leave them in the font. If Anxious Adam and Anxious Eve try to bob their anxious selves to the surface again, repent and drown them again with Christ. Faith clings to Jesus, and when hands are full of the cross, when they are full of the Savior’s robes, there is no room for anxiety or the things that we are anxious about.   

And, remember, if you see your doctor or a therapist for anxiety, please don’t forget to speak with your pastor - not because he's nosey, an emotional voyeur, but because he’s the undershepherd to the Good Shepherd. Your pastor walks with you in the darkness. He hears your confession, of the things that make you anxious, of the things you try to control, of the things that try to control you. Your pastor has the privilege and the responsibility of absolving those sins, so satan can’t use those very things to make you even more anxious. And, unless you’re a danger to yourself or a loved one, he cannot tell anyone. It dies with him, too. What your pastor will do is hear and absolve and bless in the name of the Good Shepherd and with His words of grace, mercy and compassion. 

Whether you experience that momentary jolt of anxiety or you deal with it as a daily grind, I want you to notice this: Jesus doesn’t rebuke you. He doesn’t scold you. He doesn’t guilt or shame you that you are “less-than” because of anxiety. He simply says, “Do not be anxious. Instead, cast it on me. I’ve already taken it from you. Trust me. Stop trying to take it back. Stop trying to put me out of a job as your Savior and do it yourself. Rather than wringing your hands or rubbing your chin or running your hands through your hair, fold your hands in repentance and then open them in faith. And in that moment, the Good Shepherd fills your hands with His grace, mercy, and love without end. 

 

 

And He Taught them - Matthew 5:2

Devotion for Professional Development Day

St. Paul’s Lutheran School

Enid, Oklahoma

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

A reading from Matthew 5: 1-8

5 Seeing the crowds, [Jesus] went up on the mountain, and when he sat down, his disciples came to him.

2 And he opened his mouth and taught them, saying:

3 “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

4 “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.

5 “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.

6 “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.

7 “Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.

8 “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.

9 “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons[a] of God.

10 “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

11 “Blessed are you when others revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. 12 Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you.

Devotion: “And he taught them…” –

I am the son of Lutheran school teachers. I am the husband of a teacher. My sister is a teacher. Uncles and aunts were teachers, from preschool thru seminary. I am the product of a Lutheran school. I tell you this so that you know that I know how there are days when working in a school is hard work. They don’t want to be there, they won’t engage, the clock ticks ever slowly, and getting them to participate is practically impossible. And that’s just the teachers! Add in the kids and, well, it can be quite draining.

In my vocation as pastor, to a greater or lesser extent, one of my responsibilities is teaching. I teach kids once a week in confirmation class, or in chapel, or if you ask me to pop in and teach a class for you. You do it all day, every day. Not only are you engaging children, but you are also interacting with parents, fellow staff, administrators, school board members, and state agencies. While the task of teaching and educating young minds is laudable and noble, it is a challenge and becoming more and more each day.

I know – it’s the beginning of a school year; why are you being such a downer. The kids haven’t even shown up yet! Fair; and I’m not trying to rain on your parade. The goal of this devotion is TTTWBAT - that the teacher will be able to - have a Word to fall back on for strength, guidance and hope when THOSE days do happen.

I would like to refer you to those words I read earlier in Matthew 5. You probably know these as the Beatitudes, the “Blesseds,” that Jesus speaks. While those blessings are wonderful, and are the source for many sermons and devotions, I want to focus your ears on four small words that are often overlooked. Those four words are these: “And He taught them.”

Jesus is truly a highly qualified Master Teacher. His eternal certification allows Him to teach on all grade levels. He used stories, manipulatives, crafts; He used differentiated instruction; He used dissimilar settings; He used divergent strategies; His high rigor challenged doubters and believers both; His command of data driven analysis led Him to use five loaves and two fish to feed 5000. Yet, again and again, the Gospels say that the people, even His own disciples didn’t understand. At the risk of overly personifying Jesus, I wonder how often He felt like smacking His head after dealing with the disciples, the pharisees, and even the crowds. “Why don’t you guys get this,” He must have thought that more than once. “How can you possibly misunderstand this?” “Why can’t you see what I am showing you?” “How many ways do I have to state this?”

Throughout the Bible, we are reminded of God’s great kindness, mercy and compassion. He does not give up on His people, even those who are stubborn, who think they know it all, who think they have it all figured out, who think they don’t need Jesus. There is no greater example of that than in these four words, “and He taught them.”

“And He taught them.” I offer those words of encouragement as we stand on the cusp of a new school year. You are doing the vocation God called you to do, in classrooms, in the front office, in meetings, in phone calls and text messages, and maybe even in aisle 12 at Jumbo Foods when you run into that family. Whatever the moment, wherever the place, it is to continue doing that very special work that Jesus Himself did. You follow His footsteps as you seek to do what Jesus did with His own students (disciple, by the way, means “student”): “And He taught them.”

But if that’s where I left you, it would only be with the model of Jesus-as-teacher. That’s useful, to a point. But who of us can live up to that standard? Instead, let remind you what it was that Jesus taught. He taught that His people are blessed. Not becoming blessed, not to keep working to become blessed. Not, almost there. Simply, they are blessed.

While all of the Beatitudes are – literally – blessings, these three seem most apropos to you who do this noble and sometimes thankless task:

7 “Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.

8 “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.

9 “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.”

You, my dear brothers and sisters in Christ, Jesus calls you blessed. Not because of what you have done, but because of whose you are. You are His. You are His beloved. He died to rescue and redeem you. He blesses you with His Word, with His grace, with His mercy, with His compassion, with His pure heart, with His peace that passes all understanding. These blessings He pours on you abundantly and richly. Therefore, you are blessed. Present-tense, present indicative active if you are a grammar person, a present-tense reality. Not something to strive toward, to live up to, to get more blessed. The fullness of His blessing abides on you.

Armed with that blessing, in this calling, you stand in the stead and the place of Jesus. To those kids, to those families, you have the opportunity to be Jesus to them, to speak and act with His mercy, with His heart, with His peace. In your words, Jesus speaks. In your actions, Jesus acts. In your lessons, Jesus teaches. He is literally moving in and through you to those kids and their families.

I know, there are days when that will be tested. You will have one nerve left, and Little Johnny or Joanne will take great pleasure in stomping on it. And there may be days when that nerve snaps, and you do to, and you sin against your student, against Mr. Burdick, against me, against each other. With faith in Jesus, repent – apologize – and receive that peace of Jesus for yourself. Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. When you feel overwhelmed and empty, stand at the font of Jesus mercy and be refilled. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for they shall inherit the kingdom of heaven. When your heart is frustrated and aches, let the heart of Jesus beat within you. When you are stressed and struggling, let the peace of Jesus calm you and fill you with the peace of God that passes all understanding. When tears flow because of your compassion for these kids and their families, you are comforted with His love. When your spirit feels broken and bankrupt, Jesus fills you with the promise of heaven. As you yearn for the day when you will get to sit at the foot of the Master Teacher Himself, you are satisfied with the work you do today.

As you do this task as educators, with the mercy of Jesus, with the pure heart of Jesus, with the peace of Jesus, my prayer for you is that you are renewed with God’s mercy, that you see God’s hand in your work and in the work of your peers, and most of all, that you remember you, too, are His children whom He continues to teach, love and bless.

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

Let us pray:

Almighty God, over and over, you sent prophets, apostles, and even Your Son to teach Your Word to Your people. We thank and praise you for those who teach, work in, serve, and lead St. Paul’s. We ask your blessing on this place of learning. May Your name be hallowed and your Kingdom come among us, and may it ever be a place of learning and sanctuary for those who need it.

While days quickly unfold for the new school year, we pray that Your Spirit abides here, guiding, directing and leading those who teach and those who learn. Fill the teachers with mercy, pure hearts, and a sense of peace. Fill students with curiosity and open minds. Give our administrators wisdom and understanding. In all things, may Your will be done.

This, we pray, for the sake of Jesus Christ, Your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.

The Grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all. Amen.

Emptied Out to be Filled Up - Luke 12: 13-21

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is the Gospel lesson from Luke 12.

Jesus said, “Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.”

I suspect that for many of us, hearing this parable and then thinking about our clothes and our cars, our garages and our purses, our investments and our retirement accounts, we are in an uncomfortable place. After all, we could see ourselves in the rich farmer’s position without too much trouble. He has a windfall crop and seeing that his barns aren’t big enough, he builds newer, bigger barns so he is able to enjoy life and not work so hard the rest of his life. This is the American dream; it seems this man is practicing worldly wisdom. Don’t over-read the parable. He’s not stealing from anyone – it came out of his fields. Likewise, there’s no reason to assume that he is selfish or that he didn’t follow the law and leave edge-rows for widows and the poor to harvest.

Let me say this: possessions in and of themselves are not intrinsically wicked. In fact, they are gifts God gives to us for the wellbeing of ourselves, our family, and our neighbors. Likewise, it is not a sin to be wealthy or to have nice things, be it technology, or a house, or family, or anything else. The problem is that possessions are fundamentally dangerous because it is so terrifyingly easy for them to become the all-encompassing thing we desire.

I heard a drug addict say the reason heroin is so addictive and deadly is that a little is too much but too much is never enough. The same is true of acquiring possessions. For many people, making a purchase releases a chemical in the brain not all that unlike a drug. It feels good, and we want to duplicate it again. That’s a scientific explanation. As Christians, we know another answer: the sin of covetousness which leads to excess. How many of us don’t have closets so full of clothes that we can hardly fit another thing in amongst all the others? How many pair of shoes are on the floor? How many toys are in the toy box? How many hammers, screwdrivers, and wrenches are scattered among the various toolboxes in the shop? How many [ahem] books line the wall of a pastor’s study?  

I said the sin of coveting leads to excess. To covet is to desire something that’s not yours to the point of being consumed to acquire it. Coveting moves from “I would like a truck,” to “I want a truck,” to “I want his truck.” The danger of coveting is a duality of idolatry. The things we covet become gods in and of themselves; and second, we make ourselves out to be equal with God as if we know better what it is that we need. I want that thing and since God hasn’t given me what I want, I’ll figure out a way to get it myself. It’s a failure of faith and trust: since He’s not providing it, we seek to acquire it ourselves and, not believing He will provide tomorrow’s daily bread tomorrow, we stockpile in fear. 

I suggest that it is more difficult than ever to avoid coveting – especially in the 21^st century North American milieu. After all, our culture and society literally have a whole industry whose job is nothing more than to fill us with a burning desire to acquire ever more stuff. Wherever you turn, from the living room to the highway and all points between, you are bombarded by advertisements to buy, buy, buy. And, buy we do – quickly accelerating from true need to want to desire to greed. And, then if someone else has what I don’t have, or if I can get it before someone else does, or even if I have eight of the same thing already but need - nay, want - number nine, then coveting ensues. It’s no wonder that self-storage units are one of the fastest growing small businesses in our country.

Jesus asks the question: of what does your life consist? The teaching was inspired because someone asked Jesus to intervene and make a brother split the family inheritance. It seems he is more worried about getting what is his than anything else. He is not seeking the Kingdom of God and the gifts Jesus delivers in life, salvation, and the Spirit of God, gifts that last into eternity, but rather he is seeking gifts that last but only a lifetime. That, then, becomes the motive of the foolish farmer: planning for a lifetime.

Jesus tells the parable so the man would see himself as the rich farmer. In the parable, we hear the conversation that the farmer has with himself as he makes his plans. “I will tear down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, “Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.”’

There’s a bit of wordplay here. Our translation speaks of his soul. We think of soul as part of us, usually in the context of dying – our soul is at rest with Jesus. A better way to understand this is “life,” as in what is at the center of a person’s being, what drives him, what fills heart. Listen again, replacing soul with life: “I will say to my life, ‘Life, you have ample goods laid up for many years…” That helps clarify the issue. The problem is man always has a very narrow and nearsighted view of what “life” means. This man sees life as nothing more than eating, drinking and being merry. Again, nothing wrong with eating, drinking, or celebrating – all in moderation, of course – but when that’s all that life is, then life is very hollow. The rich man is quoting the Preacher in Ecclesiastes, “Eat, drink, and be merry,” and he wants to use that for his life’s philosophy.

Sadly, he forgot the Preacher’s warning: Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die. In the parable, God subpoenas the farmer for judgement. Because his heart was only filled with his own, selfish desires for a lifetime, his lifetime is cut short without any life to come that has been won by Christ. Lifeless and Saviorless, the rich fool dies into eternity.

When I began, I said that this parable makes us uncomfortable. Let me ask you: of what does your life consist? Are our hearts, our minds, our eyes, our very lives centered in the coming of the Kingdom of God in Christ Jesus, or do they wander elsewhere, distracted by the world in which we live? Examine your heart, your mind, your eyes, your lives. Where are your desires? Wherein does your trust lie? We quickly realize that there are many things that get in the way of our life being centered in Jesus Christ. Our Old Adam is quick to follow the world’s temptations, and our hearts, our minds, and our lives are led astray from the cross of Jesus to the covetousness of the world in which we live. If the parable makes you uncomfortable, it’s because you see yourselves in it. While we may try to justify ourselves, our actions, our covetousness – everyone else is doing it! He who isn’t first is last! Gotta look out for number one! Who else is going to care for my family! – but we cannot justify ourselves against God.

God demanded the life of the rich fool because of his sins of coveting and idolatry. Sin requires death. Idolatry and coveting requires death. Our culture says these are no big deal, but sins against man and sins against God are big. They are life-demanding. God demands the life of those who sin against him. So Jesus stood in our place. In His poverty, He stood for our sins about possessions. In His humility, He surrendered for our arrogant pretending to be God, as if we know better. In His death, even His garments were stripped from Him so that He hung, naked, from the cross in shame. It was as if the Father’s voice thundered against, “Tonight, your very life is demanded of you, Jesus, in place of the sins of the world.”  In His death, His vicarious atonement paid the death-penalty that our sins deserve.   

“Tonight, your life is demanded of you.” Your life is no longer yours, either. You died in Christ. “Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? ⁴ We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life.” (Romans 6:3-4) You are baptized in Christ. Christ is the center. Your life is hidden with Christ in God. Christ the center of your work, your play, your worship, your wealth, your possessions.

This changes your perspective. You live a new life as a child of God. Land, house, wealth, barns and silos, grain, profits and portfolios, everything is God’s, not yours. They are all on loan from God. They are yours, only in that you are stewards, caretakers, of God’s gifts. That includes your very life.  You’ve been purchased with a price, the life of Jesus, His blood, His death. He became poor that you might be rich in eternal riches. You are God’s treasured possession, enabling you to hold your treasured possessions with the dead hand of faith – offering, sharing, giving.

Repentance implies change, a turning away from sin and towards Christ. If you want to love Jesus more while loving your possessions less, give away more of your money – not all of it, but more of it. And I don’t necessarily mean to St. Paul’s or the building fund or the school or whatever your favorite project here might be. Give elsewhere to those who have so little: Habitat for Humanity, Enid Street Outreach, the Food Bank, Enid Mobile Meals, Lutheran World Relief, Orphan Grain Train. Literally, the list is endless. Then, cull from your closet and garage and storage locker – and I don’t mean just the stuff that went out of fashion during the first Bush and Clinton years. There is plenty there you don’t need, let alone use. Give it away, no strings attached, so that the strings can’t pull back at you. As your hands let go of the stuff, you’ll be amazed how much more room there is for Jesus and His cross.  

Then, filled with Jesus, centered in Jesus, living in Jesus, eat, drink and rejoice, for in Him, nothing is vanity.