A Prophetic Parable of Lazarus and a Rich Fool - Luke 16: 19-31

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 16.

In Luke’s version of the Beatitudes, Luke chapter 6, Jesus said, “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you shall be satisfied.” (Luke 6:20-21)

If you were to search for an example of who those Beatitudes are describing, you would do well to stop and sit for a while with Lazarus. This isn’t the same Lazarus of John 11, the brother of Mary and Martha, the one who died and over whom Jesus wept. Same name; different man. In all likelihood, this was a parable, though if one were to wander around Judah, you probably wouldn’t have too difficult of a time finding another example of this poor man named Lazarus.

In Jesus’ day and age, wealth was an indicator of God’s blessing and poverty was a measure of punishment for a moral or ethical failure on someone’s part, if not an outright curse. I suspect that our modern American view hasn’t changed much since then. One’s wealth, or lack thereof, stands as a measure, a barometer, of what is perceived as blessedness. After all: where would you rather live - 101 Lazarus Lane or 1600 Rich Man Way? So, whether it was in the eyes of those sitting and listening to Jesus 2000 years ago or any of us today, the rich man was blessed: plenty of money in the bank account, a fully funded investment portfolio, a festival meal for no apparent reason, exquisite clothes from the finest clothiers, and a palatial home in a gated neighborhood to keep the riffraff – like Lazarus – out: out of sight, out of smell, out of hearing, and out of mind.

By those same standards, temporally speaking, Lazarus was running way short in the blessing column. If you are politically correct, you might describe Lazarus as “indigent” or “transient,” but in your mind, out of the public hearing, you might use words like “unfortunate,” “pathetic,” or even “miserable.” Talk about a man who had nothing. Lazarus’s home was the stoop at the rich man’s gate where he was laid down. When I say, “laid down,” don’t think lovingly, gently, tenderly placed there, like a child tucked into bed. The language is more like “thrown down,” as one would do with garbage, refuse, detritus. To literally use the language of today’s teens, he was trash. Adding insult to injury, his eyes could see, his nose could smell, his ears could hear the feasting that was happening inside, but his mouth couldn’t even taste the crumbs that fell to the floor. I said he had nothing, but that’s not quite true. Lazarus had one thing: sores, some kind of weeping wounds, but even those weren’t his alone. He shared them with the dogs who licked at them because he was too weak, too tired to push them away. A dog among dogs, street garbage to be overlooked, ignored, and kicked away.

Then, both men died. Jesus used a bit of word play here: Lazarus died and was carried; the rich man died and was buried. Lazarus, alone in this life, was escorted by angels to Abraham’s side where there is resting, perhaps even feasting in the eternal banquet that knows no end. The rich man, once surrounded by fellow revelers, was met by solitude without even a dog to keep him company as he sweltered in his misery. His riches, his home, his friends, his food – all of those fine comforts of life had disappeared, stripped away by the grave.

Understand: it wasn’t the riches themselves that condemned the man. It was his setting himself up as a god with his wealth as a demonstration of his goodness, illustrated by his failure to be a loving neighbor. It was failure to see Lazarus as a brother in need, as someone with whom he could share what had been given him by God, as the least in the kingdom who, in that moment, needed to be the greatest and most tended to. In life, Lazarus had yearned for the rich man’s crumbs; the rich man yearned for just a drop of water off Lazarus’ finger. His cry to Father Abraham wasn’t one of repentance, acknowledging and lamenting his sin of failing to love. Rather, he maintained his arrogance, as if Lazarus should resume his position of humility now as a servant to fetch water for the wretched.

No, Abraham says, it doesn’t work that way. He told the rich man to remember, to recall how his pleasures extended through his lifetime on earth while Lazarus had nothing. Remember the suffering that Lazarus endured while the rich man refused to even share a crumb in life. Now, with the roles and positions reversed, the rich man would have to remember in death that Lazarus will be enjoying all of the blessings of God into eternity. Lazarus will no longer suffers at the hands of others. He will no longer be the butt of jokes, the object of sneers, the lost one of society. Lazarus, who once had nothing, is now the one who has everything. Once overlooked in his miserable and pitiable life on earth, Lazarus is now given a place of honor and comfort next to Abraham. The one who had it all in this lifetime, living in the lap of luxury, lost it all. His misery now infinitely more miserable than anything Lazarus had to suffer.

Remember, Jesus is speaking to the Pharisees, using this parable as yet another attempt to call them to repentance, desiring that they trust in Him as the Messiah and setting aside their arrogant idea that they can earn God’s pleasure and favor through their self-justifying lives of keeping the Law. The parable was a verbal wake-up call of what awaited them, unless they repent: the sheer torture of hell. There is no returning from hell once there. There are no second chances; no do-overs. It’s not as if they could plead ignorance: they had God’s very Word, they knew the Scriptures, foretelling the Messiah. Unfortunately, the Pharisees refused to see Jesus was He to whom the Scriptures point. They refused to believe this Man from Nazareth could be the One sent from Heaven, that the Son of Mary could also be the Son of God, that the one who calmed the winds and waves once ordered creation into existence, that the One who could heal the sick could also forgive sins. The Scriptures foretold it, but the Pharisees would neither see nor believe them fulfilled in Jesus. The parallel warning between the Pharisees and the rich man should have been clear: as the rich man and his brothers refused to heed the Scriptures written by either Moses or the Prophets, so also the Pharisees. Thus, Abraham’s words about the rich man becomes Jesus’ hard words against Pharisees “If they do not hear either Moses and the Prophets, neither will they be convinced if someone should rise from the dead.”

There’s an interesting note with this parable. It’s not just a story. It’s a prophetic foretelling of what is to come. Jesus tells this parable shortly before Holy Week. He will soon make His triumphal entry into Jerusalem. Jesus tells the parable in the days immediately before that miraculous event recorded by St. John, when Mary and Martha’s brother, Lazarus, dies in Bethany and Jesus restores him to life. In other words, the parable is not only a word of warning against the pharisees, it’s also a word of prophesy of what will happen to the real man named Lazarus. He will experience death – physical death, where his heart will stop beating and he will be a corpse. But, by God’s grace, like the Lazarus of the parable, the real Lazarus will also begin to experience the beginning of eternity at the side of Abraham, that is, in the presence of the eternal God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Lazarus, three-days dead in the belly of the grave, will hear the voice of the One who is the resurrection and the life. The Word of Jesus enlivens ears that stopped hearing, a heart that stopped beating, a brain that ceased functioning. At the sound of Jesus’ command, Lazarus comes forth: he who was dead is alive!

And, sadly, the Pharisees will seek to kill Lazarus, because he is living proof that Jesus is who he says he is.

And, then, just a few days after that, the Pharisees will put to death the Lord of Life Himself, rejecting the One who is the resurrection and the life.

There’s this interesting phrase in the parable that Jesus told – I don’t know if you caught it or not – where Abraham says to the rich man, “Besides all this, between us and you a great chasm has been fixed, in order that those who would pass from here to you may not be able, and none may cross from there to us.” Did you catch that? Did you wonder what this is about? First, don’t go nuts here and think this is something about reincarnation or ghosts or some such drivel. Jesus is pointing to the hard reality that there isn’t any way to salvation, that is Abraham’s side, other than thru Christ. Once judgement has been rendered, it is irreversible. I don’t think we can establish a doctrine of the end times and judgement day from this parable, but this is clear: heaven is heaven; hell is hell and, to borrow from Rudyard Kipling, “ne’er the ‘twain shall meet.”

With a singular exception. In the person and work of Christ, for His work of salvation, He crosses all boundaries. First, He crossed from divinity to humanity, setting aside His full divine power to take upon Himself human flesh to be born of the Virgin Mary. Then, somewhere between Good Friday’s death and Easter’s resurrection, the Creeds confess that Jesus did, in fact, descend into Hell. He crossed that chasm Abraham spoke of, in His flesh. Peter reports this in his first Epistle: “For Christ also suffered once for sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, that he might bring us to God, being put to death in the flesh but made alive in the spirit, ¹⁹ in which he went and proclaimed to the spirits in prison, ²⁰ because they formerly did not obey,” (1 Peter 3: 18-20). People misunderstand the reason for Jesus’ descent to hell. We – rightly – think of hell as the place of torture where the unrepentant are banished. So, it is often assumed and misunderstood that Jesus had to go there to suffer even more deeply than He did on the cross. No. Others think that His descent was a second chance for those who did not believe before, a Divine Billy Graham crusade or a hellish tent revival, if you will. This isn’t true either. Jesus’ descent was to proclaim His victory over satan, that the damning consequence of sin has been paid in full. It was the other shoe that fell, the first one dropping in the Garden of Eden that the serpent will bruise the heel of Eve’s promised seed; the second shoe being the Seed – who is Jesus – crushing the serpent – satan’s – head in His death and resurrection. Not even hell’s gates can stop the resurrected Jesus.

The parable prophetically foretells Lazarus’ death. Lazarus’ death and resurrection foreshadow’ Jesus’ own crucifixion and Easter. Christ’s death and resurrection foreshadow our death and resurrection, whenever those are according to God’s great mercy and favor. So our lives now, which sometimes feels more like Lazarus’ than we care to admit, with our own backs against the wall and the wolves nipping at our heels, our lives are lived in that hope, that promise, that Baptismal treasure that is already ours in Christ but waiting to be fully consummated on that great day of resurrection.  Until that day, satisfy your hunger with the crumbs given you at the Lord’s Table and refresh your soul, recalling the drops of water showered upon you in your Baptism.

And on that day, when the beatitude is complete, the poor will receive the kingdom, and our hunger and thirst will be satisfied into all eternity. Come quickly, Lord Jesus….come. Amen.

 

 

Praying For All People - 1 Timothy 2: 1-8

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 1 Timothy 2.

Let me begin by saying if you are scratching your head at these readings, wondering what they really mean, you’re in good company. These are difficult to understand! Amos has these words about buying and selling grain on the Sabbath that seems to commend dishonest marketing. The Gospel reading has a parable where it seems Jesus commends a thief for indirectly stealing from his master. Then the second half of the Epistle lesson seems to be putting women “in their place,” so to speak. If these readings leave you a little uncomfortable, may I invite you to join us for Bible study after church. We’re going to work through these lessons together, so we can have a conversation, give and take, about what these difficult readings mean.

Today, I want to focus on the first half of the Epistle lesson where Paul speaks about prayer. “First of all, then, I urge that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings be made for all people, for kings and all who are in high positions, that we may lead a peaceful and quiet life, godly and dignified in every way.”

Prayer is a gift of God, both given to and commanded of His people, for the good and well-being of all people. 

Praying Hands: Albrecht Durer

All people, without boundary, without exclusion. That’s certainly counter-cultural, isn’t it? Consider the culture around us. Conventional wisdom says it’s us versus them – politically, socially, economically, whatever other adverb you want to attach to it. We’re so used to having the proverbial line in the sand, and having to take a stand on one side or the other. We cherry pick who our neighbor is based on these things. Because that’s what’s all around us, what we see Monday thru Friday, what we hear all around us, the danger, the temptation is that, then, carries over into our lives as people of God. Our Old Adam and Old Eve also take sides and chose whom we will pray for and about.

There’s a difference, praying “for” verses “about” someone. To pray for someone is to put yourself in their shoes, to see yourself in their place in life, their sitz im Leben, and to pray with regard to them and their need. Praying for someone is an act of compassion, mercy and grace towards them, asking God’s blessing on that person. In other words, the direction of praying for someone is away from you and towards him or her. Praying about someone is the opposite. It’s standing on a soapbox, placing judgement and criticism with a litany of complaints. Rather than imploring God’s grace and mercy, it’s grumbling and moaning about everything that’s wrong about that person. Praying about someone is really praying towards ourselves, as if we were co-equal with God, issuing the declaration to Him of what’s wrong over there and what’s good and right here in and with us.

Instead of hoisting our list of grievances about people up the Festivus pole, Paul urges that we pray for all people, carrying them to the cross of Christ. It’s easy to pray for some people. It’s easy to pray for those who love us, the people who think and act like us, our family members, our friends, our church family, our classmates, our coworkers with whom we eat lunch and socialize on the weekend. But, that little, three-letter word, “all,” all people, is not so exclusive. “All” means just that, and is inclusive of those with whom we disagree, those whom we may socially, politically, economically, and adverbially dislike, even those who may desire our destruction and harm. Pray for them, Paul says – not only for things like health, peace, a good job, a joyful home. Pray for their very salvation. For Christians, pray that they remain strong and steadfast in the faith of Jesus as Savior. For those who do not yet believe, that they repent of their sins against God and man, that they come to faith in Jesus as Lord and Savior, that they serve others with the love and compassion of Jesus.

A remarkable thing happens when you pray for people – especially those with whom you struggle and those who desire to hurt or harm you. As you begin praying for that person, the Old Adam and Old Eve gives way to the Baptized child of God as God’s Spirit fills them with the mercy and compassion of Christ, who Himself prayed for those who hurt and persecuted Him. The feelings of dislike, anger, resentment, and fear are replaced with Christlike peace, harmony, and true desire for the wellbeing of that person. Be on guard: the Old Adam will try to bob to the surface, realizing he is losing ground, wanting to restore those old feelings. This is the life of repentance, even while continuing to pray for those very people again and again. You start to see them less as enemies and more as people for whom Christ died, for whom Christ rose, whom Christ wishes to see restored and welcomed to the Kingdom.  You see them as people, whom you pray will join with you in the resurrection of all flesh, standing at the foot of the Lamb in His Kingdom that has no end. You see them as people whose totality of sins are forgiven by Christ, and if He forgives all of their sins, if His love is great enough to love and rescue them, then you, too, see them as people to be loved and cared for. Thus, you pray for people.

Paul specifically names kings and those in positions of power. In our culture, we would say pray for our president, elected officials, and those in positions of authority, from your HOA, to your church, to your grandkids’ soccer coach. Easy to do when it’s your guy, your gal, your party in office. Harder to do when you disagree with the official and when they do things with which you vehemently disagree. Years ago, the Sunday after the presidential election, we prayed for the president-elect by name. From the back of the sanctuary, I heard a literal, guttural groan. We continued to pray for that president and I continued to hear complaints about how I could pray for “that man.”  When the political worms turned, so did the grumbles in the pews – other people grumbled, then, we prayed for “that man.” When Paul wrote this, the emperor of the Roman Empire was the infamous Nero who sent countless Christians to their death because they refused to apostatize and deny Jesus. Pray for him, Paul says, pray for Nero’s repentance, that he turns from his scurrilous, murderous, vengeful ways, that he denies his claim to be divine, that he comes to the knowledge of the truth of Jesus as the Son of God, that Nero becomes an instrument of compassion and mercy, that the Gospel be given free course, that the Empire may be a place of peace and harmony for citizens, and that Nero, too, might join with us in celebration in the resurrection of all flesh. Picture that! It gives a very different idea of what we heard with the parables of the lost last Sunday: not a lost sheep or a lost coin that caused celebration, but the celebration of formerly lost and heathen kings and leaders who were led to repentance and faith in part because of our prayers! Lord, have mercy on those who govern us!

Even while we look to the celebration of our own Easter when Christ returns, we also pray for peaceful and quiet lives now, this side of heaven. That’s interesting, too. Think of all the things we pray for: healthy bodies, good jobs, for the right spouse for our sons and daughters, for the safety of our students, for food to eat and homes to live in. Paul is expanding our prayers beyond the ordinary to include peaceful and quiet lives. Peace in the horizontal, earthly realm, is a reflection – albeit an imperfect one - of the vertical, heavenly peace we already have through Christ’s death and resurrection. We pray for peaceful and peace-filled lives for the safety of all people, for our physical, mental, and spiritual wellbeing. We yearn for the day that anger, discord, and violence is gone, replaced by harmonious relationships with God being glorified in all things. Pray for quiet lives. Don’t think so much about volume, loud vs quiet, but along the lines of calm and tranquil as opposed to disturbed and chaotic. How well we know the latter: family calendars that demonstrate the stress we feel in our minds and in our bodies. Too, the prayer for quietude isn’t just for women to pray; it’s for all of God’s people, men and women, to pray for peace and quietude for all people, men and women, as a blessing of humility, attentiveness, and faithfulness this side of heaven.

Like I said, Prayer is a gift of God, both given to and commanded of His people, for the good and well-being of all people. We model that at St. Paul’s, making prayer an integral part of our day, praying in various times and places. This includes after lunch when we pray together, as a school. Last week, schools across the state were instructed to hold a moment of silence to reflect on Charlie Kirk and his death. We exercised our Christian freedom and decided that instead of a moment of silence, we would pray, and not just for Mr. Kirk but for all people. So, Tuesday, as we prepared for that post-lunch, corporate prayer, we first talked about people who are hurting in lots of different ways.

Perhaps you heard about this; I think there was some misunderstanding about what and why we did this. It’s easy to think about those closest to us or those in the spotlight. Tuesday, we deliberately expanded that circle. It wasn’t about red or blue, donkey or elephant, left or right. We talked about students and teachers who are sick, our school families and neighbors around the school who are struggling with life, those of us who have family members in the military and potentially in harm’s way. Then, we prayed out loud for these people who are hurting and struggling and needing our prayers, pausing for a moment to let kids and staff silently pray for people whom they knew. In our basement cafeteria, offered simply and without fanfare, spoken aloud or in the quietude of our hearts, those prayers for all people were carried to our Heavenly Father through Christ our Lord.

More than anything else, our greatest take-away from last week might be this: that St. Paul’s continue to practice praying for all people, regardless of who they are or what the need, so that, when asked about it, students, teachers, and families can simply say, “That’s what we do as God’s people. We pray.”

 

Parables of the Lost Sheep, Coin, and Sinners Like... - Luke 15: 1-10

Television shows love to end a season with a cliffhanger. It’s a sure way to drive conversation during the hiatus and build interest in the show for its return. Picking up ratings for re-runs doesn’t hurt, either. So, you wind up with conversations about, “Did Ross just call his fiancée the wrong name?” “Will Bo and Luke come back to Hazzard County?” “Who shot J.R.?” Perhaps the greatest cliffhanger of all was the series finale of the Sopranos as the screen went to black, leaving people scrambling to reconnect their cable and see what happened to Tony. Even the book of Jonah does this to some degree. Will Jonah repent, like Ninevah, and receive God’s grace and mercy, or will he dig in like Israel and deny God’s compassion? The reader is left with the question unanswered.  That’s what a good cliffhanger does: it leaves you in suspense, wanting to know how the problem resolves. 

Jesus employs a similar technique as he tells these two parables of the lost. In the first parable, Jesus tells the parable of the good shepherd who discovers that one sheep is missing. Leaving the 99 others safe in their sheep pen, he travels into the wilderness to find, rescue and bring home the little lost lamb. In the second parable, Jesus tells the story of a woman realizes that she is missing one coin. She lights every lamp in the house and begins searching through every nook and cranny until she finds the one missing silver coin. In both parables, when the missing one is found, the rescuer “calls friends and neighbors to celebrate and rejoice, for what was lost is now found.”

What makes these parables cliffhangers is that while the invitation is offered, Jesus does not tell us about attendance at the party. The hearers are left to wonder, “Who is going to that party?”

Think about it for a minute…who is coming to the party? And, why would they come? Now, the celebration for the return of the Prodigal Son (the third parable of the lost, which happens later in this chapter) we get – the son, who was feared dead, returns home. That is reason to celebrate with family and friends and neighbors. But the first two parables? We’re talking about finding a lost animal – one of 100, by the way – or finding a lost coin – just ten cents on the dollar. When I was a boy, we had 3 or 4 calves, at the time, all @ 100 pounds, and one of them got out of the pasture. We called our neighbors to help keep an eye out for that little rascal, and we drove around looking for it. When we found it, we called them back to tell them it was home, but we didn’t throw a party. Who would come to a party for a lost calf? (Besides…the irony of having a hamburger cookout for the return of a calf is just too funny…) And when Mom finally found missing cash that she forgot she hid under the rug in her room, she didn’t call her friends over for cookies and tea. In fact, I don’t know that she told anyone besides us! Who would go to a party for a returned calf or a discovered $50 bill? Even now, if you invited me to celebrate the returning home of Fluffy who strayed or finding that birthday money you thought was already spent, I would probably have a reason – ANY reason – to not bother showing up that night. Would you go to a party like that? I doubt it.

That’s exactly the point.

Listen again to the first sentences of Luke 15: “Now the tax collectors and sinners were all gathering near to hear Jesus. And the Pharisees and scribes grumbled saying, “This man receives sinners and eats with them. Then, Jesus told them this parable…”  

Scandalous behavior, this. Jesus receives sinners. Their specific sins aren’t noted, but it’s not really necessary that we know their specific misdeeds against God and man. The unspecific sinner is part of the unholy trifecta of tax collectors, prostitutes, and sinners, all despised and scorned by the Jewish leaders and the “good” citizens. I imagine some were guilty of civil crimes against others - theft, for example. Others were guilty of breaking religious law, like being unclean - eating the wrong thing, touching blood, touching a dead person or animal. Others were just Gentiles, making them guilty by association. Whatever they had done, in the end it didn’t really matter. They stood condemned in the court of public opinion with the Pharisees acting as judge, jury, and reporter, telling everyone else that these people were “sinners.” And Jesus - Jesus, of all people! - was receiving them and eating with them! 

To receive someone is to welcome them, not just as a guest, a stranger, into the home, but to welcome them as if they were as close as a brother. It’s the same notion that Jesus uses when He says, “He who receives me, receives Him who sent me,” that is, if you welcome Jesus as a brother, if you receive Him by faith, then you are also a son (lower case S, of course) of God. To receive is to be in familial relationship. Jesus is welcoming these people, the miscreants, the ones with criminal past, the ones caught in the wrong bedroom with the wrong person, the ones with dark secrets that they pray never see the light of day, Jesus receives them into His presence. 

But, it was more than that. Jesus also eats with them. In the ancient world, eating with a person was one of the most personally intimate things you did with people. Food was shared by dipping your hands into a bowl, often some kind of stew, perhaps with a piece of bread - think something like pita bread or thick tortillas, not Mrs. Bairds - as a serving utensil. If you are sharing that kind of meal, you want to know whose hand is dipping into your food, and you want to know the person attached to that hand, what he or she does, where he or she has been, what he or she has been doing. You want clean hands at your table - not just physically clean, but ceremonially clean as well, so that you don’t become unclean. 

To sit and eat with someone like this, then, is to go one further than receive. Your guest is welcomed not just as a brother, but as someone worthy to be your equal. 

And Jesus is eating with these sinners. Why? Because He came to seek and to save the lost.

The parables are story-demonstrations of Christ’s love: each lost one is important enough that Jesus will leave the safe and secure behind to go find the one in danger of dying. Each one that is missing needs to be sought out and found and returned to its place with the others. These missing ones, these wandering ones, these lost ones --- these are the sinners whom Jesus loves.

Consider “sinner” for a moment and what that implies. We read it in this context, sinners and tax collectors, and it almost has a romantic notion to it. After all, they were branded as such by the Pharisees, and who doesn’t love a good underdog story? We think of the prostitute Jesus saved from stoning, of Zaccheus, the wee little man, whom Jesus called from his prosperous tax and theft business. We think of Peter, who denied Jesus, or Thomas who doubted. We even think of ourselves – as we should. Or, we think of a child, like Gracelynn, made God’s child today through the work of the Holy Spirit in and with Water and Word. We rejoice that such a sinner is welcomed into the family of God.

The lure of those pictures, though, is we can soften the image of sinner, that we think of sinners as “good but misunderstood people,” if you will. Such a picture can lead to the idea that we are good until we aren’t. Not true. We are not sinners because we sin; we sin because we are sinners.  Remember – the lost sheep in the parable? Imagine the most lost of all people. Consider, for example, those in prison: rapists, hardened murderers, thieves who have stole millions. Now, be even more specific. The man who stabbed the Ukranian refugee in North Carolina; the kid who shot Charlie Kirk; the kid who planned to shoot up his school but was arrested before he could complete his nefarious plan. Jesus seeks these lost people out, too, calling them to repentance. Even for these people, whom the world might consider unforgivable for the acts they did, Jesus is able to forgive even them, carrying them to the eternal joy of the resurrection.

Now, you can understand the Pharisees' growing anger at Jesus' scandalous behavior. 

That is scandalous, isn’t it? Jesus rescues, saves, and loves sinners like that! Jesus love is magnanimous, and when He finds the lost one, even like those people, instead of dragging the broken and hurting soul and making them walk behind, Jesus lifts them with his hands. But then again, Jesus also lifts us up with those same hands. He raises us and carries us in His arms and on His shoulders.

Those hands, those arms, those shoulders of Jesus…marked by the nails of the cross, striped by the whips of soldiers, spat upon by both people and leaders, scratched by the rough timber of the cross…those hands, arms and shoulders turn in expectation to those who laugh and say, “He eats with sinners…” And Jesus says, “Yes, yes I do. I eat with them, I care for them, I live for them and I die for them. I rise for them. I forgive them. I bless them. They were so lost they didn’t even realize it! So I sought them out, rescued them, and am carrying them home. Come and celebrate! Rejoice!” The invitation…the invitation by Jesus to celebrate because the lost – the sinners, the ones most needing Jesus – are restored. The celebration is prepared for what was lost is found! And the invitations are sent in hopes that everyone else rejoices, too.

It’s not only an earthly celebration, but one that continues into eternity as even heaven rejoices as Jesus receives sinners, carrying them with nail-marked hands and whip-scarred shoulders and welcoming them through water and Word into the family of God. Then, He invites us to table with Him, feasting on His very body and blood for the forgiveness of those things that once branded us as sinners. Our sins covered in the blood of Jesus, God welcomes the repentant sinner.

Usually, we think of repent as a change, a turning, of heart, mind and body. There is sorrow and contrition and a pledge to change when we repent of our sins. Here, repent has a little different idea behind it. In the parables, how could a lost sheep repent? How can an inanimate coin repent? The recovery, the saving, the finding is all done by the shepherd and by the woman, both determined to find the lost. The sheep, the coin – they can’t do a thing! In fact, if you think about it, for all intents and purposes, it is as if the lamb is dead and the coin a dead asset. Wonder or wonders, it is the fact that they are lost and presumed dead that makes them so wonderfully, ridiculously valuable to the shepherd and the woman – and, for God.

You see, it is not our goodness and our richness of life that makes us worthy to God, but our being dead in our trespasses and sins that makes us most valuable to God that He sent His Son, Christ Jesus, to rescue us. We have no power, we have no way to save ourselves or even argue our worth.

In these parables, repent isn’t so much about changing as it is being received. When Christ receives us, welcomes us, and invites us to feast with Him, the word of absolution and forgiveness is full and complete. God doesn’t say He understands our sins, or that He gives us a mulligan. Instead, He disposes of and finishes our dead lives and raises us new ones with Christ. He doesn’t heal our sinful boo-boos; He drops them into the empty grave of Jesus where they do not come back to life. He forgets our sins there, in Jesus’ tomb. He remembers our iniquities no more. Instead, He and all the hosts of heaven rejoice as Jesus carries us into His presence.

Here's the cliffhanger: this side of heaven, you would be surprised at who - at the sinners - that "us" includes to be with Jesus.

But there, when you see Jesus in the resurrection, you will rejoice that you are among the saints and they are with you.  Amen.

The Cost of Discipleship - Luke 14: 25-33

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

Reading and understanding the Bible can be challenging. I know this because I hear from people – including life-long Christians, life-long Lutherans, and life-long members of the congregation – that reading the Bible is difficult. I also know that reading the Bible can be challenging from first-hand experience. There are times I have to scratch my head and wonder, like Luther, was ist das? - what does this mean? – and I have to dig to find answers, myself. This is especially true when trying to take a Biblical text and apply it to the modern child of God.

You have such an example in this morning’s Gospel reading. “If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple.” Was ist das, indeed. These words leave us with real questions. After all, this hardly sounds like the Jesus whom we know and love. Here, Jesus says to be his disciple, one must hate his father and mother, but what of the 4^th Commandment, “Honor your father and mother”?  Or, consider His words in the broader sense of “hate.” The Bible is filled with passages of love – love your enemy and pray for those who persecute you, or love is the summary of the commandments. Speaking of hate, Jesus said if anyone is merely angry with his brother – not hatred, just angry – he is in danger of judgement. On the one hand, the Scripture says this; on the other hand, Jesus says that and these things are not copacetic – they do not align, at least, not according to what we know is true of God’s Word. 

So, what is Jesus doing? What is Jesus saying? Is He changing the Law? Is He instituting new rules? Is hating mom and dad, brother and sister, son and daughter now a prerequisite to following Jesus? If so, we’re all going to have to find new places to sit in the sanctuary next Sunday.

No – no. Jesus did not come to undo the Law and the Prophets; He came to fulfill them. He’s not tossing aside the 4^th Commandment and stop loving our neighbor. What He is doing, though, is emphasizing the importance and necessity of following Him first and foremost. He’s using a rhetorical device, sort of like hyperbole, where one thing is overstated to emphasize the other. He’s overstating hatred to teach that loving all other people, even your own self, is secondary to Him. Yes, you love your parents and children and neighbors, but never at the cost of loving Jesus first and foremost.

Jesus is speaking to the crowds that are following after Him and the Twelve. Some are there, truly wondering if Jesus really is Messiah. Some are there with simple faith that is continuing to grow. Some are there out of idle curiosity. Some are there hoping for a taste of the kingdom they presume He will bring with power and authority and armies. Here was a Man, a worker of miracles, a teacher of great parables, so filled with gravitas that being His disciple, following after Him should be a piece of cake and bring all sorts of health, wealth and happiness. 

Wrong. Discipleship isn’t easy. Whether it’s today’s prosperity-gospel preachers on television or the glory-hungry crowds that followed in Jesus’ footsteps in ancient Jerusalem, we do not get to set the terms on discipleship. It’s simply not possible, not is it permissible, to come to Jesus with explicit, up-front expectations of what discipleship is and our anticipations of what discipleship will give to us.

No one can come to Jesus, to follow Him as a disciple, and say, “Well, Jesus, I want to be a disciple, but I want you to know up front that my parents are really the most important people to me.” Jesus says you can’t do that. We can’t say, “I’m excited to begin this new life of discipleship, Jesus, but I’m not really into suffering, especially if I have to risk my friends, my job, and my good reputation I’ve worked so hard to attain.” Jesus says you can’t do that. We can’t say, “I’m willing to give up almost anything, but if my life is on the line, then I may have to reconsider.” Jesus says you can’t do that.

You can only be a disciple of Jesus if you allow Him to set the pace, to guide the journey, to make the agenda. Disciples follow, remember? You cannot be His disciple on your terms. He will not accept that kind of discipleship because that’s not discipleship. That’s not following. That’s trying to lead. You don’t know the pace He will set; you don’t know where the journey will lead; you don’t know what the agenda will be.

Jesus does. And, when Jesus does tell us what discipleship will give, it’s not what you expect: it gives the cross. “Whoever does not beat his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple.” You don’t know when, or where, or why you may have to bear a cross.

We’re not very good at cross-bearing. At least, I don’t think we are as a society, or as a culture, and not even as the North American church. We’ve been told for so long in our day-to-day routine that we can have it all at little or no cost and, simply, that’s not true.

Understand what Jesus means when he says “cross.” A cross is not something you chose. A cross is laid upon you. Likewise, a cross isn’t an inconvenience, or a result of a bad decision, or a difficult family situation. Heartburn, addiction to cigarettes, bad grades, chronic pain, even a crabby mother-in-laws – these are difficulties in life, yes, but they are not crosses as Jesus speaks of crosses.

What do crosses do? You and I see crosses as jewelry, Bible covers, artistic focal points. Go back and answer that with first century lens. How did the crowd hear and understand Jesus’ words that day? They saw what crosses did first-hand. Crosses kill. They are instruments of suffering and death. To take up your cross is to take up your death. You can’t follow Jesus without a cross. His way is the way of death and resurrection. So if you want to follow Jesus in the way He’s going, then you need to pick up that cross of yours, and go the way of death and resurrection with Him.

Suddenly, this business of being a disciple doesn’t sound like so much fun anymore, does it? It's no wonder that many turn away from Jesus today. They did it then, too. Some will remain, but many – perhaps most – of the crowds soon began to turn away. It won’t be long that their cries go from Hosanna to Crucify Him. They don’t like discipleship. They don’t like the cross. It sounds dangerous, deadly even. The cross was too much to bear.

For most of us, we’ll never be at a position where we have to make a choice between parents or Jesus. So, it can sound a little theoretical, these words of Jesus. So, let me tell you the true story about a man named Edward. Edward grew up in a Jewish home. He want to Synagogue school and learned Hebrew. His family kept kosher and went to the local temple for worship, especially on Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah, making their sacrificial offerings of fasting and money, making amends with those whom they offended, and praying God would somehow be merciful for their failings. But, Edward always felt guilty, empty, and afraid.  

In his late teens, he met a Lutheran pastor who told Edward of Jesus and His death on the cross for the forgiveness of those very sins he carried. By the power of the Holy Spirit, Edward believed Jesus was the very Messiah that the Old Testament promised and at the age of 20, he was baptized in the Triune name of God. Through water and word, Edward became a disciple of Jesus. But, at terrible personal cost. His own parents denounced his Christian conversion, first threatening him and then considering their son as dead to them. When Edward became a Lutheran pastor, no one from his family came to his graduation, his ordination into the Holy Ministry, or his installation at his parish. He wrote:

God knew that my time spent among those who chose to deny Him would not be without pain, but He also knew what was necessary for me to fully comprehend the grace that He bought for me through His suffering and death. In declaring the old man dead in baptism, I am now one with the Lord. Like Him who forgave even His worst tormentors, I have forgiven those who have called me a Christ killer. I have forgiven the Jews who have threatened me and my family with bodily harm if I continue to speak of Jesus as the Messiah and I have forgiven the professed Christians who refuse to accept that a Jew can confess Christ crucified. There are days when I need to be reminded of Jesus’ suffering for me. I need to be reminded that He gave His life for those who reviled Him, called Him names, beat Him, and then nailed Him to a cross. I need to be reminded that even though I was not worthy, Christ out of his love for me died and rose from the dead so that all His children could have eternal life in Him. (http://www.ctsfw.net/media/pdfs/AJourneyfromHopelessnessBalfour.pdf)

Edward’s story leads us to the good news hidden in today’s Gospel. Jesus bears the cost of discipleship. Jesus bears the cost; Jesus bears the cross. The cross is deadly – for Jesus. He lays down His life to save the world. He becomes the world’s Sin. He dies our Death. He did not count equality with God something to be held like a treasure but emptied His grasp of all that He had to go to His own death on a cross. Jesus counted the cost of being the world’s Savior. Jesus counted the cost of rescuing you from your Sin and Death. And it was worth every drop of His holy, precious blood to save you. He gave up everything that was His – His honor, glory, dominion, power, His entire life – and for the joy of your salvation, He set His face to Jerusalem to die. He took up His cross to save you.

He didn’t ask you to choose Him. He chose you. He baptized you. There you go: Baptism is the way of death and resurrection. You were dead in your sins and God made you alive in Christ. You were dead and God rebirthed you by water and Spirit. He placed His cross upon you, on your forehead and your heart, in token that you have been redeemed by Christ the crucified. You were captive to Sin and Death, and God made you free in Christ. Before you believed, before you were born, before you ever were, Christ was your Savior and Lord and Redeemer. You didn’t choose Him; He chose you. He laid His cross on you, not to kill you, but to bring you life.

That’s where you disciples, new and old, need to be looking: not your cross, but His. This is what it means to trust. That is to say, we become disciples only by faith. And faith takes us to The Cross where Jesus died for you.

Lord God, you have called your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the ending, by paths yet untrodden, through perils unknown. Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us and your love supporting us;  through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. (LSB Collect #193, p. 311)