It's About the Third Son - Matthew 21: 28-32

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

Jesus asks, who did the will of the Father: Son #1 or Son #2?  

That seems pretty easy, right? After all, Son #2 never got out the door, even after starting so well with a nice, polite answer to his father. It sounds like he never even got off the couch. Perhaps he got busy; maybe he was winning his X-box game and lost track of time; maybe he just forgot. Whatever the reason, his promise is broken and his feet never hit the floor, let alone got dirty. Pretty easy to see how he failed do the father’s will. How about Son #1? To be fair, he started out pretty rough. His curt and rude answer, and lack of action, finally starts to stick in his craw.  “He had a change of mind,” Jesus tells us. So, Son #1 heads out to the fields to do what his father had originally asked, doing what he originally refused to do.

James Tissot - The Parable of the Two Sons

So – who would you say did the will of his father, and why? It must be #1…right? 

Let’s talk about that. Did Son #1 really do the will of his father? Consider him through the lens of the Ten Commandments. We can summarize the Ten Commandments with a singular word: love. He dishonored his father by not going out when asked (4th Commandment). He did not initially help improve or protect his father’s farm, therefore he “stole” part of the harvest from being successfully completed (7th Commandment). By dishonoring his father, he also dishonored his Heavenly Father, breaking the first and second commandments.  

But, he went, you say. Yes, he did. His mind was changed. But, how was it changed? The Greek helps us understand more clearly what caused the change of mind: regret and remorse. This is the same word that is used to describe Judas Iscariot’s change of mind when he saw Jesus arrested and he tried to return the 30 pieces of silver to the chief priests. With both the son and Judas, the motive wasn’t love; it wasn’t really repentance; it wasn’t the desire to help his father. It was guilt that he had not done what his father wanted. So, thus moved, seeking to alleviate his troubled and burdened conscience, Son #1 hit the fields.

So, let me ask you again: which of the two did the will of the Father? I submit the answer is: neither. Why do you think I say that?

Because neither acted in love. Son #2 didn’t act at all. Son #1 acted out of guilt. No father wants a child to act out of guilt. A father wants his children to act and respond out of love. Lacking love, neither fulfilled their dad’s will.

This is a parable, remember, and parables tell us something about the reigning work of Jesus. Parables, while a story, also have an immediate context. Here, the context is with the Jewish leaders. In the timeline of Jesus life, either earlier in the day, or perhaps the day before, He cleansed the temple, driving the money changers out. The Jewish leaders were concerned: who authorized your behavior, Jesus? He turned the question. Who gave John his authority to preach and baptize – God or someone else? Afraid of what the people might say, and smelling a Messianic trap, the Pharisees played as dumb as Mongo. Thus, the parable is told.

The Jewish leaders, you remember, are very concerned about who Jesus hangs out with. The average rabbi did not want people like tax collectors, harlots, and other kinds of riffraff to be part of his entourage. Jesus seemed to not only tolerate them, but welcome and invite them, even going so far to be seen in their homes and eating with them. To Jesus, those are like the first son, hungering for something better, desiring for someone to help them, yet not quite understanding what Jesus has come to do. The Pharisees, on the other hand, are like the second son, saying all the right things and doing all the right things – except one important thing: repenting and turning in faith to Jesus as the promised Son of God. So, which of those two categories are doing the will of the Father? The tax collectors and sinners.

If you go back to the parable, there is one Son who perfectly does do the will of His Father. He’s not a hidden character in the story, yet He is so obvious that He can be missed. In fact, He is as obvious as the narrator Himself: that is the Son, standing in the midst of the Jewish leaders, who is speaking the parable to them. Here is the Son of God, who has come into human flesh, so that He can rescue and redeem the world of sinners. The will of the Father is that His Son would set aside His full divine power so that He could live as a boy, a teenager, and a man. As a human, this Son would experience every temptation you and I wrestle with. He experiences physical pain and mental sorrow and spiritual attack just as we do. He will be rejected by His own people – including those listening to this very parable - and even abandoned by His own disciples. He will be arrested, whipped and beaten, and crucified. He will be abandoned by His own Father in Heaven. He will die miserably, alone and abandoned in the sinner’s death that is the damning consequence of the fallen world’s sin. He will be buried in a pauper’s grave.

Why does this Son do all of this? Why does this Son give up everything for the sake of those who want nothing to do with Him? Where Son #1 acts only out of guilt, Jesus acts out of His great love for you. Where Son #2 failed to do what he pledged to do, Jesus is willing to go all the way to His own death, giving Himself as an innocent sacrifice for sinful people. He does this for you. He does this for the times like, the two sons in the parable, when you dishonor God with your actions and inactions. He does this for the times when you fail to support your neighbor and his property and possessions. He does this for the times that you fail to show love and compassion to those around you. He does this for when you fail to do what God asks of you, or when you break your promises you make to God Himself. He dies for those moments when you think you can somehow do this all on your own strength, merit and worth. He dies for the times when you sin against your brother and sister in Christ. Jesus does all of this so that He is able “to give Himself for our sins to deliver us from the present evil age, according to the will of our God and Father,” (Gal 1:4).

Which Son does the will of the Father? Jesus. And the question left unanswered is, will the Pharisees and Jewish leaders join with tax collectors and sinners, looking to Jesus for salvation, or will they remain distant, separate, and outside the Kingdom?

But, that’s not the end of the story. That you may know this and believe that Jesus died for you, He also rose from the grave, demonstrating that that Jesus accomplished the Father’s will for you. With your sins paid in full, your redemption price paid completely, your justification declared perfect in the eyes of God, Jesus said this: “For this is the will of my Father: that everyone who looks on the Son and believes in Him should have eternal life, and I will raise him on the last day,” (John 6:40).

Enabled by the Spirit of God to believe in Jesus as your Lord and Savior, you do the will of the Father when you know, believe, trust and rely on Christ alone for your salvation. Baptized into Christ, you have put on Christ Himself who enables you to do the will of His Father as you love your neighbor as Christ first loved you. Forgiven by the death and resurrection of Christ, you seek to do the will of God as you forgive those who have hurt and harmed you. Having received the mercy of God in Christ, you do the will of God by demonstrating mercy to the weakest and least among us who, you remember, in the eyes of God are the greatest in the kingdom.

So, let’s answer the question one last time: Who did the will of the Father? Not Son #1; not Son #2. It was Son #3 - Jesus.

And, because He does the will of the Father perfectly for you, and you are so closely connected to Christ that God sees you as “Little Christs,” (that’s what “Christian” means, by the way), you have another answer to the question.

Who does the will of the Father? You, sons and daughters of God, you have done the will of God by believing Jesus perfectly fulfilled the will of God for you, thus enabling you to share His love with those around you in His name. You continue to do the will of the Father in your vocation of serving others as Christ Himself works in and through you to those who are around you.

You do the will of the Father as you work with your grandchild who is in a constant, daily wrestling match with your patience. You do the will of the Father as you refuse to engage your neighbor in the rude things he does to you, repaying his ugliness with kindness and compassion, instead. You do the will of the Father when you encourage a coworker in his or her vocation, even after your own difficult, long day. You do the will of the Father when you tell your spouse you squeeze the stuffing out of them and tell them you love them. You do the will of the Father when you sit down in the morning, collect your thoughts, and ask His blessing on what you say and do, that His name is glorified and His kingdom comes through you to those you encounter.

Who does the will of the Father?

You do, through Christ, your Lord. Amen.

The Master of the Vineyard: Fair? No. Merciful? Yes. Matthew 20: 1-6

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

My brother-in-law, Josh, is one of the wisest fathers I know. Years ago, when his kids were little, like most young ‘uns, they were very worried about things being fair. “That’s not fair,” they determined, based on their respective opinions of course. From permissions given to punishments received, the kids kept close tabs to make sure someone wasn’t slighted while another was seemingly favored. After one-too-many litanies about fairness, Josh put his foot down. “Fair isn’t equal and equal isn’t fair,” he said. His point, of course, is that circumstances, situations, abilities, and a whole slough of other things all factor into decisions besides “fairness.”

I tell you this as a way to understand today’s parable. In the story, the first-hired, longest-working hand is worried about fairness. He spent the day hard at work in exchange for a day’s pay. When it was Miller Time and the crew lined up to be paid, he observed another hand, who only had an hour on the time clock, receive a denarius, a day’s full wage. Seeing this, he started calculating how this would go for himself. If a hand who worked just an hour earned a day’s wage, then he should have an absolute windfall in his paycheck. When it was his turn, he expected a ten-fold blessing. When a single denarius was deposited into his tired, sore, blistered hand, he was infuriated. That’s not fair! Equal, yes; fair, no.

Rembrandt - The Laborers in the Vineyard

I suspect that most of us, including Samuel Gompers, would line up on the side of the sweat-soaked worker. From a standpoint of fairness, he has a point, doesn’t he? If an hour’s work is worth a day’s pay, ten a day’s worth of work should be all the more. Anything less just isn’t fair.

But, is that presumption itself fair? Let’s reconsider and change our perspective of the narrative. Think of the story through the lens of the Master. He had promised a day’s wage for a day’s labor. The man whom he hired early in the day accepted that proposition for a day’s pay for a day’s work and, at the end of the day, he was paid as promised. Anyone at the US Bureau of Labor would say that is a complete contract and completely fair. So, the question becomes what did the Master do wrong – either with the first hired or the last hired? Answer: nothing. The Master fulfilled his obligation. Also, you notice that the last hired was promised nothing but a job. The parable doesn’t say what his rate of pay would be. I imagine that he assumed he would receive a portion of a denarius, a couple of shekels. What he received instead was a full day’s pay out of the Master’s generosity. He didn’t do anything to receive such a tremendous gift. The Master wasn’t guided by fairness. He was acting out of His own grace and mercy towards the hired hands whom he chose, and that included both the first and  the last-hired ones.

Here’s where the story gets interesting. Listen again to verses 11 and 12: “And on receiving [the denarius], [the first-hired ones] grumbled at the master of the house saying, ‘These last worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the day and the scorching heat.” Now, here is my question to you: what were they complaining about? Here’s a clue – it wasn’t their pay. They had no issue with their own denarius. They got what was promised. That was fair. They were lamenting what the others received. The others, the late-hired ones, got the same, equal pay. It wasn’t fair that they got the same pay as the ones who worked all day. There’s a fun word in German, gluckschmertz, that means to have pain in someone else’s pleasure. It’s like jealousy on steroids. Instead of experiencing joy at the blessing that those last-hired ones received, the first-hired were filled with gluckschmertz at what the others received instead. It’s not fair.

But, is that really true? Were they really upset at what the short-time workers received? I don’t think so. What were the first-hired ones really complaining about? It wasn’t really that they last-hired received the same pay. They were complaining about the Master’s abundant graciousness, specifically in His giving the same pay to those who only worked a short time. This moves the statement from “It’s not fair” to “You’re not fair.”

Parables, you remember, are stories that are told to help us understand something about Jesus’ reigning in heaven and on earth. But, they aren’t just dropped out of the blue. There’s a context, something that spurred Jesus’ telling of the story. The context, here, is that at the end of chapter 19, Jesus has a challenging conversation with a young man who thinks he can do something to have – literally, to obtain – eternal life. Speaking of salvation, Jesus tells the man, “With man, this is impossible; with God, all things are possible.” For Peter, if salvation isn’t partly due to what the 12 have done as followers, you know – credit where credit is due - that is troublesome. You also remember that we said the Peter and the Twelve are anticipating their own places in the Kingdom. Expecting Jesus’ to be an über-Messiah, they are expecting to be thus honored by Him for being The Twelve. Jesus’ answer, though, crashes against that idea. So, Peter utters, “See – we have left everything and followed you. What, then, will we have?” I take the question to be something like this: Hey, Jesus…we left everything for you – family, business, everything! – and we’ve been following you for almost three years. It’s not fair that others suddenly climb on board this discipleship experience with us and inherit the Kingdom as well!” You can hear the unsaid “It’s not fair” lurking just below the surface.

You see, Peter is worried about everyone else. Peter has forgotten what the 12 have already received, themselves. More importantly, Peter has forgotten from whom the gifts come and why they are given in the first place. From being called to be a disciple to being eyewitnesses of His ministry to being sent out in His name and in His power, it has all been by God’s grace through the words of Jesus. He chose the Twelve; He equipped them; He forgives them for their foolishness and arrogance; He will show mercy to the Eleven who all run away as He dies. He will even reinstate Peter and Company after the resurrection.

Fair is a dangerous prospect when argued against God’s judgement. The Old Adam and Old Eve think they can argue fairness based on the merits, on getting close, on doing pretty well, on being self-worthy. Fair is daring to tell God what we think He should do. But if you want to argue fairness against God, it will come back to bite you. Do you want fair? The wages of sin is death. Do you want fair? Be holy, as I the Lord thy God am holy. Do you want fair? Do this and you will live. Do you want fair? Whoever keeps the whole law and yet stumbles at just one point is guilty of breaking all of it. Standing in the presence of God and arguing on the basis of fairness is a deadly proposition, indeed. Standing before the holiness and fulness of God, the only place to turn is His mercy for the sake of Christ Jesus.

When it comes to mercy, Jesus’ gift is equally perfect. Grace doesn’t see any of the marks or standards that we might use to measure worthiness. God’s grace doesn’t depend on the length of service as a disciple, or the strength of our faith. His grace doesn’t hinge on the greatness of our works or the power of our good deeds. Grace isn’t dependent on the frequency of worship attendance or the fullness of the offering envelope or the number of Bible passages memorized. Grace doesn’t apply more if you’re a fifth generation confirmed member of a Lutheran church or if the only time you’ve ever set foot in a church is for a friend’s funeral. Grace is based on nothing more than the love and compassion of God for sinners that caused Him to sacrifice His Son so that those sinners would not die into eternity. Grace isn’t about how good, that is worthy, you think yourself to be – or, unworthy you consider yourself, for that matter. Grace is not for “good Christians,” but it is for the faithful Christian who trusts in Christ and His death alone.

If you want to see unfairness, look no further than the cross. The death of Jesus is the single, most unfair thing, moment, in the history of all history. A perfect Man died for imperfect people; a holy Man died for the most unholy of deeds; a sinless Man died for the sins of the world that deserved hell; a spotless Lamb was sacrificed for sin-stained people who, themselves, should have been sacrificed. Jesus died for sinners. “God made Him who knew no sin to become sin for us,” Scripture says. Fair? Not hardly. Yet, although He was God, He did not count equality with God to be grasped and took upon Himself the death of the sinner in our place. Although not fair, the exchange was equal: Our sins became His; His holiness became ours. His life exchanged for our death; His death exchanged for our life. He suffered hell – the complete absence of the Father – for us, so that we would be welcomed into eternity with Him. It was never about fairness. It was about His faithfulness to the Father’s will for us.

And, it is the Father’s perfect will to welcome into the Kingdom any and all whenever they trust His mercy, by grace through faith, in Christ as the crucified and risen Savior of the world.

 

 

The High Cost of Forgiveness - Matthew 18: 21-35

I’ve been a parish pastor for over 25 years. In my experience, the single greatest issue that God’s people wrestle with is that of forgiveness. If you are among those who struggle with forgiving those who have harmed you, I assure you that you are not alone. I pray that there is a word here that encourages and comforts you, as a child of God, who is forgiven by God’s grace through faith in Christ, that you might share that same grace with those around you. 

Remember, we are picking up right where we left off last week with Jesus instructing the disciples that “Whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.” With forgiveness on his mind, and with the Master Forgiver at hand, Peter asks “How often do I forgive the one who hurts me?”

Let’s talk about forgiveness for a second. “To forgive” means to no longer hold a sin against someone; that is, to deliberately choose to not seek an eye-for-eye and tooth-for-tooth resolution. Forgiveness is an act of love, surrendering the self for the wellbeing of the other. To forgive is to say “It is finished.” The goal of forgiveness is restoration. This is true of God’s gift of forgiveness in the vertical realm as well as our sharing of forgiveness in the horizontal realm. Now, humanly speaking, we may need to have a discussion about the repercussions and, this side of heaven, there may be consequences, some of which can be terribly painful – broken families, ruined careers, incarceration. This can be true even though the sin itself is forgiven.

Let me re-state Peter’s question: “How often do I reject the right to get even with someone who continues to sin against me.” Set aside, for a moment, what you and I know from reading Jesus’ answer. Taking Peter’s question and proposal at face value, forgiving a person seven times seems rather generous. Sin is serious stuff, so treat it so: “The wages of sin is death.” Nevertheless, Jesus doesn’t say dismiss the sin; He says forgive. And, by “sin,” we’re not talking “hurting my feelings.” Let’s sharpen the point a bit: “How often do I forgive my spouse for adultery, my neighbor for rustling my cattle, my coworker for slanderous speech, my own child who tells me to…” In that light, Peter’s suggestion is actually quite laudable and noble.

Funny thing with Jesus. When you ask a question of Law (the Law points to us, remember: “How often do I…”), you get a Law answer. “Forgive seventy times seven.” Don’t get caught up in the detail whether this is 77 times or 70x7. Really, the math doesn’t matter and it misses the point. (Who’s going to keep a crib sheet and count score, anyway?) If forgiving your neighbor seven times is tough, how on earth (or, for that matter, under heaven) are we supposed to forgive 490 times? For that matter, how are we supposed to forgive 490 times, or 70 times, or even 7 times when sometimes, it feels impossible to even forgive a person once?

Now, I want you to turn the question from the Law-question of “how often do I forgive?” to “how often do I need forgiveness?” To use another of Jesus’ images, stop looking at the spec in your neighbor’s eye when you have a telephone pole in your own. Suddenly, you have a completely new perspective. Rather than we being the ones giving out forgiveness in a limited number of drips and drops, we realize our own need for forgiveness is vast, beyond limit and number. Our own debt – or, as we pray in the Lord’s Prayer, our trespasses - are beyond number. “For I daily sin much and indeed deserve nothing but punishment,” the Catechism says (5th Petition of the Lord’s Prayer, Explanation).  How often do I need forgiveness? Constantly, frequently, daily, hourly. What do I need forgiven? Everything.

To explain this, Jesus tells a parable that expounds on the idea of “having been forgiven much, we forgive much.”

In Jesus’ day, “talents” referred to money. A day’s wage was worth a denarius. A talent was equal to approximately 6000 denarii – over 16 years’ worth of work!  Do the math: how big was the first debt in the parable? A debt of 10,000 talents at 16 years each…it would take 60 million days to repay. (If you are curious how this looks in today’s American economy, per the US Bureau of Labor, the average daily pay in the US is about $170. With that as our base, 10,000 talents would be roughly $10,260,000,000.) No lender in his right mind would allow a single person to accrue this kind of debt. Yet, when the debtor ridiculously asks the king for time, the king feels pity on the man. Pity – not anger! The idea behind pity is that “one’s guts hurt for the other person.” Not only does he release the debtor, he forgives the debt because he has compassion. The man leaves, restored.

I’ve had people argue with me that forgiveness is too easy. Someone sins and asks for forgiveness and – boom! - the slate is wiped clean. Yes, in that forgiveness is a constant, but no, forgiveness is anything but easy. The issue with that thinking is that it forgets that our sin is serious and stands as a debt to God with the lien being against our life. The wages of sin is death, remember. In the parable, the master forgives the servant’s debt of 10,000 talents. He is choosing to not seek restitution. Literally, by forgiving the debt, it costs him 10,000 talents. The point is that forgiveness is neither cheap nor easy.

Since parables are pictures of the reigning of Jesus (“the Kingdom”), it tells us something about Him as well. When God forgives your sins, it is because the debt has been paid in full. Not with gold or silver, or with the stroke of a pen on a receipt. Your sin-debt is paid with the holy, precious blood of Jesus and His innocent suffering and death. He doesn’t count how often have you sinned…seven sins, seventy transgressions, seventy-seven violations of the Law against Man, 490 desecrations of the Law against God!  You recognize your sins and realize your desperate need for grace – Lord, have mercy on me a sinner! – and God, for the sake of Christ Jesus, gives you what you need.

Actually, He already gave it. Jesus paid your entire debtor’s price in full so that you do not carry the burden into eternity, His one death for the sins of the world. Your sins have been atoned for, covered in the blood of Christ, and you have been redeemed, purchased and set free.

With this understanding, then, the other half of the story becomes all the more shocking. Freshly forgiven his own unpayable debt, when our forgiven friend runs into a guy who owes him three month’s work, he locks the guy up and throws away the key because he can’t pay it, even after the man begged for the same mercy that he himself had received. Forgiveness for me, but not for thee… When the king hears of the first man’s behavior, the debt is restored until every penny is paid…which, of course, will never happen.

Matthew 18:33 - Full of Eyes
Permission Granted for Use

Taking this to our own selves, what does it say to God when we refuse to forgive those who have sinned against us? Anwer: it’s a sin against the First Commandment. We make ourselves out to be God, as if we can determine who is “worthy” of forgiving and who is unworthy. Forgiveness is not our judgement to make. Forgiveness of sins was won at the cross. What right do we have to try to meter it out?

Go back to the initial question for just a second: “How are we supposed to forgive 490 times, or 70 times, or even 7 times when it feels impossible to even forgive a person once?” In short, you don’t. God has already forgiven the brother or sister for the sake of Christ. For you to forgive is to only repeat what God has done for you and to the brother or sister who sinned against you. It’s having the attitude, “Since God has forgiven me for the mass of terrible sins I committed against Him and against my neighbors, and since He has also forgiven you for your sins, what else can I do but likewise forgive you for the picayune thing you have done to me?”

The question is often asked “But, what if I want to forgive, but I just can’t because the hurt is just so deep or the sin was so terrible.”  First, there is a huge difference between wanting to forgive and struggling to do so verses flatly refusing to forgive. Refusal is acting as judge, jury and executioner.  That was the forgiven-but-unforgiving servant in the parable. That does not bode well, as one who dares to stand in the place of God.

To the person who desires to forgive but feels unable, I have two words: the first is, repent of this. Confess your own sin of weakness (feeling unable to forgive) to God, trusting that Christ died for this, too. Doing so strips satan of his lies and accusations. Recognize, too, that sometimes human weakness prevents us from doing what we want to do. Even St. Paul wrestled with “the good I want to do, I don’t do; the wicked I do, I don’t want to do.”  Continue to strive for a day where you can say, “And, even this, I have forgiven.” The second thing I would say is that I think we sometimes equate “forgive” with “forget.” Again, our minds don’t always work that way. And, in truth, sometimes those sins have big hurts; big hurts don’t disappear overnight. Because you haven’t forgotten it or the feelings of hurt haven’t gone away, you assume you haven’t forgiven it. Since it’s hard to discern wherein truth lies, chose to forgive again: “I still feel the hurt from this, but I continue to forgive.”

As an aside, you often hear people say, “You have to forgive yourself.” Nope. It’s impossible. Could that man with a 10,000 talent debt write off his own debt? It doesn’t work that way. A Christian doesn’t forgive himself or herself. If I am weighted by guilt, how am I to unweight myself? A Christian receives the forgiveness of God for the sake of Christ through the means of grace, confession and absolution, and the Word of God. So, rather than “forgive yourself,” the Christian is encouraged to trust the forgiveness of the cross is theirs, too. It’s a return to one’s baptism, where God declares you are His beloved, forgiven child. It’s the “Amen” to “You are forgiven, dear child.”

I fully acknowledge this is a simple (but not simplistic) sermon of forgiveness. If you find yourself wrestling with forgiveness of someone who has harmed you, or if you are struggling because of your sins against a brother or sister, I would encourage you to visit with your pastor. Here, especially, the gift of private confession and absolution is a great blessing. Allow him to speak God’s word of comfort to you, sharing the mercy and forgiveness that has so richly been given to you, and encourage you to do the same.

And to you who, in gratitude for being forgiven much, wrestle to faithfully forgive 7, 70, or 70x7 times, come and eat…the table is prepared. Amen.

The Greatest in the Kingdom is....the Least! - Matthew 18: 1-6

Matthew 18 is fantastic chapter for the child of God seeking to be a faithful disciple. It is also a challenge for a preacher to fully cover. Today's Gospel reading, 18: 1-20 could easily be three separate sermons. I'm choosing to focus on the first 6 verses instead of trying to cover it all. -JFM

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. “Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.”

“Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” That was the disciples’ question. I don’t know if they were referring to themselves – who among us is the greatest – or if it were a more general question – who among all of Your followers, Jesus, is the greatest. I don’t know who they were asking about, but I think I understand that question. It’s not just Maverick and Goose - it’s a natural inclination, wondering who the best is. Speaking for myself, every time I go into a pastor’s conference, I look around and I’m critiquing myself over and against the other pastors in the room. You know what I’m talking about – you do it, too. That’s why we have competitions, from elementary school jump rope contests to company employee of the month. Speed, skill, talent, knowledge, ability – all of these come together to that pinnacle moment when a person is declared the best with the honor and glory, recognized with a laurel and a hearty handshake or something more tangible. Everyone, it seems, wants to be the best.  

Once upon a time, Dr. Benjamin Franklin Pierce was working emergency triage – where medical staff determine who needs help first and fastest – when someone grabbed his arm. “I’ve been waiting here for hours! You keep taking people who came in after me! Don’t you recognize me – I’m a Very Important Person! When is it my turn!” Dr. Pierce looked at him and said, “This is the only place in the world where the most important person is the one who is hurt the most, who is losing blood faster than the other, whose body is more broken than the next.” He was speaking of a hospital ER, remember, but without knowing it, Hawkeye’s description of the MASH 4077 perfectly fits the church as well.     [MASH Season 1, Episode 7]

Too often we act as if we are that Very Important Person. We come to the Lord’s house all dressed up in our finest. I don’t mean our clothes; I mean our finest façades, our best masks, our best disguises that cover up all of our shame and all of our guilt so we can present ourselves in the best possible light. After all, we want to be the best. We’re just fine, we say; everything is just peachy keen. But, inside, our conscience is weeping, as we remember what was said to our spouse the other night, how we reacted to our kids when they didn’t complete their homework, what happened after work that night, those lust-filled thoughts that continue to race in the mind. Truth be told, we know how far we are from being the best, but we want others to see us whole, healthy and strong. Even as satan holds these into the light of our memories, we try all the harder to present ourselves as being a good Christian.

“Good Christian:” there’s an oxymoron if there ever was one. The common perception is that a “good Christian” has his or her stuff together. They have no doubts or fears. Their family life is as perfect. They know every answer to every question in Sunday school. They even have a monogrammed Bible cover.

This is backwards thinking; in fact, it’s wrong, plain wrong. A “good Christian” has nothing in and of himself or herself to boast about. If you are looking for a definition of “good” Christian, it’s nothing more than this: a sinner who realizes just how weak he is and just how desperately she needs Jesus for rescue, and turns to Him, in faith, trusting that He will hear the cry, “Lord, have mercy.” That’s the point Jesus is making when He refers to a child.

Jesus and the Little Child (Jésus et le petit enfant) · Brooklyn Museum

Our North American culture still holds onto the Romantic idea that children are innocent, priceless, angelic treasures. Put that away for a moment. In Bible times, children were tolerated as adults waited for them to grow up to become a productive part of the culture and society. Boys were to be put to work in the family business, be it a rudimentary industry or agriculture; girls would help their mothers cook, clean, and help tend some animals until they were old enough to marry and become another man’s problem. So, when Jesus brings out a child and uses a child as a model of what it is to be great, it would have seemed totally backwards to those gathered.

Jesus says, “Unless you turn and become like children you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom.” The child is the greatest among them because the child has the greatest need. The child is completely dependent upon the parents for food, shelter, care – all of the first article gifts included in “daily bread.” It is this very dependence that makes the child the greatest. A child can’t do. A child is dependant; a child can only receive.

But Jesus is using the child to illustrate that the greatest in the Kingdom isn’t a “good Christian,” the strongest, the most powerful, the richest, or those who are closest to Him. Rather, the greatest – the most important person in the kingdom – is the one who, like a child, is totally dependent on someone else, someone whom the world sees as the weakest. In other words, to borrow from Dr. Pierce, in the church the most important person is the one whose soul is hurt the most, who is in danger of losing their faith, whose conscience has become so twisted that they are trapped in their sins and can’t find their own way out.

But, there is a way out. Jesus says one must turn and become like children. “Turn” is a Hebraism for repent. Repentance is turning away from ones sins and, in sorrow for what was done and in faith in Christ alone, to the cross of Jesus. The family fight, the lustful thoughts, the foul language, the words used as weapons, repent of them: confess them to Christ and receive His forgiveness. And, then, stop trying to carry them, stop trying to hide them behind a façade, stop pretending to be “good Christians.” For that matter, repent of being a good Christian. Instead, be as dependent as a child, repenting of all of the foolish thinking that you have something to offer, that you are great in and of yourself, and instead turn only to Jesus.

Martin Luther once said that the church is a hospital for sinners. It’s where the child of God receives grace, mercy and forgiveness for wounding other Christians. It’s where the soul finds healing, restoration, and strength from being wounded during the week. The term “safe place,” has become popular in today’s culture. It usually has something to do with not having your feelings hurt. The church isn’t a safe place – in fact, part of the church’s responsibility is to proclaim the Law that cuts to the heart of the sinner. It’s going to hurt. The church isn’t a safe place; it’s a sanctuary. You hear the word “sanctus” hiding there; it means holy, a place that’s set apart. What sets it apart is it is God’s house, where He promises to abide. But, He never lives alone and by Himself. He dwells among sinners. He dwells among the weakest, the most broken, the ones who need Him most.

I think we forget that sometimes, the truth that God dwells with sinners. That was the very reason Jesus became enfleshed in the womb of Virgin Mary: so that He, filled with grace and truth, could become Immanuel, God With Us. Jesus dwells among the sinners, lives with tax collectors, eats with prostitutes, and associates with those whom society cast out. Your Lord comes to spouses, and children, and students, and employees and employers and retirees and, yes, even pastors who are so caught up in being the greatest and the best, and He calls out and says, “turn…become like a child. Stop trying to be the best and the greatest and instead, repent.”  Jesus, the Great Physician of Body and Soul, said “It’s not the healthy who need a doctor but the sick.” He wasn’t just referring to palseyed limbs and blind eyes and deaf ears – He was speaking of sin’s illness that cannot be cured by human medicine. Only Christ’s healing is into eternity.   He brings us to His house, this sinner’s hospital, and here He cleanses us with Baptismal water, He wraps us in the balm of the Good News of sins forgiven, He feeds us with His Body and His Blood. The bill, paid in full, signed with simply a cross.

If you want to see greatness in the Kingdom, you see it at the cross of Jesus. Stripped of His clothes, and wrapped in the sins of the world, Christ’s weakness was on full display. When His dry, raspy throat cried out “It is finished,” Satan and his minions thought they had won the victory. But, remember, Jesus said, “My power is made perfect in weakness.” From the weakness of His death on the cross to the greatness of Easter resurrection comes the full gift of forgiveness.

In my office is a wooden crucifix – a cross with the body of Jesus on it. It was given to me by Mr. H. Mr. H was an old man. He was nearly blind by the time I met him, only able to read the largest of large print on good days. He would come to the Lord’s Table to receive the Lord’s Supper, and tears would be streaming down his cheeks. They would stop as He received Christ’s gifts for Him hidden beneath in bread and wine. As the blessing was said, he would raise his face toward my voice and he would smile, a big, goofy grin and tears would again form in his eyes.  One day, visiting with him in his living room, I asked why he cries every Sunday when receiving the Sacrament. “Pastor,” he said, “you know how St. Paul called himself ‘chief among sinners’? He was an amateur! He had nothing on me. Yet, Jesus invites me to eat with Him at His table? I’m so unworthy. Some Sundays, I’m afraid there will be a voice that says, ‘Take and eat…but not you…not you.’ But, every Sunday, I come to the Table and I kneel and every Sunday Jesus says, “This is my body and my blood for you. Take and eat.” And I do. And in that moment, Christ is for me – who else can stand against me? And my tears become tears of joy because I am forgiven. Me…Christ forgives me.”

That’s what it looks like when the greatest becomes the least, and when the weakest becomes the greatest in the kingdom of God. Amen.