Two Disciples, One Savior, and a Close Call - Luke 24:13-35

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

Last week, my friend Dr. Allain – some of you met her last fall – she started doing a series of videos for her practice on the unique mental health challenges caused by this virus and lockdown. She talks about depression and anxiety, the effect of closing the schools, and the need to be honest about our feelings and emotions. And then she surprised me by texting me and asking if I would record a video and talk about finding spiritual comfort in times such as these.  

The initial answer is easy, right? It’s easy: Jesus. We know He’s with us, and so we turn to Him in faith, in prayer, and that’s where we find comfort. I recorded the video and sent it to her.

And then the rest of the week happened. And, I have to admit, there are days when I wish I could simply be with Jesus. I don’t mean in an eternal, heavenly sense - at least, that’s not what I mean right now. I have those days, too, when I am particularly looking forward to the day of resurrection when all of the suffering of this world is in the rear view mirror and we simply have eternity with JEsus in the glory of the resurrection. Oh, yes - I look forward to those days. But, for now, I simply mean that I wish Jesus was here, walking along side of me - and e walking along side Him - as we go through this journey of life and faith this side of heaven. “And He walks with me and He talks with me, and He tells me I am His own,” right?

In other words, I am jealous. I am jealous of those two disciples on the road to Emmaus. Could you imagine having Jesus match you, step for step, as you walk and talk together? Could you imagine hearing his voice, seeing his eyes, watching his hands, feeling his touch as his hand touches your skin? 

I’ve lost track of the number of times I have heard Christians - faithful men and women of God - who, in their moments of weakness, struggles, sorrows, and hardship who have said to me, “Pastor, if only Jesus was here right now…” I suspect you have had that thought at least once in your life. And, I admit, I have those days, too. Sometimes those are from things that happen in my vocation as father or husband, sometimes in my vocation as pastor. 

If only He were here, if only He was talking with me, if only He was speaking with me, if only He explained the how, what and why to me as I kept pressing forward...if only He were here, just like he was with those two men on the road to Emmaus. That’s particularly true these grey and latter days of uncertainty, separation, and isolation. 

So, I admit this to you: I came to Luke 24 pre-loaded with that jealousy and envy. How does a preacher preach when all he wants to do is be the third wheel on that journey from Emmaus to Jerusalem? What can I say when all I want to do is shake my Bible at those two slugs and yell, “Don’t you get it? Why can’t you see who this is? You’ve got your head so wrapped up in the events of the weekend that you’re missing The Event of all time! You’re so focused on the Friday death and the Saturday of rest that you are missing the joy of the resurrection! You’re trusting your eyes so much that you’re not trusting the promises Jesus gave you! How can you miss this?

Then, as I read the text again, I discovered this sentence: “their eyes were kept from recognizing [Jesus].” Their eyes were kept from seeing Jesus? Why? Why would they be kept from recognizing Jesus? After all, they were some of His disciples - no among the 12, but part of the larger group of people who followed Jesus. Certainly they should have known, they should have recognized Him. Why could they not know who He was?

It’s been said that when a person loses one sense, the others become more heightened to help compensate. A person who loses the sense of sight, for example, learns to listen more intently to those sounds that are all around. Conversely, a person who loses hearing learns to watch more closely to not miss what their ears can no longer hear. 

The answer is that for three years, their eyes had been deceiving them. They as much as said so: we thought he was going to redeem Israel - not from their sins, but from the Romans. They saw a man who seemed to be in the line of the prophets of old, a powerful teacher who could put the corrupt leaders to shame. They saw a man who was so filled with promise and purpose. Their eyes were deceiving them. So, Jesus took their eyes away - figuratively speaking, that is - so that they couldn’t see Him and recognize Him.

If they did, what might they have seen? If they were impressed before, they would have been flabbergasted. If they thought a crowd-feeding, authority challenging, sick-healing, and death defying was remarkable, one who himself died, only to rise, would be off-the-charts. No, Jesus needed them to see who He was, that His purpose was much more than a divine rebel and a social reconstructionist. 

With their eyes blocked, He opened their ears and He opened their hearts and, more than that, He opened the Scriptures and He taught them. From age to age, from Moses through Psalms, from the judges through the prophets, Jesus expounded the promises of Messiah to come. To have been a fly riding along on their shoulders! What a Bible class that must have been, hearing Jesus explain it all and weave Himself into those those ancient pages of Israel’s history. 

An early church father - I think it may have been St. Jerome, but I can’t recall - once said something like “You can cut the pages of Scripture at any point and the pages will bleed Jesus.” Jesus helped these disciples see He was more than they thought: He was the promised Messiah.  He may have identified Himself as the Good Shepherd of Psalm 23, but also the good shepherd promised in Ezekiel 34. He might have connected the great sacrifices of the Temple with Himself as the sacrifice for the sins of the world. Perhaps he reminded them of the Passover lambs that had been killed only a few days earlier in rememberance of the great Exodus narrative and identified Himself as the Lamb of God. Maybe He helped them see how He was the fulfillment of Isaiah’s suffering servant. Page after page, narrative after narrative, Jesus helped them understand that both in the Scriptures and at the cross He bled for them. 

Jesus hid in plain sight so that they could see Him for who He really is: the Savior, their Savior, the world’s Savior. 

Did you notice that only one of the two disciples had a name? The other traveler is nameless. I want you to do something: I want you to close your eyes for a second. Get the picture of the two traveling alongside Jesus. Look closely at the one on the left; his name is Cleopas, Luke says. Look closely at his face, dark complexion and beard. Watch his face slowly lighten as Jesus speaks. Do you see his brow lifting, his frown becoming a smile, edging into a grin, his eyes brightening, his shoulders straightening? His spirit is lifting as slowly, his heart begins to understand. Now, look at the other traveler. Look closely...what does that disciple look like? Look more closely...who do you see? 

See yourself. You are the other, unnamed disciple. And, do you see who is there with you? Jesus. You journey with Jesus, in your Baptism, from cross and tomb to life. More than that, Jesus journeys with you, from font to resurrection and all steps in between.  You know Jesus, not from what you have seen with your eyes but with spirit-given faith. You see Jesus, not as a failed messianic pariah who didn’t meet expectations but as God who took on flesh to dwell among us to take our place. You see Jesus, not as a social hero for the helpless but as the champion who rescues the world. You see Jesus not as one who came out on the losing end of a political but as one who surrendered to sinful men so He could fulfill His Father’s plan of salvation. 

You see Jesus, your Savior who died, whose, and who restored you to the Father. 

So, if you wish you could see Jesus, if you wish He could walk next to you, if you wish He would reach out to touch you and tell you all is well, look no further than your own BIble. Open the Scriptures and begin to read. And as you read, Jesus Himself - who is the Word, made flesh - will fill the very pages you read. His blood will flow in the words you read and His salvation will be delivered to you: forgiveness, life, salvation overflowing for you. 

Doubting Thomas: My Hero - John 20: 24-31

“Doubting Thomas: My Hero”
John 20: 24-31

Thomas is one of my heroes of faith. I admire him greatly, though not for the reason you might expect. Thomas didn’t have a faith-moment like Abraham; he wasn’t the poet like David; he didn’t have eloquent speeches like Solomon or Paul. Nope – I admire Thomas for none of those reasons. I admire Thomas for his doubt. He was, by all appearances, a glass half empty kind of guy. When Jesus announced He was going to Bethany after Lazarus died, Thomas quipped, “Let us go so we may die with him (John 11:16). Not exactly the power of positive thinking, is it? Officially, his name is recorded among the list of disciples as either Thomas Didymus, or Thomas, called the  twin – it depends on the translation of the Bible you are reading. But no one knows him as Thomas the Twin. We know him as the Doubter. In fact, that nickname has so stuck with him that we use that moniker for anyone who shares his doubt-filled characteristic and we call them a Doubting Thomas, regardless their own name. No, I admire Thomas because he says exactly what he thinks, even if it isn’t exactly the most faith-filled statement in the moment.

To be fair, put yourself in his shoes. For Mary and Mary, Peter, James and John, even the Emmaus disciples the power of the resurrection is starting to be understood. The truth of the Scriptures is beginning to unfold. Christ is risen, He is risen indeed – alleluia! But for Thomas, it is as if Christ is not risen. Christ is not living as He said. Jesus was, at best, mistaken about that third day talk; at worst, a liar who misled the disciples for three years.

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

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

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

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

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

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

What is it that drives your faithfulness into fear?  We pray “Give us this day our daily bread,” but in reality we want to pray "Give me this day my daily filet mignon and deliver me from any trouble that might disturb my otherwise peaceful day." We say, “God is so good,” when our prayers are answered the way we wish, but when the Lord answers in other ways, we doubt God’s love for us. We are thankful when our bank account sits fat and thick and our retirement accounts look strong, but when those numbers drop, we cry to the heavens.  And with these tests coming at us every day, faithfulness gets crowded out sometimes.

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

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

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

Do you understand the power of those four words? We talk about peace; we wish for peace; sometimes we even try to make peace. Peace, at least earthly peace, is fleeting and nebulous. Ask parents with teenagers, or a married couple leaving the counselor’s office, or any patient who walks out of the doctor’s office with the words, “Let’s see what the tests say, first…” still ringing in the ears. Industry and agriculture waits with baited breath as our economy teeters on the brink of depression.  The wars of Iraq and Afghanistan are almost 20 years old. Peace: it seems more like a punchline than a reality.

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

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

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

Did you catch when this great conversion of faith takes place? It’s a Sunday evening, the first Sunday after Jesus’ resurrection. In our liturgical tradition, we call it the Second Sunday of Easter. But if you want a great, Biblical term for this, it’s the 8^th day since Jesus’ resurrection. We’re familiar with some numbers in the Bible – three, seven, twelve quickly come to mind. But eight is probably not as familiar. The 8^th day is a very subtle way to connect every Sunday to the resurrection. Sunday is the first day of the week; our text began with this sentence: “On the evening of that day (meaning the day of Jesus’ resurrection), the first day of the week…” That day, Thomas wasn’t there. For him, it was as if Jesus was still in the grave. But the 8^th day is the following Sunday, the day when Thomas saw and believed for himself that Jesus was raised. The 8^th day starts a new week, a new beginning. For Thomas, it was truly a new beginning of living in resurrection hope and confidence, the promises of Jesus starting to uncloud from his eyes. Because of the connection to newness, eight is also connected with baptism. If you look at our Baptismal font, it is an octagon – an eight sided polygon – to remind us that baptism is our new life in Christ. In baptism, we die with Christ; in baptism, we are raised with Christ, our own 8^th day resurrection moment and promise.

“Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” We know about Peter and John and Paul as they carry the Gospel from Israel to what is today modern southern Europe. What you probably don’t know is that tradition says that from this point forward, Thomas became the first missionary to what is today Turkey, Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan and eventually winding up in northern India. There, Thomas is celebrated much the same way we celebrate Martin Luther. This is remarkable that a man, who once said he would not believe unless he could see and touch, carried the Gospel to people who could only see with eyes of faith.

And today, April 19, is our 8^th day. It’s the first day of a new week, the first day of the new week after we celebrated Christ’s resurrection. And for you, on this 8^th day, the final words of Jesus serve as a dramatic postlude: You are part of these whom Jesus calls “Blessed,” for you have not yet seen Jesus with your eyes. Because of the connection to newness, eight is also connected with baptism. If you look at our Baptismal font, it is an octagon – an eight sided polygon – to remind us that baptism is our new life in Christ. In baptism, we die with Christ; in baptism, we are raised with Christ, our own 8^th day resurrection moment and promise. With baptismally-drenched, Spirit-given faith, you believe the promises of God are fulfilled in this man, named Jesus, who died for you and rose for your eternal salvation. With Spirit-enlivened faithfulness, you live out that life of faith every day in your actions and interactions with others. And, on those days when your faithfulness is shaken, and your faith is weak, Jesus comes to you and says, “Peace.” A remarkable gift, His peace, for it doesn’t change or grow weary. His peace is delivered to you without hesitation or reservation. Stop being unbelieving and be believing. Earned for you at His cross, delivered to you in your baptism, His 8^th day peace knows no boundaries or limits.

Easter May Be Empty But So Is the Tomb!

April 12, 2020
The Day of Resurrection

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

Now, that’s a little different, isn’t it? But, it seems this Resurrection day, being a little different anyway, it’s a good time to be different in a sanctified way. I heard that refrain when I was a student at the Seminary. One of my professors, Dr. Reed Lessing who now is pastor in Ft. Wayne, IN, began his sermon that way on the morning of May 4, 2000. It was eleven days after Easter. We had started to lag in our Easter joy, and I suspect he intentionally introduced his sermon this way to return our attention to the gifts the resurrection gives. So, say it with me, again:

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

I remember this for two reasons: one, that morning I went and asked him for a copy of the sermon; he was gracious enough to share a copy with me and I have it in my files. But the reason I asked for a copy of that sermon is reason number two: it was nine days after my Dad had died, and it was my first day back at school. Pastor Lessing preached a message I needed to hear. He preached a resurrection message I needed to hear. He preached a resurrection message that every person needs to hear: “That we are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.” For a man who was still grieving his father’s death and who was trying to live in the resurrection promise of Christ Jesus those were words of strength, comfort, and hope in some rather hard days.

Our current situation brought all of this to the forefront of my mind as I was working on this morning’s sermon. As I said, this is not a typical Easter – but, that’s no secret, is it. Women aren’t in their Easter finery and men didn’t bother to shine their boots. Many of you are probably still in pajamas, ladies with hair undone and men with cheeks unshaved. Two and three generations won’t be gathering around the big table today and cousins won’t be fighting cousin for the most eggs found. Instead of the full-throated singing of the congregation, you hear the echo of the nearly empty room. I’ve had people tell me how much they appreciate receiving the services this way, via print and video stream, but we all know it’s just not the same. There is still joy, don’t get me wrong – after all, Christ is risen and risen, indeed, but there’s just something missing here in our heart. If we need a word to describe it, it would be “empty” – empty of all those things we have come to expect and appreciate.

For the previous three years, the women had followed Jesus, along with the disciples and the crowds. For the previous three years they saw, listened and believed. They, with the twelve, were filled with hopes and expectations of who Jesus was, what He was coming to do, and what kind of kingdom He would usher in. And, yes, they had heard Jesus speak quite plainly about the fact that He must go to Jerusalem, be arrested, be crucified and die. They heard Him talk about it repeatedly. But, it’s one thing to talk about dying. It’s a whole ‘nother thing when it actually happens. And, that Holy Weekend, from the time Jesus breathed His last to that early Sunday morning, their world had been turned upside down and emptied of everything.

Don’t be too hard on them: these are the laws of nature. They had watched in horror as the One who declared Himself to be the Way and the Truth and the Life died. They heard the One who declared Himself to be the Resurrection and the Life cry out “It is finished.” They knew that Jesus’ dead, nail and sword pierced body had been hurriedly placed in an empty tomb.

Then, finally, Sabbath was done. It was dawn, just as the sun is rising, of a new day, a new beginning. The Sabbath rest was complete; it was time to complete what was done in haste late Friday afternoon. The women were carrying spices so they could properly care for Jesus’ body. What they expected was a body; what they anticipated were soldiers they could talk into helping them roll away a stone; what they hoped for was an hour or two where they could perform one final act of servitude to the one whom they called Lord and Master.

And what they found was a tomb, emptied of Jesus but filled with something unexpected: resurrection. Two men, angels, sat where Jesus’ body had laid. Angels were the first to announce Christ’s birth in Bethlehem, and they were the first to announce His resurrection. It’s fitting – angel means “messenger” after all, and they certainly had a message to proclaim. In the person of Jesus, God had descended from heaven and taken on human flesh, born of the virgin, lived a sinless life in our stead, died a vicarious death, to pay the atonement purchase price for our sins. The angels were declaring that the Father accepted the Son’s death as payment-in-full; sin forgiven fully and freely in Jesus death and the resurrection declared it to be true.

The tomb was empty of a body, but it was filled with Good News.  

Earlier, I said that today feels empty. Maybe, just maybe, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. If Easter has been emptied of it’s Easter-ness with its fine clothes and chocolates, if it’s been stripped of family feasts and frolicking, if it’s been separated from bunnies and chicks, this may not be such a bad thing. This year, we are forced to do two things: repent for our Easterness and rejoice in the resurrection.

Repent for our Easterness: for letting all these other things get in the way of Christ Crucified and Risen. Repent for letting our Easter preparation get in the way of our preparing to receive the resurrection message. Repent for thinking the day is about bunnies and hidden eggs instead of an empty cross and an empty tomb. Repent for worrying more about hurrying home to get the ham out of the oven before it dries out instead of sitting with the women in wonderous joy that Christ is risen as He said. Repent for letting Easter get in the way of the resurrection of Jesus.

I’ve said it before, and it’s worth repeating again. Arnold Kunz, a sainted Lutheran pastor, was fond of saying that life gets hard, and life narrows down. We certainly have experienced those things these past few weeks. All those things we have taken for granted in life - from the simple freedom of going shopping when and where we want, to the faith-encouragement we receive in gathering together as a family of God for corporate worship – life has gotten hard. This unseen enemy that kills in a seemingly wanton and randomly willful way has reminded us how feeble and frail we as people are, and it reminds us how desperately we do need Jesus. Life has narrowed down, indeed.  And in our lives that have gotten harder, and in our lives that have narrowed down, we find ourselves walking along with the two Marys along the path, heading toward the tomb, emptied of everything we might otherwise have in our heads, hands, and minds.

And, with the Marys, what we discover is that Easter, with all of its trappings and trailings, is left behind and what stands in front of us is an empty cross and and an empty tomb. It may be an empty Easter but not empty resurrection.

So, today change your terms. Don’t call it Easter. Today is emptied of Easter. Call it resurrection day because the tomb is emptied and the day is filled with Jesus. Jesus has saved you from sin, death, and satan’s power and in His resurrection, you are given all of the gifts of children of God including forgiveness, life and salvation. You are Christ’s and He is yours.

That is the reason to be joyful and joy-filled on this strange, yet still holy day. It is resurrection day.

I began with Pastor Lessing’s words from 20 years ago. One day - and I pray it is sooner than later - one day in the day of the great resurrection when Jesus returns and when we all are standing before the throne of the Lamb, with our own graves emptied and our bodies resurrected and whole, on that day you and I will raise our voices with Pastor Lessing and join him in saying in an entirely new way:

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

Now may the God of hope fill you with joy and peace as you trust in Him, that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Hosanna: It Doesn't Mean What You Think - Phillippians 2:5-11

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

I would have loved to have been present that first Palm Sunday celebration as Jesus entered the holy city of Jerusalem. To have seen the sight of the crowds – dozens and dozens of smiling, cheerful faces, faces filled with hope and expectation, the waving hands welcoming Jesus as a king, little kids joining in the excitement by dancing around their parents’ legs – as they lined the streets between the tall stone walls of the city and the rows of houses would have been a thrill of a lifetime. My nose would have been tickled from the dust in the air from the people stirring it up, shuffling for position to lay their branches down on the ground in front of the slowly plodding donkey. The grit is in my beard, on my skin – I can even taste it, but that’s OK…it’s adding to the excitement of the moment. My ears would have been filled with the mixed cacophony of sounds – the cheers of the people, the soft chuff sound of the donkey’s hooves on the hard ground just barely able to be heard in between the shouts of “Hosanna!”.  Was that bell I just heard in honor of His arrival? I see it, smell it, hear it, taste it all: the sun, high in the sky, shining brightly against an almost cloudless sky, illuminates Jesus’ almost glowing face as he smiles at the people lining his path. The disciples are grinning, too, albeit for different reasons. The cries welcoming Jesus as king bode well for their own future in whatever kingdom He is about to set up. The scene is one of cinematic perfection.

But the joy of that day was not to last.  Even before Jesus got into Jerusalem, the Jewish leaders were plotting and scheming for a way to get to Him because of His popularity. His raising Lazarus from the dead had been the final straw – they had to get rid of Jesus and Lazarus, both.  The leaders had turned Judas Iscariot, one of the 12 Disciples, into a double agent.  They secretly began to incite the crowds against Jesus.  And as they days passed by and as Passover drew closer, the Jewish leaders laid the groundwork for what would happen later in the week.  In only a few days, the joy of Palm Sunday would be shattered by the terror of Maundy Thursday and the horror of Good Friday.

But that was the whole reason that Christ came to earth and into Jerusalem 2000 years ago.  Jesus - who was, is, and always will be fully God - was humbled and made man.  St. Paul wrote in this morning’s Epistle lesson, “He made Himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of a man.  And being found in human form, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on the cross” (v. 7-8). 

Jesus was born to die.  He lived to die.  Jesus entered Jerusalem to die – for the people who stood on the path waving palms and shouting Hosanna; for the disciples who didn’t really understand; for the leaders who plotted to kill Him; for the people who lived long before that day; and for you and I and everyone who has come since.  Christ came for all of us who have sinned against God and against man and against each other.

But, as surely as Christ was born to die, so also He died to live.  Everything from birth to grave - from Bethlehem to Golgotha was necessary so that Christ could die and then rise, having perfectly fulfilled God’s Law, living without sin, and becoming sin for us. He came to be our Savior.

I suspect that the crowd didn’t fully understand it, but they confessed it when they welcomed Him with the cry of Hosannah. I think we assume Hosannah means something like hooray, yeah, we’re number one – the kind of things we shout at a homecoming parade or when the team wins the Big One. Hosannah, or in Hebrew “Ya-sha’nah,” isn’t a victory cry. It’s the exact opposite. It’s a compound word: the main word, yasha, means Help, save, rescue us. The suffix, anna, implores, please. Help us, please. Save us, please. Rescue us, please.

When I give an answer that’s not exactly right, but it’s not exactly wrong either, my oldest daughter likes to say, “You’re not completely wrong, Dad.” The crowd isn’t completely wrong. Their motive may have been selfish, twisted and warped around an idea of social-political rescue, but their words are spot-on. They do need rescue, they do need saving – not from the Romans or the other socio-political threats, but from their own damning sins. They need this King of Kings and Lord of Lords, not to make Israel great again but to restore peace with God into eternity. They need the one who comes in the name of the Lord because He is the Lord God – fully God, fully man, who will surrender Himself to die.

They were calling out to the right Man. St. Paul writes that “God gave Him the name that is above every name” (v9).  God gave Him the name “Jesus.” The name Jesus in Hebrew, Yeshua, has the same root as Hosanna. Jesus means savior. They had it right without knowing it: It was as if they were crying out “Jesus us!”

It’s a cry we know all too well. I suspect we are saying those words, in one form or another, frequently and often these days. We know and feel the burden of guilt that weighs upon us from our own sins. I suspect in these days, living in the closeness of isolation with family, all that loving closeness sometimes gets a bit much. If your house is like mine, sometimes that closeness turns into friction and it blows up into words and actions that you don’t really mean or want to do but, in the heat of the moment with nerves frayed and feelings on edge, we hurt those whom we love the most. Perhaps you are lashing out at the civil authorities behind the pseudo-anonymity of social media, or maybe you yelled at the lady who got to close to you in the store or the guy who sneezed at the gas pump next to you and didn’t cover his mouth. Maybe the fears and worries are threatening to overwhelm you as you consider how to keep your family fed and a roof over your head when the economy is shrinking more and more each day. Maybe the news about this virus is such a burden that you just want it all to stop. Whatever it is, you turn to the heavens and call out on this Palm Sunday, Hosanna – save us! Jesus us, O Lord.

He hears your cry. This burden you fear is the entire reason Jesus came, remember? His Jerusalem entry was to rescue, to save. He’s a King heading to His throne of the cross; a King heading to His royal resting chamber of the tomb. All this to rescue, not from governments or social needs but from the eternal consequence of man’s fall into sin, of your own sins. Jesus hears. More than that, Jesus died; and, even more than that, Jesus rose, the full sin-debt paid in full.

These grey and latter days, do not forget this message: Jesus is the Victorious King! Because our salvation has been won, St. Paul continues, “That at the name of Jesus, every knee should bow in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of God the Father” (10-11). 

He is Jesus: Born in a stable, laid in a manger; raised in the humble surroundings of a carpenter’s shop by Joseph and Mary in Nazareth

He is Lord: The divine name.  Lord is the Old Testament [translation of the]  name of God – Yahweh Elohim, Lord God Almighty

He is Christ:  The Messiah.  The anointed one.  The Savior.  The One who is God and Man, and the One through His life and suffering and death, reconciled man to God by pouring Himself out on the cross for us.

On that first Palm Sunday, the people really didn’t understand why Christ came.  Why shouldn’t they welcome him? If He has that kind of power, surely He will be a great and grand leader, a king among kings, a David among Davids – and, why, look: He’s even riding a donkey, just as David did when he entered Jerusalem centuries earlier – the kind of ruler who will restore Israel to being its own nation instead of a vassal of the hated Roman Empire. To have a king who can feed the crowds with a boy’s lunch, to have a Messiah who can turn water into wine, to have a Savior who can turn back death…he would be the envy of every kingdom on earth. Their confession of “faith” was probably more socio-political improvement than heilsgeschichte – salvation from sins.  

But for Jesus, Palm Sunday was leading to the cross. For us, Palm Sunday leads us into Holy Week as we prepare to remember Christ’s Passion.

A lady stopped by last week and visited with me a little bit. She told me she has always loved Palm Sunday. I suspect she might be struggling this morning because she loved Palm Sunday with its celebration and singing. Next Sunday, Easter Sunday, we will celebrate Christ’s victory over death and the grave.  I imagine more of us will struggle with it as well. I admit – I’m having to pause and wrap my head around this over and over. It will be a different Holy Week this year. No doubt.

But, I had a thought the other day. We’ll be missing the pomp and circumstance. We won’t be together to sing Jesus Christ is Risen Today. Our cries of “Christ is risen” will be in our homes with our family or maybe just ourselves. Our Easter fellowship will be done by phone calls, text messages, and video chat.

But, maybe this isn’t such a bad thing. It strips away everything else that gets in the way of Jesus. We won’t be worried about dresses or hitting the right notes in choral pieces. We won’t be concerned about hiding and finding Easter eggs. We won’t be frustrated about burned sausage or runny pancakes. What we will have is Jesus. And even now, on this Palm Sunday, separated by miles but joined by technology, even now Christ is already risen.

You know, there is another place in the Bible where palm branches are waved. The book of Revelation was God’s gift to a man who also was in exile, alone, separated from his beloved saints and congregation. St. John was given a vision, a picture of heaven and the resurrected Christ. One of the many things he sees is this: “After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands,” - Revelation 7:9

Whether our reunion is here on earth on this holy hill of Zion, Mission Valley, or our reunion is at the heavenly Mount Zion, whether separated by distance or time until that day, may our cry continue to ring out with those saints of heaven: Hosanna! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord! Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne and to the Lamb! (John 12 & Rev. 7) Amen.

Jesus comforts Martha on the Long Road to Resurrection - John 11:1-44

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is John 11.

If your house is like mine the last two weeks, you’ve spent some time on a favorite streaming service watching movies and programs. Amazon has a unique feature that you can pause a program so you can get the details of that scene. It shows you the characters names, and the actors who play those characters. You can then chose which actor and get a full pedigree of what movies or TV shows that actor has been in. You know how you’ll see a person on the screen and think, “Where have I seen him before? What movie was he in that we liked so much?” You can figure all that out with just a few pushes of a button. You get to dig into the program and the people in it.

We’re going to do that this morning with this reading from John 11. You probably know this with a title something like “Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead,” or “the raising of Lazarus.” There’s nothing wrong with that, because that death-and-resurrection story is the whole center action of the narrative. That is most certainly worthy of focusing on especially this 5^th Sunday in Lent as we draw nearer our Lord’s own death and resurrection.

But this morning, I want to hit the pause button before Lazarus is raised. In fact, I want to hit the pause button before Jesus even arrives at the graveside. I want to stop when Jesus first encounters Martha and she speaks to him. Instead of this scene being about Lazarus, this scene is about Martha. We might call it, “Jesus comforts Martha on the long road to Resurrection.” That’s an important scene for us, because we see ourselves standing along side Martha. We spend the vast majority of our lives on that very same long road to our own resurrection. The words Jesus speaks to Martha, how He comforts her, those words remain as comfort for us today – perhaps today, in the midst of this pandemic of illness and separation (you notice I am joining those two things together), those words are more important than ever.

You know the back-story. Lazarus is the brother of Martha and Mary. When he became ill with some unknown but life-threatening illness, Martha quickly sent word to the Great Physician that He was needed. She utters the church’s prayer: Come quickly, Lord Jesus. And, she knows the church’s wait. Jesus delays in answering and appearing and, when He finally appears on the outskirts of Bethany, Lazarus was dead, Martha’s heart was broken, her spirit crushed with disappointment that Jesus did not arrive.

Hit your pause button at this scene. Martha and Jesus, standing face to face on the road leading into Bethany. If you could, imagine Martha looking to the past, when her brother was well, or at least to the point where there was hope Jesus would arrive in time. She knows what could have been. “Lord, if you had been here,” she says, “my brother would not have died.” She knows Jesus has power and authority over all of creation, even creation that has gone sideways in illness. But, even as she looks to the past, there is a sense of Martha looking forward as well. She confesses the sure and certain hope – remember, hope is confidence! – that this is not the end for her brother. “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.” So, Martha is looking to the past, and she is looking to the future.

But, in this frozen frame, what is missing is the present, the right now. Right then, in the moment, even as she looks backwards into what could have been and ahead to what will be, in that right-now-moment, her brother is dead. Her Lord wasn’t even close in his arrival – He is three days late.  A dead brother; a late Jesus; a broken heart and terrible sorrow.

You know that moment. That right now moment, looking to the past and looking ahead to the future, that in-between time…you know it, because you spend most of your life right there, standing on the road to resurrection. The past is a story of what might have been, what could have been. The future is also assured – you know and confess that you believe in the resurrection of the body and the life of the world to come. But the coulda been and the gonna be are bookends to the right now, present moment that is your life today. I hardly need to tell you about all that surrounds us: the concern for jobs, the worry of income lost, the fear of a virus that is invisible and seemingly unstoppable, the loneliness of our own homes.

And, in that moment, Jesus speaks. “I am the resurrection and the life.” You’ve heard me say this before, but notice the verb: it’s present-tense. “I am.” Not, “I was the resurrection,” not “I will be the resurrection.” I am. Jesus is the resurrection and the life. Present tense, right now, at this moment: I am the resurrection and the life.

Jesus takes the power of the resurrection and the promise of life and He buries it in His own life, death and resurrection. This Jesus – the One who is speaking to you, right now – in your living room, at your dining room table, in your hospital bed – He is the resurrection and the life for you, now.

Here’s what that means: remember, we freeze-framed this scene. It’s  before Lazarus is raised from the dead. It’s before Jesus’ own Easter resurrection. In that moment, even before there was a bodily resurrection, Jesus is already the resurrection and the life for Martha, standing on that Bethany road. Jesus has come to be resurrection, to be life for her even in her sorrow.

So, what does that mean, in that moment, before Lazarus is raised? What does it mean that Jesus is the resurrection and the life? What does it mean for us, in 2020, confined to our homes, our apartments, our places of exile, separate from family and brothers and sisters in Christ? What does it mean when this dual pandemic of virus and isolation raises fears and worry and insecurity? What does it mean that Jesus is the resurrection and the life? It means this: Jesus, the resurrection and the life, is a hand that can be touched, a voice that is heard, a tear that is shed, and a holy conversation that happens with Jesus in the midst of this journey.

You do not need to wait until Christ’s return to participate in the resurrection. Remember: Jesus is the resurrection and the life, right now. Don’t try to silence the suffering, hurry past the hurt, pacify the pain, wash away the worry. Instead, remembering that God is using all this for good – even though we cannot yet begin to see or understand how – and receive this as holy because, stripped away of all pretense, in the midst of death, we turn back to Him who is the resurrection and the life. And, in that moment, He has a  holy conversation with us on this life-long road to resurrection.

So, today, in the midst of this long pause of your ordinary lives, pause for a moment in this story of Martha. Jesus has come to be with you, just as He was with Martha. He is the resurrection and the life, even now, in the midst of this uncertain time. He fills this time with His love, grace and mercy.

And then press play. Because you live in the resurrection and the life of Jesus. In His name. Amen.

Preaching to an Empty Room That's Filled By Jesus - John 9:1-40

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

We all have dates in our memory that will stick with us forever. Many are joyful: the day you got that bike you wanted, when you were married, when each child was born, when you went on that special vacation, when your held your first grandchild. Other days are filled with hurt and pain: the day your mom died, the day your spouse said she didn’t love you anymore, the day you got laid off, the day the officer stood on your doorstep, hat in hand, and said, “There’s no easy to say this, but…” As a nation, we remember Pearl Harbor, when the space shuttles didn’t come home; and watching the towers fall on 9/11. You have your personal dates.

I added a new date to my list last week: March 18, 2020. I will always remember it as the day I recommended we suspend public worship as the people of Zion-Mission Valley, in this house of God. In almost twenty years of ministry, I’ve had to cancel a service or two over the years because of icy road conditions and hurricanes, but there was always the knowledge and certainty that the next week or two we would gather together as a congregation. However, in the meantime, in those storms, we were able to gather in small groups to encourage and support one another. But this…this is different. A big part of the difference is that we’ve been asked to self-isolate, self-quarantine, and separate ourselves – first by 6 feet, then no touching, then in groups of no larger than 50, and then no more than 10, with some states now calling for each and every citizen stay at home.

This is not how things are supposed to be. Humans are, by nature, designed to be together. Even in the Garden of Eden, when God declared everything to be good, He saw it was not good for man to be alone and created Eve for Adam to be a help-meet and companion. This is still true after the fall, and you see it as people desire to gather together.

If this is true of humanity in general, it is doubly true of the church who is called to unity under Christ. In the adult Sunday school class a few weeks ago, we read in Ephesians chapter 5 how Paul uses the analogy of the human body to the body of Christ: there are many unique parts, each working together with varying tasks of service for the wholeness and wellbeing of the body. But all parts of the body are under Christ as our head. Where the head goes, the body goes.

Yet today, we are not together. We are separated: some of you by six feet, others by sixty feet from your home to your neighbor’s, still others by the six tenths of a mile to the next home of a member of Zion, or even the 16 miles from where I sit to the center of town. We are isolated – or, to use a Biblical image – we are exiled, not to foreign lands, but to our living rooms, our couches, and our six feet of social space, separated from each other.

And, as you sit in front of your computer this morning watching this, as I sit alone in my office instead of in front of the congregation of Zion, we are all painfully, eye-open aware that this is not the way it should be.

In times of crisis – especially when so much is out of our understanding and knowledge and experience, let alone control – it is very tempting to turn our eyes to the heavens and shout a mighty “why?” Why is this happening? What have we done to deserve this, as a family, as a community, as a nation, even as a world?

I suspect we, as Lutheran Christians, know the answer. I began this morning’s service with the old rite of confession from The Lutheran Hymnal – it may or may not have been familiar to you. In it, we declared “we poor miserable sinners confess unto Thee all my sins and inequities with which I have ever offended Thee…” Those words say that we are sinners who live in a sin-stained and sin-broken world. In times like this, the brokenness of creation becomes painfully evident. In this morning's Gospel reading from John, the question was asked, why the man was born blind? Whose fault is it? The assumption was the man or his parents were guilty of some secret, hidden sin and God was punishing them for it with blindness. They want someone to blame, someone that assignment of guilt can be directed to. Instead, Jesus directs the inquiring and accusing minds elsewhere, away from the individual to the fallenness of the world. It's not his fault or the mother or the father. Stop trying to lay blame, as if it is a this-for-that punishment from God. Rather, see it for what it is: the reality that in this world is great trouble, hurt, grief and loss.

Too often, we suffer in silence, alone, even in the midst of a crowd. Difficult marriages, health problems, family struggles, unemployment, financial woes, wondering how to feed the family today let alone tomorrow. But, for the sake of a good show we pretend all is well and good while we are, figuratively at least, dying inside. This virus has stripped all pretense away. None of us can pretend we are not touched by it. Some are touched by it literally: the doctors and nurses and medical vocations are facing a very real yet unseen enemy in the form of a virus. Others of us face secondary effects with job insecurity, financial worry, and loneliness. These things are real, as are our concerns.

You've seen the cliches, the bumper-sticker theology. “Let go and let God,” “Just believe,” “Be strong,” and other such seemingly pithy comments. Some even cite Bible verses: “I can do all things through Christ.” Almost all point to you, like the old Uncle Sam posters. You notice, Jesus doesn’t ask anything of the blind man. He had nothing to give. Just as the blind man could not make himself see, and his parents couldn’t restore his vision no matter how hard they might wish, we know we cannot save ourselves from our situation either. No, those bumper-sticker theologies have it backwards. I'll tell you the exact opposite. This morning, you are not called to be strong. You are not called to be brave. You are not called do a single thing. You are, however, baptized, and as a baptized child of God, you are able to be faithful by the Spirit of God. 

You do believe, don’t you! You know that Jesus intervenes. He steps in and redeems the man’s sight. He restores that which was broken. He makes whole that which was broken apart. He does it for the man; He does it for all of creation; He does it for us. And, He does it in a remarkably backwards way, not through strength but through weakness. Christ's weakness is greater than your strength. Yes, I said that on purpose. If you think you are strong, I assure you, you are not. Christ's weakness is greater than anything you have. His weakness let Him be nailed to the cross to overcome the world with all of its fallenness. In His deepest of humility and out of the depths of His love for this fallen creation, Jesus was subject to the fallen world so He could die. But, more than that, Jesus rose from death’s grave. He stood, Easter morning, alive, victorious, with death conquered.

This, friends, is called the Gospel: Christ redeems the fallen creation. His healing the blind man shows His strength. Jesus says the blindness was to show the glory of God. Don't think this was only the man's eyes. Yes, vision was restored but there is something even greater to see here. This is a microcosm of the restoration that takes place in all creation. In His death, Jesus makes broken creation unbroken. He makes things right and true, whole and holy. It's already trued and holy and righted and whole, even now in the midst of this pandemic, creation is being restored. But we're not there, all-the-way, just yet.

I imagine some may be saying, that’s great and all…thanks…but what about everything going on right now? Nice little talk, preacher, but that doesn’t heal anyone, hire anyone, help anyone. “Jesus, then… What about me, now?” Ok, fair enough question.

When there was a recession or a depression, Jesus was there.  When there was a plague, or a small pox, or a cholera, or polio, or a famine, Jesus was with each person who was sick.  When there was a persecution of Christians or others, Jesus was there too. Through every terrible scene of the fallenness of creation was the Good News of the Saving work of Jesus Christ.  

Christ's power is made perfect in our weakness. This virus has stripped us of any pretense that we can control creation, that we can play the part of creator. God is creator; we are creation. Yes, He gifts us with wisdom and intelligence, and by His grace and mercy, those gifts will be used by scientists and doctors to help in this time of great need. But He gifts us – the non-scientists, the non-medical folks – with something as well.

I said earlier that we are joined together, as one body, under Christ. Where the head goes, the body goes. Christ, our head, has gone to the cross. We follow with life under the cross. This side of heaven, there is suffering. But, as the body of Christ we are never alone – ironically, even during this time of separation. So, this is the perfect time to not only be reminded of our oneness under Christ, but to reconnect with parts of the body of Christ as well. But, remember: Christ's power was shown chiefly in His love on the cross. In this time of cross-bearing, share the love of Jesus.  And, in loving one another, Christ's powerful, self-giving love is shown in actions and in the words you share. We are created to be together. So be together, even if it is from afar.

Here is what I hope we, the people of Zion might live out the love of Christ this week, and every week, until we return together as the body of Christ.

One: Every day, pray for different specific groups of people:

·        Healthcare workers: doctors, nurses, techs, support staff, EMT’s

·        Government officials: on the national, state, and local levels

·        Families sheltering at home: there is a whole lot of togetherness right now, and fear and frustration can fuel words and actions we might not say or do under less stressful times;

·        Displaced Workers: everyone who is working from home, furloughed; or now out of work

·        Infected by the Disease:  that they would be ok and have a full recovery

·        Business Owners: who potentially may have to cut employees, scale back, or worse close altogether

·        God’s peace and healing: with anxiety levels and stress levels at a heightened sense we need the peace that passes all understanding

Two: Every day, call – not text, call – three people. Call at least one person from church you don't regularly talk to, a member of your family, and a friend or coworker. Ask them how are they doing?  Ask them is everything ok?  Ask them if they need anything?  But most of all just be a compassionate ear. 

Three: Be a good neighbor. There is no better time than now to check in on them. You many even find-out something you didn’t know.  Use that fence for distance, and ask them how they are holding up, if they need help with anything, like running an errand especially if you are young and they are older (they may ask you the same thing). Then, ask them if you can pray with them.

And then remind them of the good news: Jesus has been with us through every trial and calamity. He is restoring a fallen world. His open grave promises that we, too, shall be raised and that in that resurrection a new heavens and new earth will be ours.

I realize we are in the season of Lent and, according to our calendar, it's not yet Easter. But remember, Easter has happened. Christ is still risen. He is still the victor. This does not change. Christ, the risen one, has endured everything and keeps us connected to Himself as His body... even through the valley of the shadow.

Hope in the Midst of Chaos - Romans 5:1-5

Grace to you and peace…

Peace. Doesn't that sound good this morning? Not so much absence of war, but absence of fear, anxiety, worry, wonder…wondering what is going to happen, wondering if you have enough food, water cash, or toilet paper, wondering if your family will be ok, wondering if you will be ok. Anxiety fuels fear and fear fuels anxiety. Hard to believe a week ago this was all a big hypothetical question. Now, here it is. Peace…something so simple, now so taken for granted.

I want you to know this morning, every morning, noon and night, you have peace inspite – despite! – what the world, your mind, and even Satan Himself tries to tell you. But to understand this, I need you to rethink peace. Peace, by definition, is not absence of war. It isn’t absence of conflict or lack of fear. Peace means unity, harmony, wholeness through restoration. In Christ, you do have peace, beyond worldly understanding. In Christ, God has been pacified and you have been restored in Christ's death and resurrection. You are justified – declared holy – by God’s merciful gift of Jesus and this is delivered to you by the Holy Spirit from faith.

Faith. That is always an important word, but it will be particularly important in these difficult days. The book of Hebrews defines faith as “the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen,” Heb 11:1. Your faith is from God. You do not trust your faith itself; that ebbs and flows. Your faith rests in Christ Jesus, your Lord and Savior.

Through Christ, you have access by faith into the grace of God. I want you to have a picture here of a room, a large room, that is warm and inviting. "Access" means entrance. By faith we have entrance into this grace in which we stand. By faith I walk into that room and the name of the room is grace. The ceiling, walls, floor—all grace. You live inside God’s grace, his love, his forgiveness, completely surrounded by it. That means you’re always forgiven. You must not think of forgiveness as something that takes place in your life every once in awhile, that you pile up sins for a time and then you get forgiven. You’re forgiven all the time.

People say, "I hope I don’t die while I’m sinning." People like that don’t know what sin is. Of course you’re going to die while you’re sinning. You sin because you’re a sinner; you aren’t a sinner because you sin. All of us are far short of what we ought to be all the time (Romans 3, 23). See, the law tells us how we are to be and not to be, and what we ought to do and not to do. Not being what we ought to be is also a sin. The Law demands perfection (Lev. 19,2). If you’re not perfect you’ve living in sin. But even if you’re sinning all the time, you’re forgiven all the time. You’re living inside the forgiveness of sin. If you die when you’re not thinking about Jesus, you still die as a believer.

People say, "I hope that I have a chance to repent before I die." That’s not right. The whole life of a believer ought to be one of repentance. See, believing doesn’t mean that you feel good all the time, and repenting doesn’t mean that you feel bad all the time. Repenting just means knowing that you’re a sinner who deserves to go to hell. Being scared to die without Jesus, that’s contrition. And faith is knowing that Jesus forgives you all the time, every minute of the day you are forgiven. When you die without having a chance to repent consciously, you still die as a person who knows that he’s a sinner and that Jesus died for him. How many times during the day do you think of the fact that 2 + 2 = 4? Did you know that last night when you were sound asleep? You sure did. Did you know that this morning? Certainly. And so I know that all the time that Jesus is my Savior, whatever happens to me.

Living in Christ’s forgiveness, "we rejoice in hope of the glory of God" (Rom. 5,2). Here "the glory of God" is the praise that God gives us. Someday when we stand before God, what’s He going to say? "Well done, thou good and faithful servant" (Matt. 5,21). You will say, "But when did I ever do anything good?? He will say, "That’s alright, Jesus did it all for you. Well done, you kept all my commandments." So we look forward to Judgment Day when God will say, "You’re not guilty." We "rejoice in hope" that that’s the way it’s going to be. We know it’s true now, by faith. Then we’ll hear it with our own ears from the mouth of God Himself. Now we hear it from human preachers, but then Jesus Himself will say it. "Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world" (Matt. 25, 34).

This is the source of the hope we have in God: the grace given you by Jesus. I’ve said it before, it begs to be said again. When I use the word hope, I don’t mean the false one-in-a-billion hope of winning the lottery, or I hope the IRS doesn’t audit me, or something like that. Christian hope is one giant exclamation point. Some of you remember Victor Borge – he would do a schtick where he would read a section of a book and actually vocalize the punctuation. YouTube him and watch some of his routine – you have time, now. If Victor Borge were here, he would read every word “hope” in the Bible with the sound of an exclamation point. Christian hope is certain, not maybe; it is confident, not wishy-washy; it is definite, not a mere possibility. Hope is in Christ. Christ does not change, He does not schwaffle. Therefore you hope does not change, either.

Because of that, you are able to rejoice today, even in the midst of the chaos that is swirling around us. You don’t rejoice because of it, but in it. In this time of Our translation says “we rejoice in our sufferings.” A better, and little-less wooden translation is “we rejoice in the face of external pressure.” I think that today’s climate counts as external pressure, don’t you, and it opens this up a little more for us. Suffering has a deep and dark connotation. I don’t know any of us are really suffering. But all of us are facing some level of external pressure. Concerns about the economy, your job, your health, your loved ones, what to do with the kids if spring break is extended, trying to get to the stores – and find things you need…I could go on. These are present-tense struggles and pressures. Yet, in the midst of them, we as children of God have hope. Hope that enables us to speak and act in love in the midst of this; hope that looks forward in faith; hope that God desires to move us ahead in His grace.

Pressure is accompanied by patient endurance. Again, this is more than our civic leaders trying to calm the public down. This is God standing us up in His grace. That room of grace? He holds us in His grace, and keeps us standing firm. Where God sustains faith, He also uses pressure to produce endurance of faith.

Patient endurance is accomplished by tested character. Here is a good picture of how this works. Do you know how gold and silver is made pure? By melting it down. It’s put into high heat and melted into a pool of metal. But, what is remarkable is that because these metals are so dense, the garbage – the dirt and undesired other metals – float to the surface where it is skimmed off. That’s called the dross; it’s garbage. This happens many times, as heat continues to be applied and the gunk skimmed away. When the gold and silver is finally taken off the heat, it is left pure – just gold, just silver, nothing else. In the midst of patient endurance in the crucible, God is defining and refining our character. He is stripping away from us in these days anything that we have made as a god, something other than Him that we fear love and trust. What we are left with is Jesus. Life is hard right now, and our Lord strips away layer after layer away that would want to compete with faith in Him. Life narrows down and crisis comes. Suddenly, there is only one thing that matters. And, there in the narrow place, stands Jesus.

And in Jesus is our hope.

This is a process that Paul describes. It’s a process of maturing, growing in faith. But the faith in the love of God poured into our hearts – that faith does not change. This is God’s intention: to accomplish patient endurance, which leads to approved character, which returns to hope that trusts in the mercy of God in Christ from faith.

As you leave here today, you get to live in that faith-filled hope. Live – that’s the key word. Luther was once asked what he would do if he knew the end of the world was tomorrow. He simply answered, "Plant a tree." In other words, even as we will follow our civil leaders and do what they say - quarantine if necessary, limit distances, avoid travel, etc. - live today in the sure and certain hope of tomorrow as a child of God. Plant a tree. Play catch with your son or granddaughter. Bake some bread. Make love with your spouse. Talk with your neighbor over the backyard fence. Call an older member of the church and check on them. Before you go to the store, call your elderly neighbor and ask if they need anything and pick it up for them. Walk your dog. Laugh. Smile. Give thanks for God's goodness.

 And others around you will see it. They will ask you about it – how can you rejoice in times like this? How can you be so hopeful? Be prepared to give an answer. Tell them about the hope (!) that is yours in Christ. Amen.