Seeing God Now and Eternally - Revelation 21:22-27

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is Rev. 21:22-27.

The hot rocks burned against Moses’ cheek and the sharp stone dug into his bearded skin. He desperately wanted to see Who was behind him, but when he tried to move, the hand holding his face against rocks pressed even harder. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but it wasn’t comfortable, either. Moses was helpless. All he could see was the stone of the mountain, inches from his eyes. 

God had even declared, “I know you by name and you have found favor in my sight.” Moses humbly requested so that he might continue to find favor in God’s sight, Moses wanted the assurance of seeing God’s presence, His face, His glory. He would know what God was like. He wanted to know face-to-face whom he was serving. 

God, in His mercy, could not grant Moses’ desire. “No one can see my face and live,” he had told Moses. So, God did the next best thing. He would allow Moses to see his back, to receive a glimpse of God. After God passed by Moses, when His countenance – his frontal, facial profile – passed by, only then did God release Moses’ head from the side of the mountain. Moses was able to see God’s back. He couldn’t see God’s face, but the back, the back of God was enough.

I empathize with Moses because there are days I wish I could see God’s physical presence, too; that I could know His face and His glory. I suspect most pastors have this wish – not because we’re selfish or we think we deserve a special audience. Frankly, my desire is out of weakness, more than anything else. In a sense, pastors follow in the footsteps of Moses, pastoring this flock of Zion, and do a lot of Moses-like things: praying for God’s people; encouraging and supporting in this journey where faith and life intersect – sometimes on a crash course; reading, studying and interpreting God’s Word for His people and with His people; walking alongside in sickness and in health, in life and even to death. Don’t get me wrong: it’s a joy – truly – to be a pastor and to serve in this place.

But there are days… When life comes heavy for me, and I see the hurt and loss and pain you endure; when I doubt my faithfulness in this vocation; when a sermon isn’t coming, or when a discussion is tense, or when I have to speak a hard word of Law against a brother or sister in Christ. And when I make a mistake – or, to be more blunt – when I sin against my wife, my kids, against you and I do what I want instead of what God would have and that’s when I realize just how Moses-like I am. In those moments, when I feel low, discouraged, and a failure in this vocation, in those moments I wish I could see God face-to-face and hear a word…just a word…of encouragement.

And I don’t think I am alone. I suspect you feel this way at times, too, in your places, in your homes, in your workplaces, in your vocations. If I dare claim a parallel between myself and Moses, you can certainly claim a parallel between yourself and Israel. If you could just see God – just for a moment – then you would know it’s going to be OK.

So, you come to the Lord’s House on a Sunday because you, like Moses, need to see God. You need to know that God knows you by name and you have favor in His sight. But how can you dare approach God to see Him? 

Like those ancient Galilleans who pleaded with Phillip, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.” With the burdens of life weighing on you, you come to this holy house, joined by fellow sinners who, likewise, need to see Jesus. You know that your sins separate you from God because they are detestable in His eyes. You, like Moses, cannot see God and live. But you come…you come, repenting of what you have done against your spouse and your kids and your neighbor, while trusting, in faith, that there is One who died for you and gave Himself for you to redeem, save, to sanctify and make you holy so that you can see God. 

And here, you do see a glimpse of God. You hear the Word read and preached that declares sin to be forgiven in Christ. You see the font and remember you have been washed clean of your sins, your name changed from sinner to saint, from unclean to Christian. You touch and taste the body and blood of Christ which was given and shed for you for the forgiveness of sins and the strengthening of faith in Him as your Savior.

By God’s grace, through faith in Christ, we know and believe that this is true. But we also know that we are seeing the picture through eyes that are still covered with the cataracts of fallen people and can only see God through the glaucoma of a fallen world. 

Think of a little girl who dresses up in her mommy’s nice dress, puts on all of her costume jewelry, and lets her feet fall into her mommy’s shoes and then pretends to be a beautiful princess bride. She’s pretending, yes – but she’s looking forward to the day of her wedding. That’s a picture of faith. It’s a picture of what we, as the church, are looking forward to. 

John was the last of the apostles. The other eleven had all been martyred. The physical church, which is to say, the people of God, were being scattered across the world, persecuted and prosecuted because of the name of Jesus. He, John, was isolated, exiled to the land of Patmos. With prayers for the churches scattered and for the people of God who clung to the name of Jesus, the Holy Spirit allowed John to see this picture – both for the strengthening of his own spirit, but also for yours and mine as well.

St. John reminds us in this morning’s Epistle that the day is soon coming when we will see Jesus face-to-face. But before we see Him, He sees us: the church – not as a ragtag, scattered mishmash of people who struggle through this world, but as a beautifully adorned bride. She is claimed by her husband, Christ, who takes her and makes her His. She is washed and made holy in the blood of the Lamb and, just as a bride is adorned and covered with beautiful garments, the Church is adorned with the glory of Christ. Jesus’ glory is so overwhelming, so overcoming, so overpowering that the Church shines with the radiance of His splendor, as if she were the most precious, beautiful jewel you could possibly imagine. The Church is Christ’s bride; Christ is the Church’s Bridegroom.

And, here, united with Christ, the Church will see God. Not His back, mind you, but you are able to see Him wholly and holy. The entirety of heaven, in the resurrection, centers around the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb. The Father and the Son, together, who is worshipped and glorified on earth will shine with such radiance and glory in the resurrection that we will no longer need the light of the sun. 

In the resurrection, you will be able to see God and live because you will no longer be sinners and saints. You will be only saint, holied in the holiness of the Bridegroom. You – unlike Moses – will not need to have your face shoved into the stone wall, hoping for just a glimpse of God’s back. You will see God and you will live into eternity with Him.

Earlier, I said we sometimes feel that if you could just see God – just for a moment – then you would know it’s going to be OK. But, we were left with the conundrum: But how can you dare approach God to see Him? 

God comes to you face-forward. He doesn’t hide Himself. In fact – I’ve always considered this fascinating – God blesses His people with His face. We call it “The Benediction.” In a demonstration of His mercy and grace, God places His face, His countenance, on His people. So when you need to see God’s face, so you know that He faces toward you, so you know He is kindly and mercifully disposed toward you, He gives this blessing:

The Lord bless you and keep you.
The Lord make His face to shine upon you and be gracious to you.
The Lord lift up His countenance upon you and give you His peace.

Amen.

No More Tears! Revelation 21:1-7

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is the Epistle, Revelation 21:1-7.

I wonder when the first tears of sorrow were shed. Did Adam cry when he realized that they had just destroyed the perfection of creation with their forbidden snack? Did Eve cry when Adam looked at her, pointed his finger at her with shame, and then looked at God and said, “You gave her to me!” Did they weep together as they left the paradise of Eden behind?

Maybe tears happened the first time when Adam and Eve saw death. When they realized they were naked, they wrapped themselves up in fig leaves while trying to hide from God. It didn’t work, of course. God quickly found them, spoke to them, chastised them, but then promised that He would rescue them with the Seed of Eve who would crush satan’s head. And then, right before He drove them from the Garden, He clothed them with animal skins.

These weren’t picked up at Sakowitz’ Fine Furs on Post Oak in Houston. They were clothed with skins came from an animal. An animal that had been living. An animal that Adam had named. An animal that Adam and Eve enjoyed living with. An animal that God had made to live. God took that animal He made and He killed it and He skinned it and He clothed Adam and Eve with it. And every time Adam and Eve’s skin sensed the animal’s skin, they would have to remember their sins caused that animal’s death. 

The animals died for them. The animals died because of them. I can only imagine the tears that flowed because of that knowledge.

But, most of all, the tears would have started when they realized that their perfect, face-to-face relationship with God was destroyed. No longer would they have the personal, full knowledge of His desires or experience His love and mercy in the same way. Yes, they would still know Him; yes, they would still receive grace and mercy, but the perfect relationship was now broken. The peace that they had with God, the wholeness, was now shattered. 

I admit that I am taking a bit of preacher’s creative license. There is no way to know whether Adam and Eve cried at all, let alone in any of those moments. But I do know that our world has been marked with tears since that day of the fall. Whatever tears they shed, whether in the garden our outside it, our tears mingle with theirs of old. 

It begins with a mother’s tears of pain in childbirth and continues with the tears we experience throughout life. Our eyes have been made wet with tears as our bodies are wracked with pain of skinned knees, and hurt from surgery and diseases that destroy flesh. Tears run down the cheeks as minds become troubled and burdened with the hardships of life. Tears flow as souls struggle with what it is to be a faithful child of God in an unfaithful world. We cry tears of shame and guilt because our consciences are burdened with memories of what we have done and failed to do towards God and neighbor, and we have shed tears because of what others have done to us, both knowingly and accidentally.  Tears flow hot when we see our children hurt and we quietly sob as we watch our parents grow old and frail. And we have wept, knowing that even as baptized children of God, who are saved by grace through faith, we still sin against Him in what we think, say and do. We know the tears of not having the perfect relationship. And, we know the burning tears that come when we experience the sting of death as we stand in front of the grave of a loved one, a family member, a friend. 

And some days, it feels as if the tears will never stop.

That’s why this morning’s Epistle is so important for us, as God’s people, to hear read again and again. 

If there was anyone who could have lost Easter hope, if there was another man who understood tears of pain, it was John. He had heard Jesus’ promise to return; he saw Jesus ascend. He waited faithfully for over forty years for Jesus, but He had not yet returned. Now, John was the last of the Twelve Apostles. All the rest had been martyred. He watched the church of Jerusalem, which began so promisingly on Pentecost, be persecuted and prosecuted and scatter across what is today the Middle East and into Northern Africa and Southern Europe. And while this was happening, he could do nothing except write these young, fleeing Christians because he was exiled away on the island of Patmos, far away from Jerusalem, far away from the rest of the church and God’s people. Cut off and isolated, it would have been easy for John to sit and weep and grieve.

Instead, the Holy Spirit gave John this incredible revelation, this picture of what the resurrection of all flesh will be like. It was for John, yes; but it is for all of us as well, a visible, prophetic picture that the destruction and pain and loss that John was experiencing and that you and I know in life was – quite literally – not the end of the world. 

John saw the new heavens and the new earth, the new Jerusalem, the Church, in all of her glory, standing before the Father, having been redeemed in the blood of Jesus. The picture is one of restoration and re-creation. The revelation grows and swells into a great crescendo as God declares: “Behold, I am making all things new.” Creation will be returned to an even greater glory than was present in Eden. Peace will be restored and the relationship between God and His people will once again be made whole and perfect and He will once again dwell among His people. 

God “will dwell with His people.” Realize the power of that statement. It takes more than the death of an animal for this restoration. This takes the sacrifice of the perfect Lamb of God. This Lamb knows the burn of tears. He dwelled among us and experienced the pain and loss and hurt, even the sting of death of friends and his own death. From Adam and Eve’s forbidden bite all the way to the last sin-marked thoughts you and I have, Jesus dies for them all. From the tears of childbearing to the sting of death that you and I will one day face, Jesus defeats all of sin’s powers over us. With His own grave opened on Easter morning, this will be our Easter morning and we will be raised whole and holy.  

And God will wipe away every tear from our eyes. In the resurrection, sin, death and the grave – all which were defeated at Jesus’ own Good Friday death and Easter resurrection – they will be forever conquered. All of the consequences of the fallen world, which you and I know so well, will be gone. Pain, hurt, agony – all of those things that cause tears - they will all be gone. Death will cease. And without death, the mourning and crying – and the tears – will no longer exist. 

 We get a taste of that today. God does, indeed, dwell among us. In Christ, God tabernacles among us – in Baptismal water and preached Word; in bread and wine Christ’s Body and Blood are present. And you get a foretaste of the feast to come as you eat and drink together, united with brothers and sisters who all sit at the foot of the throne of God and wait for this blessed day to come.

The church calendar says we are still in the days of Easter, but already our day of Easter is five weeks ago. The worldly reminders – the candy, the bunnies, and the eggs – are long gone. Even in the church, it feels like Easter has been put away. The lilies are long gone; the hymns don’t seem as powerful; the cries of “Christ is risen” are silenced. I think we sometimes forget the hope that is ours because of the resurrection. That is why we hold fast to God’s promise, “It is done.” Even though John is seeing what is to come, God declares this to all be complete. This is the power of the promises of God. Even though we are in the not-yet, still waiting for the restoration and the new heaven and the new earth to be revealed for us, we live in the promise of God: “It is done.” 

“It is done.” That’s what Jesus said from the cross, remember? It is finished. Sin, conquered. Death, defeated. Sin, atoned. Heaven, opened. Peace, restored. And you, clothed – not in the skin of an animal, but wrapped in the righteousness of Christ, made white in the blood of the Lamb.

The Greeks, The Messiah, and Un Buen Pastor – John 10:22-30

“If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly.” Talk about a loaded request. And it happens at a most unique time: at the Feast of Dedication.

Roughly 200 years earlier, around 166BC, Israel was a vassal in the Greek Empire. The Greeks wanted to Hellenize the world and, as a result, no other religion or religious practices were tolerated. So, Israel was forced to worship the Greek gods and goddesses – Zeus, Apollo, Hermes, just to name a few – and even Israel’s temple was scandalized by being used for worship of Zeus, the altar desecrated by sacrifices to him, and all of the sacred vessels for worship of God were likewise misused. 

There was a faithful, God-fearing family of Israelites called the Maccabees who finally had enough. Their name means “hammer,” and they began to hammer against the Greeks, leading a rebellion to overthrow and eliminate the Greeks from Israel. Finally successful, they set about making Israel God-fearing worshippers again. The temple was ritually cleansed. The desecrated altar was removed, destroyed, and then replaced along with new worship furnishings. Finally, it was time to rededicate the temple. Oil candles were placed in the Holy Menorah, the 8-fingered candelabra, but only enough sacred oil was found for one day’s use. Not wanting to wait the necessary eight days for new oil to be consecrated, the candles were filled, the flames were lit, and miracle of miracles, the candles did not burn out for eight days. Thus, the great tradition of the Feast of Dedication – or as we know it today, Hannukah – began.

That was the festival that Jesus, the Disciples, and all Jews were celebrating: the re-dedication of the Temple by the Maccabees. It is no small thing that St. John places Jesus in the Temple – specifically in Solomon’s colonnade – during this festival, because that helps set up and introduce the tension that’s present. It’s brought to a head with the question, “Are you the Messiah?” In other words, are you the Son of David that we have been expecting? The Jews see the parallels:  Two hundred years earlier, Israel was under Greek rule; in Jesus day, under Roman rule. The Greeks were heathens; the Romans were heathens. The Greeks had Israel under their thumbs; the Romans ruled Israel with disdain. Just like 200 years earlier, Israel was again looking for Messiah - a warrior Messiah, a Maccabee-like Messiah who was going to re-establish Israel and get rid of the Romans.

This is why their question is so important: Is this you, Jesus? Are you the Messiah? Are you the Christ? Are you going to do what we expect? 

Jesus’ answer isn’t what they expect. It’s not a simple yes or no. Instead He says, “Pay attention to what I am doing!” He’s been performing miracles, like Moses, feeding 5000. He’s been healing the sick, like Elijah. His works demonstrate who He is! He is from God. But His words show Him not just to be from the Father but to be, in fact, the promised one: the Messiah, the Christ; yes – the Son of David.

But they don’t get it. They can’t get it. They’re not of the sheep. They self-excluded themselves from the fold, refusing to submit to this one who was born of Mary, descended not just from David, but from of God. He is Messiah, but not the Messiah they expect. He is coming to be the Shepherd. Not just a shepherd, but The Shepherd. And because He’s not the kind of Messiah they expect, not the kind of Shepherd they want, they cannot accept, they cannot believe, they will not listen, they will not see, and they cannot follow.

Too often we misunderstand this shepherd picture. We have a simple, soft, romantic picture of Jesus as a divine Little Boy Blue. He’s traipsing through lush green grass, a staff in one hand, and the other holds a baby lamb in his arm. Don’t get me wrong: there are times this picture of Jesus is exactly what we need – when we face the valley of the shadow of death, for example. 

But there are other times when we misunderstand this image of Jesus that we get ourselves in trouble with simplistic thinking. What I mean is this picture of Jesus is one we can handle. We’re comfortable with this picture of him. And we make this idea of the Good Shepherd out to be the kind of Messiah we want. In a sense, we neuter Him and take away His power and authority so that He’s neither threatening nor judging. He becomes nothing more than understanding. 

And this, then, becomes our escape when we make our Shepherd out to be, well, our Shepherd, not God’s. We justify the choices we make and actions we do by saying Jesus understands. Sexual sins? Living together without being married, adultery, homosexuality? Jesus understands.  Slandering the boss, spreading rumors about a co-worker, skipping out while still on the clock? Jesus understands. Cheating on an exam, drawing ugly caricatures of your teacher, skipping class? Jesus understands. Telling your parents off, swearing at your kids, fighting with your brother or sister? Jesus understands. As long as we make Jesus out to be the Shepherd-Messiah we want Him to be, literally in our own image, we’re no better off than those first-century Jews who wanted Jesus to be their political savior. At best, we create a Messiah as sympathizer; at worst, an enabler. There is nothing good about that kind of good shepherd. 

Jesus understands, yes, but not that way. Sins cannot just be understood; they must be repented of and paid in full. He understands what the Messiah must do to rescue, redeem and save. It’s not going to be riding into battle like David to rule on a throne in Jerusalem. It will take a King who is willing to die.

In the Old Testament, the shepherd image is one that is used for kings, kings whose job it is to stand watch over Israel. So, for example, in Ezekiel 34 when God says He will get rid of the shepherds, he doesn’t mean the herdsmen of the hillside. He means the unfaithful kings and wicked rulers of the people. They will be removed and, even more, destroyed because of their unfaithfulness and He, God, will Himself shepherd the people. So, when you hear Good Shepherd, hear Good King. This is a King who will rule in a good, just way. He is the King who judges wisely. The things that He showed in His ministry, these are the things that the Good King, the Good Shepherd will do: He will care for His people; He will feed His people; He will clothe His people; He will protect His people. In His life and ministry, as He pointed out to the Jews, He is doing all of these things. But there is something yet to come.

This King, this Shepherd, this Messiah will die for His people. Jesus’ battle isn’t with the Hittites and Jebusites and Alamakites; it’s with sin, death and the devil. The battle will take place outside of Jerusalem, just outside the city walls. The Good Shepherd will have a staff in His hand, placed there in mockery. His soft robes will be stripped from His body and He will be nailed to His throne in nakedness and shame, not in glory. His rule will be in humility and weakness, not in strength and majesty. But in that weakness is strength, for His power is made perfect in weakness. He surrenders, not to satan, but to His Father’s will, and He is the perfect, once-for-all-sacrifice for the sins of His sheep, His people. 

The gift of the Good Shepherd, the Good King, is eternal life for all who are of His flock, who hear His voice and in repentant faith, trust His life, death and resurrection for their sins, for your sins, for my sins. And the Good King, the Good Shepherd, gives you His pledge: no one – neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither things present nor things to come, neither height nor depth nor anything else in all creation – will separate you from His Father’s hand. 

And moms: today as we give thanks to God for you and the gift of motherhood, I want to remind you that the Good Shepherd is particularly fond of women who share the same vocation as His own mother.  He forgives you for the times you were angry with your husbands and you swore at your children; the times you felt that you failed to live up to expectations; the times when you made mistakes; the times you weren’t the perfect mother. A mother’s sins are forgiven fully and completely. As an aside, God doesn’t call you to be perfect mothers. He calls you to be faithful mothers, rearing and teaching your children – no matter what age you are or they are – the fear and knowledge of the Lord. Do this both in words and in actions. And, when you fail, then also teach them the need for repentance and the power of forgiveness, both for yourself and for your family as well.

To make sure you know, believe, trust and rely that this is all true, the Good Shepherd makes sure you are still able to hear His voice still today. 

I remember when I was in high school, driving through Georgetown and passing a church whose sign was written in Spanish: La Iglesia del un Buen Pastor. I thought, boy – is that guy arrogant. The church of the Good Pastor. I told my Spanish teacher about that and made a wise-crack about the pastor being rather highly opinionated about himself. That’s when she told me in Spanish, pastor means shepherd. It actually comes from Latin. I tell you this story because it is the perfect reminder of what the church is for: to be the place where the voice of the Good Shepherd is heard. Luther once called the church “The Mouth-House,” meaning it’s where the voice of the Good Shepherd sounds forth with all of it’s truth and power.  

And, when you come, you ask, “Is this the Messiah?” And through the Word that is read and preached, in Baptismal water and in bread and wine, Jesus will say that these all bear witness about Him. They will tell you that He is God’s Messiah who came to be our Good Shepherd, our Good King.

The Loving Hands of Easter - John 20:19-31 (Youth Confirmation Sunday)

“The Loving Hands of Easter”

John 20:19-31

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

Five hundred years ago, it seemed the entire city of Nuremberg, Germany, had come out to see the local boy, now a famous artist, come home. His name was Albrecht Durer. Albrecht and his brother, Albert, both had a natural talent for art: Albrecht with paints and pencils; Albert as a sculptor. Unfortunately, money was tight and the two could not go off to university at the same time. They came up with a plan: they would flip a coin, the winner going off to university to study art and the loser going down into the mines to work to pay for the brother’s school. After the first completed schooling, they would trade places. The next Sunday morning, the coin was tossed and Albrecht the painter, won the toss and went off to University while Albert went down into the mines – not to sculpt, but to dig copper and silver from the mines. 

Albrecht’s talents were soon discovered by the faculty. While his paintings were excellent, he became famous for woodcuts, basically, hand-carved stamps made from blocks of wood. By the time he graduated from university, he was beginning to earn considerable fees for his commissioned works. 

Finally, after years of study and work at honing his craft, it was time for Albrecht to return home. There was music and laughter, food and festivity: the famed artist had returned home. Finally, Albrecht stood to make a toast to his beloved brother for his sacrifice. He said, "And now, Albert, it is your turn. Now you can go to university to pursue your dream, and I will take care of you." 

All heads turned in eager expectation to the far end of the table where Albert sat, tears streaming down his pale face, shaking his lowered head from side to side while he sobbed and repeated, over and over, "No ...no ...no ...no." Albert looked down the long table at the faces he loved, and then he said softly, "No, brother. I cannot go anymore. It is too late. Look ... look at what four years in the mines have done to my hands! All of my fingers have been smashed at least once, my right hand hurts so much that I cannot even hold a glass to return your toast much less make delicate cuts in blocks of wood. No, brother ... for me it is too late." 

Almost five centuries have passed since Albrecht Durer held his brother’s broken hands in his own. Albrecht Durer's pieces hang in every great museum in the world, but the odds are great that you, like most people, are familiar with only one of Albrecht Durer's works.  That very day that he returned home, Albrecht Durer painstakingly drew his brother's abused hands with palms together and thin fingers stretched skyward. He called his powerful drawing simply "Hands," to remind all the world of what his brother sacrificed so that he could fulfill his dream of becoming an artist.

On that first Easter Sunday, the disciples gathered in the upper room, wringing their hands in fear. They were afraid for their lives, afraid for their future, afraid of those who had clamored for the crucifixion of Jesus. Those who had killed Jesus would surely come for them now that the rumors of His resurrection were beginning to circulate.

Into that little fortress of fear comes the resurrected, but still gentle, Jesus. Jesus comes humbly, quietly. His hands didn’t pound on the doors.  His hands didn’t reach out to tap the disciples on the back of the head and say, “You should have known better.”  Jesus simply enters the room.  It amazes me: the Master comes to the students; He doesn’t wait for them to work up the courage. He comes to them with their fears and stands in their midst.  

Raising His nail-marked hands, Jesus speaks the words of absolution. “Peace be with you.” His words give what they say. Peace. “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.” His hands show that peace has been won for them. “I have said this to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.”  

Peace. So simple; so rich. Peace means that harmony and unity has been restored between God and man. With sin atoned for and the death-price paid, the relationship is whole again. Think what that means for these men: they had all failed Him in His hour of glory. Peter had denied him three times. The disciples had abandoned him. But, worst of all, none of them had believed His words - that on this day – it’s still Easter night, remember - the first day of the week, He would rise from the dead. They didn’t believe Him when He foretold His death would happen; they didn’t believe when the resurrection happened, either.  Their hearts were filled with fear. 

I take great comfort in the truth that Jesus does not berate them for their unbelief or chide them for the lack of faith. Instead, He comes graciously to them to speak His peace.

The proof is in His hands, feet, and side.  From these rich wounds come the peace that Jesus speaks. "The punishment that brought us peace was upon him and by his wounds we are healed." 

Kaden, Chloe and Lance: while this is true for everyone here, I want you especially to remember well these wounds, for by these wounds you are healed from the disease of your sin and your death. Recall those wounds when your life is in turmoil and upheaval, when you are threatened and filled with fear, locked up in your room in sheer despair, remember the wounds. His are the wounds from which the cleansing blood of God's Son flowed upon the wood of the cross for you. They are your peace.

The hands, feet and side mark Jesus the crucified One, the One whose body was nailed to the cross. This was no imposter or spiritualized phantom Jesus, but a genuine flesh and blood Jesus, newly risen from the dead.

Jesus presents His same words and wounds to us in the water with which you were baptized, the word with which you were instructed, the Body and the Blood which you will soon receive for the first time. In the Supper of His Body and Blood, Jesus shows forth His wounds and His words, the sacrifice that bought our redemption, together with the words of peace that deliver His redemption to us. He extends His hands to us, telling us "For as often as you eat of this bread and drink of this cup, you proclaim the Lord's death until He comes."

I don’t know if you’ve ever heard the story of Albrecht Durer and his “Hands” before.  The next time you see the painting or sculpture, stop and look at it.  Wherever you are when you see those hands, the hands of one brother who was willing to sacrifice his dream for the other brother, I hope you remember the story.  But, I also hope you remember the story of another set of hands – Christ’s hands.  His hands were nailed to a cross for you.  His hands bled for you.  And now, His nail-marked hands reach out in blessing for you, proclaiming to you that all of your sins are forgiven and peace has been restored between God and you.

An Empty Tomb, a Rolled Stone and a Risen Jesus - Luke 24:1-12

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

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

The women were seeking a grave. They had witnessed Jesus’ burial just two nights earlier as Sabbath had approached. Sabbath law forbade work of any kind, so with Jesus dead, and time running out for proper burial, they could only give the body the most rudimentary of burial care that it deserved. It wasn’t what they wanted to do; it was all they had time to do. The grave had been cut out of solid stone. It was new; a body had never been laid in it before; and, most important, it was nearby and available. In this sepulcher, the God of Creation was entombed into the belly of His own creation. 

The women were looking for a body. They wanted to show Jesus a final honor. They watched helplessly the last days of Jesus’ life as He was arrested, hauled away in bondage, tried and convicted. They wept as they stood in the crowd that lined the streets as Jesus staggered by under the weight of the cross. They wept again when Jesus was crucified. They heard His seven words; they saw Him breathe His last. They saw Him die. They had cared for Him in life; the least they could do was care for Him in death. They had seen Joseph and Nicodemus take the body, which had been taken down from the cross, and place it in the tomb.

They were expecting a stone that stood in the way of their plan’s fulfillment. To get to Jesus, to use the precious spices and aloes they had purchased, they must move the stone. It was probably large and heavy; they knew they couldn’t move it themselves. Perhaps a sympathetic solider would lend them aid, or perhaps a disciple or curious citizen would help. But even then, it had been sealed – stamped – with Governor Pilate’s mark. It was as if creation and Rome were both conspiring to prevent their final act of love from happening. 

They were seeking what every person expects when they walk into the cemetery: a grave, a body within, and stone. And silence. It’s always silent because the grave, the body, the stone – they do not speak.  The story always goes the same in a cemetery. Loved ones seek the place where the dead lay. The silence is broken with whispers, with tears, with sobs. It’s what is expected in the cemetery.

Except this wasn’t the same story. It wasn’t the same old grave, it wasn’t the same old stone, and it certainly wasn’t the same body. This was Easter morning. This was resurrection day. This was Jesus of Nazareth, the Son of God. The grave they sought was open. The body they were looking for was gone. The stone they expected to cause so much trouble was moved away. Open grave, absent body, moved stone – no, this was nothing that they expected. 

Two men with dazzling clothes shone into the darkness, radiating light. “Jesus Christ is the light of the world, the light no darkness can overcome, we sang on Maundy Thursday.” These two men were not the Light, but they come to bear witness to the Light.  A gentle reproach, a direct question: “Why do you seek the living among the dead? He is not here but has risen.” This is the first Easter proclamation. Good News abounds! Where Good Friday was darkness and death, and Saturday’s Sabbath rest was rest in the tomb, the first day of the week brings resurrection and with resurrection is light and life. 

“Do you remember, the angels asked, how He told you these things?” It’s as if the angels ask, Do you remember Jesus’ telling you how He spoke plainly, just these past days, how He must go up to Jerusalem, be arrested, and suffer and die at the hands of the chief priests and teachers of the Law? Do you remember that? Do you see how that has been fulfilled in what you witnessed these past days? 

Do you remember that this Jesus who died, died for you? Do you remember that Jesus, who lived a perfect life because you are unable to, became your substitute? Do you remember that Jesus, the Lamb of God, was the perfect sacrifice for your sins? Do you remember the cry of Jesus, “Father forgive them?” He prayed that for you. Do you remember the plea, “I thirst?” He drank the bitter cup of suffering for you all the way to the dirty dregs. Do you remember how He gave His mother to the care of John, the Disciple? It shows He cares for you in this life. Do you remember His pledge, “Today you will be with me in paradise?” It shows He also will care for you into eternity. Do you remember the agonized cry, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” He was forsaken by God so you never will be abandoned by your Heavenly Father. Do you remember his declaration, “It is finished?” God’s plan of salvation, the atonement – the payment – for the sins of the world is done in Christ’s death. Do you remember the final prayer, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit?” Through Christ, we are restored to the Father’s presence and His holds us in His hands in love, grace and mercy.

Do you remember what else He said? That after three days He will rise again? As the past days have come true, so also will His third-day promise. Today’s the third day. Today is Easter Sunday. Today is resurrection day.

It is no small thing that this takes place very early on the first day of the week. Creation began on Sunday in Genesis; it comes to completion on Sabbath, what we call Saturday. When else would you expect a new creation to begin, a new heaven and a new earth opened but at the beginning of a new week. The old week is complete. It is finished, remember? As is the week, as is God’s plan of salvation. Resurrection Day begins a new week; it’s an 8^th day of Creation, if you will. Resurrection gives a new beginning; it gives new life. He who was dead is alive. He who was buried is raised. He who was restrained cannot be contained any longer – not by creation, not by a stone, not by a grave, not by death. He has risen!

I met Ruby and Elmer in the spring of my internship year. They were probably in their 80s and, from the looks of things, life was tough. After the initial chit-chat of strangers meeting for the first time, there was silence in the room. I noticed Ruby, in the bed with her blankets pulled to her chin, was staring at her husband, wearing a red gimme hat and a plad shirt under his overalls. I can’t remember which of them spoke first, any more, but one said, “I’m scared.” A diagnosis of stage four, inoperable cancer will scare anyone. A few seconds later, the other agreed, “Me too.” Over the course of the discussion, I discovered that the couple hadn’t been inside a church since they were each baptized as babies. Now, with Ruby’s life in grave danger, staring death in the face, they needed a word of comfort and hope. They needed to hear about Jesus.  

Over the next few months the pastor and I visited them in their home and then in the nursing home. Pastor took them through adult instruction and made them members of the congregation via confirmation. On Ash Wednesday, for the first time, they took communion together, Ruby in her bed and Elmer at her side. They didn’t need ashes; the reminder of death was drawing ever closer. Ruby died a few weeks later. 

Pastor and I visited Elmer at home. You can imagine, some of you know first-hand, the pain he was experiencing. He promised he would come to church…soon, but not this week. Finally, it was Easter morning. The church was full. When it came time for the communion service, as Pastor and I were sharing Christ’s body and blood, suddenly, there was Elmer kneeling at the rail. I saw Pastor start to cry as he gave him the body of Christ and hoarsely whispered, “The body of Christ for you.” That got me. I choked out “The blood of Christ” as tears began to fall. We finished the table and had to excuse ourselves. We stepped back into the sacristy for a minute and wept – tears of sadness but also tears of joy: Elmer was there. With sad smiles, we went back and finished the service. 

After church, Elmer held back just a little bit. He wanted to thank Pastor for everything. I watched these two men, both gruff and grumbly, hug. Then, I heard Elmer’s rumble: He’s not here, Pastor. He’s risen. Neither is my Ruby, but she’s risen, too. You taught me that. And that means I’ll get to see her again one day. Christ is risen.” And with a final handshake, Elmer walked out the door. 

That is why the empty grave, and the rolled-back stone, and the resurrected Jesus are so important. 

Christ is risen. He is risen, indeed. Alleluia.
 

Resurrection - Luke 24:1-12

On that first-day morning,
To the tomb they did bring
Burial spices and aloes
To bury their King

They heard His last words,
They saw His last breath; They thought to be certain:
The King met His death

So three women went early
While dark was the sky
As dark as their spirits
For their King, He did die.

Their memory fogged
With horror and pain
No memory or hope of
The King's promises plain.

Their concern was quite simple: "Who would roll back the stone?"
But the stone had been moved -
The King's body was gone!

They saw two men sitting
Where the body had laid
And heard them proclaim
The King rose from the grave!

"He's not here! He has risen!"
Evil's plans are undone!
The One crucified, now lives!
The King - Victory won!

The Donkey Preaches on Palm Sunday: John 12:12-19

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is John 12:12-19.

How do you see Jesus? It depends on your perspective. If you try to see Jesus without the cross, you’ll always be disappointed in the Jesus you find. 

The Jewish leaders saw Jesus as a threat to their power and control over the worshipping community of Israel. His teaching and His preaching demonstrated that they are no longer in God’s grace, they are misleading God’s people and His anger is growing against their work. In retaliation, they are planning and plotting how to get rid of Jesus through any means necessary. The crowd’s reception only fuels their lustful desire for His downfall.

The crowds that lined the streets of Jerusalem, waving palm branches and shouting “Hosanna!”, saw Jesus as a restored Davidic king, one who would throw out the Romans and restore Israel to a political powerhouse, able to stand on her own against neighboring rival nations. When Jesus raises the three-day-dead Lazarus, this only fuels their misconception of who Jesus is. Imagine a king who can resurrect the army that dies in battle! Their cry is sadly ironic: Hosanna means “Save us” or “Help us”. That’s exactly what Jesus came to do, but they don’t understand how.

The disciples…they should get it, right? But they see Jesus as a mishmash of an Old Testament prophet who speaks powerfully and is able to perform mighty miracles of God, but also as a socio-political leader whose coattails they want to ride into their own positions of power and authority. After all, if the people are flocking to Jesus, and they are His closest friends and confidants, surely there is something in this for them as well.

The Romans see Jesus as just another pseudo-Messiah, someone to keep an eye on, lest he stir up trouble that incurs the wrath of the Emperor. 

They were all seeing Jesus without the cross. Without the cross, this is all Jesus is: a troublemaker, a rabble-rouser, a curiosity, someone who needs to meet expectations to please and appease the crowds.

Of all those who gathered that first Palm Sunday, there is only one who recognizes Jesus for who He is, only one who realizes this is God-in-flesh, the Son of David riding back into the City of David to do what He must to do redeem, to rescue, to save. That was the donkey. That’s right: the donkey. 

I’ve not spent much time with donkeys, so I am assuming what is true about horses is true for them as well. A young horse doesn’t take well to being ridden. It takes time, patience, and a lot of skill to break a horse to ride. You start with a bridle, then a saddle blanket, and then a saddle, slowly letting the horse acclimate to each step. Then, and only after it’s gotten used to having something on its back, does a rider attempt to try to ride it. Even then, it’s almost a guarantee the horse will do everything he can to remove the rider as quickly as possible.

Jesus sits on this young donkey’s colt and it doesn’t buck, it doesn’t bolt, it doesn’t blitz through the noisy crowd. It simply goes forward. It’s no small thing that this simple beast of burden – who, remember, is also part of God’s creation that Jesus has come to redeem – the donkey gets it. In the Palm Sunday excitement, the donkey is the only one who provides a faithful witness to Jesus. The donkey is obeying not his master, but The Master. The donkey, with Jesus astride, is heading to the cross. 

It’s not mere happenstance. This is a fulfillment of Zechariah’s prophesy from centuries earlier: “Behold, your king is coming, sitting on a donkey’s colt.” Don’t misunderstand the donkey. Our modern, American mindset sees donkeys as a joke. In western movies, only the town drunk rides a donkey – except for Clint Eastwood, and no one laughs at Clint Eastwood more than once. The heroes ride horses – big, strapping animals. That’s post-Romantic era America. But in ancient Israel, donkeys were seen as strong, sure-footed animals, noble beasts. In fact, when David rode into Jerusalem as the conqueror, he did so on the back of a donkey – not a massive stallion. Jesus enters Jerusalem, the city of David, in the way of David, to assume His rightful throne. 

But, unlike David, His throne isn’t made of the finest woods and inlaid with gold and precious stones. It’s not found in a palace surrounded by servants to do every whim and fancy. It’s not surrounded by layers of security to protect the king from all harm and danger. Jesus is King of all – He could have all of these and more. This King, who is in the world, is not of the world; nor is His kingdom. Jesus has emptied Himself of His heavenly and divine majesty. He will be labeled “The King of the Jews,” but not as a title of honor or sincerity. His throne will be made of two massive wood beams. It will be sunk into the ground on a hill called Golgatha, the place of the skull. Jesus will ascend to His throne, but He will do so to be suspended between heaven and earth, rejected by both God and man. He will be surrounded by soldiers, yes, but not for security but to make sure He dies in the most gruesome way possible. He will die for the Jewish leaders, even though they reject Him as Messiah. He will die for the crowds whose cries will change from hosanna to crucify. He will die for the disciples who run away. He will die for the soldiers who drive in the nails. He will die for you and for me, carrying our sins to the cross, dying the death we deserve. He even dies for fallen creation. Jesus dies for the donkey.

The Jewish leaders don’t get it; the crowd certainly doesn’t; the disciples don’t yet understand or believe; the Romans don’t care. But the donkey is carrying Jesus. He is heading to the cross. With the cross, Jesus is Messiah, the Christ, the Savior, the Son of God who fulfills all of the promises of God.

If you look at the back of a donkey, there’s a dark line that runs down his spine. It meets a dark line that runs laterally across the shoulders. From the side, it’s hardly noticeable, but from the top down you’ll see that those lines form a cross. There is a legend – please hear that word, legend, so it goes in the same category as Paul Bunyon and George Washington’s cherry tree speech – that the cross appeared on the donkey after he carried Jesus into Jerusalem, and that his descendants are thus marked for the honor he had in carrying the Master. It’s a legend, a cute story: I don’t buy it. But it is interesting that the only one who recognized Jesus for Who He is has the God of Creation sitting on his back.

The English poet, philosopher and lay theologian G. K. Chesterton wrote a poem called The Donkey. [1]

When fishes flew and forests walked

                And figs grew upon thorn,
            Some moment when the moon was blood
               Then surely I was born.

With monstrous head and sickening cry

                And ears like errant wings,
            The devil’s walking parody
                On all four-footed things.

The tattered outlaw of the earth,

                Of ancient crooked will;
            Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,
                I keep my secret still.

Fools! For I also had my hour;

                One far fierce hour and sweet:
            There was a shout about my ears,
                And palms before my feet.

The donkey is the faithful preacher, preaching to us in silence. But, he carries us where we also need to be this Palm Sunday, entering Holy Week just as Jesus entered into Jerusalem. The donkey takes us to the cross. That’s where we need to be. That’s where we see Jesus.

In His name, amen.

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[1] https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47918/the-donkey

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