Mary, Martha and Marge: Servants of Christ - John 11: 17-27 (Funeral sermon)

Sermon: The Funeral of Marge H., widow of LCMS Pastor, Rev. H.

Text: John 11: 17-27

Dear family and friends: Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

At a pastor’s funeral, he is traditionally dressed in his alb and stole and he is buried with the full rites of the church – if possible, at the congregation he served as a servant of Christ. There is solemn pomp and circumstance as district officials and pastors – also dressed in white albs and red stoles – accompany the casket from altar to the graveside. It’s a reversal of the rite of ordination into the office of the ministry from serving the church militant to joining the church triumphant at rest, awaiting the resurrection he preached and taught to Christ’s people.

But we don’t do that for his wife. For a pastor’s wife, it’s different. It’s even more marked today. Instead of being in the sanctuary among the people her husband served, we are at the cemetery among the tombstones. A filled sanctuary is reduced to the two dozen of us, and pews of white-and-red clad pastors are notedly absent. But even if things were “normal,” the reality is that the church doesn’t do such things for a pastor’s wife. It’s a sad commentary because the pastor’s wife stands alongside her husband in so many ways that her service, too, should be recognized in some way. And, if a pastor is honored for service in the apostolic ministry, then the faithful pastor’s wife ought to be honored for her service in fulfilling the role of both Mary and Martha.

But, if a pastor is buried with his alb and stole, what should his wife be buried with?

If we needed a symbol of her role as a Martha, I suppose we could use a church apron. A pastor’s wife certainly knows something about service. Marge spent plenty of time, over the years, helping make coffee, set out the pot luck dishes, iron clerical shirts, take care of you, [daughter], while your dad was at a church meeting, and managing the parsonage on a pastor’s salary. She joked that some nights, as she fell asleep, she prayed, “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, that’s one less cake I have to make.” Even after your dad passed, she still served: I watched her help set up communion and get things ready for Sunday school. And you told me that after she moved into the nursing home she still helped care for others as long as she was able – “ever the pastor’s wife,” you said.

But, if we needed a symbol for her as a Mary, we could use a footstool.  A pastor’s wife knows what it is to sit down at Jesus’ feet and hear His Words for her. Marge knew, believed, trusted and relied that Jesus didn’t just die for the world, or for the congregation her husband served, but specifically for her. A baptized child of God, she firmly believed that Jesus died for her, forgave her, blessed her, and carried her through those great and challenging moments in the valley of the shadow. I know this because I heard her confess it Sunday after Sunday. Even as her memory began to fail, even as names and places started slipping into the fog of lost memories, she knew her Savior, and she knew Him by name: Jesus, the Good Shepherd, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world.

Marge knew: there is a time and a place for Martha-like service and there is a time and a place for sitting quietly and listening like Mary.

There’s another time in the Scriptures when Mary and Martha are mentioned. The sisters sent a message to Jesus that Lazarus, their brother, was dying. The message, part prayer, part demand, filled with expectation for a rapid response: “Come Lord Jesus, come!” He didn’t hurry; Jesus didn’t hustle. In fact, John noted that Jesus deliberately delayed. That delay cost Lazarus his life. When Martha saw Jesus in the distance, she hurried out to greet Him: if He had only hurried, if He had come when asked, Lazarus would not have died. But, she quickly added, even in the face of death, “I know that whatever you ask of God, God will give.” Her confession showed her faith rested solely in Jesus, not in her work, in her service, in her best-of-intentions. Her sure and certain confidence in Christ and the promises of God, even in the face of death, allowed her to say, “I know that Lazarus will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.” Jesus, the Lord of Life and death, answered with the words we know so well and, on days like this, you hold dear, trusting in His promise for not only Lazarus, but for our loved ones who die in the faith: “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall live. And everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?”

“Do you believe this?” If you asked Marge that question twenty years ago, she could have answered with Martha, “Yes, I believe you are the Christ, the Messiah, the Son of God.” She could have said the Apostle’s Creed, that we believe in the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body and the life of the world to come. She could have spoken of what it is to receive the body and blood of Christ for the forgiveness of her sins, and she would have remembered the resurrection promise of Christ for herself. She could have prayed the Lord’s Prayer and the 23^rd Psalm as she saw herself entering the valley of the shadow of dementia and memory loss, knowing her Lord would never leave her alone.

Over the last fifteen years, Mary and Martha’s prayer of Jesus, “Come, Lord Jesus,” took on a new meaning for you and for Marge. It was no longer just a table prayer, asking the Lord’s presence during the meal, but a true request for His return to release her from this veil of tears. As age and illness robbed her of the memory of those words and confessions, Christ’s promises for Marge never changed. “I am the resurrection and the life,” Jesus said. “Everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die.”  Faith rests in Christ, not on our ability to explain it, to be alive and active. As surely as an infant believes, by the power of the Holy Spirit, so also an elderly saint, by the same Holy Spirit, clings to faith. And nothing, not even dementia, is able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. Christ has destroyed death with His death; His empty Good Friday cross and open Easter grave stands as visible promises of our own death-to-life story. Even if we cannot remember because the knowledge is stripped from us, the power of the empty cross and empty grave does not change. Baptized into Christ’s death and resurrection, Marge has received the full adoption of God as His dearly beloved child. God’s love for His children does not fade.

And, when Marge fell asleep in Christ last week, I want you to know that she was not alone. Christ Jesus was at her side attending Marge in her last moments. That evening, she fell asleep in Christ, accompanied by the angels of God. Our Lord brought Marge through this veil of tears, with all of its struggles and hardships and losses, to her time of rest. “Well done, thou good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of the Lord.” Her time of service in the footsteps of Martha has ended; it’s now time for rest along with Mary. Marge waits, with her husband – your father – and with the saints of old, awaiting their own Lazarus moment when Christ will return and with call “Marge, come forth.”

On that day, when the trumpets sound and the dead in Christ are raised, Marge shall step forth, body, mind and soul, whole and holy, strong and sound. And you shall see her again. And, when you do, I have a good guess what she – a good Greek woman - will say: Christos Aneste! Alethos, Aneste! It was her Easter cry, and on that day of Resurrection I have no doubt she will speak it clearly and loudly. And you, with all the saints, will join the eternal celebration. Christ is risen. He is risen, indeed! We are risen. We are risen, indeed! Alleluia.

In the name of Jesus, our resurrected Savior. Amen.

Jesus Treasures You - Matthew 13:44-46

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

By the time I met Eldon, he was old, a far cry from the strong young man who served on the USS IDAHO in WW2. After the war, he returned home and started a family. He soon was in a desparate situation to find work anywhere and any how that he could to support his children after his wife ran off with their small savings account and her boss. He sold cars during the week and worked as a DJ and radio engineer on the weekends. At night he stayed up late to take classes by correspondence. He remarried and soon after an old Navy buddy offered him a job at Boeing in Seattle. He quickly moved up the ranks in their space and rocket division, working on the massive Saturn rocket for the Apollo project, eventually transitioning to Houston where he worked at NASA. While there, he met astronauts, Senators, and even a Vice-President or two.

By the time he retired, he had been a part of the incredible journey of getting astronauts from the Florida coastline through the stratosphere to the surface of the moon. He was even part of the early work on the space shuttle. Not bad for a man who was born in the back seat of an old Studebaker, the infant son of a traveling salesman who would use his son – propped up in a suitcase – to help sell his products to women when he got to a new town.

By his 80s, though, age and illness had taken a toll on his body. Even with his hearing aids in his ears, turned all the way up, I had to practically yell to be understood. After an hour’s visit, I would be hoarse. War injuries that hardly slowed him down in 1945 were debilitating by then. His days were spent with a walker, then an electric scooter, then a reclining chair, and finally a hospital bed.

As his pace gradually slowed from staggering steps to not much more than a crawl, and finally to a halt, he would look at me and weep. “What good am I?” he would ask. “I’m not worth anything to anyone.”

It’s a common problem, a frequent concern and lament among those who have lost their ability to do what they used to do and to care for themselves, and have to get more and more help from others. I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve had elderly, shut-in, handicapped, or bedridden people say words to that effect.

It’s easy to understand why they feel that way. One of the first questions that you ask someone that you meet for the first time is probably, “And what do you do?” We are quick to run down a list of job descriptions, vocational duties, and professional responsibilities so that people know: we have value, we are a contributing part of society, we are doing something for the greater good. Even among retired people, there is usually a disclaimer, “I’m retired now, but I used to…” and add their former work pedigree as well as what they do to keep busy with grandkids, the old home place, and a volunteer organization or two.  

Or, perhaps there are other mitigating circumstances that can come into play, even among the young and healthy. I sat with a young man who could only see himself as a negative value: a failure, a disappointment, literally thinking his life insurance made him worth more dead than alive. Clinical depression is no joke, and this man’s illness could only see himself in a negative light. Bringing it closer to home, one of the worst phrases that has come out of the pandemic is this: “Unessential worker.” Early on, the list was quite extensive and included people who work at movie and live theaters; gyms, health and recreation centers; salons and spas; hair stylists and barbers; museums; casinos and racetracks; shopping malls; bowling alleys; sporting and concert venues; bars and restaurants and even, in some states, that list also included pastors and church staff. Some of you know this full well. I heard from some of you, declared unessential. I heard how it made you feel. To be declared unessential is a terrible feeling. It undermines a person’s sense of wholeness, wellness, value, and even identity. If I’m not essential, then what am I? What good am I? Why am I here?

How do you answer someone who thinks their worth is tied to what they can produce? How do you assure someone who thinks their value is only based on what they are able to contribute?  How do you comfort someone who literally has been told they are unessential to the overall wellbeing and welfare of fellow citizens? If you have ever been told, or ever felt, that you were unimportant and unessential and of little to no value, what do you need to hear this morning? To answer that question, I told you the story of Eldon; now let me tell you another story.

“The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which a man found and covered up. Then, in his joy, he goes and sells all that he has and buys the field. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls, who, in finding one pearl of great value, went and sold all that he had and bought it.”

How you understand this parable will impact how you apply it to yourself. If you think this parable is a way of Jesus explaining what you must do for the kingdom – that you must go out and search for lost souls, for example, or that you must surrender everything you have for the kingdom, you would be incorrect. If you think that this parable is a method of you attaining the treasure of salvation by going out and searching for it high and low, you would be missing the point. If you think that this parable is that Jesus is hiding something from you and, unless you are good Christian, you will never get it, then the only thing that is hidden is, in fact, the meaning of the parable.

But this parable isn’t about you. At least, it’s not about you as the main actor. You do have a part in the parable, but you aren’t the lead character. Remember, parables tell us something about the Kingdom, they tell us something about Jesus. So, what does this parable say about Jesus and His coming among us?

It tells us that Jesus is a great and magnificent treasure hunter, a seeker and finder of lost pearls. Christ, whose very purpose is to seek and to save the lost, seeks and finds the lost ones. Notice what He finds: not lumps of clay, but treasure; not bothersome grains of sand, but pearls. He declares that which is found of great value, great worth, great significance to Him. If, as they say, beauty and value is in the eyes of the beholder, than your value is found in the eyes of the beholder, and the Beholder is Jesus Christ who values you and you and you – each one of His beloved brothers and sisters – He values you so greatly that He was willing to sacrifice all that He had to redeem you from where you lay hidden. He surrenders Himself to rescue you.

These parables teach that you, dear friends, you are of great worth to your Lord and your Savior. You are of immense significance to Him. You are as valuable to Him as a newly discovered treasure or a bright and shiny pearl. Our Lord has found you, a lost and condemned creature, and rescues you from your lostness. He cleanses you with baptismal water, washing away all that held you captive, and he takes you and you and you – each of you - into His nail-marked hands to be His most treasured possessions.

That’s what I told Eldon so many years ago. His value is not in what he does, or makes, or produces. His value is in the eyes of His Lord and Savor who died to rescue Eldon, Jesus surrendering Himself for the sake of Eldon, declaring him a treasure of treasures, a pearl of all pearls.

There is one other part of the parable that needs to be explained. Did you catch the detail that the treasure hunter hid that which was found? Does that seem odd to you? It did to Eldon, as well. In your baptism, you were buried with Christ and you were raised with Christ. Unless Christ returns before, the day will come when you fall asleep in Jesus and you will be buried, hidden in the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, and dust to dust.  But, remember – you are a treasure, a pearl. While you will be hidden in the earth, it is but for a moment. Your Lord has already paid the rescue price for you. The day will soon come when the Lord, with resurrection triumph, will bring you up from the earth, from your hiding and resting place, and you will be raised and restored in wholeness, a treasure among treasures, a pearl among pearls.

In a world that places worth and value on what you can produce, our Lord values you for who you are: His. Your identity, your worth, your value is in Christ Jesus because you have been redeemed with His blood.

 

Groans of Prayer - Romans 8:26-27

“Groans of Prayer”

Romans 8:26-27

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

What do you do when the world is crashing in on you, on your loved ones, on your neighbors, on our nation, on the world? We know something about this, don’t we? Unemployment looms, illness threatens, society is quaking under threats from within and without. Teachers, parents, and students are all wondering what the fall will bring. Doctors, nurses, scientists and civil leaders are all wondering when this pandemic will ease. We feel it at home, at work, and all places in-between as finances are stretched tight, “make do” becomes the mantra, and patience wears thin.

In times like these, you often hear Christians encourage one another with the wise counsel to turn to the Lord in prayer.

                              Are we weak and heavy laden, cumbered with a load of care?
                              Precious Savior, still our refuge - take it to the Lord in prayer.                             
                              Do thy friends despise, forsake thee?  Take it to the Lord in prayer. 
                              In His arms He’ll take and shield thee, thou wilt find a solace there. (LSB, 770:3)

It’s good advice.  It’s Biblical advice because God Himself invites, encourages, and enables us to pray to Him in all times and places.  And for most of us, so often in our Christian lives, they are words of comfort and hope as we turn, in prayer, to our Triune God who made us, redeemed us, and makes us His. 

But what about those times when the world seems to fall on our shoulders and there is no conceivable way out.  When the needs are SO great, or the situation is just so complex, or our own confusion is so strong that we literally have no words that can express how we feel.  I’ve been there, many times – you probably have been there, too. A friend asks what’s wrong and all we can do is cry.  A spouse wants to know what’s bothering us and all we can do is open, close, open, close our mouth and shrug.  The world is spinning, we can feel every thump of the heart throughout the body, and the mind goes blank.  The mouth – which at other times we can’t seem to silence – suddenly falls mute.  There is no word to express the pain, anger, frustration, or hurt right now – all there is left is a groan. 

If a picture is worth a thousand words, then a groan can be worth a thousand paragraphs.  The well-intentioned phrase, “Take it to the Lord in prayer” finally inspires a single word to pop out.  “How?”  How can we pray when we just can’t pray?  How can we pray for God’s grace if the words won’t come?  How can we pray the cry of the church, “Lord – Have mercy?” when our heart, mind, and mouth are like cold stone?  Even reading the Psalms, or Portals of Prayer, or a hymn seems impossible as you find yourself reading the same line over and over and over. How can we pray if we can’t even express to ourselves what is happening, let alone tell another person – even God?  How can we pray when we just can’t pray? 

When something this terrifying, shocking, complex or confusing happens to us reducing our prayer language from beautifully tuned phrases and sentences to deep-chested groans, what is happening? 

As Children of God, we live in “in-between” existence.  Today – right now – you and I stand as saints in God’s eyes, having been forgiven and made His through the victory of Christ on Easter morning.  The Scriptures have been fulfilled in Christ, and we have been given the promise of the resurrection of the body and the life which is to come.  But that is the promise of what is to come.  Right now, we are waiting for the consummation of Christ’s victory over sin, satan, and the world to take place when the full enjoyment and knowledge of God’s love will be made manifest.  Right now we, as saints, live in a world where there is great sin and struggle.  Some days, that world crashes against the life of faith – the Germans call this anfechtung – and the juxtaposition of one over and against the other doesn’t make sense. Sometimes this happens in ways that are so violent and so shocking that it literally leaves us speechless, and it reduces our prayers to groans.

When that happens, the Holy Spirit is there to intercede for you.  Just as the Holy Spirit gives you faith which believes in Christ as your Savior, so also the Spirit gives words and fullness of meaning to our groans.  I want you to know that when you are unable to pray or you don’t know what to pray, it’s not necessarily that your faith has been shattered by what has happened. Your faith might be sorely tested by what you are undergoing.  But tested faith isn’t the same as lost faith. Baptismal, Spirit-enlivened faith remains: you are God’s children, loved and precious in His sight.  You know that out of that love, God sent His Son into the world to live, suffer, and die in your place, securing your eternal victory in His resurrection on Easter Morning.  You know that you have been saved by Spirit-given faith in Christ, and as a result, you have the confidence of Mary and Martha that on the Last Day, you will rise from the dead to live eternally with Christ.  You believe that as the waters of Baptism were poured over your heads, you were given the blessed names of “Saint” and “Child of God.”  The Spirit, who instilled saving faith into your hearts, continues to live in you and enables you to confess the Christian faith.  The Spirit allows you to believe with hope (!!!) that there is much greater things to come than this world of tears; that one day, Christ will come again to judge the living and the dead; to reunite soul and body, and to take you – His faithful – to live eternally with Him in heaven.

That gives you surety, confidence, hope, courage, and strength as you walk through the valley of the shadow in this “in-between” existence.  When those days, events, and sorrows knock the very breath of prayer out of you, leaving you to groan in agony, the Holy Spirit continues to abide in and with you, instilling faith into your heart, allowing you to confess Christ as Lord, keeping your hearts and minds through faith unto life everlasting. And, when the words and thoughts and prayers don’t come – can’t come - the Holy Spirit fills turns our groans into the faith-filled prayer of the Church: “Lord, have mercy!  Christ, have mercy!  Lord, have mercy!”  As we groan in our needs and in our agony and in our sense of helplessness, the Holy Spirit takes our longings and true needs and turns them into beautiful petitions to the Father.

In that glorious mystery of the Trinity, the Father hears those Spirit-carried petitions for the sake of His Son, Jesus Christ, who stands as your intercessor, the High Priest. There is someone who truly understands that which we don’t even fully understand, being able to put into prayers that which we can only groan!  But what is even better is that the Father hears the Spirit’s perfect prayer for us.  Our heavenly Father searches our hearts and He knows what our true needs are, even if we can’t identify or wrongly identify what we truly need.  And you can be certain that God’s Spirit will intercede for you in the best way, “according to the will of God,” as Paul says.  All of this because Christ Jesus has made you into God’s child, His beloved saint, through faith in His work for you.

For those times when you don’t even know what to pray, the words of this morning’s Epistle serve as great comfort and joy to troubled Christians.   For even when we don’t know what to pray for, we have an intercessor who prays on our behalf, perfectly presenting our petitions to the Heavenly Father for us. In our helplessness, our gracious triune God steps in to give us what we need.  In Christ, God’s Son, we are holy and have the right to prayer.  Through the Holy Spirit’s intercession, just the right prayers are offered for us, even when we can’t pray for ourselves.  And our loving Father will hear, and grant us the things we truly need, even when we don’t know what to pray.  In Jesus’ Name.  Amen.

Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more that all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us, to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever!  Amen! (Eph. 3:20).

 

Weary & Worn? Find Rest in Jesus - Matthew 11: 25-30

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

What do you carry?

A cop’s belt weighs around twenty pounds, fully loaded, give or take an extra magazine or two. Body armor adds ten pounds, two pens add a little less than an ounce; body camera, 5.3 ounces; pocket recorder, 2.08 ounces; and a multi-tool, 5 ounces.

A nurse’s stethoscope weighs between 6.6 – 8 oz, medical shears 5.8 oz; a roll of medical tape, 1.3 oz;  a spare pair of rubber gloves tucked in the belt add only a fraction of an ounce, all covered by twenty five ounces of very warm and terribly uncomfortable full-length gown, face shield, and head cover.

A rancher’s hat weighs 4 ounces, plus or minus for perspiration. His Levis weigh 1.6 lbs, have a 6 oz pair of leather gloves  and 1.3 oz Skoal in the hip pockets, all held up with 2.4 lbs of belt and buckle, and stacked on top of a 4 lb pair of Justin boots.

A mom not only carries her 9.8lb son, but also a diaper bag containing 80 oz of diapers; a half pound – mmm, better make that a pound of wipes; sixteen ounces of water; four ounces of formula; three pounds of miscellaneous toys, teethers and snacks all packed up in a diaper bag that weighs more than her son.

A teacher’s rolling crate is stocked with four ounces of #2 pencils and ten ounces of pens for students who forgot theirs; her lunch, 2 lbs; coffee in insulated cup, 28 ounces; forty essays, 7lbs; two text books, 12 lbs; laptop computer, 5.3 lbs; and five pounds of candy bars to deliver from her son’s fund raiser.

A pastor wears a clerical cross that weighs 3.2 ounces, a pen that weighs a little over an ounce, carries a three pound Bible, wears an alb that weighs 2.2 pounds with a stole that feels much heavier than its 1.9 lbs.

Then, there are the things you can’t weigh: An officer’s shield weighs only 3.4 ounces, but it feels like much more with the world watching because of another cop’s professional misconduct. A nurse on the night shift sits at her console listening to a scared 13 year old boy and his dad softly sob because the boy hurts and she can’t give him any more meds. The frustration of watching beef prices fall, feed prices rise, and watering holes dry up in the drought. A young mother trying to balance a child or two with work, marriage, house, and not having a moment for self-care. A teacher who watches a kid try, try, try again and again and finally just give up as classmates mock her for being dumb. A pastor who stands at the graveside as he buries a parishioner who took his own life while the family, sitting nearby, finds no answers to “why?”

What do you carry? What wearies you? What weighs you down? What burdens are on you – emotional, physical, mental, even spiritual? FR suits and tool belts, stacks of paperwork and office reports, kids who are bored and parents who are restless, cancelled camps and rescheduled orthodontists, Unemployment, getting back to school, marital problems, medical tests, depression and anxiety. There are plenty of things that weigh us down – by now, you probably have your own extended list. We try to offload to our calendars, try to compartmentalize, and get up each day trying to carry the load while at the same time pretending this is all just fine, everything is fine, I’m just fine, thinking, pretending we can manage. But, we know the truth: we can’t keep up the game, the charade, the façade forever. And it’s all capped off with .02 oz of triple-layered, hospital grade Covid19 prevention. We hate the masks, but on the other hand, we can hide behind them just a bit so that others don’t see what we all carry in our hearts, minds, and bodies.

These are all real things, important things, serious things that weigh us down. But then there are the burdens of the soul. We are weary of the sinfulness of the world, the hatred that seems so rampant, the sheer vitriol against people whose skin color, nationality, or vocation is different than ours. We’re ashamed that we, ourselves, have at times said and done some of those same things – perhaps not in degree, but knowing, nevertheless, it is still a sin in the eyes of God in failing to love our neighbor in thought, word and deed. The burdens of selfishness and failing to love God above all things; the desire to please friends or family instead of our Lord; struggling to not let money become the most important thing in our lives. We see someone hurting and know we should stop to help with words of comfort and actions of mercy but compassion is overwhelmed by excuses. Fearless, bold speech in defense of the Word of God in the name of Jesus is buried in the name of expediency, political correctness, and “go along to get along.” Even our repentance feels hollow as we surrender again and again.

These things, these spiritual burdens weary us even more than the others. We are tired of stumbling, exhausted from falling, drained from failing. We feel as if we have failed in the spiritual battle as disciples of Christ, having let Him down, our fellow Christians down, and our neighbors down.

“Come.” A single word, spoken to you by Jesus. “Come.” “All of you who are laboring and who are heavily burdened, come to me and I will give you rest.”  I want you to know, He sees and knows the burdens you carry, physical, mental, emotional, spiritual – all of them – and yet, He calls to you. He does not turn you away. He calls out to you, the tired ones, the working ones, the defeated ones, the weary ones, the troubled ones - He calls, He welcomes, and He gives rest.

Why? Why would He call out to ones like us? Why would He give rest to ones like us? Simple: For He is gentle, and He is lowly in spirit. What an amazing contrast. How often do we think we have to fix things ourselves by our own strength. We use terms like, “I have to be strong for others,” or “You just have to keep your head up.” No, we are not strong. He is strong. Even in His weakness, His strength overcomes all of our burdens. To those who are weary, He is gentle and He offers rest.

He offers it through a yoke. Isn’t that odd. You want to talk about a burden, about serious weight, about being bound to the control of a master. You have seen on TV shows or movies, or even watched parents or grandparents with oxen or mules yoked together, massive wood beams over their shoulders and necks. Yokes imply work, heavy work, hard work. But not this yoke. Jesus’ yoke is Spirit-led repentance. In faith, we confess our own foolish and sinful thoughts, words, and actions, our weakness and our burdens. He binds us to Himself with a Baptismal yoke of grace and mercy to His cross where He has taken our burdens upon Himself, lifting the heavy load from us.

There is one thing about an animal that is yoked: it goes where it is directed. Jesus doesn’t tell us where we will be going, or what we will be doing. No: this yoke is not about work, it’s about belonging – belonging to Him. And, in belonging to Him, you have rest. You have rest because that’s what Jesus is like.

All things are handed to Jesus. And the Father has entrusted to Him the task of making the Father known. This is the Father’s good pleasure, declared over the Son at the Jordan and at the Mountain. Jesus makes the Father known to infants, to the helpless ones, to the weary. He does it by taking our weariness into Himself. He does it by becoming burdened Himself by our burdens. That is the Father’s good pleasure. That is the Son’s willing sacrifice.

This is the spirit’s message to you this Fifth Sunday after Pentecost, the first Sunday in July. Don’t pretend you are strong. It’s a lie. It’s a slap in the Savior’s face. Don’t pretend you can carry the burdens or wear the yoke. It’s not about you, or your strength or what you will do for Jesus as His disciple. This is about what Jesus does for you: calling for you, come, come to me. Turn from yourself, turn from your sin. Receive the rest He offers to you. There is peace and there is forgiveness full and free. Lay aside the burdens and be small, like an infant, like a child.

Take up the yoke, His easy yoke, for it is easy and light for He has born your burdens.
You who are weary and heavy laden: Come.

 

Carrying the Cross at the Dinner Table - Matthew 10:34-39

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is the Gospel lesson, Matthew 10.

Last week, we heard Jesus speak of the difficulty of discipleship “out there” – out in the world. Today, Jesus takes discipleship and He brings it in the front door and into our living rooms, our dining rooms, and our bedrooms. He takes discipleship and the cross of discipleship and places it squarely in the family.

I have become a fan of the TV show BLUE BLOODS. The show follows four generations of the Regan family and their service to the city of New York as lawyers and police officers. I’ve had many people tell me they also like the show – not so much because it’s a cop drama, but because at the core of the show is a strong Christian family that sticks together through thick and thin. At least once each episode, the Regan family sits down together for a nine-person, four-generation family meal. Things happen, though, to the family – personal things, professional things, things that strain those family ties, stretching the almost to the breaking point. At times it’s the tension between policing the streets and the court of law; sometimes it’s the unease between the office of commissioner and street cop; occasionally it’s personal relationships and memories; often it’s sibling squabbles; every now and then, it’s the friction between generations. In that moment, tempers flare, words become fiery, and battle lines are drawn in the sand with slamming plates, shoved-back chairs, and people leaving the table before something irrevocable is said.

Perhaps you know that setting all too well. For you, though, it’s not how confessions are obtained from suspects that cause the troubles around the dinner table. For you, it’s because of your confession of faith in Jesus Christ, reading the Word of God, living a life of repentance and receiving the gifts given to you in your baptism. Someone in your family sees you as old-fashioned and out of touch. But it’s not just in your family – it’s Christian families across the globe. Someone in the family openly mocks those who bow their heads to pray over a meal. Someone in the family has embraced wicca, or Islam, or Scientology or some other religion says they are all viable ways to heaven. Someone in the family has embraced an alternative sexual lifestyle as being perfectly acceptable. Someone in the family denies their infant baptism. Someone in the family calls Christians judgmental hypocrites. Someone in the family has given up completely and says that there is no God and says you are wasting your time going to church.

For you, and for families like yours, your family dinner table is not so much divided by race or political party or whatever current topic is on the news - your family dinner table is divided because of Jesus.  These are all relatively minor in our country – hurtful, yes, but there are places where Jesus’ warning about cross bearing isn’t just a metaphor. In some countries, these dinner table confessions of Jesus are much more serious. Someone in the family calls the local authorities because mom or dad, sister or brother, husband or wife, son or daughter is a Christian and in that place, Christianity is illegal. In places like that, there is no First Amendment, there is no balanced trial, there is no public defender. I don’t need to tell you how those trials often end.

We are used to hearing Jesus say that He comes to deliver peace. The angels’ song at His birth declared Christ’s birth would bring “Peace on earth and good will among men.” He instructed the Twelve that they would be deliver peace to houses that receive them as servants of Christ. He delivered His promise to His disciples, “My peace I live with you, my peace I give to you, not as the world gives do I give.” We are used to hearing Him speak to frightened followers and to raging storm-tossed seas, “Peace.” In words and in actions, peace is delivered, peace is granted, peace is received. With Christ’s peace is restoration, wholeness, unity and harmony.

So when we hear Jesus speak, saying that He comes to bring not peace but a sword, it catches us off guard – it makes us stop and re-read. These are not the words we are used to hearing from Jesus. I’m sure it stunned the disciples, too. Not peace on earth, but a sword? Peace unites; swords separate. Peace heals; swords kill. Peace delivers harmony; swords bring punishment. A sword is not very Christ-like, is it? But He’s not done. Jesus says He will put man against father, daughter against mother, daughter-in-law against mother-in-law – so much so that family will become enemy!

We’re left in a conundrum - Where is the Jesus we know? Where is the word of peace that we expect? But at the same time, we must nod our heads and agree, “yes – this is true.” We agree, first, because it’s Jesus’ own word, but also we see it; we experience it in our own lives, in our own homes, in our own families: with Jesus, there is separation.

When Jesus speaks of these things happening, of bringing a sword, we must consider this word carefully lest we misunderstand Him. First, Jesus doesn’t mean a literal sword. Swords are left to governments to wield with God’s blessing as His representatives. Nor is Jesus starting a revolution, an insurrection, or a coup against Rome. Nor is He instructing the disciples – or the church for that matter – to take up arms and execute their 2^nd Amendment rights of personal defense.  He is speaking of the effect that the Gospel can have on those who reject the Good News of Jesus as Savior, the proclamation that the Kingdom is near.

It’s the wonderful juxtaposition of the truths of Jesus: on the one hand, His Word does exactly what it proclaims for sinful people. When the Word is spoken, it creates faith by the power of the Holy Spirit. When the Word speaks of peace, there is peace. When it speaks of forgiveness, sins are released. When it speaks of hope, there is future. When it speaks of grace, and mercy and compassion, these gifts abound and hearts overflow. When it the word proclaims life, death flees. When the word tells satan to go away, he runs in terror. The Word works. People hear Christ’s word that the Kingdom is near and, by God’s grace, they repent and believe.

On the other hand, the Word is completely resistible by sinful people. Others hear the very same word of Jesus but due to their own ingrained sin and sinful stubbornness, reject the Word that leads to salvation. When the Word speaks peace, a man can insist on continued separation. When the Word declares sins are forgiven, a woman can refuse to believe it is true - both for herself and for those who hurt her. When the Word speaks of hope, a daughter sees only gloom; when the Word speaks grace, mercy, and compassion, a son can insist on feeding anger, hurt, and revenge. When the word proclaims life, a dying fool laughs in mockery.

And, so, what was true in the Old Testament days of Micah when he proclaimed, “A son dishonors his father, a daughter will rise up against her mother, a bride against her mother-in-law, and the enemies of a man will be the members of his own house,” remain true still to this day. The conflict that arises within families over the name of Jesus is a tragically sad commentary on the sinful condition of people of all times. And even though Jesus’ word delivers faith, hope, and trust to those who love and follow Him, that same word results in conflict with those who refuse to repent and follow Christ alone. Jesus’ intent isn’t to divide, but division is the result, the effect, of the coming of Jesus and our following Him.

In those divided families, sooner or later, faithful people of God face the wrath and anger of the unfaithful. The message, whether literally stated or implied, is turn away from Jesus and do what I say instead. It’s exactly what Jesus warned would happen. And, sometimes in those moments, your faith-filled witness, even in the face of adversity, will win the brother, or sister, or mother-in-law, or father over for the sake of Jesus. At other times, the demands of the non-believing spouse or the faithless child will demand your conformity in ways that you simply, and sadly, must not comply. You are called to love Jesus more than your own flesh and blood.

The Good News is that Jesus knows what it is to carry a cross. Remember: He took up His own cross for you. He, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross and scorned its shame. He carried the cross when your son laughed at you for praying before eating a bologna sandwich. He carried the cross when your parents thought you going to church was a waste of your valuable time. He carried the cross when your stepbrother called you a Jesus Freak for not reading porn magazines. Jesus carried the cross when your own cousin reported you to HR as being too preachy in the breakroom. He carried it all for you, for the sins committed against you, for those who sought to hurt you in spirit, in mind, in body, in your life. This is the cross Jesus speaks of, the cross of following Christ even when unpopular with family. It might not be a cross that leads to your own death, but it will lead to heartache and pain. Yet, if you were to cave in and surrender to the demands of the faith-less family members, then you reject Christ and His word. In that, you also surrender the one true life that you are guaranteed. His resurrection victory shows you that what you endure this side of heaven, with your own crosses, is but temporary. In Christ’s resurrection, delivered to you in Baptismal water, and sealed with the sign of the cross, you have the promise of eternity with God through Christ.

 You heard it last week in the words of Jesus. Hear it again – this time, not for “out there,” but for in your own home, at your own family dinner table. Have no fear; do not fear; fear not. Speak boldly and confidently, but also lovingly and winsomely, of Jesus with your father and mother, sister and brother, son and daughter, and even mother in law and daughter in law, father in law and son in law. Speak of Jesus. Carry the cross. In those moments of cross-carrying, Jesus carries you. Amen.

Have No Fear - Matthew 10: 26-33

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

I was excited. It was my first day at the Seminary, day one of the four-year road to becoming a pastor. All day, I had talked, discussed, and translated with other pastors-in-training. All of us were filled with the excitement of ministry and the confidence that only first year students can have. 

That afternoon, my classmates and I were in an orientation session for what was being called field work, graduate-school level shadowing of a pastor in various ministry settings. Professor William explained that each quarter we rotate to a different ministry setting. A third of us would be shadowing chaplains, a third would be sent to congregations conducting evangelism programs, and the other third sent to inner-city ministries at homeless shelters, half-way houses, and, literally, on the streets.  

Chaplains in nursing homes, hospitals and prisons, Professor William said, need to be prepared to help answer faith-and-life questions like why is God making me sick, or is God mad at me, or can I be forgiven for what I did, or what happens when we die. He told us to watch and learn because a large part of pastoral ministry is visiting members and families in those places. “Remember,” he said with an excited tone, “you’ll bring the presence of Christ and His Word to those people in a time of crisis.”

His tone was contagious; we were excited. That sounded interesting – getting to talk to people with real questions in that place where faith and life intersect and sometimes crash together. The prison thing sounded a little spooky, but hey – that’s what guards are for, right? And some of us had never seen death before or sat with someone who was just diagnosed with a terminal illness – those made us a little uncomfortable, kinda curious how to do that kind of thing, but, still, we were excited.

Those of you heading into evangelism programs, he said, will meet a variety of people, some who really are curious about who God is, why Jesus had to die, or even what makes Christianity different from every other religion in the world. Others, he said, will be ugly and rude. You’ll have doors slammed in your faces, you’ll be laughed at and called ugly names. You might have great conversations like Paul at Athens and clearly speak of Jesus; other times all you can do is walk away and go to the house next door, knock on the door, and try again. “But,” he said as his voice rose, “like the shepherd who rejoices over one sheep who is returned to the flock, you will prayerfully keep searching to bring that one soul back to Christ.”

Ok, so the excitement faded a little and we became a bit nervous. Most of us had never had that experience of person-to-person faith discussions outside of controlled settings like workshops and classrooms. We had never had a door slammed in our face, or laughed at for being a Christian. But we were smart, educated, and Biblically literate – we could figure it out, and besides, we were going in pairs so we could tag-team if need be.

“And then,” he said, “there are those of you who will be going to the inner city of St. Louis. If you’ve never been to a major city before” – and there were plenty of us who had not been exposed to what real inner city looks like – “not every church has a manicured lawn and fresh paint, and you will realize how vast and broad and unique the body of Christ really is.” His voice dropped a half-octave. “What does it look like to be the church in a place where gangs, drugs, and drive-by’s terrorize God’s people. How do you preach love, mercy and compassion in a place often ruled by hate, revenge, and anger and  where languages, skin color, and nationality divide and separate. He paused for a few seconds, then added, “I advise you to wear your clerical collar, wear no jewelry but your wedding ring, and only have your drivers license on you – no wallet, no cash, no cards. You might get hassled or mugged, but we’ve never had a student seriously hurt before.”

You could have heard a pin drop.  Reality hit like an ice bucket challenge. Watching people die in hospitals? Doors slammed in our faces? Robbery? Drive-bys? Gangs? Mugging? Speaking for myself, I hadn’t bargained for any of those things. Is this what ministry involves, what discipleship entails, what it means in real flesh and blood – emphasis on blood – flesh and blood terms to follow Jesus?

Now, I tell you this story knowing that chances are that you will not serve as a chaplain in a hospital or prison. You may never sit in DeLeon plaza with a sign, “Ask me about Jesus.” You might never experience praying with Christian refugees from Syria or worship in a church with bullet-scarred walls in a metropolitan inner city. But it is tempting to let those same fears that gripped my mind and heart in that seminary classroom cross our minds and allow satan to suck away our joy, our excitement and our desire to share the Good News of Jesus. 

We say we don’t want to offend our coworker. In reality we don’t want to risk a visit with HR. We say we don’t want to seem holier than thou to a classmate. Truthfully, we’re worried of what classmates may say about us behind our backs. We say we don’t want to embarrass our friend who doesn’t go to church. Actually, we’re concerned a friend might be embarrassed by us. We say we don’t want to talk about Biblically divisive issues with our adult children. Truth be told, we’re afraid our kids will stop visiting us because we’re “too religious.” We’re so afraid of saying “Christ alone” that we instead surrender to the fears, the worries, the seemingly insurmountable worldly message that’s around us and we play the part of the three monkeys: say nothing, hear nothing, see nothing.

That evening in Seik Hall, Professor William cleared his throat. He was standing, Bible in his hands. “Gentlemen,” he said, “Have no fear.” Then he read from Matthew’s Gospel:

“So have no fear of them, for nothing is covered that will not be revealed, or hidden that will not be known. What I tell you in the dark, say in the light, and what you hear whispered, proclaim on the housetops. And do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell. Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father.  But even the hairs of your head are all numbered.  Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows. So everyone who acknowledges me before men, I also will acknowledge before my Father who is in heaven, but whoever denies me before men, I also will deny before my Father who is in heaven.” (Matthew 10:26-33)

“I want you to notice three things,” Professor William said that September evening. “Jesus says, ‘have no fear,’ ‘do not be afraid,’ and ‘fear not.’ That must be pretty important, huh?” he said. “Have no fear of those who oppose you because they aren’t opposing you but God. Do not fear those who might hurt your body.  The worst thing that can happen to you is they take your life, but that will not destroy your relationship with the Father. Fear not, for you are of greater worth than many sparrows. If God shows concern for sparrows, two purchased for a half-hour’s work, seemingly so unimportant that He knows if one falls to the earth, then how much greater is His love for His children. Do not fear, for Christ has already won you the eternal victory, delivered to you in your Baptism. He has gone ahead; you follow. Do not fear.”

“Have no fear… Do not fear… Fear not…” Those are Jesus’ words to His disciples as they were entering the world, and those words – echoed down through the centuries – still ring in the ears of the body of Christ as we live in the world today. Everyone knows the Great Commission, right? “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit and teaching them to obey all things I have commanded you.” We remember Jesus promise that He will be with us to the end of the age. But do you know why that Commission is so great? Do you know why that blessing is able to be given? It’s the sentence prior: “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.” Because all authority is His, He tells us to have no fear, to not fear, to fear not. And because all authority is His, we will have no fear, we will not fear, we will fear not as we live in this world, confessing the name of Jesus with those around us. 

And, if fear sneaks it’s subversive way into your heart and mind, repent. If you surrender and, instead of speaking out you hush up, repent. If you turn the other way instead of standing boldly for the name of Jesus, repent. Repent of your fear and turn in faith to Jesus and confess your fears to Him. He endured the terror of the cross for you. He takes the burden of your guilt and your shame from you so you are able to live in freedom and are able to confess Christ again.

Does this mean we won’t have difficulties, that we won’t face evil because we are disciples of Jesus? No; it does not. What Jesus’ thrice-repeated “do not fear” means is this: when – and please note, I said when, not if – when difficulties, or persecution, or prosecution, or even martyrdom comes, are always and fully under the Father’s divine, loving, Baptismally-drenched care. He is with us whether we are stand, suffering in front of family who rejects, friends who mock, employers who threaten, governments who punish, or even at death’s door. Know this: in those moments, God has not and will not abandon you. He abandoned His Son, Jesus, at the cross so that He would never have to abandon you in your moment of greatest need.

It doesn’t seem to make sense – that if God is faithful and present in His Word and through His servants, why is that message rejected? It’s the irony of God’s love: He offers it freely and He will coerce no one. The gift can be received in faith and rejected in denial. Rest assured, even in those moments of rejection God is at work in you, for you and through you. The Father has not, and He will not, overlook His little ones who suffer. Even that suffering, God uses for the glory of His name. He will strengthen you through the power of the Holy Spirit. And, on the Last Day, the Truth will be made perfectly clear and no longer hidden, and then their opposition to the Gospel will be made known.

So, my friends, “Have no fear… Do not fear… Fear not…” When given the opportunity, speak boldly and truthfully in the name of Jesus. I leave you with the words of Professor William – well, actually, they’re not his words at all. They belong to Someone else.

“Have no fear… Do not fear… Fear not…”

In the name of Jesus. Amen.,

I Hope Your Guts Hurt - Matthew 9:35 - 10:8

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The text is the Gospel lesson from Matthew 9.

You are probably familiar with IQ tests. IQ stands for Intelligence Quotient. It’s one way to try to quantify a person’s relative intelligence – in other words, to try to determine how smart one might potentially be. It’s not a perfect instrument, of course, but it’s been the gold standard for decades.

Lately, however, educators, psychologists, psychiatrists and sociologists have come to realize that there is more to life than just intelligence. A new term was used called emotional intelligence, usually abbreviated as EQ to make it parallel with IQ. This is used to not so much measure raw intellectual power but rather the ability of a person to see what is happening in other people around them, to read their emotions and have an empathetic response to them.

Empathy. You’ve probably heard that term before. Empathy comes into English from the German word Einfühlung. Literally, einfühlung means ‘feeling into’ – it’s the idea that you are feeling what someone else is feeling, perhaps not to the depth of breadth of their emotion, but you are at least tracking along with them. You have empathy if you see someone experiencing joy, or sadness, or fear and you likewise have a measure of joy, sadness, or fear along with them. It involves, first, seeing someone else’s situation from his perspective, and, second, sharing his emotions, including, if any, his distress. Empathy is good; it is important to help us gain another person’s perspective, to walk a mile in their shoes and gain some understanding of their zitsenleiben – another good German word - their place in life.

You may be more familiar with the word sympathy. Sympathy and empathy are not the same thing; they are quite different. Sympathy literally means “feeling along with.” It’s a feeling of care or concern for someone, but it stops short of putting yourself in their place. It implies distance. There is no shared emotion, only a personal reaction to what someone else is going through.

Then, of course, there is their close cousin pity. Pity focuses on what you feel, your discomfort and displeasure at the yuckiness you see. Pity acknowledges a situation but is quick to move on – after offering a condescending comment or two. If sympathy implies distance, pity demands separation.

Brene Brown, professor at the University of Houston, explains these words this way: Empathy says I see that you are hurting and scared. Let me sit with you so you’re not alone. Sympathy says yep, you’re in a real pickle here. Well, it could be worse. Cheer up. Pity says you really made a mess of things. What did you do to be so bad off?

So, why the lesson in sociological and psychological terms, huh? Glad you asked.

Jesus is traveling around from village to village, city to city, and everywhere he goes he is teaching, preaching and healing. What he discovers, time and time again, is that the crowd is harassed and helpless. St. Matthew uses a comparison that we can imagine, if not fully understand, saying that they were like sheep without a shepherd.

Shepherdless sheep are in a dangerous situation. Without someone to watch them, sheep are all too soon turned into sheep stew by a pack of marauding wild dogs. Without someone to guide them, sheep wander into thorny bushes that grab them by the wool and refuse to let them go, or wade too far out into the water where their wool drags them under and they drown. Without someone to direct them, sheep will literally eat themselves sick on fresh green grass. Without someone to calm them, sheep startle and spook, running willy-nilly until they are hopelessly, helplessly lost – easy pickings for a dishonest man looking to add another animal to his herd or some fresh meet to the family dinner table.

That’s the point of comparison. The people were a congregation without a pastor – not because the pastors weren’t there. Oh, no – they were there, alright. All of the people whose responsibilities include caring for the eternal souls and welfare of the people, feeding them God’s Word, blessing them with His name, imparting and delivering the gifts of God day in and day out, praying and interceding for them – all of these shepherd-pastors stood by and abandoned their flocks to be consumed by the wolves and bears and lions of the devil, the world, and their own sinful flesh.

And, meanwhile, as the sheep were devoured one by one by being led to take their eyes off of the promise of the coming Messiah, now fulfilled in Jesus, the shepherds got fat and sassy. They debated the fine intricacies of the Law and argued ways people were guilty of breaking the Law…all the while holding themselves up as high, and great, and holy men. They proffered themselves as near divine with practically sinless lives all the while looking down their pharaisaical noses at sinners, tax collectors and prostitutes. Instead of having compassion of their own for these people of God, these sheep, who were wandering and in danger of being forever lost and damned, they passed by, lest they dirty themselves in the process. They were compassion-less for those who needed compassion.

Jesus sees the crowds and their sheep-like situation. What does He do?

Well, he could have had pity on them. “Poor people,” he could have said. “If you had only paid attention to all of the prophets that my Father sent you, you wouldn’t be in this mess.” He could have had sympathy. “Yeah, you’ve got a real situation here. You need to figure something and find someone to lead you out but, hey, at least you have each other.” He could have had empathy. He could have wandered around with them, listening to their concerns while also feeling lost and empty, just like them.

But He doesn’t do any of those things. Instead, He has compassion on them. The Greek word for compassion is splancthon. In ancient literature, the word was originally used to describe the guts of an animal, but it came to mean the feeling you have in your guts when you see something. But it’s more than just a gut feeling. Compassion is a visceral reaction, meaning your guts hurt and you have to respond. Compassion is mercy put into flesh-and-blood action. But compassion also means getting dirty, getting down on someone’s level where they are. Compassion moves you from inaction and into action and it leads you in the dirt – figuratively or literally – down in the ditch in the dust or the muck. Compassion inserts you into their pain, in their misery, whether it’s in the unemployment office, in Christ’s kitchen, at the death-bed, or in the funeral home as they stare down the valley of the shadow – getting down eyeball to eyeball with them and be with them in that hard, difficult place and time. Compassion puts you on their level. Compassion says “I’m not better than you…I’m with you, and I won’t let you be alone, and I will help you in this.” Compassion is visceral.

Jesus has compassion. He isn’t some distant, far-off and aloof Divinity. This Jesus is God-in-flesh, perfect God who comes to dwell among His own dear people. This same Jesus, who was with God from the beginning, now stands as a man among people and what He sees hurts.  His pain is so deep that His guts hurt.

Remember: He’s been performing miracles all through Capernaum and the surrounding area. Go back and read the three chapters prior to this morning’s Gospel lesson. He’s been busy: from healing Peter’s mother in law, to calming the storm threatening to sink the disciples’ ship, to raising Jairus’ daughter from the dead, Jesus acted with mercy. But, St. Matthew never says that these things – not even the death of the little girl – caused splancthon, compassion, His guts to hurt.

But the shepherdless people whose pastors failed them, they make Jesus’ guts hurt. So, Jesus reacts and demonstrates His compassion. But how Jesus demonstrates compassion might be a bit surprising.

He tells His disciples to pray. Isn’t that remarkable?  He tells them to pray to the Father that He sends out workers into the harvest field.

And, then to further demonstrate His compassion, He sends out the 12 disciples – for the first time identified as apostles, meaning “sent ones” – out into the harvest field. They are to be instruments and vehicles of His compassion, delivering it to those who were shepherdless. “And He called to Him His twelve disciples and gave them authority over unclean spirits, to cast them out, and to heal every disease and every affliction.” The miracles they perform, the raising from the dead, the exorcisms, and the healing will all be demonstrations of His power, yes – but more than that, of His compassion.

Yet, His compassion is found, chiefly, not in miracles, or exorcisms, or even the raising from the dead in this life. His compassion is found in the cross. The Kingdom is at hand, Jesus said – the time for His Cross is drawing closer. Because of His great compassion, He will suffer and die and rise for the entire world. His guts will hurt – so much so that he sweats great drops of blood. But it’s not just his guts…it’ll be his back from the whips, and his face from the slaps, and his head from the crown of thorns, and his spirit…his spirit as He realizes that even His Father in heaven has abandoned him in the face of hell on earth as the entire sin-filled burden of the world is emptied out upon Him. He takes it all, out of His great compassion for you.

Ours is a world that needs compassion now, more than ever. Our problems in society, they’re not about black or blue, brown or white, rich or poor, inner city or out in the country. It’s that people are acting like sheep without the Good Shepherd. So, demonstrate Christ’s compassion to anyone and everyone. In His compassion, pray for those around you. In His compassion, speak the name of Jesus without shame and without bashfulness. In His compassion, confess the truth that there is salvation in no other name under heaven. In His compassion, be bold to invite those who are like sheep without a shepherd to the fold so that they, too, may receive the compassion of Jesus in Word and Sacrament.

This week, I pray your guts hurt for others. And, as your guts hurt, I pray you are filled by the Spirit of God with compassion to show them Jesus.