Finding Your Rest in Jesus - Isaiah 55:6-9

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

I like listening to audio books while I drive. Helps pass the time. Last week, I was listening to a mystery. A man had been killed and the case was drawing a lot of interest because the victim was a suspect in another criminal case. Between the two events, many people’s lives were impacted, directly and indirectly, by the whole sad narrative. The local newspaperman was interviewing the county sheriff asking about details. Even the reporter seemed melancholy and pensive by the whole sordid affair and, as the interview ended, he asked, “Does it ever seem to you that the world is getting tired? [1]”

Does it ever seem to you that the world is getting tired? I’ve thought about that question all week. Given all that has happened, is happening, and continues to happen all around us – and by “us” I mean all of creation, not just Mission Valley – I imagine that the world is growing weary.

Covid-19 continues to be in the headlines, both because of what it has done and because of the concerns of what it could do. We are in the high peak of hurricane season and the Atlantic Basin is doing its best to teach you all the Greek alphabet. While the upper Gulf Coast from Louisiana to the Florida panhandle struggles with record flooding and power outages from their own hurricanes, an unwanted Beta is scheduled to knock on our door in the next day or two. The West Coast is battling wildfires that turn the midnight sky into a smokey, eerie orange. Violence continues in major cities across not only the United States but the world. Accusations of sexism, favoritism, racism are levied against people – some rightfully, some wrongly, and some sheerly out of spite and vitriol. Innocent people, in the wrong place at the wrong time, have their names, reputations, vocations and even their bodies ruined by hate-filled actions of others who forget that all lives matter. And, that’s all by the end of the 6am news.

In the meantime, for all of us with children and spouses in school, we’ve wrestled with in person or virtual learning and we’ve learned what synchronous and asynchronous means. We see the anxiety and stress in their eyes and voices every day as they leave for class and the frustration as they come home with ever more work to do. We go to our own jobs and struggle with declining revenues and shrinking markets. Meanwhile, our bodies are continuing to age. The knees hurt more and the back doesn’t straighten out as quickly and the eyes can’t see quite as well to thread that needle or to read the spec sheet. The doctor tells us our blood pressure is up and our triglycerides are down and we need to exercise more, but not how to find the time to take care of ourselves, let along everyone else who needs a piece of our time. We go to bed exhausted and wake up not fully rested and turn on the 5am news and it all starts again. Coffee just doesn’t quite fight away the tired that remains in our body, in our mind, and in our heart.

Tired. That’s a good word, isn’t it? We’re tired, our families are tired, and yes – even the world seems tired. And, as God’s people, we know the answer to our fatigue: we seek rest in the Word of God in the Holy Scriptures. This morning, Isaiah invites us to seek the Lord, to search for Him, to pray to Him who is our refuge and strength, a very present help in time of trouble, and to call upon Him while He is near. And we do. We lift up our weary eyes to the hills, from whence cometh our help (Ps. 121), but even the hills seem to be groaning under the strain of it all (Romans 8:22). Our cries, uttered in faith, echo the Psalmist, “How long, O Lord, how long” (Ps. 13)? Maybe we even find the words of Job echoing in our own prayers, “I cry to you for help and you do not answer me; I stand, and you only look at me. You have turned cruel to me” (Job 30:20-21). It seems there is only silence amidst fires, flood, famine…fatigue.

But Isaiah would not allow us to merely offer up a grocery-list of laments and complaints. He is not content to leave us grounded in the foolish notion that we should, somehow and someway, be exempt from such sufferings this side of heaven because of our goodness, our “innocence,” our self-righteousness, our Christianity. Isaiah will not let us stand on our own terms. Rather, Isaiah rightly places us before Almighty God. He is God; we are His people, the sheep of His hands.

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.” God uses the tiresome, wearisome things of this world to draw us back to Him. In these things that take place around us, that we see on the screen or in the paper, that we hear of from friends and family, God is at work, even in these moments that seem so out of His control, to lead us to repentance.

When one hears the word, it's often met with resistance – especially over and against things out of our control. Repent is neither a popular nor easy word. It implies guilt – that there is something to repent of. Our culture much prefers self-defense of innocence or, at least, it's not my fault – it’s someone else’s. How do and why should I repent for the riots in Minneapolis, or sexual harassment in Hollywood, or for fires burning in Oregon?  The entire Christian life is one of repentance, the recognition and acknowledgment that we are sinners living in a fallen world. We repent for that which we have done and that which we have left undone in our lives. We repent of misrepresenting ourselves as co-equal with God, as if He owes us a reply. We repent of breaking our relationship with God in our sinfulness. We repent of our demands for answers. We repent of our expectations that all is fair. Repentance humbles, not defends. It is reflective on God’s voice, not defiantly raising ours. It is admission that we need help, not a spotlight.  So, our Lord through Isaiah calls us to return to the Lord. Our cries join that of creation, creation calling to Creator, and we seek the Lord: “Lord, have mercy.”

Repentance has two aspects. The first is sorrow for our sins. That’s the plea for mercy, that we do not receive what we deserve. The second is faith that trusts that God is inclined to show mercy to us because of Christ. I suspect we forget that part, that repentance includes faith.  The entire life of the Christian is one of repentance, remember – sorrow for our sins, yes, but more than that, it’s the faith that trusts Jesus died to rescue and redeem this fallen world and all of us who are in it.

Faith seeks the Lord where He has promised to be: at the cross. At the cross, Christ carried the unrighteousness and wickedness of the world into Himself. He was separated from His Father so that we would never be isolated from God’s grace. Jesus suffered hell on earth so that our sufferings would be only temporary and not last into eternity. Jesus died as a condemned sinner, not only for you and me, but even to redeem creation. The heavens marked His guilty-as-hell death by cloaking the mid-day sun with darkness and with the ground shaking in fear that the God of Creation died, the earth swallowing His body into the burial chamber for a three-day rest.  

On the third day, Christ arose, living, breathing, triumphant. His resurrection declares that sin, death and the devil have been conquered, and that the fallen world and our own fallen selves have been rescued and redeemed by Him.

So, when you are world-weary and sin-worn, turn to the One who knows full-well about being world-weary, sin-worn, and He knows the need for rest. But He not only knows the struggle, He gives the victory. In His resurrection, He invites us to “Come to me who are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest” (Matt 11:28). Seek Him where He has promised to be: here, in His house; in Water and Word, in Bread and Wine. He is present in the fellowship of the saints who speak Christ’s own words of comfort and blessing, and when a brother or sister helps you, in the name of Jesus, when you are weak and struggling.

“Does it seem like the world is getting tired?” This side of heaven, we will continue to struggle and we will have those days when we feel oh, so tired and not sure that we want to know what tomorrow will bring. Those days make us yearn for the promised day of resurrection when our rest shall be perfect and the fatiguing factors of this lifetime are forgotten. Until then, do what is in front of you and do it to the best of your ability. Repent of your sins and in faith that you are already forgiven in Christ. And then rest – rest your body, your mind, your soul – in Christ Jesus who died and was buried for you, knowing that His three-day rest in the tomb sanctifies your rest. And, then, when you awake, make the sign of the cross as a reminder that Christ is near and with you. Go about your day, renewed in Christ Jesus.

Amen.

 

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[1] Johnson, Craig. The Cold Dish. I was listening to an audiobook, so I don’t have a page citation.

When You Get What You Ask For - Matthew 18: 21-35

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

Be careful what you ask for – you’ve heard that sage advice, haven’t you? But, do you know there’s more to it? The full quote continues, “Be careful what you ask for; you just might get it.”

Be careful when you ask a question of Jesus that is based in the Law. When you ask a Law question, be careful because you may get a Law answer.

How often will my brother sin against me and I forgive him? It’s another question of Law, and it comes hot on the heals of Jesus’ instruction “If you brother sins against you, go and tell him his fault, between you and he alone. If he listens, you have won a brother. If he does not listen, take another with you…” (18:15ff). You notice Jesus didn’t give restrictions, conditions or exceptions – he simply says, “if he sins against you.”

I suspect Peter is realizing that this process of forgiving could become rather burdensome and most certainly repetitious. Peter wants some clarification, a limitation, a boundary on how often forgiveness is to be doled out. After all, isn’t there a time of accountability, a point where enough is enough, where forgiveness ceases and justice prevails? How often, Jesus? Peter proactively makes a rather generous seven-time offering – seven is a perfect number, a holy number, a number of fullness and completion, an offer of forgiveness that is twice what the Jewish rabbis taught. Forgiving a repeat sinner seven times seems rather generous.

How many times do I forgive? Remember: a Law question merits a Law answer. Peter wants a quantity, so Jesus gives Peter a quantity, but not what is expected. Jesus ups the ante: seven isn’t sufficient; even seventy is not enough. How often do you forgive, Peter? How about seventy times seven.

People ask me frequently how to forgive someone who has sinned against them – a terrible, grievous sin, one that hurts at the deepest core and is hard – almost impossible – to forgive. How do you forgive the drunk whose decision to drive cost your wife her life? How do you forgive the man who sexually assaulted you? How do you forgive your classmate who posted ugly lies about you on Twitter and Instagram, making you the laughing stock of school? How do you forgive your spouse, son, daughter, or parent, that person who violated your trust and love?

If you think forgiveness is yours, it is something you do, if it is within your power, your ability to give to someone else, you will never be able to forgive. You will always have limits, exclusions, restrictions on your forgiveness. It might be in quantity: I’ll forgive you seven, or seventy, or seventy-times-seven times, but not one more. It might be in quality: I can forgive everything else, but this? It becomes selective: I’ll forgive you and you and you, but you…nope. It can also be dismissively self-righteous: it’s OK for someone else to forgive you but not me…no, sir. If you think forgiveness is yours to meter out and dole out as you wish, you are always under the burden of the Law. If you think forgiveness is what you do, you are like the servant when he encounters another servant – I’ll forgive you, but only when payment is made in full and I get my pound of flesh in the process.

And, if you think forgiveness is yours to meter out, you are in danger of following the footsteps of the first servant who encounters the second servant.  One hundred day’s wages is too much to pass by, so the first throws the second into jail because he can’t pay up. That’s dangerous thinking; foolish thinking. Remember: this is the way of the Law. Be careful what you ask for…you may get what you’ve asked for. When restitution is demanded of someone else, it then is also demanded of you. He who had been set free is jailed and tortured; he, who refuses to forgive the one who owes him, has his own forgiveness nullified.

Now, I want to help you to turn the question. We’re going to change it from “how often do I forgive?” to “how often do I need forgiveness?” In other words, stop looking at the other servant and see only yourself. Suddenly, you have a completely new perspective. Rather than we being the ones giving out forgiveness in a limited number of drips and drops, we realize our own need for forgiveness is vast, beyond limit and number. Our own debt – or, as we pray in the Lord’s Prayer, our trespasses - are beyond number. “For I daily sin much and indeed deserve nothing but punishment,” the Catechism says (5^th Petition of the Lord’s Prayer, Explanation).  How often do I need forgiveness? Constantly, frequently, daily, hourly. What do I need forgiven? Everything.

But, how do you repay a debt you can’t repay? Both servants thought they could negotiate. One owed ten thousand talents. Given a talent is about 20 years wages, he had accrued 200,000 years worth of debt. The other servant owed 100 denarii. With a denarius being a day’s wage, it would be three and a half months’ work. Both men argued they would repay it, given a little more time, a little more grace, a little understanding. But, in reality, neither could afford the repayment price. All they could do was ask for mercy.

When we see ourselves as a servant with an insurmountable debt, that we are the ones who need forgiveness, that our sins far outweigh and outstrip any hope we have of repaying the price ourselves, the parable comes to life. You are the servant whose sins are an insurmountable debt; you are the one who needs forgiveness; you have accumulated a sin-debt that far outweighs and outstrips any hope you could possibly have of repaying the debt accrued. You are not the King who decides how often to forgive but as the one who oh, so often stands with the servants and implores, “King, have mercy on me a sinner.” All you can do is stand at the foot of the King’s throne and ask for mercy with your hands open and empty.

The ironic thing is that we ask for mercy from the very One against whom we have accrued our sin-debt. We confess this: We have sinned against God in thought, word and deed, by what we have done and what we have left undone; and we have sinned against our neighbor by not loving him and her as ourselves. We ask the King of Kings for mercy; we ask God to forgive us.

I’ve had people argue with me that forgiveness is too easy. Someone sins and then asks God to forgive.  Tabula rasa: the slate is wiped clean. Easy, peasy, lemon squeezy. No consequences, no problem, good to go. The issue with that thinking is that it forgets that sin is a debt that must be paid. In the parable, the master forgives the servant’s debt of 10,000 talents. Literally, by cancelling the debt, he is paying debt himself; that is, it costs him 10,000 talents. When God forgives your sins, it is because the debt has been paid in full. Not with gold or silver, or with the stroke of a pen on a receipt. Your sin-debt is paid with the holy, precious blood of Jesus and His innocent suffering and death. He doesn’t count: how often have you sinned…seven sins, seventy transgressions, seventy seven violations of the Law against God and Man! You asked for it – Lord, have mercy on me a sinner! – and God, for the sake of Christ Jesus, gives you what you need. Jesus pays your entire debtor’s price in full so that you do not carry the burden into eternity, His one death for the sins of the world. Your sins have been atoned for, covered in the blood of Christ, and you have been redeemed, purchased and set free.

In your baptism, you were marked with the sign of the cross on your forehead and heart. The cross of Jesus marks your entire body. Those hands that were once empty, reaching out for the King’s mercy, are now marked with the cross of Jesus. You are released from your debt, the bill stripped from your hand, and you are forgiven all of your sins. Your idolatry, your misusing God’s name, your laziness in the Word and in prayer, your ugly words spoken against your parents, children, spouse, and elected officials, your mismanagement of company time, your wandering eyes and wondering mind…all of it, forgiven in Christ. You stand before the Master transgression-free. So there is never any doubt, absolution is spoken again and again, you are reminded of your baptism again and again, you receive Christ’s body and blood again and again so that you are constantly reminded that you, having sinned much, have been forgiven even more.

Earlier, I asked how do you forgive someone who it seems impossible to forgive? You don’t. Forgiveness is not yours to do. But Christ forgives, fully and perfectly. And that includes the other servant who has hurt you. Your fellow servant also stands before the King, also imploring His mercy. They are fellow servants of the King, whose transgressions have likewise been taken from them. They are servants for whom Jesus died, servants who have likewise been marked with the sign of the cross on their forehead and heart and washed in the water of Holy Baptism. Do you see their hands? Empty, emptied by Christ and marked with His blood. Your hands, empty; their hands empty. By God’s grace, through faith in Christ, you – plural – are forgiven.

In being forgiven, you are then enabled to share that forgiveness with other sinners. Christ has forgiven you and set you free so that you become a forgiveness sharer, sharing Christ’s forgiveness with those around you. It begins with humility, seeing your own sin-burden and knowing you, too, stand in front of the King of Kings asking for your own measure of mercy.

Knowing, believing, trusting and relying that you have been mercied much, you pray that the King enables you see that person who hurt you as a fellow servant who likewise has been forgiven by Jesus. With deepest of humility, instead of clenching your hands into fists of anger, hold out that cross-marked hand and extend it in compassion and love to your brother or sister in Christ. Now, remember  - be careful what you ask for because you may get it! Your heart begins to soften and you start to see him or her as a fellow redeemed servant. And, in that moment Satan will do everything he can to stir those old feelings again. Repent, be forgiven, and deliver forgiveness again. This side of heaven, the gift of forgiveness between sinners may never be perfect; it may need to be repeated every time you see that person. That’s life under the cross, as one sinner who has been forgiven much to another sinner who also has been forgiven much.

Be careful what you ask for. “How often do I have to forgive?” That’s a question of law with limitations and restrictions. When you see yourself as one who daily needs forgiveness, and who daily receives the forgiveness of God in Christ Jesus, the question changes. It’s no longer how often do I have to forgive, it becomes “How often have I been forgiven?” The answer is, simply, always.

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

The Greatest are the Weakest and the Weakest are the Greatest - Matthew 18: 1-6

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus says, “Unless you turn and become like children you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom.” The child is the greatest among them because the child has the greatest need. The child is completely dependent upon the parents for food, shelter, care – all of the first article gifts included in “daily bread.” It is this very dependence that makes the child the greatest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.