A Christmas Playlist

In Nomine Iesu
St. Luke 2:1-20
December 24, 2011
Christmas Eve

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Do you have an i-pod? I-pods (and other such devices) have revolutionized the way people listen to music. With i-pods, you pick the songs, you create the playlist, and (because i-pods are so small) you can listen to your favorite tunes almost anywhere at anytime.

The most extensive playlist on my i-pod is my Christmas playlist—nearly seventy songs. I’ve been listening to it a lot lately. But it’s more than just a bunch of songs that I like. These songs have meaning for me. They connect me with my past, reminding me of people, places and stories drawn from a lifetime of Christmases. The voice of Nat King Cole takes me back to an old 8-track tape my parents played when I was little. The piano artistry of George Winston takes me back to college days and still defines the sound of December for me. I first heard the Christmas music of Chanticleer while driving sixty miles one Christmas Day to serve a vacancy on the frozen tundra of South Dakota. The glories of Bach’s Christmas Oratorio connect me with the best of all things German and Lutheran. The Christmas improvisations of Paul Manz taught me to treasure our hymnody. And the stylings of Benjamin Culli are a recent addition to the Christmas playlist, reminding me of blessings we enjoy here and now at Our Savior.

That Christmas playlist grounds me. It connects me with my past, inspires my present efforts, and propels me into the future with hope. That Christmas playlist orients me and sets me straight. Those familiar sounds somehow seem to put all of life in the proper perspective.

God’s Word in Luke chapter two does all of that and more. The familiar sounds of the Christmas Gospel in Luke chapter two are something like a playlist inspired by God. And just like your favorite musical playlist, Luke chapter 2 contains no surprises. You know these lyrics by heart—the people, the places, the story of Jesus’ birth. You didn’t come here tonight expecting to hear anything new, novel or surprising. But don’t underestimate the power of this Christmas playlist from Luke chapter two. For it’s been designed by God to ground you, to connect you with your past, to inspire your present efforts, and send you into the future with hope. This Christmas playlist orients you. It sets you straight. It never fails to put your life in the proper perspective.

God’s Christmas playlist actually begins on a rather secular note: It seems that the government wanted more taxes. And there’s nothing new about that, is there? The government—whether in Rome or Washington or Madison—is always glad to help themselves to more of your money. Nothing is as sure, they say, as death and taxes. But before taxes could be assessed, people and property had to be counted up by means of a census. Thus Caesar Augustus, the most powerful man in the world, was instrumental in fulfilling Micah’s prophecy about the Savior’s birth in Bethlehem—which was the ancestral town of a poor carpenter named Joseph. Behind the politics and partisanship—despite the powerplays of the powerful—God was at work to save you. God’s Christmas playlist reminds me of that—even as the powerful and the partisan continue to plot and plan.

From there, this playlist gets personal. Imagine the heart-breaking plight of Mary and Joseph. Imagine journeying the 90 miles from Nazareth to Bethlehem while Mary was great with child. Imagine the loneliness and fear they must have felt. There was no one to empathize—no one to sympathize—not even a distant relative of Joseph’s would offer them a place to stay in Bethlehem. Only the angels knew what a burden Mary and Joseph were bearing. I suspect you also are bearing a few burdens this Christmas. Sometimes loneliness is felt most acutely at this time of year. For all of us there are times when it seems like we are laboring all alone with no one to empathize—no one to sympathize.

But God’s Christmas playlist reminds us that our feelings of loneliness aren’t quite accurate. The reality is that you don’t bear your burdens alone. Though your friends may desert you and your family may disown you, [and people may mock you because you confess that Jesus Christ is Lord], your God sent His Son to stand shoulder to shoulder with you so that you might cast all of your burdens on Him—because He cares for you. Mary and Joseph no doubt felt all alone, but they weren’t. And neither are you. You have a Savior who knows you, and loves you. God’s Christmas playlist reminds me of that.

That playlist takes an ominous turn with those terrible two words: “no room.” There was no room for them in the inn. Those two words are ominous and terrible because they also describe our hearts—cold, calloused, loveless and stony—with no room for Jesus. I’m sorry, but it’s true. Each of us, in a multitude of ways, by what we have done and by what we have left undone—we have all lived as if we have no room for Jesus in our lives. No room for His Word. No room for His commands. No room for His promises. No room for the people He gives us to comfort and love. With Grinch-like efficiency—like the notorious inn-keeper of Bethlehem—we have refused to make room for the Savior in our busy, complicated lives. We need to admit that sin. We need to repent of that sin. For we can’t properly celebrate the birth of a Savior from sin if we are unwilling to see ourselves as poor, miserable sinners. God’s Christmas playlist reminds me of that.

At the heart of this playlist are these angelic words: “A Savior has been born to you.” This gets us right to the heart of Christmas. The baby in the manger is your Savior. He came to save His people from their sins. He came to destroy death, and bring life and immortality to light. He was born to die for our sins, and rise again to bring us resurrection life. He is your Savior from death. Christmas is a time when we feel the sting of death most acutely—a time when we deeply miss those who have departed this life in peace. Sometimes those tears and that sadness are seen as an intrusion on what’s supposed to be the hap-happiest season of all. But I say, blessed are those who mourn at Christmas, for behind those tears you truly know and recognize the reason for the season—the meaning of the manger: Light and life to all He brings, ris’n with healing in His wings. Mild He lays His glory by, Born that man no more may die. Life that lasts forever is the Savior’s Christmas gift to you. And it IS a gift. There’s no one good enough to deserve it. And no one is so bad as to be ineligible. Whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life. “A Savior has been born to you.” God’s Christmas playlist reminds me of that.

If God’s Christmas playlist has a bit of a honky-tonk twang sound to it, well, that’s because of the shepherds. Although we’ve got some rather romanticized notions about these shepherds, the truth is that the trailer park was probably too good for them. Their church attendance was notoriously bad. They were probably into things like drinking and swearing and carousing—which is information we generally don’t share with first-grade boys when we dress them up at Christmas and say, “Here, be a shepherd.”

But the shepherds from this Christmas playlist have three things going for them: They heard the good news. They believed the good news. And they went to see and hear for themselves their newly mangered Savior. “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this,” they exclaimed. Wouldn’t it be great to retrace the shepherd’s steps from that night as they made their way to the manger? You can, you know. Only you don’t have to go as far as Bethlehem. You can just show up here. Here we’ve got something better than the manger and the swaddling clothes. Here we have the power of God in the preaching of His promises. Here we have the Savior’s real presence, under bread and wine, giving you the faith and forgiveness you need all year long. Be like a shepherd, and let your feet carry you here and see these things which will come to pass in this place. God’s Christmas playlist reminds me of that.

I’ll play my personal Christmas playlist for the next twelve days. But right about Epiphany the music of this playlist will fade away. Then it’s back to real life again—anticipation gone, replaced with the daily grind of vocational responsibilities. But God’s Christmas playlist is preparing you for January too—and for February, March, and April. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen. The shepherds returned. To what did they return? They returned to being shepherds—returned to the unglamorous daily grind of stinky, dumb sheep. You too will return to your unglamorous daily grind.

It will be the same daily grind, but you won’t be the same at all. For God’s Christmas playlist will have had its way with you. You’ll be more grounded in the grace of God, more connected with your past, more inspired for your present efforts, and propelled toward the future with hope in your Savior. With God’s Christmas playlist echoing in your heart, you will be rightly oriented, set straight, with a perspective of praise for just how much God loves you. He is so pleased with you for the sake of His dear Son. Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will to men. Amen.

The Mind of Christ

In Nomine Iesu
Philippians 2:1-18
September 25, 2011
Pentecost 15—Proper 21A


Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Medical technology has advanced to such a degree that there’s virtually no part of your body that can’t be replaced. To receive a new knee or a new shoulder is nothing these days. Vital organs such as lungs, kidneys and even the heart are successfully transplanted into needy recipients almost every day. Why, within the past year or so, surgeons have even succeeded at the first face transplant.

But one thing I don’t think we’ll ever see is a brain transplant. Your mind is uniquely yours. You can swap out any number of other body parts, but you and your mind are inseparable. When the brain does malfunction, all we can do is treat the malady and medicate the mind. What’s the biggest problem with your brain? Mental illness, seizure disorders and Alzheimer’s are some big brain problems. Others of us simply aren’t very smart in some particular subjects.

But where each of our minds fails us most is nothing medical. Our biggest brain problem is not that we’re deficient in math or reading comprehension or even IQ. Our minds can sometimes supply the right answers; but when it comes to living right and doing right the brain you were born with is worthless. When it comes to loving God and loving your neighbor, your mind is vast wasteland. Your brain only cares about you. You are all that matters to your mind. And just let me say, a mind is a terrible thing to waste . . . on you only.

What you need is another mind. What you need is the mind of Christ. That’s the upshot of Philippians chapter two. “Your attitude,” Paul writes, “should be the same as that of Christ Jesus.” But it’s the old King James Version that nails it: “Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus.” In other words, think like Jesus. Have the mind of the Messiah. It sounds like good advice. “Be more like Jesus. Make your mind more like His.” Who can argue with that?

But then Paul beautifully unpacks just what he means by the “mind” of Christ; and it turns out that our minds and the mind of Christ have absolutely nothing in common. His gray matter and our gray matter are two entirely different substances. The mind of Christ led Him always to be concerned about others—serving them and helping them. And in the process, though He was God, He made Himself nothing. Literally, He “emptied” Himself—poured Himself out entirely in service to others. Whether it was washing the dirty, stinky feet of His disciples, or having mercy on ten men with leprosy, or confronting demons or feeding the five thousand or forgiving the sins of broken-hearted, teary-eyed sinners—never once did the Savior say, “I’m tired. Go away. Come back tomorrow. I’m busy. I need time for me.” He made Himself nothing. He became the servant of servants. He humbled Himself and became obedient to death—even death on a cross. Behold, the mind of Christ.

“Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus.” Beloved in the Lord, if you think this text is simply saying, “Be more like Jesus,” you’re missing something. If you think this text means asking “What would Jesus do?” and then doing it for the rest of your life, prepare to be disappointed. You’d have better luck if you simply volunteered for a brain transplant. As sinners, we don’t have what it takes to do what Jesus would do. If we have to figure it out and do it ourselves, it ain’t gonna get done.

God is giving you so much more today than a command to try harder and be more like His Son. What God gives you today is a reality—a miracle, really. It’s the brain transplant you’ve always dreamed of! It is the mind of Christ—in you. It is the attitude of Christ Jesus shaping your attitudes. It is the servanthood of the Savior serving others through you—through your hands and your feet and your mind. Let this mind (the mind of Christ) be in you.

How can it be that sinners like us who seem to do everything out of selfish ambition and vain conceit can suddenly see the crying needs of those around us . . . and do something about it? How can it be that sinners like us who naturally view ourselves as the smartest people with the greatest needs can suddenly see things in a radically different way? How can it be that sinners like us who can’t be even mildly inconvenienced without complaining and arguing can suddenly suffer great loss with quiet humility? How? It is the mind of Christ—in you—working a radical transformation. It’s like a personality transplant. Your mind is decreasing. The mind of Christ is increasing.

The mind of Christ cannot be understood apart from the cross. But at the cross the mind of Christ is made perfectly clear for all. There we see Jesus as your sin-bearing servant. All the sinful schemes ever hatched and carried out by your warped brain were laid upon Jesus. All the devious, deviant decisions conceived in your fertile brain were attributed to Him. He was made to be our sin. And all that He suffered—the betrayal, the beating, and the blood—all this was God’s deliberate plan to save you—to redeem you and restore in you the mind of Christ. Jesus humbled Himself and became obedient to death because that was the only way—the only way that God could make rebels into His children, and to resurrect brain-dead sinners with the merciful mind of Christ.

Your life is now hidden with Christ (Col. 3:3). Or, to turn that around, the life of Christ is now hidden in you. His mind, His humility, His servanthood—it’s all mysteriously at work in you. For all of you who were baptized into Christ are now clothed with Christ. As baptized children of God, every day we repent of our sins. The Old Adam in us is drowned and dies, and a new man emerges to live before God in righteousness and purity. And that new man inside of you—well, he looks surprisingly like Jesus. Today’s text ultimately isn’t about us doing what Jesus would do. No, the Christian life is really about Christ’s doing and Christ’s working in you and through you, guiding, directing and providing you with strength and humility to love God and serve your neighbor. It’s like Paul told the Galatians, “I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me” (Gal. 2:20).

As you draw on the nourishment of His living Word, as you eat and drink His life-giving body and blood, the life of Jesus Himself pulses within you. The attitude of Christ becomes your attitude. The very mind of Christ dwells in you. “Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus.”

You need to remember these words of God especially on those days when you’re tired—tired of giving and giving and giving, and getting absolutely nothing in return—when all your friends and family are in crisis and there’s no one to hear your complaint—when it seems that everyone is taking advantage of you—maybe even the members of your own family. These words are aimed at you when you’re so weary of serving others and when you’ve emptied yourself of every last ounce of compassion and good will—when it seems like the perfect time to get assertive and aggressive and tell everybody else where to get off. What should you do?

You simply let the Jesus in you do His thing. Let go—let God—let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus. We don’t like that answer by nature. It hardly seems fair for me to give and give while others just take and take. “What’s in it for me?” we ask. But that’s not the mind of Christ. The mind of Christ asks, “Who needs me? Who has God placed in my life who needs my service and my support and my love?” You won’t have to look far or wait too long for an answer to that question.

What is it about your life that you find most draining? Who empties you of all the care and compassion you can muster? What cross do you find most difficult to bear? A wealthy woman on safari in Africa once stopped at a primitive hospital for lepers. The heat was intense. The stench was stifling. The flies were buzzing everywhere. The wealthy woman on safari noticed a nurse who was bending down in the dirt, tending to the pus-filled sores and lesions of a dying man. The woman remarked, “You know, I wouldn’t do that for all the money in the world.” To which the nurse gently replied, “Neither would I.” Because, you see, she had the mind of Christ—who came not to be served, but to serve and to give His life as a ransom for many. And with the mind of Christ comes the heart of Christ, the hands of Christ, the eyes of Christ, the compassion of Christ.

Beloved in the Lord, this mind is also in you. In you Jesus Himself is hard at work, until that day when at His name every knee will bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. Amen.

Some Straight Talk about Death and Life

In Nomine Iesu
Philippians 1:19-26
September 18, 2011
Pentecost 14-Proper 20A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

We believe that the Bible is the Word of God. We believe that the Scriptures are always truthful, always accurate, always powerful. But that doesn’t mean that there aren’t some things in the Bible that are hard to swallow. We sometimes have to wrestle with what the Word says, because what the Word says is so contrary to what our reason and our senses tell us.

The four-word epitaph on the cover of today’s bulletin is one of the most hard-to-swallow phrases in all the Scriptures: “To die is gain.” It makes for a great epitaph. And those four words are the Word of the Lord. But . . . do we believe them—we who have watched loved ones die—we who have had loved ones suddenly snatched away from life to death? Do we believe that “to die . . . is gain?”

Now, before we go any further, let’s be clear on one thing. The Bible doesn’t say, “Death is good.” Nor does the Bible say that death is a natural part of the circle of life. That is not the Word of the Lord. God’s Word tells us that death is the wages of our sin. Death is the final “enemy” that God sent His Son to destroy. When God created the heavens and the earth and after six days declared that everything was “very good,” death was not part of that picture. So let’s not pretend (and don’t you hear me saying) that death is a good thing. But do—do hear the Word of the Lord: “To die is gain.”

It takes a lot of effort just to talk about death. It’s such an unpleasant subject that people generally try to avoid it. Our culture denies death. It’s difficult even for us simply to say that so-and-so died. We prefer the euphemisms (and there are so many to choose from): “He passed away, he passed on, expired, kicked the bucket, bought the farm, bit the dust, met his Maker.” And the list goes on and on. Euphemisms about death aren’t a bad thing. They afford a gentler way to broach a difficult subject.

In fact, St. Paul employed a euphemism to describe death in today’s reading from Philippians. When Paul wrote these words to the church at Philippi, things were not going well for him. He wasn’t preaching to packed pews. Nor was he out planting new congregations and winning new converts. He was in prison. His future was uncertain and grim. But to hear Paul describe his situation, you’d think that he had nothing but good options and pleasant possibilities on the horizon: “I eagerly expect,” he wrote, “that Christ will be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death. For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far; but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body.”

Did you catch the euphemism? Paul didn’t say, “I desire to die.” What he said was, “I desire to depart and be with Christ.” Now, there’s a euphemism that tells it like it is. There’s good news in that description of death. Straight talk about death never sounded so good. I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far. Beloved in the Lord, you could read a hundred books on death and dying—you could digest a dozen best-sellers by people claiming to have been to heaven and back again. But here in the pages of your New Testament is the heart of what you need to know about death and dying.

What happens when you die? Here’s what happens when you die: You will be immediately with Christ. You will stand in the Savior’s presence. You will not be alone. You will not be afraid. You will not be asleep. “Sleep” is another euphemism for death that you sometimes find in the Scriptures. And based on that, some Christians have mistakenly concluded that at death the soul just goes to sleep—a kind of holy hibernation—until the day of resurrection. But it ain’t so; for the Bible tells us otherwise. When we depart this life—when we die—we are immediately with Christ. And with Christ, you will lack nothing. You will have everything—far more than you deserve and more than you can even desire. (Even the body you temporarily leave behind is destined to be raised, resurrected and glorified.) And this is why. This is why Paul could write those four little words that sound so foreign—so alien—to our usual way of thinking: “To die is gain.”

Do you believe it? And if you believe it today, will you also believe it in your last days, your last hours and minutes? Many of us, I think it’s safe to say, fear dying. And I think it’s more than just the fear of the unknown. I think we fear death because death is a reminder of our sin. “The wages of sin is death.” “The soul that sins will die.” And when it comes to sin, we each have a record that runs long and deep: the good things we have failed to do and the bad things we have so eagerly engaged in. Over the years, it adds up. And the dying person can no longer hide from that sobering reality of sin.

But you don’t have to hide! Jesus came to save you from that sobering reality of sin. He came into the world to save sinners. For this very reason, Jesus was born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died and was buried. Jesus took your sins all the way to His tomb. He was your stand-in beneath the wrath of God—your sacred substitute. He confronted death head-on, and by His resurrection Jesus defeated that terrifying enemy. Death couldn’t hold on to Jesus and it won’t hold onto you either. For you, death is just a doorway. Depart through that doorway and you will be with Christ.

And this is why we believe those four little words: “to die is gain.” So often when a loved ones dies, the comfort we speak centers on all the bad things that the deceased no longer has to deal with. And it is comforting to realize that there’s no more pain, no more suffering, no more tears, no more sinning. But don’t stop there. Dying isn’t just leaving the bad stuff behind. It is gain. It is receiving—receiving the fullness of all that our God has to give.

And while I’d love to go into great detail about all of that, I can’t. For the Bible also tells us this about the life of the world to come: “No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him” (1 Cor. 2:9). Don’t base your hopes for the afterlife on human authors who claim to have been there and back again. Don’t even set your sights on streets of gold or pearly gates. Don’t imagine halos and harps on fluffy white clouds. Think Jesus. You will be with Him. You will see Him as He is—true God and true man. He loves you and He’s got the scars to prove it. In Him is life and forgiveness and peace that passes understanding. To die is gain.

Do you believe that? If you do, then I’m sure that you will want the people who come to your funeral to know that too—that in Christ, “to die is gain.” Have you given any thought to your funeral? I don’t mean, have you put down a deposit at the funeral home? I mean, have you considered what Scripture, what hymns, what music you want to bear witness to the hope that you have in Christ? I hope you’ll have your funeral here, and not in the fake, sterile serenity of the funeral home. I hope that you’ll choose readings and hymns and music that trumpet your faith in Christ—texts that boldly proclaim your belief in the resurrection of the body and the life of the world to come—instead of readings and music better suited for soft weeping into a lace hanky of hopelessness. Not sure? Then let me make some suggestions for you to pick from. Then write it down and give a copy to me. We’ll give you a send-off fit for a saint—for one redeemed by Christ the crucified.

This is also why we Christians attend funerals. When a brother or sister in Christ dies, it’s easy to say, “I didn’t know him or her very well. I don’t think I’ll go to the funeral.” Beloved in the Lord, not true! You are more deeply united to the people gathered here in this fellowship than to any other people on earth. If you can kneel next to someone at the altar and share together in the gifts of Christ, then you share a holy bond that cannot be broken. And your voice is needed at the funeral to help proclaim and sing to any and all in attendance that, because Jesus Christ has destroyed death, “to die is gain.”

But as for you, you’re not dead yet, are you? You’re still alive and kicking—still quick and not dead. And I can’t let you go without giving good news for this day and this hour. To die is gain, it’s true. You can look forward to that. But it’s also true that to live is Christ. Your daily labor is not in vain. The work of your vocations, your labor in the Lord’s vineyard here, your successes and your failures—in all the humdrum, everyday stuff you do, you are not alone. Here and now, Christ is exalted in you—in your body, in your works, in your words and deeds. To live is Christ. Here and now—is Christ. You have the power of His promises preached and proclaimed. You have His forgiveness. You have His body and blood. Your body is a temple of His Holy Spirit.

You, like Paul, have nothing but good options. Whether you are at the top of your game or locked up in prison, (or even dying) you can’t go wrong. For . . . to live is Christ and to die is gain. Amen.

A Tale of Two Temples

In Nomine Iesu
1 Corinthians 6:19-20
August 30, 2011
Karen Schulz Funeral

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus,
Dear family and friends of Karen Schulz,

Be still, my soul. That was the refrain of the hymn we just sang. It’s a simple, little sentence which expresses the quiet confidence of all those who trust in Christ. Karen’s soul possessed that quiet confidence in these last weeks. Karen’s soul departed this life to be with Christ late last Friday afternoon. And that fact is what brings a measure of quiet confidence to our souls, as well. You probably expected to hear something about the soul as a part of this evening’s service.

But to speak of the soul only tells half the story. For with every soul there is also a body. Both soul and body are important. Both are created by God. And both are destined for eternal life. One of the most astounding statements about the Christian body is found in 1 Corinthians 6: Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body. The body of every Christian is a temple—a dwelling place inhabited by God the Holy Spirit.

These words about the body as a temple made me think of Karen; because Karen had great concern for this temple—this house of God. All of us here today knew Karen in different ways—as a family member, a friend, a neighbor, a sister in Christ. But I knew Karen uniquely as the head of the altar guild here at Our Savior. As head of the altar guild, Karen oversaw that dedicated group of volunteers who care for this temple in special ways, who set-up and clean-up for our weekly celebration of the Lord’s Supper. Banners, flowers, candles, paraments, communion ware, linens—if it has to do with the area here around the altar, the altar guild is involved.

For all the years I’ve been privileged to serve as pastor here, I’ve been privileged to have Karen leading the altar guild. The work isn’t for everybody. It’s sometimes tedious and time-consuming. It often involves washing and drying, polishing and filling, cutting and gluing, cleaning and organizing. And, when you’re done, nobody gives you a standing ovation. Nobody applauds for the altar guild. Karen saw things here that others overlooked. If something was a little stained or dented, chipped or bent, worn out, wrinkled, or otherwise unworthy to be used at this altar of God, Karen noticed it. Karen told me about it. Karen fixed it, replaced it, recovered it, or found something newer and better.

This temple mattered—all of these little things mattered—to Karen because she knew that God dwells here. Here in this temple Karen confessed her sins to God and received absolution. Here in this temple the Words and promises of Jesus were placed in her ears and in her heart. Here in this temple she received the body and blood of Jesus for the forgiveness of sins. Over the years, there were baptisms, confirmations, weddings—all happened here in this holy temple.

It grieved Karen in recent years that she wasn’t well enough to make it here as often as she would have liked. But it wasn’t for lack of trying. One Saturday she came with Bob to set up Communion and I found her sitting on the steps resting. Eight stairs were more than she could handle that day. She would probably be embarrassed to have me mention that today. But it showed me just how determined she was that this temple would receive the care it needed.

This temple is pretty important. But this temple isn’t nearly as important as that temple of the Holy Spirit, the body of our sister Karen. This temple isn’t nearly as valuable, precious, and priceless as that temple. Remember our text, “Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit?” Karen’s body, too, was a temple of the Holy Spirit. Karen’s body, your body, my body—temples of the Holy Spirit. God dwells here. That doesn’t mean that you and I are God, far from it. But it does mean that these frail, fragile bodies have been claimed by Christ the crucified. You were bought at a price, the Bible declares. Not with gold. Not with silver. But with the holy, precious blood of Jesus, that you might be His own.

And all this is true of Karen’s body too. All the care and attention she gave to this temple is nothing compared to the care and attention that her body received and will receive from the Lord Jesus Christ. Karen’s body was not a random collection of DNA or a product of evolution. Karen’s body was carefully and lovingly knit together in her mother’s womb by God Himself—the giver of life. Karen was born into this world (body and soul) on January 11, 1942. And then Karen was re-born in the waters of Holy Baptism later that year. In those cleansing waters, Karen’s body became a temple—a dwelling place of the Holy Spirit. Her sins were washed away. She became a child of God. Her body became a precious, priceless piece of real estate, purchased and paid for by the blood of Jesus Christ, her Savior.

Karen needed a Savior. We all do. For rather than honor God with these bodies of ours, we so often choose to dishonor Him. We abuse our bodies, misuse our bodies, as if our bodies were our own private property—rather than temples of the Holy Spirit. The good things that we ought to do with our bodies often don’t get done. And the bad things that we ought to avoid with our bodies—well, those are the very things we end up doing. It’s called sin; and it runs death deep in every human body. You can try and deny that awful truth—hide it, run from it, blame somebody else. But no matter how you slice it, the wages of our sin is always death. And that’s a payday that none of us can avoid for long.

Jesus didn’t avoid it either. Jesus came to save His people from their sins—came to save Karen Schulz, body and soul. Jesus lived a perfect life as your sacred substitute. As a true man, Jesus always honored God with His body. That means so much more than that Jesus was always a good boy. For all His good counts for you who trust in Him. His perfect obedience counts for sinners like us. His holiness is your holiness by grace, for Christ’s sake, through faith. A gift! Jesus takes all our bad and gives to us all His good.

And all His good includes victory over death—victory not just for the soul, but also for the body. We confessed it in the Apostles’ Creed just moments ago: I believe in the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting. Of course, these bodies of ours aren’t yet outfitted for eternity. Flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God. But we await the resurrection—the sure and certain hope that because Jesus lives—that because Jesus’ body was raised from the dead—He will transform our lowly bodies to be like His glorious body.

I told you a moment ago how Karen could spot what needed fixing and replacing in her work on the altar guild. Little flaws that didn’t seem important to anyone else caught her attention. And at home too, Karen had an eye for things. She was a collector. Beanie babies, knick-knacks, animals of various kinds, collectables too numerous to mention.

But I mention it because our God is a collector too. I mention it because our God, like Karen, has an eye for what needs fixing and replacing—namely, our bodies, His human temples. We know by experience that these bodies are weak, frail and fragile. They wear out and break down. They are susceptible to all kinds of sickness and disease, including cancer. But I tell you with confidence that in a flash, in the twinkling of eye, at the last trumpet, we will be changed. Our bodies will be raised, restored and resurrected. Today it’s dust to dust and ashes to ashes. But on that day our God will collect and resurrect these bodies of ours. God the Father created these bodies. God the Son redeemed these bodies with His blood. God the Holy Spirit made these bodies His temples. We are not our own. We belong to Him. We are more than conquerors through Him who loved us. And nothing can separate us from that love.

Be still, my soul. The Lord is on your side. May those words give confidence and peace to all of us who today mourn the loss of a wife, a mother, a grandmother, a friend. You are here today, in a sense, because you were one of Karen’s collectables. You caught her eye, and she was glad to have you along for the ride. You were the ones who mattered most to Karen. If she had a story to tell—if she had an opinion to share—you were in on that. You are also one of those collected by Jesus the Christ, along with Karen. That means you are in on all Jesus has to offer—and that is everything. Let not your hearts be troubled. If God is for us, who can be against us? Be still, my soul. The Lord is on your side. Amen.

Who do you say I am?

In Nomine Iesu
St. Matthew 16:13-20
August 21, 2011
Pentecost 10-Proper 16A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Will you marry me? Would you like fries with that? Do you promise to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God? Paper or plastic? Radiation or chemo-therapy? Are you pregnant? Not all questions are created equal! Are they? Some questions are matters of life and death; others are so routine that we don’t even think about the answer. But of all the questions ever asked or answered, none is as critical as the question posed by Jesus at the heart of today’s Holy Gospel.

Jesus asked the question: “Who do you say I am?” Peter spoke the answer: “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” And for once, Peter got it right. He nailed it! Peter—who had a knack for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time—gave the perfect answer with perfect timing. Peter couldn’t have given a more perfect answer if God Himself had revealed it to him. Oh . . . wait. That’s actually what happened. “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah, for this was not revealed to you by man, but by my Father in heaven.”

Peter had some heavenly help with his answer. Peter could confess Jesus as Christ and God not because he was super-duper spiritual or incredibly smart. No, the answer Peter gave came straight from heaven. To know and believe and confess who Jesus is cannot be calculated by human intelligence. As it says in 1 Corinthians, “No one can say, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ except by the Holy Spirit.” Or as it says in the Small Catechism, “I believe that I cannot by my own reason or strength believe in Jesus Christ my Lord or come to Him.” To know who Jesus is—to confess Jesus as your Lord and Savior—is a gift.

Lots of people think they know who Jesus is. Still today, Jesus has very good name recognition. Jesus has a favorability rating that most politicians would love to have. The people—the crowds—thought that Jesus was John the Baptist or Elijah or Jeremiah—all very flattering and favorable ideas. But all of them wrong. Dead wrong. People still have lots of flattering and favorable things to say about Jesus—that He’s a good example to follow, an inspiration who stood up to corrupt institutions, a champion of peace. That may be true. That may sound nice. That may garner favorable ratings. But it’s not enough--not nearly enough.

Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God. He came to save His people from their sins, to seek and save the lost. He came to destroy death, that you might have life and have it abundantly. He came as the one mediator between God and man. He loves you and He gave Himself for you. He became obedient unto death—even death on a cross. This is Jesus! Our Savior! This is the Jesus revealed to us in the pages of the Scriptures. And if we don’t know that—if we don’t believe that—if we have the wrong answers about who Jesus is, then we don’t even know who we are. Get Jesus wrong; get yourself wrong—and others too. But get Jesus right and get yourself right too. Know Jesus and know yourself.

Who are you? Who do you say you are? Are you just a random collection of DNA, a product of evolution? Are you just a very smart animal? A product of society? Are you defined by your grades? By your career? Your income? The car you drive? This isn’t just an exercise in existentialism: Who am I? Who are you? What are we doing here? For if you know that Jesus is more than just a nice guy—that He is the Christ, the Son of the living God—then you know who you are too. You know the truth about yourself—that you are a sinner who deserves death and hell; but that in Jesus you are loved. You are redeemed. You are forgiven. You are not your own. You were bought at a price. And you will live forever with Jesus. That’s precisely who you are.

If you know who Jesus is, then you know yourself as well. And if you know yourself, then you also know those around you—who they are. If you can confess Jesus correctly, then you have the proper perspective to view the whole world, starting with the teeny, tiny baby. In fact, you know the truth about babies still in their mothers’ wombs. The unborn child cries out, “My father says I am an accident. My mother says I am a problem—a terrible inconvenience. My doctor says I’m a risk. But what about you in the church of Jesus Christ, who do you say I am?” And we know. We have the right answer—the revealed truth. We know that the unborn are human beings in the sight of God—lovingly created and fashioned by Him, fully deserving of our protection, our help, our love, our sacrifice.

If you know Jesus—who He is—then you also know yourself and those around you. It means knowing the sick, the disabled, and those confined to centers of care. The sick and disabled person cries out, “My doctor calls me a hopeless case. My insurance company says that I’m not worth the money. My own children say that I am a burden to them. And sometimes I think they’re right. But what about you in the church of Jesus Christ, who do you say I am?” And we know. We have the right answer—the revealed truth. We know that the disabled, the dying, the infirm—that Jesus calls them His very own brothers, promising, “Whatever you do for the least of these brothers of mine, you have done it unto me.”

Jesus unites Himself with the weak and vulnerable to such an extent that when you show mercy to such a person you are really serving your Savior, Jesus the Christ, the Son of the living God. Some view these people burdens. But we have the right answer—the revealed truth. We know that those who follow Jesus Christ are in the burden-bearing business. Bearing the burdens of others is what we do, because bearing the burdens of others is what Jesus did. And we know Jesus to be the Christ, the Son of the living God.

I suspect that many of you have known that truth about Jesus and carried it around in your heart since the day you were baptized. Oh, perhaps you weren’t able to articulate it just as perfectly as Peter did. But in that miracle of water and the Word, God the Holy Trinity declared, “Blessed are you.” From that day on, you’ve known Jesus by faith as your Savior. And that knowledge—that faith—it was revealed to you as a gift.

The Jesus revealed to you in baptism is continually being revealed to you in new and wonderful ways—every time you read your Bible, every devotion, every sermon you hear, every time you come to this altar to receive the body and blood of Jesus for the forgiveness of sins, the Savior speaks to you just as He spoke to Peter: “Blessed are you. Blessed are you.” He reminds you that even though the gates of hell are set to swallow you up, yet you are safe and secure—you are on rock-solid ground when you can believe and confess that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God.

Jesus warned His disciples at the end of this scene not to tell anyone that He was the Christ. Keep it a secret. But don’t worry; He’s not talking to you. You can tell anyone and everyone that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God. They just had to wait until Jesus died and rose again—until the stone was rolled away from the tomb and Jesus was revealed as the living Lord. That’s the rock solid proof that changes everything. It sharpens our vision so that we can know Jesus, know ourselves, and know what’s good and true in this dark and dying world. The very doors of heaven have been unlocked for you by Jesus Himself. And He says, “Blessed are you.” Amen.

Dogged Faith

In Nomine Iesu
St. Matthew 15:21-28
August 14, 2011
Pentecost 9-Proper 15A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

What do you do when you’re desperate? What do you do when you’ve got trouble with a capital T—when you’re past the point of panic, strangled by fear, spiraling downward into despair? What do you do? Have we trials and temptations? Is there trouble anywhere? We should never be discouraged—Take it to the Lord in prayer. Prayer, of course, is the natural thing for Christians to do in times of trouble.

But what do you do when your prayers seem to fall on deaf ears? What do you do when your trials, temptations and troubles don’t seem to subside—even after you’ve taken it to the Lord in prayer time and time again? What’s a faithful Christian to do when his or her prayers seem to do no good—seem to be met with only the stony silence of God? The Canaanite woman in today’s Holy Gospel provides us with answers to all of these questions.

Jesus happened to be in her town. Her town wasn’t in Israelite territory; it was a Canaanite neighborhood. But this Canaanite woman was desperate. She had trouble with a capital T—panic, fear, and despair. Her little daughter was suffering from demon-possession, and there was nothing she could do about it. How helpless she must have felt—forced to watch her lovely daughter suffer so.

But this woman did the very thing that you and I would do. She turned to Jesus for help. She went running to Jesus and cried out, “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on me!” She called Jesus the “Son of David,” which wasn’t the way most Canaanites would speak. She started talking like an Israelite—like a Jew. Talk like an Israelite. Speak like a Jew. Was it a clever strategy to get Jesus to do a favor for her? Still today some people do that when they pray. They pile on the religious phrases—try to sound like someone they’re not. Or they pray in King James English: “O Thou great Jehovah, we dost thank Thee for Thy great bountiful goodness . . .” It sounds impressive, but perhaps less than authentic.

But whatever the case, Jesus met the woman’s prayer with stony silence. “He did not answer her a word.” Nothing. Silence. Strike one. But the woman kept on pleading, over and over again. “Lord, have mercy.” (Just like we pray here nearly every Sunday.) The woman’s desperate pleas start to get on the nerves of Jesus’ disciples and they ask Jesus to send her away. When Jesus finally opens His mouth, He doesn’t even speak directly to the woman. He simply reminds everyone of who she is, and who she isn’t: “I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel.” In other words, “Sorry, I’m not here primarily for Canaanites like you. Sorry, you’ll have to go somewhere else.” Strike two.

What would you have done if Jesus had treated you this way? First He’s silent. Then He slams the door in your face and tells you to get lost. And then, strike three: He calls her a “dog.” “It’s not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to their dogs.” Israelites often called Canaanites “dogs,” and it wasn’t meant as a compliment. What would you have done after striking out with the Savior—after discovering only a dead end with the Son of David?

Some people simply give up. Some get angry. Some leave the church. Some walk away from Jesus, because they believe that Jesus walked away from them. As a pastor, I’ve encountered a lot of people like this. At a time of crisis and desperation in their lives they turned to Jesus—they prayed for help, for mercy—but their prayers only seemed to be met with silence. And so they stopped praying, stopped going to church, and many stopped believing. Sometimes they will tell you why—about the terrible time when Jesus let them down—when Jesus didn’t come through for them. If you know someone like this, don’t try to defend Jesus and don’t be too quick to dismiss their complaint as petty. But do learn from this Canaanite woman about how to handle the seeming silence of God in times of trouble.

This entire episode hinges on dogs. Dog lovers, take heart. Every dog has his day and today dogs are man’s best friend. For when Jesus calls her a dog, she didn’t run away. She didn’t get angry. She didn’t give up. She took the very words that came out of Jesus’ mouth and used those very words to take her prayer to a whole new level. Jesus called her a dog and she said, “Amen to that. Yes, Lord,” she said, “but even Canaanite dogs like me get to eat the crumbs that fall from the table, and I’ll be delighted with whatever crumbs you would throw my way.”

This is faith: she takes a hold of the words of Jesus and hangs on for dear life. She accepts Jesus’ words—harsh words with no sugar coating—that she’s nothing more than a yapping dog hassling Him on His way, even though He really wasn’t sent for the likes of her. This is faith. And this is how the faithful pray: We base our prayers on the words of Jesus. We wrestle an answer out of Jesus by using the very Words He Himself has given us. Jesus called the woman a dog and she latched onto that word like a terrier latches onto a soup bone.

What does this mean for you? Well, of course, Jesus hasn’t called you a dog. He calls you His brothers and sisters. God calls you His children. And so we base our prayers on that. We use God’s own words in the Bible to launch our prayers. O God, You command that children should honor their parents and that this pleases You. Help me to love and honor my parents, and help my own children to love and honor me. O God, you command that husbands should love their wives as Christ loved the church and that wives should submit to their husbands. Help me, then to love my wife with a Christ-like love, and grant that I might lead our marriage in such a way that she will be glad to follow. O God, you invite me to cast all my anxiety on You because You care for me. Help me to do just that—to let go of all anxiety and fear that all my words and deeds might bring glory to you.

Do you get the idea? Do you hear this pattern for prayer? You take whatever words Jesus gives you, and run with them. That’s what faith does. This woman had great faith because she clung to Jesus even when Jesus seemed not to care. Faith clings to Jesus even when He calls you a dog. Faith hears “yes” even when our eyes and ears hear “no.” Faith trusts the words of Jesus despite all appearances to the contrary. “Woman, you have great faith! Your request is granted.” And her daughter was healed from that very hour.

Some daughters aren’t healed. Some sons aren’t healed either. Sometimes the answer to our prayers is “no.” Sometimes we hear the same answer that St. Paul heard from Jesus, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” And the answer you get has nothing to do with how strong or how weak your faith is—or how well-crafted your prayers may be. For all sons and daughters, all mothers and fathers, live like little dogs beneath the table of our Father who art in heaven. He sent His own dear Son into this dog-eat-dog world of sin and death. Jesus carried all that sin and death in His body which was nailed to a cross as the payment for our sins. On that dark Friday afternoon Jesus Himself suffered the terrible silence of God. Jesus prayed, “Father, forgive them.” Jesus prayed, “Why have you forsaken me?” Jesus prayed, “Into your hands I commend my spirit.” But His prayers were met only with stone cold silence. But as your sacred substitute, Jesus continued to pray, continued to trust, continued to speak and act with perfect faith.

Those prayers, that trust, that perfect faith—it all counts for you. Everything that Jesus did, He did for you. You may feel dog-tired this morning, weak and weary of waiting patiently for the resurrection. But even dogs like us are privileged to feed on crumbs from the Master’s table. And this morning those crumbs turn out to be the finest and richest of fare: “Take eat, this is my body, given for you. Drink of it all of you, this cup is the new testament in my blood, shed for you for the forgiveness of sins.” Dogs never have it so good as when we are welcomed to this Master’s table. In this case, man’s best friend is . . . the Son of Man. What a friend! What a friend we have in Jesus. Amen.

Man Overboard!

In Nomine Iesu
St. Matthew 14:22-33
August 7, 2011
Pentecost 8-Proper 14A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Jesus walking on the water—and Peter joining Jesus on those waves in the nighttime darkness—has got to be one of the most memorable scenes in all of Scripture. But before we go any deeper, we need to highlight a few facts about this amazing scene. First, you need to know that the wind and waves were not a life-threatening problem that night. Yes, the wind was strong and the waves were a force to be reckoned with; but there’s no hint in the text that the disciples’ boat was in any danger of sinking. It’s nothing like that time when Jesus was in the boat sleeping as the disciples were on deck preparing to abandon ship. Only the words of Jesus, “Peace, be still!” were able to keep their boat afloat that night. But their boat was certainly not sinking on this night.

The second thing we need to get straight is that Peter’s words and actions demonstrate foolishness, not faith. The “moral” of this account isn’t “be bold and courageous like Peter.” At no point does Jesus say, “I’m so proud of you, Peter, for boldly stepping out of the boat.” We never hear, “Blessed are you, Peter, for being so gutsy.” There’s not even an “atta’ boy” or a “You da’ man!” Peter stepped out of the boat because he lacked faith—because He doubted Jesus—not because he had great faith. In fact, remember what Jesus said to Peter when it was all said and done: “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?”

To put it bluntly, the problem in this whole scene is Jesus! Jesus is the one who suspends the laws of physics so that He can catch up with His disciples. Jesus is the one who triggers the terror. Jesus facilitates the fear. Jesus is the one who dances on top of the deep waters as though He owned them and managed them. Jesus—not-so-subtly and without warning—gives an unforgettable late-night lesson that He is the Lord of all creation.

The disciples were afraid, and rightly so. Fear is a natural reaction when our safety and security appears to be threatened. Had you or I been on the boat that night, I don’t think we would have reacted much differently. Perhaps we’re not as superstitious. Perhaps we wouldn’t have assumed we were seeing a ghost. But the sight of Jesus walking on the water would surely make us afraid too. The fear of uncertainty. The fear of the unknown. It’s the same fear we have when waiting for the results of medical tests. It’s the fear of knowing that you aren’t in control—that what happens next is entirely in the hands of someone else. We know that fear.

What calms the disciples’ fear—and what calms our fears too—are the words of Jesus: “Take heart; it is I. Do not be afraid.” Jesus doesn’t allow their fear and trembling to continue. Jesus speaks. Jesus comforts them. And Matthew reports that Jesus spoke these words “immediately” in their presence. The message is clear and calming—soothing and straightforward: “Take heart; it is I. Do not be afraid.” Those words were more than enough to give the disciples everything they needed.

But those words of Jesus were apparently not enough for Peter. Peter needed something more before He would trust and believe that the midnight water-walker was Jesus. “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” Peter wants proof. Peter wants more than words. The same Peter who doubts the words of Jesus is now making demands on Jesus. Show me. Prove it. “I double-dog dare you to let me waltz on the waves too—if you are who you say you are.” Those aren’t words of faith. Those are words of weakness.

Amazingly, Jesus responds to poor Peter with one simple, unexpected, undeserved word: “Come.” And with that one word ringing in his ears, Peter did what no mortal man had ever done before or since. He walked ON the water. He defied the immutable laws of physics. He didn’t sink! How can Peter do such great things? Well, it wasn’t Peter, but the Word of God, that did this great thing. Peter shares in this miracle because Jesus simply said the word, “Come.” When Jesus first spoke, Peter didn’t believe it. When Jesus said, “It is I,” Peter said, “I’m not so sure.” But now, standing on the waves, the message is unmistakable: When you are afraid—when you are threatened by things beyond your control—when fear has wrapped its coils tightly around you—when you have doubt and despair—you can trust the Words and promises of Jesus Christ, come hell or high water. When Jesus says, “Do not be afraid,” you can let go. You can know the peace of God that surpasses all understanding. You can take Jesus at His Word.

But poor Peter. Even after he got what he asked for—even after doing what no mortal man had ever done—he doubted yet again. He saw the wind. He saw the waves. He forgot about the Word of Jesus. And he started to sink like a stone. That’s our problem too. One pastor I know has called it “spiritual ADD—attention deficit disorder.” Our attention quickly shifts away from Jesus and His Words to all the dangers, toils and snares that surround us. Our little faith won’t focus firmly on Jesus, but is always distracted—always bouncing from one threat to the next, and before long we start to sink. We’re in over our head. And there’s only one thing left to do . . . .

“Lord, save me.” That’s what Peter screamed as he sank. Peter deserved no rescue, and neither have we. Peter doubted, and so do we. Peter didn’t take Jesus at His Word, and neither have we. Peter’s sin is our sin too. But Peter’s rescue is also our rescue. Jesus doesn’t let Peter get what he deserves; and you don’t get what you deserve either. No, it’s like we heard from Romans chapter ten today: “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.” Everyone who cries out in faith, “Lord, save me,” (even if it’s just a little faith like Peter’s) will be saved.

Jesus can and will save you—despite your little faith and despite your doubts. Jesus took your sin. Jesus took your doubt. Jesus died in your place so that you won’t get the punishment you deserve. Jesus is now the resurrected Lord of life. All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to Him. He has destroyed death and everything else that threatens to destroy us. In Jesus you will not sink, but you will rise to live with Him on high.

Nothing can separate you from His love—not even the laws of physics! And speaking of the laws of physics, are you prepared to see them broken again today? For the same Jesus who defied the laws of the natural world by walking on water defies those same natural laws every time we gather here. Jesus isn’t walking on water today; that wouldn’t do anybody any good. But the living Christ is here in the bread that is His body and in the wine that is His blood. Every Lord’s Day in every Lord’s Supper, the Lord Himself is present: “This is my body. This is my blood,” He says. When you come to Communion today, here Jesus says to you what he spoke to that boatload of fearful disciples: “Take heart; it is I. Do not be afraid. Your sins are forgiven. I have come to save you.”

This is Jesus--our Savior. He is among us here to save us. Our work is now simply to worship Him and confess His holy name. That’s what the disciples did after Jesus and Peter rejoined them in the boat. “Truly you are the Son of God,” they confessed. That scene is a picture you and me here this morning. We’re in the boat with Jesus. The space where you’re seated is called the nave. Nave is the Latin word for “boat.” You are in the boat with Jesus. Our job isn’t to walk on water, but to make room for more souls in the boat—in the church—with Jesus. There is no better place to be. And by faith in Jesus you have a place in this sailing ship, and a guaranteed safe arrival in the life of the world to come. Amen.

From Meager to Miraculous

In Nomine Iesu
St. Matthew 14:13-21
July 31, 2011
Pentecost 7—Proper 13A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

“The devil is in the details,” someone has said; but I beg to differ. At least where God’s Word is concerned, there’s good news in the details—abundant good news, overflowing good news, with at least a dozen basketfuls leftover. You know the account of Jesus feeding the five thousand. It’s recorded in all four gospels. It’s also the perfect place to go digging in the details for some genuine, 24-karat good news.

Let’s start with some detailed numbers: five loaves and two fish. We are told exactly what kind of food and what quantity of food was on hand in that desolate place where a crowd of thousands had managed to track Jesus down. Five loaves and two fish. Those details really aren’t necessary. It’s not something we absolutely need to know to appreciate the miracle that Jesus performs. I’m always a little surprised that the evangelists thought it so important to tell us that there were precisely five loaves and two fish.

In fact, it’s even more surprising when you stop and consider that Jesus didn’t need them. Jesus didn’t need any loaves or any fish. Jesus could have miraculously fed that hungry crowd out of thin air. Simply by saying the word or snapping His fingers or blinking His eyes or raising His hands to heaven Jesus could have conjured up a bounty of bread and a feast of fish. After all, as the Son of God, Jesus was there way back at creation fashioning all the fishes in the sea and giving all the grains that go into making bread. No, Jesus needed neither five loaves nor two fish to fashion a feast in the wilderness.

Yet those details are right there ready to jump off the pages of our Bibles: five loaves and two fish—unexpected, unnecessary, uncalled-for details. I think we need to dig a little deeper into those details. I think the Holy Spirit is calling attention to those loaves and those fish. I think there’s good news in those loaves and fish.

It was getting to be evening. The day had begun when Jesus was told about the execution of John the Baptizer, His cousin. That solemn news led Jesus to withdraw to a quiet, remote place of solitude. But the crowds followed Him. And when Jesus saw the crowds He was filled with compassion and healed their sick. Five thousand men were there; but add in the women and children and you’ve got yourself a Whitefish Bay-sized crowd. The disciples were tired and they dropped a not-so-subtle hint that Jesus should send the crowd home for supper and call it a day. But Jesus wasn’t ready to call it a day: “You give them something to eat,” He told His disciples.

The disciples protested with the facts—with hard numbers. You can’t argue with hard numbers. Five loaves and two fish were all they had. It wasn’t enough. But follow those two fish. Look at those loaves and watch what happens. Jesus said, “Bring them here to me.” And the disciples did just that. They took their meager, paltry provisions and placed them into the hands of Jesus. Exactly five loaves and two fish were placed into the Savior’s hands.

And you know what happened next. Those meager portions were miraculously multiplied. Jesus then equipped His disciples to do the very thing that had seemed impossible only seconds earlier. The disciples gave the people—all of them—something to eat—generous portions that fully satisfied every last man, woman and child. In the hands of Jesus what was very little—what was obviously insufficient—became more than enough. Paltry provisions became plentiful. Scarcity became abundance. The meager became miraculous.

This isn’t just a nice story about Jesus feeding a crowd of hungry people. Nor is it some kind of a lesson for us to go out and feed the hungry. No, these details declare that in Jesus Christ the meager becomes miraculous. These details delineate what happens when we take our paltry possessions and our measly monies and our trivial talents and—in faith—place them joyfully into the hands of Jesus.

That scene from the seashore in today’s Holy Gospel gets repeated every time the offering plate passes your pew. There is an unseen reality going on every time you place a gift in the offering. If you want, you can think of your offerings as loaves and fish. Now, from an earthly standpoint, those loaves and fish will be used in a multitude of ways. One of every five loaves and fish given here at Our Savior gets sent straight out the door for mission work in Milwaukee and around the world. Other loaves and fish are used here—for utilities, for salaries, for office equipment and the like. That’s what you see; but here’s what you don’t see: every offering you give is just like loaves and fishes placed directly into the hands of Jesus, where something truly miraculous happens. You can’t see it; you can only believe it. But unless you believe it—unless you believe that the offerings you give are given right into the Savior’s hands, you will never know what it means to be a joyful giver. You will never be able to marvel at how Jesus multiplies the meager into the miraculous.

By nature we don’t believe it; and that’s obvious. For if we truly believed that our offerings were direct gifts to Jesus, well then, then preachers would have to preach about limiting your giving to ten percent and not getting carried away with what you give. “Be careful not to add an extra zero as you write out the offering check.” I have neither preached nor heard a sermon like that. That’s because most of us are too busy counting our loaves and fishes, admiring them, investing them, drawing hope and safety and security from our loaves and fishes. And when it comes to our loaves and fishes we always want to do what’s sensible and reasonable and logical. But remember the sensible, reasonable suggestion of the disciples was simply to send everybody home—to call it a day. But Jesus had a better idea: “Bring those five loaves and two fish to me . . . and watch what happens.”

What will you do with your loaves and fishes—with your dollars and cents? As you ponder that question, don’t forget that those dollars and cents are in your hands because the Lord Himself put them there. He’s the Giver of every good and perfect gift. As you ponder that question, don’t forget what Jesus does with those offerings you return to His hands. In the Savior’s hands, our meager offerings are multiplied for the good of the whole Christian church on earth and for the life of the whole world. And in the end, there’s even more left over.

What will you do? What will you do with your loaves and fishes—with your dollars and cents? Will you do what’s reasonable and logical and keep them close so you can be sure there’s food on your table and a roof over your head? Or will you—in faith—place a generous percentage of those dollars and cents back into the hands of Jesus—full of faith and hope and love—trusting Him to put food on your table and a roof over your head?

Of course, you can’t place your offerings into the hands of Jesus without also noticing those hands of His—how they are now forever scarred with the marks of the nails. Those nails were placed there for you—so that you wouldn’t get what you deserve to get for your sins. For when He was crucified, Jesus poured out His love for you in a way that did not count the cost. Jesus poured out His love for you in a way that no amount of dollars or cents could ever purchase. And with that love of Jesus, you are fully satisfied. For Jesus doesn’t parcel out His love in little increments, based upon what you deserve, or in a way that is logical or reasonable. He gives His love in ways that are prodigal, wasteful and lavish—with basketfuls left over.

The same blood that was poured out for you at the cross is also poured out for you here today in the Lord’s Supper. Jesus the Good Shepherd has—right here—prepared a table before us. Our cup runneth over. It’s a meager meal by all appearances—a meager amount of bread and wine. But with these meager portions Jesus miraculously feeds you with His holy body and blood for the forgiveness of your sins—for your eternal good. In this miraculous meal Jesus fully satisfies every heart that hungers for forgiveness.

We have a lot to learn from those five loaves and two fish. Those loaves and fish traveled from the disciples’ hands into Jesus’ hands, where they were miraculously multiplied. But the loaves and fish didn’t stop there. Jesus Himself didn’t distribute the food. No, He gave the multiplied loaves and fish right back into the hands of the disciples; and the disciples distributed the food to the people. The impossible became possible. What was out of the question one minute, was perfectly viable and do-able in the next minute. And Jesus once again used His disciples to do the un-doable.

Jesus is also using us—using this meager congregation with our meager resources to accomplish the miraculous. Jesus Christ is the reason. Jesus alone is the reason that one of every five dollars that pass through those offering plates is sent straight out the door—for the education of special needs children, for the education of pastors at our seminaries, for outreach to students at UW-Milwaukee, for expectant mothers at A Place of Refuge so that they can choose life instead of abortion. All those wonderful things—miraculous things, really—begin here—begin with you, the baptized children of God, who are unafraid to generously share your loaves and fishes by placing them into the hands of Jesus.

Those hands are the hands that blessed and healed. Those hands show the marks of His love. Those hands will raise your body from the dead on the day of resurrection. Those hands will welcome you and embrace you when you depart this meager life of loaves and fishes for the heavenly feast of salvation which Jesus Christ is preparing for you. Amen.

Present Suffering ~ Future Glory

In Nomine Iesu
Romans 8:18-27
July 17, 2011
Pentecost 5 – Proper 11A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

“I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.” If ever there was a Scriptural saying that we ought to plaster on our walls, on our dashboards, desks and doorways—this is it. We should wear these words on signs that hang from our necks, on T-shirts and screen-savers. These words of God ought to be painted on the doorway of every hospital, every funeral home, and on the gates of every cemetery. Find a place in your heart for these words today, and keep them on stand-by: “I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.”

You don’t need me to tell you that there’s no shortage of suffering in our lives today. As a pastor I’m privileged to share in the sufferings of my parishioners—and it is a privilege. I’ve sat with a woman in the emergency room whose pain was so great that she threw up every ten minutes or so. I’ve been called to the hospital to be with a mother whose six-month-old baby simply stopped breathing one day without warning. And I’ve been to the cemetery more times than I care to remember. But in every one of those instances, these words of God have managed to bubble up and come to mind and bring me a measure of peace: “Our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.”

Of course, the sufferings I’ve seen and known aren’t even the tiniest tip of the iceberg. For in addition to every instance of suffering that is seen or heard, there is also suffering that is unseen and unheard—private, personal pain that so many people carry around. Victims of physical and sexual abuse, people who struggle with depression and other debilitating mental illnesses, those who are chained down by dark addictions, the singles who long to be married, and the married who know nothing but conflict—they also (they especially!) need to know and take to heart this promise from God Himself: “Our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.”

These words mean even more when you realize that the man who first put these words of God on parchment was St. Paul. We actually know quite a bit about Paul—about his life and times. You don’t have to read too far into Paul’s letters to realize that this man knew a thing or two about suffering. Listen to his own personal litany of sufferings: He was imprisoned, flogged, beaten, exposed to death, five times he received forty lashes less one, three times he was beaten with rods, once nearly stoned to death, shipwrecked three times, spent a night and day floating on the open sea, in constant danger from rivers, bandits and false brothers. He knew sleeplessness, hunger, cold, nakedness, and an undisclosed thorn in his flesh. If even one thing on that list had happened to me, I probably would have switched careers long ago. Paul knew suffering—knew that suffering was real—knew that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.

In today’s reading from Romans 8 our God takes our present sufferings and puts them in the proper perspective. He shows us the big picture—that the entire creation is in bondage to decay. The whole creation is groaning. Your personal suffering and your private groaning is really just a part of a giant, cosmic downward spiral. This world is a fallen world. This world isn’t evolving and progressing into something better and better; this world is devolving and decaying and dying.

Of course, it has to be said that a lot of our present suffering is the direct result of our present sinning. Let’s be honest here. We’re not simply innocent bystanders. We’re not merely victims of other people’s sin. Our own sin is part of the death and decay of this world. Our idolatries and our adulteries—our selfishness and our laziness—our sin has not only caused a good share of our own suffering; it’s caused untold and unknown suffering in the lives of others. We have to own up to that. We have to confess that. We need to repent of all the suffering we ourselves have caused.

So how should we deal with our present suffering? Should we pretend it isn’t happening? Should we just set our sights on that future glory and dream about what heaven will be like with no suffering, no tears, and no pain? Well, it’s fine to draw encouragement from the future glory God has promised. But don’t overlook the fact that your present sufferings have great value. Your present sufferings are a participation in the sufferings of Jesus. You and He have suffering in common. This is why St. Paul also wrote that we should rejoice in our sufferings. Your present suffering is not just the random ravages of life in a fallen world. Your suffering is the fertile soil in which the Holy Spirit does His best work—giving growth in the faith, teaching us to live each day in total dependence upon the mercies of God in Jesus Christ.

You see, we can’t talk about our sufferings apart from the sufferings of Jesus. His suffering—like yours—was not pointless or without purpose. His suffering, His death, His resurrection—it was all for you. Jesus didn’t suffer and die so that you would be inspired to try harder, or even to set a good example. No, Jesus went through death and resurrection so that you (and the whole creation) might follow Him through death to resurrection life. Jesus lived a sinless life as your substitute. Jesus died a perfect death as your substitute. Jesus rose again and ascended in glory so that that same glory will one day be revealed in you.

The Holy Spirit led Paul to describe our present suffering with a great comparison—a terrific simile. St. Paul didn’t describe our suffering as being like the pains of death. He didn’t describe our sufferings as pointless punishment. No, he described our present sufferings as being like the pains of childbirth—like labor pains. All the groanings of this present world—all the misery that you see and experience—these are but the labor pains of the new creation that Jesus will one day usher in. Labor pains lead to birth and new life and joy. So too for our present sufferings. They are pointing us ahead to the life of the world to come—a life that is yours by faith in Jesus, and by the forgiveness He alone gives.

It’s also true that you’re not alone in your present sufferings. You do not suffer in solitude or silence. Did you catch the wonderful promise that the Spirit helps us in our weakness? When we are at our worst—when our present sufferings are just about to swallow us up—when we can’t even string together two sentences of prayer—right then and there the Holy Spirit becomes your personal prayer partner. Right then and there the Holy Spirit intercedes for you—speaks up for you—in a way that goes beyond human language. The Holy Spirit, in fact, always packages our prayers—packages our prayers for direct delivery to the Father through the Son. And those prayers are always heard and answered for Jesus’ sake. It’s nice to know that the Spirit takes our imperfect prayers directly to the throne of grace, saying, “What he really means—what she really means—is this.”

Our present sufferings . . . are real. They are painful and sometimes heart-breaking. But I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. The day of resurrection—the life of the world to come—is not as far off as you might think. Suffering is limited. Suffering has an expiration date. But the glory of God which will be revealed in you—that glory will last forever and ever. Amen.

The Peace of Christ for Feuding Families

In Nomine Iesu
St. Matthew 10:34-42
June 26, 2011
Pentecost 2 - Proper 8A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

I love my wife. I love my son. I love my daughter. I love my mom and my step-dad. I love my father-in-law. I love my sisters and my sisters-in-law and my brothers-in-law. I love them all—my family. And if someday I’m blessed with a son-in-law . . . well, I’ll try to love him, even though there’s no way he’ll be good enough for my daughter. (And I think there’s some Biblical precedent for requiring seven years of hard labor before the boy gets the girl.)

But I’m not expressing anything unusual here. I mean, you love your family too, don’t you? Love for family is like apple pie and fireworks on the fourth of July. It’s God who gives us our family. Family is God’s gift to you; and you are God’s gift to your family. And even Jesus—despite His miraculous conception and birth—even Jesus was born into a family. “Honor your father and your mother” is the first of the commandments to have a promise attached to it, underscoring the importance of family.

Perhaps, then, this is why it sounds so utterly outrageous to hear Jesus describe the members of our families as enemies! “Don’t suppose I have come to bring peace on earth,” Jesus said. “I did not come to bring peace, but a sword—to turn a man against his father, a daughter against her mother, a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law. A man’s enemies will be the members of his own household.” There’s a radical statement for you. The Christian church teaches the importance of family values—that family matters. Focus on the Family is a well-known Christian organization. But the Christ of the Christian church says, “The members of your own family—well, they just might be your enemies.”

This might just be hyperbole. Jesus did that sometimes—exaggerated to make an important point, made an extreme statement so that He could highlight an important truth. It’s like the time when Jesus said, “If your hand causes you to sin, cut it off.” That’s hyperbole. Jesus isn’t advocating self-mutilation; but He is saying that it’s better to go through life one-handed than to spend eternity in hell.

I think there’s at least a little hyperbole here. After all, Jesus certainly did not come with the express purpose of turning family members against one another. Jesus came to save His people from their sins. Jesus came to seek and save the lost. Jesus came to give us life that lasts forever. But sometimes the result of Jesus’ work in our lives—the effect can be—conflict in the family. Sometimes the new life that Jesus gives is in direct conflict with the family life we’ve all come to know. And division sometimes results. This is why Jesus went on to clarify: “Anyone who loves his father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; anyone who loves his son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; and anyone who does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy of me.”

Peace among family members is a good thing. In fact, Jesus desires that there be peace and harmony in every family. But that peace can never be achieved by turning away from Jesus and His Word. But too often that’s the kind of peace we aim for. We aim merely to “keep the peace” among family members. And we do it by setting aside Jesus and His will for our family members. But this kind of peace is really no peace at all. It’s a declaration of war against God. It’s a sham peace that puts a shiny veneer over the sins of the family. Let me give you some examples . . . .

Peace in the family is just a sham when we see family members headed for divorce, but we don’t do a thing to bring help and healing to that marriage because (they say) that’s none of our business (and we have to keep the peace). Peace in the family is just a sham when parents don’t help their teenagers make God-pleasing choices when it comes to friends and clothing and movies and music—when parents refuse to say “no” because they want to avoid conflict and “keep the peace” and be a friend instead of a parent. Peace in the family is just a sham when grandpa (a widower) decides to move in together with his new lady friend without getting married—and no one says a thing in order to keep “peace” in the family. Peace in the family is a sham we the use of porn is tolerated in the family—because confronting the sin might lead to conflict (and we have to keep the peace at all costs).

Beloved in the Lord, this kind of peace isn’t just a sham; it’s a shame. And it can be a damning shame. When we fear confronting a family member more than we fear Almighty God—when our desire to avoid conflict is greater than our desire to speak up for the spiritual well-being of a family member—when we settle for being peace-keepers instead of being blessed peace-makers—we are sinning. Peace-makers also have to be risk-takers. Making the kind of peace that pleases God necessarily involves risk—risking conflict, risking hard feelings, and risking rejection. But by refusing the risk—by refusing to speak the truth in love we are sinning against our family. We are sinning against God who is the Giver of families. It’s a sham. It’s a shame. It’s a refusal to take up our cross and follow Jesus.

Nowhere do we need Jesus more than when it comes to our own flesh and blood. And this is precisely why Jesus Himself took our human flesh and blood and joined our human family as the Son of Mary. When you keep quiet to avoid conflict and confrontation, remember Jesus who spoke up and walked headlong right into conflict and confrontation and crucifixion. When you don’t want to take the risk to rescue a family member, remember how Jesus risked everything to rescue you. He took up His cross so that He might bring forgiveness of sins to every member of your family—so that He might give your family a peace that is real and genuine and honest. You simply need to repent of loving family more than Jesus—of being a peace-keeper instead of a peace-maker.

We all fail our families everyday. There’s probably not a day that goes by that we don’t sin against the members of our families. And no one sees our sins in a more up-close-and-personal way than the members of our families. Jesus wants your family to enjoy the genuine peace that He earned by the shedding of His blood. For all the times we have failed our family members, there stands Jesus who was forsaken by His heavenly Father as He hung from the cross. For all the times we have feared or loved our family more than we have feared and loved God, there stands Jesus who was unafraid to demonstrate His love for you by carrying His cross and enduring the shame, the scorn, the nails.

Jesus endured it all because He loves you and He wants you in His family forever and ever. Your baptism was the moment of your adoption into the Savior’s family. There you received His forgiveness for your sins, all His good for all your bad, His life instead of the death you deserve.

The Savior who made you a member of His family, has also given you your earthly family. He gives your parents, spouse and children not to love more than you love Him. He gives you your family to love because of Him. Love your family because of Jesus—not more than Jesus. And (miracle of miracles) in loving your family, you will be loving Jesus too.

Our calling as family members is not to keep the peace, but to live in the peace that Jesus died and rose to secure for every family. Living in that peace begins here in the Divine Service. It’s only as we ourselves each receive the forgiveness of Christ that we can then take that forgiveness home and share it with our families throughout the week.

Families that enjoy the genuine peace of Jesus will still have conflicts. Families that enjoy the genuine peace of Jesus will still have the occasional family feud. But those family feuds are followed by repentance and forgiveness for Jesus’ sake. Jesus teaches us not to ignore sin, but to confess it and receive His sure and certain forgiveness. The peace of Christ is not cheap. Don’t settle for fake imitations. Your family matters too much to settle for anything less.

I love my wife and my kids. I love my parents, my siblings and my in-laws and outlaws. I love them all. But by the grace of God, I love Jesus even more. I think you love Him more too. Why? Because He first loved us—because He gave Himself for us—because He took up His cross for us. Amen.

The Heart of the Holy Trinity in the Person of Jesus

In Nomine Iesu
St. Matthew 28:16-20
June 19, 2011
The Holy Trinity A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

I really do enjoy a good ending (like most people, I suppose). Lately I’ve been reading a lot of mystery/suspense novels. And the endings always manage to surprise me. There’s always a last-minute, unexpected twist in the plot that I didn’t see coming. And just when it appears that the criminal/villain is about to succeed in carrying out his murderous scheme, somehow the good guy manages to turn the tables. Truth, justice and the American way prevails. Virtue is rewarded. Evil-doers are punished. In my estimation, that’s a pretty good ending.

On this Trinity Sunday we get to consider another pretty good ending—the ending of Matthew’s Gospel. It’s a rather well known ending compared to most books of the Bible. We hear part of this ending at every Baptism; for this is precisely where Jesus commanded the eleven to make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. “And behold,” Jesus said, “I am with you always, to the end of the age.” But like any good ending, there are a few unexpected twists and turns in this plot—things you may have overlooked. Best of all, this is an ending that reveals the heart of the Holy Trinity in the person of Jesus.

For me, the biggest surprise in this ending comes right before Jesus speaks. St. Matthew reports that Jesus met the eleven on the mountain in Galilee. St. Matthew reports that when they saw Jesus they worshipped Him. St. Matthew also reports, however, that “some doubted.” Some doubted?! I didn’t see that coming. Who doubted? It wasn’t the crowds. It wasn’t just the fair-weather followers of Jesus (or a few of His Facebook friends). It was some of the Eleven—the inner circle (minus Judas). Now, these men would ultimately go to the ends of the earth to preach Christ crucified. Nearly all of these men would ultimately be martyred for their passionate confession that Jesus Christ is the Son of God—the only mediator between God and man. But surprisingly, even Jesus’ most intimate confidants—even those who stood there looking and listening to the risen, resurrected Lord—even among them, it says, “some doubted.” I find that surprising. There’s an unexpected twist in the plot.

The word “doubt” used here is different from the “doubt” of doubting Thomas. Remember, Thomas’s problem was really that he didn’t believe—didn’t believe that Jesus was living. Thomas was literally “faithless” on that first Easter. That’s not the case here, at the end of Matthew’s gospel. Here it’s not that the Eleven don’t believe—or that they are faithless. What “doubt” means here is that they were hesitant. They were unsure, unsteady and unconvinced about what was going to happen. Even as they saw Jesus, and believed in Jesus, and worshipped Jesus—even then, they weren’t all brimming with confidence. Some doubted.

On the one hand, I find that shocking and surprising; but on the other hand, I can see it. In fact, that kind of doubt is a doubt we all know perfectly well. It’s the kind of doubt that can eat away at you even while you’re sitting in church, on a Sunday morning, singing Holy, Holy, Holy. Even as you will confess your faith today in the glorious words of the Athanasian Creed—even as you confess with certainty all the big articles of the Christian faith—even then, this kind of doubt will find you—and rob you of the joy and confidence that could be yours.

This doubt doesn’t deny that Christ is risen; it simply denies you the benefits of that belief. To have this kind of doubt is to be like the Eleven—hesitant, unsure, unsteady, unconvinced of God’s presence and God’s plan for your life—that He is working all things for your good—that you are the apple of His eye—that the heartaches and fears that loom large today are somehow beyond the grasp of God the Holy Trinity. Maybe you think that your sin-filled life isn’t worthy of God’s attention. Maybe that’s why the Eleven doubted too. After all, they had abandoned Jesus and denied Jesus. When the going got tough, they ran away and hid behind locked doors. They didn’t have a proud record of spiritual success to build on. And neither do we. Our record is a sad record of broken promises, selfish desires, and sinful self-centered words and deeds. With a record like that, there are plenty of reasons to doubt God’s gracious care.

But then, in Matthew’s great conclusion, something happened that changed everything: Jesus started talking! And the words of Jesus changed everything. The Eleven didn’t overcome their doubt by trying harder; and you won’t either. They didn’t overcome their doubt by re-doubling their commitment to the Lord; and you won’t either. They didn’t overcome their doubt at all; Jesus did. He spoke. He put His Words in their ears and hearts. The same God who said, “Let there be light,” is the same God who said, “Go and make disciples of nations, baptizing them and teaching them.” In both cases, it happened—it happened because God spoke the Word. And by that Word, doubt and uncertainty were overcome.

What was true for the Eleven on that Galilean mountain is also true for you: “God doesn’t call the qualified . . . He qualifies those He has called.” God chooses to use uncertain, unsteady sinners to accomplish great things in this world! God chooses to use you! Do you have your share of doubts today? Are you unsure, unsteady and unconvinced that God will do for you exactly what He has promised? Do you feel like you’re losing in your daily struggle with sin? Are you teetering on the edge of depressing, feeling that your faith is futile, disgusted with your own personal performance as a disciple of Jesus? If so, then I say, “Great!” You are in a very good place—a place where the only thing you can do is repent. You are right where the Eleven were before Jesus came and commissioned them and included them in His purpose and plan for all the nations of the world.

Here at the conclusion of Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus gives us a glimpse into the heart of God the Holy Trinity. And there, in the heart of our great and awesome God, is a place for you. Uncreated, eternal, incomprehensible, almighty—God is all of that and much, much more. But behind all the theological jargon and the weighty words of the Creeds, we dare not overlook the simple fact that God is love. This love isn’t a fuzzy feeling or a fleeting emotion. This love is Jesus, God’s Son, who came to earth as your substitute—who bore your sin in His body, who took your punishment, who suffered your sentence of death. On the third day He rose again from the dead; and He promises that one day you will rise too.

The love of God the holy Trinity was poured into your life when you were baptized in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Those words—together with the water—changed everything for you—gave you a whole new identity as one redeemed by Christ the crucified—as one who is loved and treasured by the holy Triune God. Being a baptized disciple also means being taught—taught to observe all that Jesus has entrusted to us.

Notice that little word “all.” It’s important! We are to observe all that Jesus has commanded. We don’t get to pick and choose which of Jesus’ teachings to observe and which to disregard as unimportant or outdated. It’s all—all or nothing with our great God. God withholds nothing from you because He wants the absolute best for you.

But Matthew has saved the best for last. It’s the final sentence of His gospel that seals the deal for doubting disciples. “Behold,” Jesus says, “I am with you always, to the end of the age.” At the beginning of Matthew’s gospel, the baby Jesus is described with the Old Testament name “Emmanuel,” which means, “God with us.” Here at the end, Jesus spells out what it means that He is Emmanuel: “I am with you always.” He is with you—but not in some complicated, complex way. He is with you in the Words of the Scriptures. He is with you in the washing of Holy Baptism. He is with you in the bread that is His body and wine that is His blood. He is with you, bringing forgiveness and faith and joy and doubt-dispelling confidence.

In this ending, Jesus shows us the very heart of God. And there we find compassion for doubting disciples. There we find comfort that He will use us for His plans and purposes. There we hear His commitment to be with you to the end of the age. It’s a great ending for Matthew’s gospel. But for you it signals a life that has no ending—a resurrection ending—a “to be continued” ending—happily ever after. Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit. Amen.