John the Great

In Nomine Iesu
St. Luke 7:18-28
December 16, 2018
Advent 3C

Dear Saints of Our Savior~

I prefer to think of him as “John the Great.” Yes, I know, I know. Two thousand years of church history demands that he be identified as John “the Baptist.” But where I come from, Baptists are a dime a dozen, they serve grape juice for Communion, they don’t allow baptism for babies, and every service concludes with an altar call. That’s why I prefer “John the Great.”

But it’s not just me. Back before John was born—back before he was even conceived—back when the Angel Gabriel told old Zechariah that he was going to be a daddy—Gabriel said concerning John, “He will be great” (Lk. 1:15). And in today’s Holy Gospel from Luke 7, Jesus

(who knows a thing or two about greatness) said this: “I tell you, among those born of women none is greater than John.” He is John. He is great. He is John the Great.

But it’s interesting that Jesus didn’t call John “great” back when John was at the top of his game—back when all of Jerusalem and Judea were making their way out into the wilderness to hear the wild-eyed prophet with honey-coated grasshoppers between his teeth. No, Jesus called John “great” when John had sunk down into the dark depths of King Herod’s dungeon. And John’s thrilling voice—which had called crowds to repentance and had dressed down the religious elite—that thrilling voice had been whittled down to a whimper: Are you the one who is to come, or shall we look for another? Dark dungeons have a way of creating doubt and despair. John wasn’t immune to that. And neither are we. So John played the only card he had left. He sent two of his disciples to Jesus to ask: Are you the one? Or should be looking for someone else?

We should actually draw some comfort as we witness John wrestle with his doubts. The Holy Spirit wants us to see this John too; because he’s a lot more like us than the leather-wearing, fiery-eyed prophet we heard from last Sunday. For we have all struggled with doubts. We’ve all wondered whether Jesus can truly keep every promise He’s made to us. Especially when circumstances take an ugly turn—when our expectations, hopes and dreams are dashed—it’s easy to doubt God’s wisdom—to question His plan, His promise, His goodness. Sadly, this is the point where some believers simply decide to walk away from the faith. Because (in their minds) what God is doing—or what God is allowing to happen—seemingly makes no sense at all.

Doubt is faith’s ever-present antagonist. It’s to be expected, after all, for we believe in what we cannot see or prove. My confirmation students have lately been learning by heart Luther’s famous sentence: I believe that I cannot by my own reason or strength believe in Jesus Christ my Lord or come to Him. If you shorten-up that sentence from the Catechism, what it says is: I believe . . . that I cannot believe. Faith requires the Holy Spirit. Faith comes by hearing, the Scriptures remind us. But there’s constant friction between what we hear from God’s Word and what we see with our own two eyes (or feel in our hearts). None of us is immune to doubt or even despair.

So, thank God for the privilege of seeing John in the depths of doubt and despair. Because John teaches us what to do when we find ourselves in that same dungeon. John doesn’t give up. John, through his disciples, goes to Jesus—takes his nagging doubts directly to the Man: Are you the one who is to come, or shall we look for another? You, too, can do what John does. You should do what John does. Take your troubles and your doubts directly to Jesus. Lay them at the Savior’s feet. In everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. You don’t have to pretend. You don’t have to fake it. It’s okay to be real with Jesus.

And as for Jesus—notice His reaction. Jesus doesn’t chastise or criticize John for his doubts. He doesn’t call John a disloyal disgrace. No, in fact, Jesus praises John—extols him—calls him John the Great.

But know this: In the end, there was only one thing that made John great. And it might surprise you. It wasn’t his powerful preaching and the fearless way he spoke truth to power. In the end—when Jesus called John great—John was rotting away on death row; and there wasn’t a thing that John could do for Jesus. And if greatness is to be measured by what we do for Jesus, then we are all great failures together with John.

But here’s how our God gauges greatness: In the end, all that John could do was to believe in Jesus—to trust in the Christ. In the big picture, that’s really all that you can do, as well. But in that believing—in that miracle of faith—you are great. Through faith in Jesus, you possess the very same greatness that John possessed. That’s why after calling John great, Jesus went onto say that even those who are least in the kingdom of God are greater than John. By grace, through faith in Jesus—even weak and feeble sinners like us are considered great in the eyes of God. What makes you so great is that you have received all the blessings of Jesus—all of His love, all of His promises, His peace which surpasses all understanding—His peace which surpasses every doubt and all despair. The forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, the life everlasting—these great gifts of our Lord make you great.

Oh, you probably didn’t hop out of bed this morning and declare, “I feel great!” The truth is you might be feeling disappointed, disillusioned, or distraught. But in the eyes of Him who correctly calibrates greatness, you are great—great because Jesus the Lamb of God has taken away your sin. Your sin has become His. His righteousness has become yours. His greatness—your greatness. His cross—your cross.

Yes, the crosses in your life are much like the cross on which our Lord Jesus bled and died. Those of us who follow Jesus will also have crosses to bear. Jesus doesn’t promise to eliminate those crosses. When John was in prison, Jesus didn’t mount a Special Forces operation to rescue him from Herod’s dungeon. But Jesus does walk with us to lead us through the darkness of death to the light of resurrection life. And in that thrill of hope, a weary world rejoices. Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.

The pink candle on the Advent wreath reminds us that today is a day of joy and rejoicing. And a little later on this morning, the smiling faces of our Sunday school children will deliver more joy than one pink candle could ever convey. Just remember, joy isn’t the absence of suffering and doubt. At times, we all feel imprisoned like John—imprisoned by life’s circumstances, by illness, by sin and doubt. But even there God gives joy. Remember that Paul was in prison when he wrote about rejoicing in the Lord. We don’t rejoice despite the bad stuff. We rejoice in the midst of the bad stuff, knowing, believing, and trusting that a Savior has been born—that He will deliver you from all doubt. If you believe that, well, that’s greatness in the kingdom of Jesus, and it’s every reason to rejoice in the Lord always.

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Making Advent Great Again

In Nomine Iesu
St. Luke 3:1-14
December 9, 2018
Advent 2C

Dear Saints of Our Savior~

You know you’re right in the heart of Advent when John the Baptist shows up. John stands guard along the border of Advent. He’s an army of one on patrol. He’s determined to hold back the forces of Christmas—to keep the seasons of Advent and Christmas separate. He wants to make Advent great again. He’s determined to build a wall around Advent; and he’s going to make Santa and the elves pay for it.

Just when you were about to have a holly, jolly Christmas with roasting chestnuts and sleigh bells—along comes John. And suddenly all the fun seems to drain right out of the season. John is the great buzz-kill of holiday cheer. He’s Kryptonite to the Christmas spirit—the Scrooge who bah-humbugs all the silly sentimentality of the season. He’s edgy, unkempt, and hopelessly out of fashion. Undomesticated, uncivilized, and untamable—John is a figure right out of the Old Testament. He sure looks the part—dressed up like Elijah in camel’s hair and leather. He is the fore-runner, the way-preparer, the messenger who goes before the Lord to fill the valleys and level the mountains.

John sounds almost mythical—like the Paul Bunyan of the Bible. But while John might seem larger than life, he’s the real deal. He came at a particular time and place. Luke records the moment with absolute precision: In the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar, Pontius Pilate being governor of Judea, and Herod being Tetrarch of Galilee, and his brother Philip the Tetrarch of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias Tetrarch of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas. Wow, that could all be a really tough category on Jeopardy: Alex, I’ll take “famous figures from First Century Palestine” for $100. But this is history, my friends. Luke is giving us the facts—not some legend that happened a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. He tells us when, where and who. Human history was positively pregnant with God’s promise of salvation. John came at precisely the right time to prepare the way for the Lord.

But how, exactly, do you prepare the way of the Lord? How do you make Advent great again? In one word: REPENT! Turn away from your sin. Turn away from yourself. Repent and turn to the Lord. You were going along the wide and broad path to destruction; now go the other way—the Lord’s narrow way. Lose the notion that you’re somehow better than most people, or that you can somehow bribe God and butter Him up and get on His good side with your prayers and offerings. Repent of who you are, and what you’ve done, and what you’ve failed to do. Repent. See yourself as the sinner you are.

But right there, together with repentance, is also baptism. John preaches a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. Up to that point, baptism had been unheard of in Israel. There were ceremonial washings, yes; but none that were done to you by another person. The Lord was preparing to do something new, and His people needed to be cleansed of their sin—bathed in forgiveness—washed with the promises of God. Repentance and baptism go together: You repent by being baptized, and you live as God’s baptized child by daily repentance.

But John wasn’t so tactful in his proclamation of this. He was like a bull in a china shop. He minced no words. He wasn’t warm and winsome. When the crowds came out to him for baptism, John didn’t take attendance and pass the offering plate. He called them a bunch of slithering snakes. “Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Who do you think you are? And don’t try to pad your religious resume by saying, ‘We have Abraham as our father.’ God could care less.” The ax, John declared, was already at the root of the Israelite tree. The fire was already kindled. “Any tree that doesn’t bear good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.”

But John also taught the people exactly what repentance looks like. Turns out, repentance isn’t just a guilty feeling. John didn’t say, “You’re a terrible sinner so don’t even try to do the right thing.” Nor did he say, “You’re justified by grace through faith, so forget about needing to do good works.” No, John taught them exactly what this new life of repentance should look like: You share. Share your clothing with those who have none. Share your food with the hungry. Do your jobs and serve in your vocations with honesty and integrity. Be fair. Be content. It’s simple stuff that most of us learned from our mothers or in Kindergarten. It’s simple; but it’s not easy.

I like to imagine what John would say to us gathered here this morning. We wouldn’t enjoy it very much. Repent, you brood of slithering Lutherans. Repent of your complacency, your excuses, your laziness and your hypocrisy. And don’t you dare say, “We have Martin Luther as our father, for God is able from these lifeless, wooden pews to fashion all the Lutherans He wants. Repent of your shallow thankfulness, your complaining and whining, your ingratitude for the Word of God and for Jesus’ body and blood. Start living like the baptized children of God—like the holy people God has made you to be in Christ. John would make it clear that God’s highway runs right through the middle of our being—right through our hearts and minds. And that’s why this Advent encounter with John is so uncomfortable and awkward. It’s personal. We see the truth about ourselves; and we don’t always like what we see. This is what it means to make Advent great again.

And right about at this point—just as we’re ready to say with St. Paul that nothing good dwells in this flesh of ours—just then, Jesus comes. His way into your heart has been prepared. He who began a good work in you through baptism and repentance will surely bring it to completion. Jesus specializes in saving broken sinners. A broken and contrite heart He cannot and will not despise.

It turns out that all the fire—all the brimstone—all the judgment that John proclaimed—it wasn’t just an empty threat. It wasn’t just hyperbole either. For this, also, is why Jesus came. The axe that was laid at the root of Israel—that axe fell upon Jesus. The wrath of God that threatens our damnation—that wrath also fell upon Jesus. The fire of God’s judgment—that judgment was aimed and discharged against Jesus. Jesus’ crucifixion cross became like a barren, fruitless tree; and so God cut it down together with Jesus. “He who knew no sin became sin for us, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God.” We do the crime, but Jesus gets the punishment. Jesus lives the perfect life, and we get the credit. And all this, by grace, through faith in Jesus.

All that Jesus accomplished in His death and resurrection—that river of blessings and faith and forgiveness—it has all come pouring into your life through the miracle of your baptism. Watered by that baptism, you have become a good tree bearing good fruit, for the life of the whole world. And if you’re not feeling all that fruitful, then repent—confess the ways you’ve fallen short. Make Advent great again! And then come to Supper. Come to be fed and nourished. Come to where the Savior’s body and blood are given for your healing.

It’s Advent. Time to prepare the way for the Lord. So let’s make Advent great again. Don’t be afraid of John or his harsh preaching or his baptism. He’s a good and faithful preacher who wants the best for you in Jesus. To Jesus he points us—in the Word, in the water, in the bread and wine. Get ready. Prepare the way. Jesus is coming.

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Advent Expectations

In Nomine Iesu
Jeremiah 33:14-16
December 2, 2018
Advent 1C

Dear Saints of Our Savior~

I’m afraid I have some bad news for you this morning. But, I also have some good news for you this morning. Bad news and good news. There you go. Now you know just what to expect from this sermon.

Everyone has expectations. We have expectations for ourselves, and for those around us. Others have expectations for us. You’ve likely got some expectations for the season of Advent and the upcoming holy days. There are expectations at work and at school and at home. A big part of the pastoral care I provide for couples who are engaged to be married is helping them arrive at realistic expectations for

married life: He won’t always be Prince Charming; she won’t always be Miss America.

It’s also true that we have expectations for God. We who are baptized and believe—we who are God’s children—we have expectations for God: that He will keep His promises, that He will forgive us, that He will be by our side in times of trouble. Some Christians have the mistaken expectation that being a part of the church means that bad things won’t happen in your life—that you should expect to be healthy, wealthy, and successful. But I’ve gotten to the point where I tell new members to expect trouble, trials, and temptations. For if you’ve got a friend in Jesus, well, that also means that you’ve got an enemy.

Today’s text from Jeremiah takes us back to the Old Testament. You’d better believe that OT Israel had expectations—and rightly so. They were God’s chosen people—His holy nation, selected, protected, and holy. From the Lord Israel received a land, a covenant, a law, a promise. No other nation in the history of nations was quite like OT Israel.

When Israel walked away from all that—when Israel grew faithless and idolatrous and adulterous—God punished His people. God sent the Assyrians to ransack the Northern Kingdom of Israel. And then He raised up the Babylonians to pillage, plunder, and burn the Southern Kingdom, including Jerusalem. The Babylonians destroyed the temple and carted off many of the people into exile.

It was during those grim final years of the Southern Kingdom that God called Jeremiah to be His spokesman. Jeremiah had bad news to proclaim. Destruction and exile were just around the corner. But God’s people ignored him. In fact, they tried to silence him. Jeremiah was depressing—bad for morale—unpatriotic, to be sure. They locked Jeremiah up—threw him in a cistern—because of the bad news about the Babylonians that he proclaimed.

I have bad news, too. And it’s not going to boost your morale or improve your ego. Like OT Israel, you are chosen and holy. You enjoy the peace of God and the promises of God applied to your life. But like Israel of old, you’ve become lazy and complacent. Your conduct is far from holy. And concerning the promises of God, how often do you hear them, read them, and share them with others? With all the words that come out of your mouth each week, what percentage of those words are words of prayer or praise? What percentage of those words are cursing, swearing, or words of anger? You were chosen and claimed by God in the waters of your baptism. But how many people who interact with you would ever guess that about you? Your sin runs death deep. You justly deserve—not God’s praise—but God’s punishment. That’s the bad news.

But you may have noticed that the tiny bit of text from Jeremiah in today’s reading is actually good news. Just like me, Jeremiah had bad news and good news. Behold (that means “pay attention”), the days are coming, declares the Lord, when I will fulfill the promise I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah. God keeps His promises. That’s good news! You can rely on what He says. Even as He permits death and destruction, He keeps His promises. Jeremiah preached that a righteous branch—a sprout from King David’s family tree—would come. He will do justice and righteousness. In those days Judah will be saved and Jerusalem will dwell securely.

The Israelites clung to that promise for nearly 600 years. When they lived in exile with the likes of Daniel and Esther, they clung to God’s promise that a descendant of David would save His people from their sin. When they returned to the ruins of Jerusalem they rebuilt the temple under Ezra and Nehemiah—but it wasn’t like the old days. God’s people were ruled first by the Persians, then by the Greeks, they by the Romans. Centuries came and went. But all the while, that faithful remnant of Israel never forgot the words of the Prophet Jeremiah—the promise of a righteous branch, the Son of David, the Messiah whose kingdom would have no end.

And then, finally, came the day when Jesus rode into Jerusalem on top of a borrowed donkey. The crowds hailed Him as a king: Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest! It was true. Everything they said was right on. Jesus was the one to save God’s people.

Those Palm Sunday crowds had the right words, but the wrong expectations. They were likely expecting a holy war—that Jesus would raise an army and drive out the Romans the way King David had driven out the Philistines. But we know the good news. Jesus rode into Jerusalem to suffer and die. He came to make an exchange—your sin for His righteousness. He came to be your substitute under God’s righteous wrath again your sin. The only “holy war” Jesus came to wage was against sin and death and all the powers of darkness that threaten to destroy you. And that, my friends, is good news.

The last lines from Jeremiah in today’s reading need some attention. After declaring that Jerusalem will dwell securely, Jeremiah says: This is the name by which it will be called: “The Lord is our righteousness.’” Literally, Jeremiah refers to the name by which SHE will be called. “She,” not “it.” And that “she” isn’t merely Jerusalem. That “she” is “you.” That “she” is the church. That “she” is the bride of Christ. And this bride takes the name of her groom: The Lord is our righteousness. That’s how it is for you and me and all the people of God: The Lord is our righteousness.

His righteousness is yours. It’s His gift to you. It’s not something you do; it’s something He does. It’s not something you earn; it’s something He gives. Nothing illustrates that better than when we bring a little newborn to the waters of Holy Baptism (like we did this morning with little Lydia). What can she do? Nothing. What can she earn? Nothing. What can she pay? Nothing. But now, having received the gift of Baptism, the Lord is HER righteousness and HER salvation. And it’s all the Lord’s doing—all His gift.

This kindness and generosity from the Lord are not what human beings expect. When it comes to salvation, we expect that we have to do it—that we have to earn it and prove ourselves worthy. But those expectations are dead wrong. Jesus won salvation for us; and His love alone makes us worthy to be God’s holy children.

The bad news of our sin—and the good news of our Lord’s great love for sinners—that’s the theme of the whole Bible. That’s the center of our preaching and our life together. But as Jeremiah reminds us, “The Lord is our righteousness.” And He comes here to give you that righteousness of His—through words, water, bread and wine. Wait for it. Hope for it. Expect it.

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.