Jesu Juva
St. Luke 18:9-14
October 27, 2019
Reformation/Proper 25C
Dear Saints of Our Savior~
One of the first things they teach you in pre-school and kindergarten is how to line-up. And knowing how to line-up is a very useful skill to learn. The proper method for lining-up is one of those skills that you will definitely put to use your whole life long. In fact, if you’re especially good at lining up—if you have an aptitude for it—and if you have a knack for seeing to it that other people line up properly—well then, you, my friend, just might have what it takes to become part of that elite group here at Our Savior we call the “ushers.”
Lining up isn’t as easy as you might think, however. You have to be alert for those scoundrels who are always trying to cut in line. And then there’s the shame and embarrassment of getting in the wrong line. You get in the wrong line at the airport or the train station or going through customs or at the DMV—and things will not go well for you.
Getting in the wrong line actually happens more often than you might think. In coming here to the church, many people are actually getting into the wrong line. For instance, people occasionally show up here during the week asking for money. Not food or clothing, not prayers or counseling—just some cash, thank you very much. Essentially, I have to tell them, “You’ve come to the wrong place for cash. You got into the wrong line.”
And then there are those who line up here at church without really knowing the reason why. Their families originally put them in line here. They meet up with friends and family here. Lining up at church is a good habit—it’s what respectable people do—so they keep on doing it. But exactly why they’re lining up here, they’re not really too sure about that.
Others line up at church because they have an agenda to push and they want to enlist the church’s help. They think the church should take a stand on immigration, or impeachment, or that the church should push hard for certain political candidates, or that the church should champion the charge against global warming. But those who seek to harness the church for their own purposes are ultimately in the wrong line.
In the parable we heard from Jesus this morning, we’ve been given two examples of getting in line. The first was the Pharisee. And he right away strode up to the very front of the line. He deserved to be there. He had great credentials for being there. He didn’t need any help from anyone. He had a resume of accomplishments that was second to none. He trusted in himself—brimming with self-confidence. And just to be polite, he even thanked God: “I thank You, God, that I’m better than everyone else.”
The Pharisee was comfortable and content there at the front of the line because, as he looked down at those around him, there was nobody else like him. Looking down on others is always a satisfying exercise for most people. It makes us more pleased with ourselves. Because no matter how depraved and messed-up we might be, we can always find someone more depraved and more messed-up than we are. This is also why we gossip. This is why we take such delight in sinking our teeth into the reputations of other people: because it raises us up, reinforces our belief that we are better than everybody else.
But in many ways, this Pharisee really was better! He fasted twice a week while most ordinary people fasted but once, if at all. The Pharisees did this extra fasting to atone for the sins of the people. The common people were such horrible sinners that the Pharisees (who hardly had any sin to speak of) generously fasted for the sins of others. What a good thing to do! What’s more, the Pharisees tithed. The Law required a tenth of one’s income. But because so many of the common people failed to tithe, the Pharisees not only gave a tenth of their income, but also a tenth of every purchase they made. Imagine that! Tithing not only your income, but your expenses too! What a good thing to do!
So be careful not to despise the Pharisees. They lived clean, decent, useful lives. They did their utmost to fulfill the Law of God. Before we despise them, we should compare our conduct to theirs. How many of us are ready to give ten percent to the Lord not once, but twice? How many of us would be willing to go without food for a day for the spiritual good of our sinful neighbors?
Of course, I know what you Lutherans are thinking—that the Pharisees had only good works, but we have faith. Works don’t count, but faith counts. Lazy Lutherans like to look around and see others busily engaged in good works, and then comfort themselves with the message that faith alone saves, not works. We Lutherans thank thee, God, that we are not as others are: Roman Catholics who pray to Mary, anything-goes Anglicans, Methodists so concerned about social justice. Yes, we thank thee God that we’re so good at pointing out everybody else’s errors.
Beloved in the Lord, before you condemn the Pharisee in the parable, you need to recognize and condemn the Pharisee in here. This Pharisee is the hardest one of all to recognize because he’s always so busy—busy looking down on other people and seeing them as something less. The Pharisee in here always measures his own worth according to other people and, inevitably finds himself bigger, better, and more religious and spiritual than they. The danger faced by every Pharisee is that we become so busy looking down on others that we no longer look up to God—because, in fact, we’re so good that we don’t need God.
But there was also another man who lined up that day to pray—a tax collector. Unlike the Pharisee, the tax collector had led an outwardly evil life—a life of greed, graft and corruption. But unlike the Pharisee, the tax collector wasn’t looking around at everyone else, comparing himself to them. He had no religious resume—no spiritual credentials to present. He simply beat his breast and blurted out the God-awful truth: “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”
Comparing yourself to other people will get you nowhere; doing that only feeds the Pharisee inside. It is, instead, when we stand in the presence of the holy God, that we recognize our sin and are shrunk back down to size. The tax collector was standing alone before God, as a sinner. When you stand before God there is no hope in trying to fool Him. He can’t be fooled. When you stand before God no references or recommendations will help you. And you cannot bribe Him.
The tax collector knew what the Pharisee did not—knew that he was a sinner—knew that He needed God. Only by the mercy of God could he stand. He places his future in God’s hands. The tax collector was standing in the correct line. The tax collector had lined up in the line designated for “sinners only.”
That line for “sinners only” at first seems like a line to avoid. Who wants to be in that line?! No one tried harder than Martin Luther to avoid the “sinners only” line. Back in his monastery days Luther did all that he could to rid his life of sin—praying for hours, confessing every infraction in excruciating detail, beating himself into submission. But the harder he tried, the more he hated himself, and the more he hated God.
But by the grace of God, Luther learned that the “sinners only” line is actually a very good place to be. Jesus Himself once went through that line, for He was numbered with the transgressors. He identified with the tax collectors. He stood shoulder-to-shoulder in solidarity with sinners. He who had no sin became sin for us so that we might become the righteousness of God. He Himself took your sin and shame to His crucifixion cross. He came to save His people from their sins.
It’s precisely when you get into the line for “sinners only” that Jesus joins you—joins you with what you need: with mercy, with faith, with forgiveness. It’s in the line specified for “sinners only” that you are washed in Baptism and fed with Jesus’ body and blood.
It’s not easy being in the line for “sinners only.” You have to honestly admit the worst about yourself. Sometimes you will be tempted to wander off, thinking that you must belong somewhere else. But do not be deceived. For in this line is grace. In this line is forgiveness and faith. In this line (for sinners) is the tender mercy of God; and apart from God’s mercy there is only hell. This is the line where we all belong. And after a time of waiting in this line, you will not be disappointed. For at the end of this line there is Jesus—the friend of sinners—the Savior of sinners. And you will be with Him forever.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Monday, October 28, 2019
Monday, October 21, 2019
Here Comes the Judge
Jesu Juva
St. Luke 18:1-8
October 20, 2019
Proper 24C
Dear Saints of Our Savior~
Sometimes the parables of Jesus leave us scratching our heads and asking, “What does this mean?” Other parables are so ripe with possible meanings that a dozen sermons couldn’t do them justice. But not today. Today we have a simple parable about a pesky widow and a corrupt judge. And just to make sure that we get the main point, St. Luke spells it out up front, right at the beginning: Jesus told them a parable to the effect that they ought always to pray and not lose heart.
Losing heart is what sometimes strangles the breath of prayer. Losing heart is what happens when you pray, and pray, and pray some more—sometimes praying about something or someone for months or even years—and nothing changes. Do you know someone who is losing heart—giving up—ceasing to pray instead of praying without ceasing?
It happens to all of us from time to time—we begin to lose heart. It happens even to those who ought to know better. We’ve all
been there. Each one of us, like Jacob, has wrestled with God in prayer, but only to feel like we’ve come out on the losing end.
So it ought to perk up our ears to hear that Jesus has a parable especially for us—a parable leading us always to pray and not lose heart. The praying protagonist is just an old widow, a nobody, a woman with no standing, no influence, no money. And even the little bit she has has apparently been ripped off. And this unlikely heroine is an icon of faith and prayer. She does not lose heart. She does not give up. She does not despair because faith is alive in her. This pesky widow keeps on showing up in the courtroom of a crooked, corrupt judge who doesn’t fear God or respect his fellow man. This judge is unjust; he couldn’t care less about justice—particularly for someone as insignificant as this widow.
And while this judge keeps on delaying and stonewalling, the widow refuses to give up. She continually pounds the judge with her claim. She bothers the judge. She beats the judge by her continual appearances before him. She grinds away at him with her persistent petitions. The corrupt judge eventually gives in and grants her justice, simply to get her off his back. And this, my friends, is the picture of faith expressing itself in persistent, patient prayer.
The corrupt judge in the parable should lead us to think about Jesus, who is indeed our Judge. The point of comparison is obviously from lesser to greater. Jesus is not an unrighteous judge, but the Righteous One whose judgments are pure and precise and grounded in mercy. If a corrupt, crooked judge can be persuaded by the persistent petitions of a pesky widow, then how much more will Jesus work for justice and relief for His elect—His chosen—His baptized—who cry out to Him in prayer? In fact, Jesus says that the justice He gives is always given “speedily.”
Really? Speedily? If I had been one of the disciples listening to this parable, I think I might have raised my hand at that point and asked, “Lord, could you define what you mean by ‘speedily?’” Our definitions of “speedily” are all skewed by the fact that we sinners are inherently impatient. This is often why we lose heart and fail to pray. It’s not so much that God is slow, as that we are terribly impatient. Our Old Adam says: It’s now or never. Have it my way in sixty seconds or less. Long lines, slow traffic, a sluggish WiFi connection, being told to take a number and wait—Don’t you know who I am?! This is an insult. You are wasting my time. I want it now. Instant gratification is what it’s all about for the Old Adam in us.
But prayer prompted by faith is always an exercise in patience. This could take a while. Faith shows itself in patient endurance, persistence in the face of hardship, and in long-suffering. The widow in the parable keeps coming back to the crooked judge with her petitions because she has no place else to go. Even though the guy is uncaring, unsympathetic, and waiting for a bribe, yet she keeps coming back, day and night, over and over again, because there is no one else who can grant her justice.
We lack her patience most of the time. When years go by it’s easy to lose heart and just give up. Our prayers become shallow, sporadic, undisciplined and anemic. It’s like someone who goes to the gym a few times, lifts a few weights, and then concludes that exercise doesn’t work because he can’t detect a hint of new muscle. But prayer is to be exercised over the long haul. Prayer is a marathon, not a sprint. It is good and beneficial even when we don’t immediately notice all the desired results. The important thing is not to lose heart—to keep at it.
In my neighborhood, I am reminded of an amazing woman of prayer every day. Although she was raised as a Christian, she married an unbeliever with a violent temper who was also an adulterer. Her mother-in-law hated her and made her life miserable. But this amazing woman attended church daily and she prayed just like the widow in today’s parable. Eventually, over many years, she won the favor of her mother-in-law, and her husband changed his ways and became a Christian.
But then there was her rebellious son. He shacked up with his girlfriend, had a child out of wedlock, and got caught up in a new age religion. And so she prayed for her son, year after year for ten years. Finally, her son, too, changed his ways and became a Christian. The name of her son was Augustine—who we now refer to as St. Augustine—a great theologian and bishop. And his mother, who so famously prayed for him, was named Monica—but who we now refer to as St. Monica—a woman you honor every time you say “Santa Monica Blvd.” She could be the patron saint for patient, persistent prayer.
But if I simply tell you to be more like Saint Monica—if I just tell you to be like the widow in the parable—I haven’t yet given you what you need so that you don’t lose heart. I need to direct you to the Judge. Not the corrupt judge in the parable, but the One who will come again to judge the living and the dead. He is the Judge in whose name all our prayers are expressed. He is the Judge who will rule in your favor. The unjust judge in the parable refused to be troubled or bothered by the widow. But your Judge, Jesus, is so troubled and so concerned for you that He went to Calvary for you.
Jesus is the Judge who stands in your stead and takes your guilt and sin and punishment upon Himself. Your sin, your impatience, your angry demands—they can no longer condemn you. There is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. The One who was crucified for you—the One who shed His blood for you—He alone will be your judge. He is the Son of Man who, when He returns, will find faith in you—faith that He has given, faith that He has nourished, faith that He has sustained and strengthened through decades of prayers and years of tears.
It’s strange the way Jesus ends this parable. It’s unexpected how He concludes with a question that doesn’t seem to fit with the parable: When the Son of Man comes, Jesus asks, will He find faith on earth? With that question Jesus takes our prayers, takes the deepest desires of our hearts, and He connects them to the day of His return. And it really makes perfectly good sense. For only then, on judgment day, will it be perfectly clear. When we stand before Jesus our Judge we will see things as they truly are. Then it will become clear how tenderly—how generously and lovingly—Jesus has carried us along through those dark times when everything went wrong, and our prayers went unanswered, and our lives seemed so widowed and worthless. Then it will become clear how God’s delaying—how His slowness and His seeming not to care—is really part of His wanting our good, preparing us for larger gifts, building our faith not on short term satisfactions and easy solutions, but teaching us to rely completely on His grace, His mercy, His love.
It’s that love that will keep you and me from losing heart. It’s that love of God that invites us to lives of prayer—patient, persistent prayer. It’s that love that comes to you this morning in the bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood. It’s that love that rings in your ears through the Words of this sermon. In these ways your faith is forged and fed. And where faith is forged and fed, there is always persistent, patient prayer. Don’t lose heart. For your Judge . . . is Jesus.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
St. Luke 18:1-8
October 20, 2019
Proper 24C
Dear Saints of Our Savior~
Sometimes the parables of Jesus leave us scratching our heads and asking, “What does this mean?” Other parables are so ripe with possible meanings that a dozen sermons couldn’t do them justice. But not today. Today we have a simple parable about a pesky widow and a corrupt judge. And just to make sure that we get the main point, St. Luke spells it out up front, right at the beginning: Jesus told them a parable to the effect that they ought always to pray and not lose heart.
Losing heart is what sometimes strangles the breath of prayer. Losing heart is what happens when you pray, and pray, and pray some more—sometimes praying about something or someone for months or even years—and nothing changes. Do you know someone who is losing heart—giving up—ceasing to pray instead of praying without ceasing?
It happens to all of us from time to time—we begin to lose heart. It happens even to those who ought to know better. We’ve all
So it ought to perk up our ears to hear that Jesus has a parable especially for us—a parable leading us always to pray and not lose heart. The praying protagonist is just an old widow, a nobody, a woman with no standing, no influence, no money. And even the little bit she has has apparently been ripped off. And this unlikely heroine is an icon of faith and prayer. She does not lose heart. She does not give up. She does not despair because faith is alive in her. This pesky widow keeps on showing up in the courtroom of a crooked, corrupt judge who doesn’t fear God or respect his fellow man. This judge is unjust; he couldn’t care less about justice—particularly for someone as insignificant as this widow.
And while this judge keeps on delaying and stonewalling, the widow refuses to give up. She continually pounds the judge with her claim. She bothers the judge. She beats the judge by her continual appearances before him. She grinds away at him with her persistent petitions. The corrupt judge eventually gives in and grants her justice, simply to get her off his back. And this, my friends, is the picture of faith expressing itself in persistent, patient prayer.
The corrupt judge in the parable should lead us to think about Jesus, who is indeed our Judge. The point of comparison is obviously from lesser to greater. Jesus is not an unrighteous judge, but the Righteous One whose judgments are pure and precise and grounded in mercy. If a corrupt, crooked judge can be persuaded by the persistent petitions of a pesky widow, then how much more will Jesus work for justice and relief for His elect—His chosen—His baptized—who cry out to Him in prayer? In fact, Jesus says that the justice He gives is always given “speedily.”
Really? Speedily? If I had been one of the disciples listening to this parable, I think I might have raised my hand at that point and asked, “Lord, could you define what you mean by ‘speedily?’” Our definitions of “speedily” are all skewed by the fact that we sinners are inherently impatient. This is often why we lose heart and fail to pray. It’s not so much that God is slow, as that we are terribly impatient. Our Old Adam says: It’s now or never. Have it my way in sixty seconds or less. Long lines, slow traffic, a sluggish WiFi connection, being told to take a number and wait—Don’t you know who I am?! This is an insult. You are wasting my time. I want it now. Instant gratification is what it’s all about for the Old Adam in us.
But prayer prompted by faith is always an exercise in patience. This could take a while. Faith shows itself in patient endurance, persistence in the face of hardship, and in long-suffering. The widow in the parable keeps coming back to the crooked judge with her petitions because she has no place else to go. Even though the guy is uncaring, unsympathetic, and waiting for a bribe, yet she keeps coming back, day and night, over and over again, because there is no one else who can grant her justice.
We lack her patience most of the time. When years go by it’s easy to lose heart and just give up. Our prayers become shallow, sporadic, undisciplined and anemic. It’s like someone who goes to the gym a few times, lifts a few weights, and then concludes that exercise doesn’t work because he can’t detect a hint of new muscle. But prayer is to be exercised over the long haul. Prayer is a marathon, not a sprint. It is good and beneficial even when we don’t immediately notice all the desired results. The important thing is not to lose heart—to keep at it.
In my neighborhood, I am reminded of an amazing woman of prayer every day. Although she was raised as a Christian, she married an unbeliever with a violent temper who was also an adulterer. Her mother-in-law hated her and made her life miserable. But this amazing woman attended church daily and she prayed just like the widow in today’s parable. Eventually, over many years, she won the favor of her mother-in-law, and her husband changed his ways and became a Christian.
But then there was her rebellious son. He shacked up with his girlfriend, had a child out of wedlock, and got caught up in a new age religion. And so she prayed for her son, year after year for ten years. Finally, her son, too, changed his ways and became a Christian. The name of her son was Augustine—who we now refer to as St. Augustine—a great theologian and bishop. And his mother, who so famously prayed for him, was named Monica—but who we now refer to as St. Monica—a woman you honor every time you say “Santa Monica Blvd.” She could be the patron saint for patient, persistent prayer.
But if I simply tell you to be more like Saint Monica—if I just tell you to be like the widow in the parable—I haven’t yet given you what you need so that you don’t lose heart. I need to direct you to the Judge. Not the corrupt judge in the parable, but the One who will come again to judge the living and the dead. He is the Judge in whose name all our prayers are expressed. He is the Judge who will rule in your favor. The unjust judge in the parable refused to be troubled or bothered by the widow. But your Judge, Jesus, is so troubled and so concerned for you that He went to Calvary for you.
Jesus is the Judge who stands in your stead and takes your guilt and sin and punishment upon Himself. Your sin, your impatience, your angry demands—they can no longer condemn you. There is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. The One who was crucified for you—the One who shed His blood for you—He alone will be your judge. He is the Son of Man who, when He returns, will find faith in you—faith that He has given, faith that He has nourished, faith that He has sustained and strengthened through decades of prayers and years of tears.
It’s strange the way Jesus ends this parable. It’s unexpected how He concludes with a question that doesn’t seem to fit with the parable: When the Son of Man comes, Jesus asks, will He find faith on earth? With that question Jesus takes our prayers, takes the deepest desires of our hearts, and He connects them to the day of His return. And it really makes perfectly good sense. For only then, on judgment day, will it be perfectly clear. When we stand before Jesus our Judge we will see things as they truly are. Then it will become clear how tenderly—how generously and lovingly—Jesus has carried us along through those dark times when everything went wrong, and our prayers went unanswered, and our lives seemed so widowed and worthless. Then it will become clear how God’s delaying—how His slowness and His seeming not to care—is really part of His wanting our good, preparing us for larger gifts, building our faith not on short term satisfactions and easy solutions, but teaching us to rely completely on His grace, His mercy, His love.
It’s that love that will keep you and me from losing heart. It’s that love of God that invites us to lives of prayer—patient, persistent prayer. It’s that love that comes to you this morning in the bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood. It’s that love that rings in your ears through the Words of this sermon. In these ways your faith is forged and fed. And where faith is forged and fed, there is always persistent, patient prayer. Don’t lose heart. For your Judge . . . is Jesus.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Monday, October 14, 2019
Remember Jesus Christ
Jesu Juva
2 Timothy 2:7-9
October 13, 2019
Proper 23C
Dear Saints of Our Savior,
It’s just a happy coincidence—nothing more. But on the very Sunday when we have our seminarian, Alex, home to assist with the service—on the very Sunday when we have a bona fide pastor-to-be sitting in the chancel, we also have a Scripture reading that is tailor-made for both pastors-to-be and pastors (not to mention all of you who are served by pastors).
Second Timothy is one of those New Testament epistles we call “pastoral epistles.” That’s primarily because the epistle’s first recipient was a young, rookie pastor named Timothy. This little letter is filled with admonitions, encouragement and instruction for Timothy as he discharged his duties as one of the undershepherds of the Good Shepherd, Jesus Christ.
The writer of this letter—the man whose Spirit-inspired words spilled out onto the scroll and into our Bibles—was the Apostle Paul. By the time he wrote 2 Timothy Paul was an old man. He could look back on a long and distinguished ministry. Only he wasn’t retiring as the senior pastor of some mega-church in a posh Roman suburb. He wasn’t being toasted, roasted, and lavished with praise from swarms of admiring saints. No, he was all alone.
Paul had been arrested and imprisoned by the notorious Roman Emperor, Nero. In contrast to his earlier imprisonment, which had been a kind of house arrest, he now languished in a cold dungeon, chained like a common criminal. He had no wife to comfort him—no children he could lean on—no children, that is, except for young pastor Timothy, whom he called his “true son in the faith.” Paul was alone. His execution was drawing near. Second Timothy was Paul’s very last letter and, in many ways, it is his last will and testament.
At the heart of this last will and testament is Paul’s dying hope for Timothy, for pastors and pastors-to-be, and for all who look in faith to the Lord Jesus Christ. Paul writes: Think over what I say, for the Lord will give you understanding in everything. Remember Jesus Christ, risen from the dead, the offspring of David, as preached in my gospel. It’s only two sentences; but in those two sentences Paul has given an outline for an entire sermon.
Take just that first phrase from Paul: Think over what I say. Paul is telling Timothy to apply his mind, his reason, his intellect to the inspired words Paul had written. When it comes to the Scriptures, Paul tells Timothy (and all of us): Use your brain! Study the Word. Ponder the Word. Give the Word your full attention. This is why we send our pastors to seminary. Sure, Alex could just be my acolyte and follow me around as I carry out the ministry among you each day. But how much better that he can fully apply his mind to the Word of God, study it in the original languages, while sitting at the feet of gifted scholars. This is also why you, dear saints of Our Savior, attend Bible studies and tune into sermons. Why? Because when it comes to the Word of God, we are all charged to “think it over,” to “apply our minds” to what God has written for our learning.
But there’s also a promise attached to that command. Did you catch it? Paul writes: Think over what I say, for the Lord will give you understanding in everything. He doesn’t say, “For you might gain a few insights here and there.” No, he says, “The Lord will give you understanding in everything—clarity instead of confusion, insight instead of ignorance. Use your God-given intelligence to study the Scriptures; and let God give you understanding in everything. A mind is indeed a terrible thing to waste; and you’re wasting it if you don’t apply it to God’s Word—where wisdom and understanding await you.
But at the heart of the Scriptures stands Jesus. Jesus is the key to understanding everything from Genesis to Malachi, from Matthew to Revelation. And to Jesus Paul directs us in his very next sentence: Remember Jesus Christ, risen from the dead, the offspring of David, preached in my gospel. Paul’s entire ministry could be summed up in that sentence: Remember Jesus Christ. In all of life’s busyness, in times of joy and times of sorrow, when fear overwhelms us, or when success surrounds us—remember Jesus Christ.
But remembering Jesus might not be exactly what you think it is. We often think of remembering as a merely mental activity—recalling special people and special times from the past. But to “remember” takes on added meaning in the Scriptures. To “remember” in the language of the Bible isn’t just a mental activity—not just thinking thoughts, but also doing deeds. To remember in the parlance of the Bible means to take action. To remember Jesus, therefore, is much more than just recalling old stories and saying, “Oh, remember when Jesus did that? Remember when Jesus promised that?” No, to “remember Jesus Christ” is to structure your whole life around Jesus—to receive His gifts in worship—and by those gifts to love and serve those whom Jesus has placed in your path.
You remember Jesus Christ when you come here to the Divine Service. You remember Jesus as you hear His Word and sing His praise. You remember Jesus as you confess the worst about yourself—the sins of which you are ashamed—and then receive absolution from the pastor, who speaks in the stead and by the command of Jesus Christ. You remember Jesus as you confess your faith—the faith once delivered to the saints. You remember Jesus when you kneel at this altar to receive Him—Him who comes to us in His body and blood.
Oh, and by the way, make sure you remember the right Jesus. Not just any Jesus will do. Paul makes this point with clarity: Remember Jesus Christ, (which Jesus? The Jesus who is) risen from the dead, the offspring of David, as preached in my gospel. Paul didn’t want us remembering a generic Jesus who was only some great moral teacher. No, Paul bids us remember the risen Jesus—the Jesus who walked out of His tomb very early on the first day of the week—the Jesus who is the firstfruits of them that sleep—who defeated death for us—the Jesus through whom God was reconciling the world to Himself, not counting men’s sins against them.
Paul also would have us remember the Jesus who is the “offspring of David,” (and a Moabitess named Ruth), David’s descendant who is fully human, just like us—the Jesus who was tempted in every way just as we are, yet without sin—the Jesus who was born of the blessed virgin Mary, who was laid in a manger and worshiped by stinky shepherds, the Jesus who hemorrhaged real blood on a real cross for our real sins of thought, word and deed.
This is the Jesus Christ we remember here today. This was Paul’s Jesus, the Jesus of the Scriptures, the Jesus of history, the Jesus of this hour. Don’t confuse the real Jesus with any modern substitutes. Don’t fall for the pseudo-savior who winks at your sin and says, “Live as you please.” But do remember the Jesus who takes all of your sins upon Himself, who died as your substitute on a Roman tool of torture. Don’t fall for the Jesus of the modern mass media about whom nothing is sure, nothing is certain, and nothing is sacred.
But do remember the Jesus who was born in real time—in real history—whose birth came to pass when Caesar Augustus issued a decree that all the world should be taxed—who died when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea (exactly 1,996 years ago). Remember the Jesus who cleansed lepers and is the friend of sinners. This is Paul’s Jesus and the Jesus we confess here today. This is the Jesus who will one day lead you right through the valley of shadow of death so that you, together with Paul and Timothy, together with pastors and pastors-to-be and all who trust in the Lord Jesus Christ, can dwell in the house of the Lord forever. This is the Jesus we preach—and the Jesus in whom you believe. Remember Jesus Christ.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
2 Timothy 2:7-9
October 13, 2019
Proper 23C
Dear Saints of Our Savior,
It’s just a happy coincidence—nothing more. But on the very Sunday when we have our seminarian, Alex, home to assist with the service—on the very Sunday when we have a bona fide pastor-to-be sitting in the chancel, we also have a Scripture reading that is tailor-made for both pastors-to-be and pastors (not to mention all of you who are served by pastors).
Second Timothy is one of those New Testament epistles we call “pastoral epistles.” That’s primarily because the epistle’s first recipient was a young, rookie pastor named Timothy. This little letter is filled with admonitions, encouragement and instruction for Timothy as he discharged his duties as one of the undershepherds of the Good Shepherd, Jesus Christ.
The writer of this letter—the man whose Spirit-inspired words spilled out onto the scroll and into our Bibles—was the Apostle Paul. By the time he wrote 2 Timothy Paul was an old man. He could look back on a long and distinguished ministry. Only he wasn’t retiring as the senior pastor of some mega-church in a posh Roman suburb. He wasn’t being toasted, roasted, and lavished with praise from swarms of admiring saints. No, he was all alone.
Paul had been arrested and imprisoned by the notorious Roman Emperor, Nero. In contrast to his earlier imprisonment, which had been a kind of house arrest, he now languished in a cold dungeon, chained like a common criminal. He had no wife to comfort him—no children he could lean on—no children, that is, except for young pastor Timothy, whom he called his “true son in the faith.” Paul was alone. His execution was drawing near. Second Timothy was Paul’s very last letter and, in many ways, it is his last will and testament.
At the heart of this last will and testament is Paul’s dying hope for Timothy, for pastors and pastors-to-be, and for all who look in faith to the Lord Jesus Christ. Paul writes: Think over what I say, for the Lord will give you understanding in everything. Remember Jesus Christ, risen from the dead, the offspring of David, as preached in my gospel. It’s only two sentences; but in those two sentences Paul has given an outline for an entire sermon.
Take just that first phrase from Paul: Think over what I say. Paul is telling Timothy to apply his mind, his reason, his intellect to the inspired words Paul had written. When it comes to the Scriptures, Paul tells Timothy (and all of us): Use your brain! Study the Word. Ponder the Word. Give the Word your full attention. This is why we send our pastors to seminary. Sure, Alex could just be my acolyte and follow me around as I carry out the ministry among you each day. But how much better that he can fully apply his mind to the Word of God, study it in the original languages, while sitting at the feet of gifted scholars. This is also why you, dear saints of Our Savior, attend Bible studies and tune into sermons. Why? Because when it comes to the Word of God, we are all charged to “think it over,” to “apply our minds” to what God has written for our learning.
But there’s also a promise attached to that command. Did you catch it? Paul writes: Think over what I say, for the Lord will give you understanding in everything. He doesn’t say, “For you might gain a few insights here and there.” No, he says, “The Lord will give you understanding in everything—clarity instead of confusion, insight instead of ignorance. Use your God-given intelligence to study the Scriptures; and let God give you understanding in everything. A mind is indeed a terrible thing to waste; and you’re wasting it if you don’t apply it to God’s Word—where wisdom and understanding await you.
But at the heart of the Scriptures stands Jesus. Jesus is the key to understanding everything from Genesis to Malachi, from Matthew to Revelation. And to Jesus Paul directs us in his very next sentence: Remember Jesus Christ, risen from the dead, the offspring of David, preached in my gospel. Paul’s entire ministry could be summed up in that sentence: Remember Jesus Christ. In all of life’s busyness, in times of joy and times of sorrow, when fear overwhelms us, or when success surrounds us—remember Jesus Christ.
But remembering Jesus might not be exactly what you think it is. We often think of remembering as a merely mental activity—recalling special people and special times from the past. But to “remember” takes on added meaning in the Scriptures. To “remember” in the language of the Bible isn’t just a mental activity—not just thinking thoughts, but also doing deeds. To remember in the parlance of the Bible means to take action. To remember Jesus, therefore, is much more than just recalling old stories and saying, “Oh, remember when Jesus did that? Remember when Jesus promised that?” No, to “remember Jesus Christ” is to structure your whole life around Jesus—to receive His gifts in worship—and by those gifts to love and serve those whom Jesus has placed in your path.
You remember Jesus Christ when you come here to the Divine Service. You remember Jesus as you hear His Word and sing His praise. You remember Jesus as you confess the worst about yourself—the sins of which you are ashamed—and then receive absolution from the pastor, who speaks in the stead and by the command of Jesus Christ. You remember Jesus as you confess your faith—the faith once delivered to the saints. You remember Jesus when you kneel at this altar to receive Him—Him who comes to us in His body and blood.
Oh, and by the way, make sure you remember the right Jesus. Not just any Jesus will do. Paul makes this point with clarity: Remember Jesus Christ, (which Jesus? The Jesus who is) risen from the dead, the offspring of David, as preached in my gospel. Paul didn’t want us remembering a generic Jesus who was only some great moral teacher. No, Paul bids us remember the risen Jesus—the Jesus who walked out of His tomb very early on the first day of the week—the Jesus who is the firstfruits of them that sleep—who defeated death for us—the Jesus through whom God was reconciling the world to Himself, not counting men’s sins against them.
Paul also would have us remember the Jesus who is the “offspring of David,” (and a Moabitess named Ruth), David’s descendant who is fully human, just like us—the Jesus who was tempted in every way just as we are, yet without sin—the Jesus who was born of the blessed virgin Mary, who was laid in a manger and worshiped by stinky shepherds, the Jesus who hemorrhaged real blood on a real cross for our real sins of thought, word and deed.
This is the Jesus Christ we remember here today. This was Paul’s Jesus, the Jesus of the Scriptures, the Jesus of history, the Jesus of this hour. Don’t confuse the real Jesus with any modern substitutes. Don’t fall for the pseudo-savior who winks at your sin and says, “Live as you please.” But do remember the Jesus who takes all of your sins upon Himself, who died as your substitute on a Roman tool of torture. Don’t fall for the Jesus of the modern mass media about whom nothing is sure, nothing is certain, and nothing is sacred.
But do remember the Jesus who was born in real time—in real history—whose birth came to pass when Caesar Augustus issued a decree that all the world should be taxed—who died when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea (exactly 1,996 years ago). Remember the Jesus who cleansed lepers and is the friend of sinners. This is Paul’s Jesus and the Jesus we confess here today. This is the Jesus who will one day lead you right through the valley of shadow of death so that you, together with Paul and Timothy, together with pastors and pastors-to-be and all who trust in the Lord Jesus Christ, can dwell in the house of the Lord forever. This is the Jesus we preach—and the Jesus in whom you believe. Remember Jesus Christ.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
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