Now and Not Yet

 Jesu Juva

Isaiah 2:1-5                                                                   

November 27, 2022

Advent 1A                                                        

Dear saints of our Savior~

          Merry Christmas!  Or is it Happy Advent?  It seems a little early for Christmas, doesn’t it?  It’s not yet Christmas, to be sure.  It’s not even December, for heaven’s sake.  Christmas famously runs for twelve days, the first of which being December 25^th.  Between now and then, it’s Advent—that blue and somber season where we mourn our sin like lonely exiles until the Son of God appears.  Now it’s Advent.  It’s not yet Christmas.

          And yet . . . that big tree you erected in your living room yesterday—that’s no Advent tree, is it?  No, it’s a Christmas tree, isn’t it?  And that’s no Advent sweater you’re planning to wear to work tomorrow, is it?  No.  It isn’t.  Is there eggnog in your refrigerator?  Do I detect candy cane on your breath?  Have you already been listening to Christmas music?  Now, full disclosure, I have already listened to Christmas music because it’s my job.  I have to.  I’m always working one season ahead.  What’s your excuse?

          It’s okay.  I think I know what you’re up to.  You’re simply applying the prophetic time paradigm-shift perfected by the Prophet Isaiah in today’s Old Testament reading.  That’s very impressive—especially for a bunch of laypeople.  I should have expected nothing less.

          Of course, that prophetic time paradigm-shift can be simply summarized by the phrase:  Now . . . and not yet.  Advent is “now” and Christmas is “not yet;” but sometimes the “not yet” has a way of breaking into the “now.”  Sometimes it’s darn near impossible to strictly segregate and separate the “now” from the “not yet.”  Isaiah and all the prophets regularly tinker with time in just this way.

          Today’s prophecy from Isaiah is mostly about the future—about the “not yet.”  Just listen:  It shall come to pass in the latter days that the mountain of the

Lord shall be established as the highest of the mountains, and shall be lifted up above the hills; and all the nations shall flow to it, and many peoples shall come, and say: “Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob, that he may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths.”  This “mountain of the Lord,” this high and holy “house,” corresponds to the church—the body of Jesus Christ.  This is Christ’s kingdom in which He will reign supreme as King of Kings and Lord of Lords.  Its holiness and glory will be evident and apparent.  It is not hidden or weak; but it shines forth for all—giving light and life for all.  But this messianic kingdom is not yet.  It is yet to come in all its heavenly splendor.

          But did you catch the “now” parts?  Did you catch the parts of that future kingdom that are already here and now?  For instance, “all the nations” shall flow to it.  Now, in the lingo of the Old Testament, that phrase, “all the nations,” is nothing like the line-up of nations now gathered in Qatar to kick around a soccer ball.  When Isaiah says, “The nations,” he means the Gentiles—the unclean—the outsiders—a great, diverse multitude which comes from all four corners of the globe.  That’s us!  And we’re here!  Already now!  Today, somebody at your house got up and said or at least thought, “Let’s go to God’s house that He may teach us His ways.”  And here you are.  That one, holy, Christian and apostolic church is already now—but not yet fully and gloriously visible.

          Consider also the supremely peaceful reign of the Messiah. That perfectly peaceful kingdom is not yet fully revealed.  Unlike the Messiah’s coming kingdom, we now live in a world full of weapons.  And those weapons get discharged daily on the streets of Milwaukee and Chicago.  And those weapons get discharged on the plains of the Ukraine, and on the city streets of Mariupol.  Swords and spears, missiles and tanks continue to take a terrible toll in human blood.  It’s not yet here; but the day IS coming when swords and spears will be refashioned into plowshares and pruning hooks—simple farming implements—when fighter jets and armed drones will become useless museum relics—because war will be no more.  But not yet.

          But we can’t overlook today’s last sentence from Isaiah.  Because that last sentence pulls everything into the “now.”  It puts it all in the present tense.  Isaiah is addressing you as surely as he spoke to the people of Judah seven centuries ago.  So listen up:  Come, let us walk in the light of the Lord.  Because what’s “not yet” is so wonderful, we can already start to live in that light today.  Already now—today—we can walk in the light of the Lord.  Our thinking, our speaking, our actions—can be shaped and empowered because we know what’s coming.  Like children counting down the days to Christmas—tearing through the Advent calendar each day—we  know that “all heaven” is about to break loose.  We know what God has in store for this old earth.  We know the “not yet,” and the “not yet” breaks into our “now.”

          Are you confused?  Don’t be.  It’s as elementary as the whole Advent versus Christmas debate.  Why do you have the urge to sing Christmas carols in November?  Why will you hang your stocking with care and sing “Silent Night” and light up your house like a good old-fashioned Griswald Christmas—and do it all long before the cry goes up on December 25^th that unto us a Son is born, unto us a child is given?  Why?  Because Christmas can’t be contained!  The good news of great joy that a Savior has been born—it just spills out everywhere—even right here on the first Sunday in Advent.

          What does that Christmas spillover look like?  Isaiah tells us:  Come, let us walk in the light of the Lord.  Walking in the light of the Lord means casting off the works of darkness.  That’s what St. Paul makes clear in today’s reading from Romans.  Since we Christians live in the light of day, he writes, “let us cast off the works of darkness and put on the armor of light.  Let us walk properly as in the daytime, not in orgies and drunkenness, not in sexual immorality and sensuality, not in quarreling and jealousy.”  Those deeds of darkness don’t suit you at all.  Don’t let those dark deeds be your way of life.  That’s not who you are!  The road of Advent is the road of repentance.  Advent is your time to leave behind the deeds of darkness and to start living already today in the light and love and that Jesus came to give.

          When we gather for worship, all the rules of time get suspended.  The now and the not yet merge together.  The same Lord Jesus who rode a humble donkey into Jerusalem days before His death—He also comes among us here—now—today.  The death He died, the blood He shed, the power of His forgiveness—it all comes crashing into this moment.  And we hail Him with our hosannas.  We bend our knees at the Communion rail as He comes among us.  Here Jesus draws you out of the darkness of sin, and transforms you into children of the light.  In His holy absolution—in His holy Word—in His Holy Supper—Jesus Christ comes here and now—today.  Heaven breaks loose!  The Messiah’s Kingdom comes crashing in.  The “not yet” of heaven’s glory spills over into real time—into this moment on this day—right now.  Just like Christmas has seeped into your life already on this First Sunday in Advent.

          So let the celebrating begin.  Let your words and deeds today be shaped by the fact that you’ve already got one foot in heaven’s door.  Jesus Christ has already blazed a trail from heaven above to earth below.  Let that heavenly light shine in you—and through you to others.  And if that means celebrating Christmas a little on the early side, no worries.  It cannot be helped.  For the people walking in darkness have seen a great light.  Come, let us walk in the light of the Lord.

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

Humbled Yet Thankful

Jesu Juva

Deuteronomy 8:1-10                                                    

November 24, 2022

Thanksgiving Day                                          

Dear saints of our Savior~

          A very blessed Thanksgiving to each and every one of you—especially to those of you who have been planning and prepping for this day.  Where would we be on Thanksgiving without planning?  Someone has to create a menu, make a grocery list, fight the crowds at Sendiks—stuff the bird, select the wine, stoke the fire, peel the potatoes.  As someone once said, “Failing to plan . . . is just planning to fail.”

          Most of us are actually pretty good at planning.  We do it all the time.  We plot and plan and scheme.  We strategize and prioritize.  We visioncast and forecast.  We make our predictions, our projections, and our calculations.  Sometimes all we can do is guess or ballpark it.  But nobody faces the future better.  Like all good Wisconsinites, our motto—our slogan—is simply Forward!  (Or, at least, Keep ‘er movin’!)

          Planning is good; but if all you do is plan, you’ll never be thankful.  If your focus is only forward, you will never thank the Lord and sing His praise.  If you want to come into His presence with thanksgiving, then you need to hear the history.  You need to check the rearview mirror.  You need to pause and ponder the past.  To be truly thankful, you need to remember to remember.  Thanksgiving can only sprout from the plowed-up soil of the past.

          In today’s Old Testament reading, Israel was about to move forward—onward and upward—into a de-luxe land of plenty:  wheat and barley, figs and pomegranates, milk and honey.  After forty years of waiting, nobody was more prepared to move forward in finer fashion than that crew of Hebrews.  But as they loaded up their U-hauls, Moses had a message:

          Remember . . . Remember how the Lord led you all the way in the desert these forty years, to humble you and to test you in order to know what was in your heart. . . . He humbled you, causing you to hunger and then feeding you with manna. . . . Know then in your heart that as a man disciplines his son, so the Lord your God disciplines you.  Remember to remember.

          Of course, remembering is risky business.  It’s not for the faint of heart.  Because right alongside all those rosy remembrances, there’s also a more harrowing history—a history of rebellion against God, of disregard for His commandments, of faithlessness in the face of trials and troubles.  The people Moses was preaching to had some scary stuff to remember.  There was the idolatry of the golden calf, grumbling about the manna, murmuring against Moses, fire and snakes and plagues from the hand of the Lord.  Everybody likes to remember the good old days; but in, with and under those days . . . are deeds—deeds that are not so good—sins that stain our history.

          Now, this is a day for giving thanks, not remembering.  But Moses is teaching us that, in order to be thankful, we must first remember.  And this remembering is not always pleasant.  For we each have our own harrowing history.  Not everyone here this morning has forty years in the desert to unpack; while others of us are well past that point.  But if you’re going to be thankful—if you’re going to bless the Lord and praise the Lord—then you need to remember.  Remember when, like Israel, you were humbled, tested, and disciplined.

          Remember when you woke up face down in a sinful mess of your own making—when you put pleasure ahead of principle, and tested the boundaries to see just how far you could wander from home.  Remember your faithless fear when you were flat on your back and the surgeon was sharpening his scalpel, and you were terrified.  Remember the times you grumbled against the Lord—when you cursed His holy name for taking away from you that which you loved—or for how the Lord humbled you the hard way—publicly—in full view of everyone.  Do you remember?

          Because if you do remember that unholy history, then you cannot help but see traces of grace in that history of horrors.  For here you are on this Thanksgiving Day in the year of our Lord 2022.  You are the living proof that our Lord does not treat us as our sins deserve.  When you’ve been faithless, He’s been faithful.  When you have fled from Him, He has not ceased to follow you all the days of your life.  When you have not remembered—when you have forgotten the Lord in times of plenty and prosperity—He has not forgotten you.  If you refuse to remember the bad, how can you be thankful for the great goodness of God?

          Today at some Thanksgiving tables it will be a requirement that everybody has to share something for which they are thankful.  There’s nothing wrong with that per se—nothing wrong with praising God for your pet or blessing Him for your BMW.  But that’s an attitude of gratitude that just won’t last.  It can’t.  It’s based on what’s here today and gone tomorrow.  Wouldn’t we be better served to go around the table and remember?  How God helped us in our time of trouble?  How He remembers no more the sins we can’t forget? How He used the surgeon and the pastor to bring health and healing for both body and soul?  Such remembering gives us reasons for real, honest thanksgiving.

          The Israelites had miracles to help them remember.  When they looked back, they saw divine displays of supernatural power . . . and so do we.  No, we haven’t walked through the Red Sea on dry ground; but we have been born again in the cleansing waters of Holy Baptism—named and claimed as God’s own children.  That’s worth remembering.  No, we haven’t been fed with manna from heaven; but we have been fed with the precious body and blood of our Lord in His Holy Supper, for the forgiveness of our sins.  That’s worth remembering.  No, we haven’t been rescued from a life of slavery under Pharaoh; but we have been rescued from the power sin, death and hell by Jesus Christ the Son of God, who loved you and who gave Himself for you—who bore your sins in His crucified body, and who gives you His own righteousness.  That’s worth remembering.  No, we haven’t been led each day by a pillar of cloud and each night by a pillar of fire; but the Risen Christ does come among us as we are gathered in His name to forgive us, renew us, and lead us (and love us).  This is worth remembering.  This is every reason for praise and thanksgiving.

          Moses’s words about remembering the Lord came at a unique time in Israel’s history.  It was the end of one era and the beginning of another.  The wilderness was behind them and the Promised Land was before them.  Even as they listened to old Moses, they were looking ahead in hope: No more wandering in the wilderness.  Home was on the horizon.  What God had promised so long ago was now becoming a reality.

          That’s also where we find ourselves on this Thanksgiving Day.  For as surely as Joshua led God’s people into the Land of Promise, so a new and better “Joshua” is leading us home.  Jesus is our Joshua.  He has gone before us in a battle to the death, and has emerged triumphant and resurrected on the other side of the Jordan.  Our thanks this day is

not only based on remembering things that have already happened, but also on remembering things that will happen—things that Jesus promises for all who trust in Him: namely, the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting.  We look back and see grace; we look forward and see a sure and certain hope.  And all this is every reason to pray, praise, and give thanks.   In the name . . . 

Forgiveness and Faith at the Cross

Jesu Juva

St. Luke 23:27-43                                                         

November 20, 2022

Last Sunday – C                    

Dear saints of our Savior~

          Were you expecting to get Good Friday today?  At first glance it seems like an odd choice for this final Sunday.  It’s somewhat strange to have a Good Friday text as we think about the end of time and the return of Christ.  Weren’t you at least a little surprised?  A more traditional choice for this Sunday might have been a parable about sheep and goats, or about wise and foolish bridesmaids.

          But a pastor I know makes the case that this text is very appropriate for this Sunday.  He makes the point that the terrible scene of Jesus hanging from the cross is actually Jesus’ final public appearance.  The last view that the general public gets of Jesus—the final image they see—is of Jesus crucified, bleeding, dying, persecuted, ridiculed, mocked and spit-upon.  That’s the final portrait the world gets of Jesus until He comes again in glory to judge the living and the dead. 

          It’s true that Jesus was seen by many witnesses in the forty days following His resurrection:  Mary Magdalene saw Him first.  He appeared to the two disciples on the road to Emmaus.  At one point even 500 would see the risen Christ.  Eleven would watch Him ascend into heaven.  Yet none of that was for the general public.  The world’s final image of Jesus—the last snapshot they have—is one with nails, blood, and a crown of thorns.

          It’s certainly no surprise that among the Savior’s final words from the cross are these:  Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.  Forgiveness was the defining message of Jesus’ ministry. That prayer (“Father, forgive them”) wasn’t offered only for those who crucified Him, but for all of humanity and for all of our collective insanity and violence.  Forgive them.  They don’t know what they are doing.

          That’s certainly true for us.  We have no idea.  Concerning our sin, we don’t “know” the half of it!  We have absolutely no concept of the damage each one of us has done by our sinning.  We have no realization of how angry words we spewed out years ago still echo in the hearts of those against whom we raged.  Words of teasing and taunting from long ago still torture today.  We can’t begin to comprehend the vast ripple effect of our adulteries and idolatries, the hate and the hurt we regularly hurl at anyone who dares to stand in our way or inconvenience us in the slightest.  In a strange way we are fortunate—so fortunate!—that we can’t “know” the full effect of our sins—all the casualties and victims we have left in our wake.  For if we could—if we could fully and truly “know” all the damage we have personally inflicted on this world—it would crush us. 

But from the cross, in His final appearance before all the world, Jesus prays for you:  Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.  But Jesus—Jesus knows what He is doing.  He accepts the sour wine and sarcasm.  He gags and gasps for air knowing that He is hanging there for you—as your substitute.  He bears your sins.  Where you have miserably failed, He will succeed.  Where you have inflicted hurt and harm on the world, He will bring eternal healing.  In His damnation is Your redemption, the forgiveness of our sins.  And that is everything.

Jesus’ last public appearance was on Good Friday.  His next public appearance will be when He comes again—when Judgment Day arrives.  And Judgment Day and Good Friday will be similar in some respects.  The two criminals separated by Jesus on Good Friday—well, they’re kind of like the sheep and the goats, the wise and the foolish, the believing and the unbelieving.  Those two evil-doers are a preview of what will come on the Last Day:  Two sinners, separated by the sinless Son of God, one on His right hand and the other on His left. 

Both of these criminals, of course, were guilty as charged.  Their public executions were intended to be an example and a warning to the general public.  Both were guilty, just as you and I stand guilty of insurrection against God—guilty of wanting to be gods in place of God—guilty of willingly and knowingly violating His holy law.  Those two criminals show us that those who are saved and those who are condemned are equally guilty.  You aren’t saved because you’re from a better class of sinners than those who are damned.  There’s no distinction at all.  All have sinned.  All fall short of the glory of God.  All are condemned beneath the Law of God.

One of those criminals railed against Jesus in unbelief.  “Save yourself!  Save us!  What kind of a Messiah are you anyway?”  He makes it clear:  You either love Jesus in faith, or you hate Jesus in unbelief.  This unbeliever mocks the only Savior He has.  Even in the grasp of death, he joins his voice with those who mocked and reviled Jesus.  His salvation is right there next to him!  But he refuses to see it, to acknowledge and confess it.  In the crucified Christ is pardon for sins, acquittal before God, the promise of Paradise.  But he will have none of it.  It’s so tragic and so sad.  Unbelief is always that way.

But the other evil-doer believes.  He is faithful.  He even tries to witness to his fellow criminal:  “Don’t you fear God?”  He preaches the Law to his partner in crime:  “We are receiving the due reward of our deeds.  We deserve this.”  He might just as well have said the wages of sin is death.  We deserve this.  You deserve this.  We all do.  No one escapes this.  “But this man—the one who hangs between us—he has done nothing wrong.”  He confesses Christ.  He bears witness to Jesus—that He is innocent—that He is sinless. 

And yet in the mystery of God’s mercy, God made the innocent, sinless Jesus to be sin for us.  Jesus is the criminal.  Jesus is the terrorist.  Jesus is the murderer.  He became our sin—the sin of the world.  He becomes our sin, so that in Him we might be righteous.  Although this man has done nothing wrong, yet this Man dies as one who had done everything wrong—and is thus forsaken by God, condemned, persecuted, mocked, ridiculed and damned.  He gets what we deserve so that, in the end, you will get what He deserves.

And then comes one of the best prayers ever uttered:  Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.  This is how faith prays.  He asks for nothing but to

be remembered by Jesus.  He doesn’t ask to be saved from the cross, to be spared his suffering, to be granted a last minute pardon.  Just, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”  As death closed in, he wasn’t overcome with regrets or guilt or anger or even fear.  All that mattered to him was Jesus.

Dear Christian, see yourself right there—right there with Jesus on the cross.  For that’s what your baptism has done for you.  It places you right there at the right hand of the crucified Son of God.  Through baptism you have been crucified with Christ.  You no longer live; Christ lives in you.  You have been buried with Him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, you too might have a new life.  You too have the same promise from the Savior’s lips:  Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.

A guilty criminal is pardoned before God—justified for Jesus’ sake.  Though the world found him guilty and sentenced him to die for his deeds, the Son of God declared him to be not guilty—righteous—fit for life in Paradise.  Though he dies for his crimes, he receives pardon for every sin by the sinless Son of God who died right next to him. 

Today as you confess your sins—as you are remembered by Jesus in the meal of His body and blood—you follow in the way of that repentant criminal.  You stand pardoned before God.  You are justified through faith in Jesus.  The world may judge you harshly and find you lacking.  But Jesus declares you righteous and holy.  You are an heir of Paradise too.

He’s coming again, this Jesus.  Only He will come again as King of Kings and Lord of Lords with great power and might.  And when He comes again He will not be looking for the best behaved sinners, or the sinners who have the best excuses, or even the sinners who feel the most regret over their sins.  He will be looking—and listening—for faith.  And the prayer of faith is always this:  Jesus, remember me.  And the Savior’s response is always the same:  Truly, you will be with me in Paradise. 

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

The Day Is Coming

Jesu Juva

St. Luke 21:5-28                                                           

November 13, 2022

Proper 28C                             

Dear saints of our Savior~

          Last week, on All Saints’ Sunday, we set our sights on Paradise.  We took our place with that white-robed multitude around the throne of God.  We gave thanks for all the saints who from their labors rest.  We were comforted and consoled by the sure and certain promise of the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting—when death will be undone and God will wipe away every tear from our eyes.

          But today the comfort of last Sunday gives way to a vision of fiery judgment, cosmic chaos, and destruction.  We’d much rather just skip over the end of the world and center our thoughts on Paradise the blest.  But the Lord won’t let us.  The day—the Last Day—is coming.  Malachi tells us:  It will “burn like an oven, when all the arrogant and all evildoers will be stubble.”  As we just sang: Then fright shall banish idle mirth, And flames on flames shall ravage earth.  And Jesus tells us:  The heavens will be shaken.  And they will see the Son of Man coming in a cloud with power and great glory.

          We can’t begin to imagine the end of the world.  We just can’t.  But that doesn’t mean it won’t happen.  It will.  But I suspect you haven’t given this much thought for a while.  The end of the world is, for most of us, the last thing we’re concerned about.  We’ve got deadlines to meet.  Thanksgiving is just eleven days away.  For most people who enjoy good mental health, thoughts about the end of the world don’t regularly occur.  But that’s precisely why we have a church year—a church calendar—a lectionary—which always concludes with a reminder that the day is coming—and that it’s nearer than you might imagine.

          Jesus’ own disciples couldn’t even begin to imagine that Jerusalem would be destroyed.  Jerusalem was God’s city—the City of David—Mount Zion.  Jerusalem’s high and holy temple was God’s dwelling place on earth.  But Jesus predicted that the walls would come a’tumbling down:  The day will come when there will not be left here one stone upon another that will not be thrown down.  This sounded crazy when Jesus said it.  Herod’s temple was one of the wonders of the world—a massive public works project.  Say something similar about one of our national monuments in Washington; and then see how long it takes before the FBI shows up on your doorstep.  But what Jesus said about Jerusalem all came true in the year 70 AD when Roman armies leveled it all, including the temple.  There was nothing left.

          Jesus used that catastrophic event to help prepare His people for the all-consuming catastrophe of the Last Day.  What happened in Jerusalem in 70 AD foreshadowed what will happen at the end of days.

          If talking about the end of the world makes you uneasy, that’s good.  It should.  Jesus warned that His faithful followers of every age would at least get a taste of the coming chaos.  He said they would be persecuted, arrested, imprisoned, and put on trial.  Never does Jesus tell His followers that they will be spared from all this—only that He would see them through it all—that He would supply them with words and wisdom so that they could bear witness to Him.

          When His followers feel the squeeze of persecution—when this world’s hatred of Christ and His people gets intense—Jesus says, “Don’t worry.”  In fact, Jesus calls such times an “opportunity to bear witness.”  Jesus promises to give His people words and wisdom when they need it most.  But don’t think of it as God magically putting words in your mouth.  No, those words and wisdom are already being implanted in you every time you gather here for the Divine Service—every time you hear God’s Word—every time you sing His praises from the hymnal.  The Holy Spirit is using all of that—every Scripture, every devotion, every sermon, every Creed confessed, every Psalm, hymn, and spiritual song—that will be your treasury of resources for when your time of trial will come.  The Lord’s words and the Lord’s wisdom will not fail you.  Nothing will prepare you better for persecution than receiving God’s gifts here and now.  Being prepared for the end . . . begins here.

          The Christian faith has a cross at its center—Jesus Christ and Him crucified.  That means you can expect suffering, hardship, loss, and persecution.  As the world hated Jesus, so it will hate His followers.  Jesus told His disciples that some of them would be put to death.  And yet, in the very next sentence He adds:  But not a hair of your head will perish.  By your endurance you will gain your lives.  It sounds like a contradiction.  Which is it?  Will your beautifully quaffed hairs remain numbered and intact?  Or will the head to which they are attached get lopped off for following Jesus?  The answer is “yes.”  Yes, death will come to those who follow Jesus—maybe even martyr’s death; and “yes” again, you will live.  In the resurrection all those beautiful hairs will be accounted for.  Though you die; yet shall you live.  And living and believing in Jesus, your death will be but the entrance into the Father’s house, where the Savior already has a place prepared for you.

          But as for the world around us, it has an expiration date.  It is passing away.  That Jerusalem temple eventually did topple at the hands of the Romans.  But the end of the temple would be signaled even more profoundly on Good Friday, when the curtain in the temple was torn in two at the moment Jesus died.  At that moment, the time of the temple was over.  Access to God is now found through the body of His Son, Jesus—no longer through a building—no longer through the blood of goats and bulls, but only through the shed blood of Jesus.  In that blood is your cleansing and forgiveness.

          In practically one breath Jesus covers the destruction of Jerusalem—and shows how that destruction will be a prelude to the end of all things—when the sun is darkened and the moon turns to blood and the stars fall from the sky, and the sea will roar with the intensity of ten thousand tsunamis.  Jesus is telling you now, so that you won’t be caught unaware just in case it all begins to unravel later today or perhaps tomorrow.  Global warming and climate change—don’t worry about it.  Rising oil prices—deal with it.  Divided government and a polarized electorate—you can survive it with the help of God.  Another pandemic—just take some vitamin D. 

          But be ever aware—be ever mindful of this truth:  The end of all things is

coming.  On that day your faith will be vindicated.  Every promise ever made by Jesus will be proven true.  Your patient endurance through times of tears and trouble will give way to the thrill of hope as the Savior returns.  Then you will see with your own two eyes what you can now only hear and believe.  Just when things are at their worst, lift up your heads because your redemption is drawing near.  Already now, Jesus is near—in His Word preached and proclaimed, in His baptism, in His holy Supper.  And sooner than you might think, you will see the Savior face to face.

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