Fear Not

Jesu Juva

Revelation 1:4-18                                              

April 27, 2025

Easter 2C                         

Dear saints of our Savior~

Hear the words of the Risen Lord from Revelation chapter 1: 

Fear not, I am the first and the last, and the living one; I died, and behold I am alive forevermore, and I have the keys of Death and Hades.

        Jesus says:  Fear not. That’s the theme of the book of Revelation in two simple words. Fear not. When everything is going to hell in a hand basket; when the devil, the world, and our own sinful flesh seem to have the upper hand; when Christianity seems to be a lost cause and the world has the church by her neck; when Christ and His Word are driven from the public square and the message of the Gospel seems to fall on deaf ears; when beasts roam and dragons threaten, and Christians are martyred for their faith; the Risen Christ appears in His glory, saying simply: Fear not.

        Fear gripped the disciples on that first Easter evening.  They were afraid of the Jews, the religious authorities, the Romans, their own shadows. Their leader had been crucified. His body was missing. The tomb was empty. Rumors were flying. Who wouldn’t be afraid?

        But into the midst of those fearful, disillusioned disciples comes Jesus. And what does He say?  Peace be with you.  That’s the flip-side of “Fear not.” Peace be with you. His peace quiets our fear. His peace, which passes our understanding, calms our anxious hearts and troubled minds. His peace is His gift to you when you are fearful.

        But Jesus offers more than words. He shows them His wounded hands, His side, the marks of His sacrifice. That’s how He’s recognized for who He is: His wounds. That’s what Thomas wanted so badly to see and would not believe unless he saw them with his own eyes and touched them—the wounds. Jesus was wounded for our transgressions; by His wounds we are healed. There in those wounds is your peace and the end of your fear.  Fear not.

        As St. John recorded and wrote down what we know as the book of Revelation, he was likely afraid. Most of the other Apostles and Evangelists had been martyred.  Only John was left—now an old man, exiled to a remote island—banished from his home—cut off from his congregation—persecuted for righteousness’ sake on account of the Name of Jesus. When John saw the risen and glorified Lord with His blazing hair and fiery eyes and that sharp two-edged sword coming out of His mouth and His face shining like the sun at high noon, John fell down in fear like a dead man.

        But the Lord laid His right hand on John. Fear not. I am the first and the last, the Living One. Jesus is the Beginning and the Ending, the Lord of Life who gives life to all things. He is the One who died but lives forever. He is the One who has gone the way of Death before us like a good shepherd walking ahead of the sheep through death’s dark vale: “Follow me,” He says. “Fear not, for I am with you always.”

        This Jesus died . . . and He is alive forevermore. Death has lost its sting. The Grave has lost its grip. It could not hold Jesus, and it cannot hold you. The greatest fear we have is the fear of Death. All other fears are derivative of this big one. We can’t see into Death; we can’t see beyond the Grave. And so we are afraid.

        But the Lord Jesus emerges from the grave alive, the “living One.” Death can’t hold Him; the grave can’t keep Him. And He’s holding in His right hand a set of keys—the keys of Death and Hades. Not only did He conquer Death and the Grave, but He’s got the keys to the prison. Jesus holds the keys to Death and the Grave. What He looses no one can bind; what He binds no one can loose.

        He breathed on His disciples.  He “apostlized” them. He sent them with His word and authority and breath. The sins you forgive are forgiven; the sins you retain are retained. Loosing and binding. This is the keys in action. The “office of the keys.” Holy Ministry, Holy Absolution.  Of all the topics Jesus might have raised with his followers at that first resurrection encounter, it was the forgiveness of sins that took center stage.

        The power of the keys—the power to forgive or retain sins—isn’t in the Pastor, but in Jesus’ death and resurrection. He was crucified for our sins and raised for our justification. His death answered the Law’s accusation. His death paid the price for our liberty. His death conquered Sin by becoming Sin and destroyed Death by submitting to Death. His resurrection is our justification. The fight is over, the battle won.  And in Him you win too!

        Following World War Two there were Japanese soldiers on remote Pacific islands who were still fighting the war long after it was ended. Peace had been declared. The war was over. The fighting had ceased everywhere else. And yet in the minds of these soldiers, the war was still going on and they were still fighting an enemy that was no longer an enemy. Someone had to go to these soldiers and tell them that peace had broken out, that enemies had laid down their arms, that the war was finally over.

        That’s what Christ’s work is all about now. His work of redemption is done. “It is finished.” The world is reconciled to God in the death of His Son. But that news has to travel from the open tomb to ears like ours. Faith comes by hearing. Peace and the Spirit and forgiveness all come through the Word, from the mouth of Christ through the mouth of His apostles and His church’s ministry to your ears and mine.

        Jesus never made a grand appearance to the whole world after rising from the dead. He didn’t give a news conference or sit down for an extended interview.  That’s how you and I would have orchestrated it. That’s how the world operates. The basketball team wins the championship and they have a big public parade in front of all the television cameras and thousands of adoring fans. The victorious army marches through the streets with bands and flags and confetti.

        But Jesus simply appears just to a handful of eyewitnesses – to Mary and some women, to a couple of disciples on the road to Emmaus, to the eleven in the upper room, to Thomas, to seven disciples on the Sea of Tiberius.  Once to over 500 people, and last of all to Paul himself on the Damascus road. Enough eyewitnesses to make a credible case, but not much of a parade.

        He could have appeared to the world in all His glory, as He did to St. John on the island of Patmos. But the Lord’s ways aren’t our ways. He has a different plan: You tell them. You proclaim the victory. That’s what the word “evangelize” originally meant – to relay to the King the good news of victory on the battlefield. That’s what Pheidippedes reportedly did when he ran from the battlefield at Marathon all the way to Athens (26.2 miles) to tell the king, “You won! You’ve conquered!” And then he famously dropped dead. (Nobody said evangelism was easy.)

        The good news of the king’s victory is always left to messengers. The angels first told the women the great good news of Jesus’ resurrection. The women told the disciples, who didn’t believe them at first. The disciples told Thomas who wasn’t with them that first evening of the resurrection. And . . . someone told you—that’s why you’re here.  Who have you told?  Who will you tell?

        Jesus holds the keys to Death and Hades. He frees the prisoners. He binds sin and death and the old Adam. He opens the kingdom of heaven, He forgives, He feeds, He renews, He strengthens the new You in Him. You may have your faithless moments, as Thomas did. You may be skeptical of what happened that fateful morning nearly 2000 years ago. You may be afraid—fearful of what this week will bring. Fear not. Peace be with you. See the wounds, the Body, the Blood, for the forgiveness of sins.  Know that you’ve been died for, that your life is hidden with Christ in God. Stop disbelieving and believe. Blessed are those who have not seen, and yet have believed. That’s you—not seeing, but believing.

        You will one day see. You will one day see what John saw that Lord’s Day on the island of Patmos.  And you will hear what John heard:  “Fear not,” says your Lord. “I am the first and the last, and the living one. I died, and behold I am alive forevermore, and I have the keys of Death and Hades.”

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

 

Resurrection Remembrance

Jesu Juva

Luke 24:1-12                                                     

April 20, 2025

Easter C                             

Dear saints of our Savior~

Alleluia!  Christ is risen! He is risen indeed!  Alleluia!

        Easter is always overwhelming in the very best sense—what with the brass, the choirs, the alleluias, the lilies, the praise, the celebration of Christ’s victory.  There’s a lot going on—and rightly so.  But the angels of Easter—they invite us to do one, simple thing:  Remember.

        That first Easter morning was a swirl of activity and emotion. Tearful women come to the tomb with spices, only to find the stone rolled away and the body of Jesus missing.  They then see and hear angels who declare that Jesus is alive.  At first, the women are perplexed and frightened.   

        But then something happens that changes everything.  Amidst all the chaos, the angels invite those women to do one blessed thing:  Remember.  Remember how he told you that the Son of Man must be delivered into the hands of sinful men and be crucified and on the third day rise.  Prompted by the angels, the women did what they were told:  They remembered His words.  And remembering the words of Jesus, nothing would ever be the same again.

        On Easter morning God sent angels to help His people remember.  And today through His Word He helps us to remember as well.  God has made the empty tomb a place of remembrance for us so that we might know resurrection joy.

        You know the power of remembering.  Memories can either transport us into the past; or they can root us more firmly in the present.  That’s the power of remembering. Remembering can change our lives in two ways. 

        On the one hand, remembering can take us away from our present and lead us into a world that is past.  Think of the remembering that happens at a funeral visitation.  Family members and friends gather together and, inevitably, someone simply begins to remember all the special, quirky, ways the departed touched the lives of so many. One anecdote leads to another.  And soon, these mourners are transported from the sadness of the present to another place.  Such is the power of remembering. 

        And then there’s the remembering that doesn’t take you away from the present, but brings you more fully into the here and now.  A soldier remembers his basic training—all the drills, all the training, all those exercises.  But those memories don’t take him back to the past; they bring him more fully into the present, giving him confidence and clarity and courage to fight the battle at hand and secure the objective. 

        Two types of remembering, then:  that which takes you away from the present and that which brings you more fully into it.  Which kind of remembering happens at Easter? 

        For the women at the tomb, remembering Jesus’ words brought them more fully into the present.  Remembering the words of Jesus, they could begin to understand and make sense of the strange new world that surrounded them.  An empty tomb and dazzling angels now make sense.  They see that Jesus’ betrayal and crucifixion isn’t just a mistake or a tragic miscarriage of justice.  They remembered that Jesus said all these things must happen.

        Remembering Jesus’ words helps them see that this was the will of God to save all people and take away the punishment our sins deserve.  Now, the punishment is gone.  Divine vengeance is over.  An open, empty tomb gives a glimmering preview of heavenly joy.  Suddenly, life for these women takes on unbelievable significance; and as they leave the tomb they tell all that they have seen and heard. 

        Easter remembering—remembering Jesus’ words—always brings you more fully into the here and now.  But the world will tell you differently.  Our culture shakes its head at us Christians.  When we remember the resurrection, our culture acts as if we’ve lost touch with reality:  “A Savior rising from the dead?  A world filled with sin and angels and demons?  That’s a world with an old fashioned morality and answers to questions that people no longer ask,” they say. 

        But remembering the words of Jesus always shows us that God’s ways are not our ways.  His thoughts are not our thoughts.  He causes us to remember the resurrection not to pull us away from the present—not to enter a world of make-believe.  No, by remembering the resurrection, God sets us free to experience life today in all its fullness, and to understand things as they really are—knowing that this life isn’t all there is—that things are not as they seem.

        The Easter angels tell us:  If you want answers—if you want real life—remember His words.  And remember them not only at Easter, but throughout the year as Easter is celebrated every Sunday.  Remember the words He spoke and the promises He made.  Jesus has the words of eternal life.  “I am the resurrection and the life,” He says, “Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die.”  “Because I live,” he says, “you shall live also.”  Those who trust in Jesus, who remember His words, they have the answers. 

        Have you ever wondered why Easter began with angels, and not with the Risen Christ Himself?  Why did God orchestrate Easter in such a way that God’s chosen could only hear about it at first, before actually seeing the living Lord?  God didn’t have to do it that way.  It could have been the risen Christ sitting in the tomb waiting for the women instead of angels.  But it wasn’t.  Why not?  So that those women—and all of us—would learn what it means to walk by faith and not by sight—so that we learn to trust and remember the words of Jesus, even when we can’t see Jesus in the flesh—to teach us to trust the Word of God and the messengers of God more than our own two eyes.

        Remembering the Words of Jesus changes everything.  Remembering the resurrection in the past re-shapes the present. Here’s an example from today’s text:  The subject of Luke’s Easter account is the pronoun “they.”  They went to the tomb.  Who is “they?”  We aren’t told the women’s names at the beginning—where you might expect it—but only after those women remembered His words.  Only then does Luke tell us, “Now it was Mary Magdalene and Joanna and Mary the mother of James and the other women with them . . .” 

        Luke stops—in the middle of the account—to give us their names, because remembering the words of Jesus has transformed these women into something new.  They have now become witnesses to the wonders of God.  God has given their lives meaning and relevance by the power of the resurrection.  They remembered the words of Jesus, and in their remembering they were transformed from fear-filled mourners to living witnesses of death’s demise.

        The same thing happens here this morning.  Right in the middle of your busy, crazy, fearful life, God stops everything.  He sets aside your sin.  And He gives you His words to remember.  And in the remembering of those words—by the power of the resurrection—your life becomes crowned with relevance in the here and now.  You become a resurrection witness.  Your daily “to do” list is now much more than stuff you’ve gotta get done.  Now that list is populated with good works that glorify God and bear witness to God’s Son who was dead—but who now lives and reigns forever.  The tiniest corners of your life are now replete with relevance—the dinnertime conversation, the trip to Trader Joe’s, time in the classroom and on the job—it’s all been reshaped and repurposed by the remembered words of God.  And now, through you, God works the wonders of His love in this world—as you remember His words. 

        Today we remember.  We remember the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.  In Him, your sins are forgiven.  By Him, you have a whole new life.  With Him, your life is destined for resurrection.  And remembering that, we can only say:  Alleluia!  Christ is risen!  He is risen indeed.  Alleluia!   Amen.

 

Jesus, Remember Me

 Jesu Juva

Luke 23:39-43                                                         

April 18, 2025

Good Friday                               

  One of the criminals . . . railed at [Jesus], saying, “Are you not the Christ?  Save yourself and us!”  But the other rebuked him, saying, “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation?  And we indeed justly, for we are receiving the due reward of our deeds; but this man has done nothing wrong.  And he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”  And he said to him, “Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”

 Dear saints of our Savior~

        In this crucifixion conversation, we have the entire Christian faith telescoped into one beautiful scene. What happens in this simple, earthly scene is full of heavenly meaning.  A prayer is exhaled in faith; and that prayer is immediately answered with a response of sheer grace.  All this as the sinless Son of God hangs from a tree between two men who are guilty as sin.

        Both of these “criminals” were guilty as charged.  That’s important.  Both men are guilty.  They are receiving the due reward of their deeds.  They are receiving the punishment they deserve.  Although a critical difference will emerge between these two men; yet they are equally guilty. 

        And you, too, are equally guilty.  You may be a child of God.  You may have the promise of Paradise.  But you stand shoulder-to-shoulder with these criminals.  Their guilt is your guilt.  There’s no distinction at all.  All have sinned.  All fall short of the glory of God.  All are condemned under the Law of God.  If you can’t see yourself on the cross there next to Jesus, then you think far too highly of yourself.

        One of those criminals railed against Jesus in unbelief.  “Save yourself!  Save us!  What kind of a Messiah are you?”  He shows that you either love Jesus in faith, or you hate Jesus in unbelief.  This man mocks the only Savior he has.  Even as death draws near, he uses his final few breaths to join his voice with those who mock and revile Jesus.  His salvation hangs right next to him.  But he refuses to see it or believe it or confess it.  It’s so tragic and so sad.  Unbelief is always that way.

        Later traditions would assign names to these criminals; but they are nameless in the Bible.  Luke calls them simply, “criminals,” or more literally, “evildoers.”  That term, evildoer, is broad enough to include not just those who have broken the laws of men, but also those who have broken the laws of God.  You may not qualify technically as a “criminal,” but you do qualify as an “evildoer.”  We all do.  You and I stand guilty of insurrection against God:  idolatry, immorality, hatred, greed.  We have knowingly, willingly, and with precise pre-meditation done what is evil in God’s sight.  So, my fellow evildoers, see yourself there, next to Jesus.

        But one of these evildoers sees the situation accurately.  In fact, he preaches—he preaches both Law and Gospel to his partner in crime.  First the Law:  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 then comes the gospel:  But this man—the one who hangs between us—He has done nothing wrong.  With these words he confesses the Christ.  He bears witness to Jesus—that He is innocent—that He is sinless.

        And yet in the sacred mystery of Good Friday, God made the innocent, sinless Jesus to be sin for us.  Jesus is the criminal.  Jesus is the idolater, the adulterer, the murderer.  He became our sin—the sin of the world—so that in Him we might become righteous.  Although this Man has done nothing wrong, yet this Man dies as one who has done everything wrong—and is thus forsaken by God—stricken, smitten, and afflicted—abandoned, condemned, persecuted, mocked, ridiculed, and damned.  He gets what every evildoer deserves . . . .

        Having now confessed Christ—having preached both Law and Gospel—this evildoer turns from preaching to prayer.  He speaks to the One in whom He believes:  Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.  Beloved in the Lord, this is what faith sounds like.  This is how faith speaks and prays.  Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom. 

        Do you hear and see how utterly absurd this is?  Do you understand how ridiculous this request is?  This condemned evildoer—this all-star sinner—is in no position to be asking favors of anyone.  He doesn’t have a leg to stand on.  But having nothing, he asks for everything.  And having no one, he lifts up his eyes to Jesus, whence cometh his help.  There is no regret.  No guilt or shame or fear.  There is only faith.  All that mattered to Him was Jesus:  Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.

        This dying man was in no position to be asking favors; and Jesus seems to be in no position to grant any favors.  Remember me when you come into your kingdom?!  By all appearances the crucified Christ has no kingdom! He has no power!  He has no glory!  His kingdom is not of this world.  His crown is of thorns.  He throne a cross.  He is covered in His own bloody sweat and with the spit of His enemies.  But He—this weak, impotent, bleeding, dying man—He holds the key to Paradise:  Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.

        Oh, to hear those words!  Oh, to have that promise:  with Jesus, in Paradise.  Hear those words and believe them.  This is 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, dear evildoer, you have the same promise from the Savior’s lips.  One day you, too, will be with Jesus in Paradise.  Because by faith we know:  His is the power.  His is the glory.  His is the Kingdom, forever and ever.

        A guilty evildoer is pardoned before God.  He is justified for Jesus’ sake.  The gates of Paradise stand open to receive him.  Though the world found him guilty and sentenced him to die for his deeds, the Son of God declared him to be not guilty.  Though he dies for his crimes, he receives forgiveness for every sin by the sinless Son of God who died right next to him.  By faith he receives the promise of Paradise. 

        Tonight you are in no position to be asking favors.  But faith asks anyway.  And the voice of faith is always heard by Jesus.  Though your sins are like scarlet, Jesus makes you white as snow.  In Jesus, you stand pardoned before God.  The world may judge you harshly and find you lacking.  Others may scold you and shame you.  But Jesus declares you holy and righteous—an heir of Paradise.

        Faith may seem absurd—even ridiculous at times.  But our Lord is always 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:  You will be with me in Paradise.

Forgiven and Forgotten

 Jesu Juva

Jeremiah 31:34                                                  

April 17, 2025

Maundy Thursday C      

 

Dear saints of our Savior~

        Thus says the Lord:  I will forgive their iniquity, and I will remember their sin no more.

        Your God forgives and forgets.  He forgives our iniquity.  He remembers our sin no more.  That is the marvel and the mystery of what we celebrate tonight.  The Judge of all—the One who could condemn us—who could destroy both soul and body in hell—He forgives.    The God from whom no secrets can be kept—He chooses to remember our sin no more.  He forgives and forgets.

        We, however, are a different story.  We are reluctant to forgive and even less inclined to forget.  We hold grudges.  We keep score on one another—so that we can settle the score.  We remember the hurt feelings, the sharp words, every unjust act done to us.  We dwell on it, savor it like fine wine, walk it around like the dog.  We claim that all we want is justice.  And our idea of justice is quid pro quo—this for that.  You hurt me; I hurt you.  Forget what you did?  I don’t think so.

        Forgiveness isn’t really our thing either.  To forgive is to let something go—to go on as though it hadn’t even happened.  Like the waiting father who welcomed home his prodigal son with hugs and kisses, a ring and a robe, without so much as a scolding.  It’s like the Prophet Hosea, who seeks out his adulterous wife and courts her, and wants to take her back.  It’s like the Lord with Israel, forgiving and forgetting, making a new covenant with the very same people who broke the old one.

        We sometimes try to have it both ways:  “Okay, I’ll forgive, but I can’t forget.”  Which sometimes means, “I’ll forgive, but I won’t forget.”  Just in case I need to introduce it as evidence later on.  Or in case I need to justify my own sin.  So we file it away on the hard drive.  Put it into storage like a bottle of Cabernet.  Let it age for a while.  Forgive maybe, but never forget what was forgiven.

        But forgiveness without forgetting is not forgiveness at all.  These two things run parallel.  To forgive is to forget—not to forget as in a case of amnesia, but as in refusing to call it to mind—instead of filing it away for future use, running it through the shredder so the pieces can’t be put back together again, even if we wanted to.

        Imagine what our lives would be like if we forgave and forgot—if children and parents could forgive and forget their sins against each other—if husbands and wives forgave and forgot what they had done to hurt each other.  Counselors and therapists would all unemployed.  Imagine congregations where, instead of dwelling on each other’s sins and shortcomings, forgiving them, setting them aside, and refusing to recall them or retaliate.

        But forgiving and forgetting is not our thing, is it?  We may as well confess that.  Forgiving and forgetting comes about as naturally as does breathing underwater or flapping our arms to fly.  It’s just not in our sinful nature to forgive and forget.  Why?  Because we want to be like little gods, judging and damning those who dare sin against us.  How dare you treat me that way?  I’ll show you . . .

        Because we don’t know the first thing about forgiving and forgetting, we have a hard time imagining God that way.  So we subtly try to fashion God in our own unforgiving, unforgetting image.  At the heart of every man-made religion is the notion that God neither forgives nor forgets.  Instead, He’s making a list, He’s checking it twice, and He already knows who’s naughty and nice.  That kind of religion appeals to our sense of fairness and reason.  We expect God to reward the do-gooders and punish the bad guys.  But forgive the bad guys?  Why would God want to do that?  And forget what they’ve done?  Come on, get serious.  This is God we’re talking about here—omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent, holy and just to the nth degree.

        But on this holy night, forgiving and forgetting is what it’s all about.  If we lose this, we’ve lost everything.  Forgiving and forgetting is what separates the faith you confess from every other religion out there.  It’s what distinguishes the New Covenant from the Old Covenant.  The Old Covenant with its commandments was a good gift from God.  But commandments alone don’t work because we can’t keep the commandments.  God did everything for His Old Covenant people:  Delivered them from slavery in Egypt through the blood of the Lamb and through the Red Sea waters.  God made them into a nation and established them under Moses with a covenant.  And what did they do?  They messed it all up.  They broke the covenant.  A covenant based on commandment–keeping simply won’t work with a bunch of natural born sinners.

        It takes a new covenant.  One in which the Word of God is implanted in the heart—not just inscribed on stone.  And not just rules to live by, but Gospel good news that God forgives your iniquity and remembers your sin no more.  It’s a new way of knowing the Lord—not simply God on the mountain—God on the throne—God holding the scales of justice and judgment—but God in the flesh.  God in Jesus—bone of our bone and flesh of our flesh.  The Word made flesh dwelling right here among us.

        Every covenant calls for blood.  The old covenant called for the blood of bulls, goats, and sheep, which, on its own, could do nothing—nothing except point ahead to the future, to the blood that would one day be shed by the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.  The new covenant is sealed by the blood of Jesus, the Son of God—a blood poured out for you at the cross, and tonight poured into a chalice for you to drink.  Jesus calls it “the new covenant in my blood.”  As we eat His body and drink His blood, we remember Jesus, Jesus remembers us, forgives us, and remembers our sin no more.  In this blessed sacrament, our Lord forgives and our Lord forgets.

        To be on the receiving end of such radical forgiveness brings freedom—freedom from the past with all its sin and shame and regret.  And, living in this new freedom, you can set others free by speaking three little words that change everything:  I forgive you. 

        This is the marvel and the mystery of it all:  Jesus is your righteousness.  His blood answers for all your sin.  He applies that blood to you in Holy Baptism, in Holy Absolution, in Holy Communion—telling you in so many ways this one, wonderful, needful thing:  You are loved by God, not because of what you do, but because of what Jesus has done for you.  And that is everything.  And on His account you are free.  Because of His perfect life and sacrificial death, God forgives your iniquity and He remembers your sin no more.  Go in peace.

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