Ten--And Still Holding

In Nomine Iesu
Exodus 20:1-17
March 4, 2018
Lent 3B

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

When I took my first-ever trip to Germany last summer, there was nothing I depended on more than Google Maps. With one glance at my phone, my navigation needs were mostly met. I knew right where I was. I got my bearings quickly. I could emerge from a shadowy, underground subway station into the bright Berlin sunshine, and pretty much immediately, I knew which way to walk—despite never having traveled those streets before in my life. With Google maps I knew where I was; I knew where I had been; and I knew where I was going.

The Ten Commandments serve a similar purpose in the Christian’s life. The Ten Commandments—and especially that all-encompassing First Commandment—serve as a kind of spiritual GPS as we travel along life’s way. Whether you give much careful thought to the Ten Commandments or not, they provide a center of gravity—a solid point of reference—for us. With one simple sentence—You shall have no other gods—God simultaneously shows us both the way we should be going and just how far we have strayed from that way.

Our text this morning—the chapter in which the Ten Commandments are first recorded—is Exodus 20. To me, that’s always a little bit surprising. Why did it take so long to get these timeless truths inscribed on two tablets? We are seventy chapters into the Old Testament.

We are at least seven centuries past the call of Abraham, and who knows how many centuries past that awful day when our first parents fell into sin and ruined everything. Why did the Lord wait so long to lay out the rules? Two simple Power Point slides could have sufficed. If I’m God, I’m setting Adam and Eve down in Genesis chapter four and giving them ten bullet points to take to heart. But the Lord waits. I wonder why?

Well, as many of you already know, the Ten Commandments are just a written expression of what we call the “Natural Law.” It’s called the “natural” law because God writes it upon the heart of every human being. So, long before the Lord took the time to give Moses those two tablets, that content was actually already inscribed on every human heart. Every human being has a conscience—an inborn sense of right and wrong. Long before you ever learned there was such a thing as the Fifth Commandment, you knew that murder was wrong. You knew that parents should be honored—that stealing and lying and adultery were wrong. In a sense, God only waited until Exodus chapter twenty to formalize what was already naturally known.

This means that there really aren’t too many surprises when it comes to the Commandments. What is a surprise is that the Bible nowhere calls them the “Ten Commandments,” and that not everybody numbers them exactly the same way. There may be a lot of differences between Lutherans and Roman Catholics and Jews; but we’re all on the same team when it comes to numbering the commandments. We see the command against carved images as falling under the First Commandment, leaving two commandments concerning coveting at the end. The Eastern Orthodox and other Protestants number things differently.

But ultimately the numbering doesn’t matter because, however you slice it and dice it, “God spoke all these words.” And all these words—all these commandments—still hold and still apply to us today. No statute of limitations. No expiration date. Jesus didn’t abolish the commandments. If anything, He sharpened them. He brought them to bear on human conduct at the very deepest level. Avoiding adultery, for instance, is now much more than just avoiding sexual intercourse with the wrong people; for Jesus tells us that even our private thoughts must be sexually pure and decent. Likewise, avoiding murder is much more than just refraining from plunging my knife into my neighbor’s back; for Jesus tells us that even hateful thoughts break the Fifth Commandment.

Time doesn’t allow us to explore all Ten Commandments in one sermon—you’ll be thankful to know. Such a sermon would probably leave you feeling more than a little depressed—more than a little inadequate. For your commandment-keeping has been a colossal failure. Your performance has been pathetic. You have not measured up to God’s standards of holiness, and you never will.

But for a bit of good news, consider again why God waited as long as He did to formalize His commandments on tablets of stone. In many ways, God’s timing tells the whole story concerning His commandments. There’s one simple sentence we dare not overlook this morning. For the Decalogue does not begin with the words “You shall” or “You shall not.” No, it begins with the words “I am—I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery.”

What took the Lord so long to scribble out those commandments? What held Him up? He first of all had to baptize a people for Himself in the waters of the Red Sea. He first of all had to save and deliver His people from slavery and death—without any merit or worthiness in them. Because only then—only after they saw Pharaoh’s horses and chariots washed away forever under the waves of the Red Sea—only then could they know that this God was their God. Only then could they believe Him and trust Him. Only then could they see that the relationship between them was ultimately governed by grace and mercy and love. The commandments didn’t come first. First, God acted. God saved. God delivered.

Only then could the Israelites know that they were loved by this God, Yahweh. Only then could they understand that the words which followed—the Ten Commandments—were not just rules for the sake of rules—or rules by which to earn God’s acceptance. They already had God’s acceptance. No, these commandments were given in love. It’s the very same reason God has given you these Ten Commandments: Because He loves you. He is your God. You can believe Him and trust Him. He has washed you—not with Red Sea waters—but washed you in the tide that flows from the pierced side of His beloved Son, Jesus the Christ.

Israel knew her God because of what happened at the Red Sea; but you know your God because of what happened at Calvary. How do we know that God is for us and not against us? How do we know that His rule is one of grace and mercy and love? We see it at Calvary. There He makes it clear that He is your God, who has rescued and delivered you from sin and death.

We’ve made a royal mess of God’s commandments; so God has sent His royal Son into the midst of our mess. He is bone of our bone and flesh of our flesh. He is like us in every way—yet without sin. And although His commandment-keeping was perfect, yet He takes your sin and He answers for it. He takes your death and overcomes it. All this He did for you, so that you might know Him by faith as your God—the God who forgives you, the God who makes Himself your brother, and who gives your life eternal meaning and significance.

He is God; we are not. You shall have no other gods. He is number one. What He gives and says goes. This can be rough. We’re often reluctant to let Him have the final say. We all have our personal idols that we like to bring into the conversation—to get a broader perspective on things. But be careful with that. God is in the idol-destroying business. And when He’s through with you, He may just leave you with nothing—with nobody at all to rely on—but Him alone. That’s the sort of love He shows to all of us from time to time. And this is good. For when He cleanses us of our other gods—when He cleanses us of all our attempts to play God and to tell God how to behave properly—well then, what we are left with is the true God. He’s the God in the manger and the God on the cross—a God you can rely on and love—a God from whose nail-scarred hands we are given life that lasts forever.

Week after week the people of God gather right here. I’m sure you probably didn’t need Google Maps to find your way here. But for decades this place has been a solid reference point for God’s people—a place where we get our bearings—where we get reoriented to the Savior at the center of our universe. In the Divine Service we take our place in God’s throne room—with angels and archangels and all the company of heaven. We remember the relationship we have with God—the one He forged through water and the word: In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. That, my friends, is a solid point of reference—a very good place to be. Here in God’s presence, we get things sorted out. We see clearly where we’ve been and where we’re going. We confess and get rid of everything that has gotten in the way—every idol, every false god, every sin. We confess it all and ask forgiveness. And that forgiveness is given in the name of Jesus. Here we drink deeply from His Word. We are fed from His altar. We respond with prayers and praises. And then we go back outside to the callings He has given us.

But as we take our leave from here, we have our bearings. By God’s grace, we know where we’re going. We know that one day we shall emerge from this dark land of shadows into the bright light of God’s presence. Google Maps can’t get you there; but that’s okay. You know the way. Just follow Jesus.

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

Lifted Up by the Lord

In Nomine Iesu
St. Mark 1:29-39
February 4, 2018
Epiphany 5B

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

It is the germaphobe’s least favorite time of the year. Influenza and other viruses are running rampant. Copious amounts of hand sanitizer do very little shore up weakened immune systems—especially when we’re all crammed together indoors like sardines thanks to this ferocious February weather. With all these germs floating around, it almost makes you want to stop breathing—or at least not to inhale any more than is absolutely necessary.

When was the last time you were sick, injured, or in great pain? Such miserable moments can actually be very spiritual moments. Serious illness, especially, can be a time of great insight and clarity. Our dependence on others and our own weakness and vulnerability—it enables us to experience God’s gracious care in ways we never could otherwise. On one hand, our sicknesses remind us of our mortality—remind us that we are dust and to dust we shall return. But on the other hand, every time we recover—every time we bounce back to health—we are pointed ahead to the day of resurrection, when our broken bodies will be forever raised to new life—changed from merely mortal to immortality.

It would be easy to overlook the healing of Simon Peter’s mother-in-law in today’s holy gospel. It seems almost trivial—especially compared to what had just taken place: Jesus engaged in a thrilling and spectacular confrontation with a demon-possessed man in the

synagogue. Instead, in today’s text, we have just an old lady in bed with a fever. Possibly serious, but likely to improve with some rest and plenty of fluids. Feed a cold, starve a fever. Nevertheless, Jesus goes to her bedside, takes her by the hand, lifts her up, and the fever leaves her. And she proceeds to put on some coffee, make some sandwiches, put out some cookies, and serve her son-in-law’s new friends.

As miracles go, it’s not very spectacular. But what a nice story! Wouldn’t it be nice to have Jesus come to your sickbed, take you by the hand, and lift you up on eagles’ wings? So much better than dealing with insurance, keeping track of deductibles, waiting on lab results, phoning the pharmacy because you can’t remember if it’s two pills three times a day or three pills two times a day. I’ll gladly take a house call from Jesus instead of all of that rigmarole.

Later that night the whole city gathered in Simon Peter’s front yard, bringing multitudes of diseased and demonized people. And Jesus dutifully made his way from one to the next, healing them much as He had Peter’s mother-in-law. It’s a bit surprising, though, to hear that Jesus left town the next morning without healing everybody. And why did He check out? To go to other towns so that He could preach, “for that is why I came,” He said. Miracles and healings were not the main thing for Jesus. Preaching was the main thing.

Preaching was at the top of Jesus’ “to do” list. Preaching, not healing. Healing we like. Miracles we like. Preaching . . . well that’s another matter. But not really. We need to align our priorities with Jesus’ priorities. Too often we expect all the wrong things from God—that He will provide a quick fix—something to make us heathier, wealthier, and wiser. We want practical, easy solutions to all our stubborn problems. We just want to be happy. Is that asking too much? But all Jesus wants to do is preach the good news.

So why did Jesus bother with all the miracles? Why did He display His divine powers every so often? Why take the time to heal a little old lady with a fever? The miracles are a sign that reveal who Jesus is. The miracles of healing, in particular, show us that Jesus is the One behind every healing of every disease. Even if Jesus had never gone to Peter’s mother-in-law and taken her by the hand, her healing would still have been the work of Jesus. For every healing is ultimately the work of the Christ. The miracles just leave out the middle man—be that the doctor, the surgeon, the pharmacist. The miracles make it plain as day that Jesus is the master healer. They don’t call Him the Great Physician for nothing.

Do you believe that? Do you believe that Jesus Christ healed you when you had the flu? Do you believe that Jesus Christ healed you when you underwent surgery—when you twisted that ankle, broke that hip, sliced that finger? Very often we don’t believe it. But the miraculous healing of Peter’s mother-in-law should at least teach us this: Behind every healing, behind every pill, behind every therapy, physician, specialist and nurse—behind every last one of them stands Jesus. Through them all Jesus is working for your good—keeping you in good working order so that He can work through you too—lifting you up off your duff to start serving those around you, just like Peter’s mother-in-law did when she was healed.

But understand this: Jesus didn’t come to fix the world’s problems through miracles. He didn’t come to deal with demons and diseases and death by performing miracles. No, the way Jesus dealt with all that was for He Himself to die as your substitute—to take your punishment, to bear your sicknesses and sorrows, to endure the just wages of your sin. On His cross and through His death, Jesus drags all our demons and diseases and sins into the black hole of His death—swallows them all up forever. Jesus’ ultimate healing work is not to dole out band-aids and pills, but to die and rise again. Death and resurrection is the way Jesus works.

Notice I said death and resurrection. Because Christ is risen, it means that every prayer you’ve ever prayed for healing will be answered positively and affirmatively on the Last Day, in the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come. Whenever we pray for health and healing, that prayer is always, ultimately, answered by God with a “yes.” We just don’t know when or how that “yes” will come to pass. You might be like Simon Peter’s mother-in-law and jump up out of bed and head off to start working in the kitchen. Or you might spend a few more days in bed. Or you might spend the balance of your life on earth in hospitals or other care facilities. Or you may die. But then and there God’s “yes” will be wondrously revealed to you.

Peter’s mother-in-law died one day. Peter died, too, along with Andrew, James and John. All those diseased and demonized people who Jesus healed in Peter’s front yard in Capernaum—they all died too. One day you and I will die. And there won’t be any easy answers or quick fix miracles. But Jesus will be there, as He always is. Jesus will come alongside of you, take you by the hand, and lift you up from sin, death and despair. Jesus will lift you up to be with Him. And then all those prayers for health and healing you ever prayed will find their “yes” and their “amen” in the wonder of your resurrection. All your sighs and groanings and tears and prayers—Jesus heard them all, and in His death and resurrection He’ already done something about them. They who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.

The healing of Peter’s mother-in-law is such a “minor” event in the ministry of Jesus; but even in this minor event, there is major comfort for you. Consider the scene one last time. Jesus, having just cast out a demon from a man in the synagogue, enters Peter’s humble abode. Into this lowly, little world of Peter’s house Jesus comes—where the dirty dishes and dirty laundry are piling up, and the floor is sticky, and a poorly-trained terrier is jumping on the furniture and barking up a storm—into this domestic mess strides the Lord of heaven and earth. The lady of the house, apologizing for the mess, mentions that it’s been hard to keep up because her old mother has been sick.

And immediately Jesus heads off to check on her. They clear the way to the back bedroom where the woman lies sick, quickly pulling down the unmentionables hung out to dry, never expecting a man to venture into that space—never dreaming that the Messiah would want to be bothered by a feverish old woman. But Jesus doesn’t bat an eye. Nothing gives Him pause. To the bed and the feverish, flustered woman He comes. There can be no mistake. Jesus is there just for her—exclusively, unmistakably for her. He says not one word, but takes her by the hand, lifts her up, the fever disappears, and she heads for the kitchen. Big deal? Yep. Big deal! From that day on that woman was never the same again. Why not? Because she knew that she was precious to Jesus. She—the old lady with all of her faults and failings and false teeth—with all of her crackling bones and aching, arthritic joints—she was precious to Jesus.

And you are, too. Jesus Christ comes today into your messy world—into your domestic mess. Whatever worry plagues you—whatever causes you to be feverish and flustered—whatever it is that fills you with fatigue and weariness—Jesus doesn’t bat an eye. Nothing gives Him pause. To you He comes. “Take and eat,” He says, “This is my body given for you. Drink of it all of you, this is my blood, shed for you for the forgiveness of sins.” And with these gifts He lifts you up from all that would drag you down. And you rise up to depart in peace. And you head off to serve those around you in the vocations and the estates where God has placed you. Big deal? Yep. Because in your hearing of these words—because in your eating and drinking of this holy food—you are given to know that you are precious—you with all of your tears and fears, your sins and transgressions, your wounds and sicknesses—Jesus Christ comes to you, today, with healing.

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

Living as God's Child in the Family

In Nomine Iesu
Genesis 2:18-25
January 28, 2018
Three Estates: Sermon 3

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

The biggest surprise of the creation account in Genesis is not what you might think. It is astonishing that God created the heavens and the earth in a span of but six days. And it is a bit unexpected that God took a breather and rested for a while on the seventh day. And it does make you stop and scratch your head when you realize that God created light days before He got around to creating the sun, moon, and stars.

But the most shocking surprise of the creation account is that God didn’t get it quite right the first time around—that as the dust was settling on God’s good creation and as God surveyed everything He had made—as He went over His list and checked it twice—the Lord realized an oversight. There was something not good in His very good creation: “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper fit for him.”

A cast of creatures was then paraded into the man’s presence. A kind of animal audition was held. But it quickly became apparent that the Lord had a little more creating to do. “. . . for Adam there was not found a helper fit for him. 21So the Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall upon the man, and while he slept took one of his ribs and closed up its place with flesh. 22And the rib that the Lord God had taken from the man he made into a woman and brought her to the man. Finally, Adam had a bride—bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh. Adam had his Eve and, at long last, everything was, indeed, very, very good.

Marriage—the lifelong union of one man and one woman—is the crowning achievement of God’s very good creation. Marriage is the glue that holds the world together. God’s focus is always on the family: “Therefore a man shall leave his father and mother and hold fast to

his wife, and they shall become one flesh.” And from that “one flesh” relationship, husbands and wives have the distinct pleasure of heeding God’s gracious call to “be fruitful and multiply.”

Now, this doesn’t mean that being single is bad; but it does mean that even those who are single should honor and support marriage whenever and however possible. Even if you yourself are a confirmed bachelor or bachelorette, the odds are pretty good that you came into this world through the marriage of your parents. Through them, God gave you life. Through them, God protected you, nurtured you, and taught you. Everything hinges on God’s gift of marriage and family.

The family is the third and final estate of the three estates. In recent weeks you’ve heard about how to live as God’s child in the church, and how to live as God’s child in submission to the government. Today’s topic is family. And in the family the importance of your role is magnified. Whether you are a parent or child, a husband or wife, a brother or sister—God is using you in your family in a profound and mysterious way.

Consider your role in your family in comparison with your role in the church and in the state. In the church, if you don’t step up to serve with a particular task, it’s likely someone else will step up and serve. If you don’t do it, someone will. Likewise with respect to the state, if you choose to live as an outlaw, and refuse to serve the government as a good citizen, you will face dire consequences. But your bad behavior alone won’t grind the gears of government to a screeching halt.

But your God-given role in your family can only be carried out by you! Husbands and fathers are crucial. Wives and mothers are essential. Brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, are all gifts from God. In your family, you are irreplaceable. The love and honor shown between husbands and wives is precious in God’s sight. The obedience and honor shown from children to their parents is a priceless good work. Parents who teach the faith to their children can engage in no more critical work.

Children can’t choose their parents; and parents can’t choose their children. God gives us to one another as He knows to be best. He has created your family as surely as He created the first family from our first parents. Family is the crucial and critical foundation for life in a fallen world.

Those of you who are currently married: Do you realize that your marriage is not entirely your own doing? In this respect, your marriage is a lot like the marriage of our first parents. It was God who joined Adam and Eve. And it was God who joined you to your spouse—for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death parts you. In, with, and under the courtship and dating—the engagement and the wedding—God Himself was at work, drawing you and your spouse together—to love and be loved—to serve and be served. Yours is (so to speak) a match made in heaven. God’s divine finger prints are all over your marriage and your family. And don’t just take my word for it. After all, it’s Jesus who describes marriage as “what God has joined together.”

Jesus made that astounding claim about marriage in response to some Pharisees who wanted to give Him the third degree about divorce. Then, as now, divorce is a difficult and divisive topic. Someone is sure to get offended, and that’s just what the Pharisees were counting on when they raised the topic with Jesus. But Jesus took them back to the beginning—back to Genesis chapter two. He reminded them that marriage is God’s gift—given for our good, and for the good of the whole world. And then Jesus added, “What God has joined together, let not man separate” (Matt. 19:3-6).

But ever since the fall into sin, human beings have been busy seeking to separate what God has joined, rejecting what God has given, and radically revising and re-defining God’s gift of this holy estate to suit our own sinful, selfish desires. And nowhere have human being sought to change things up more than when it comes to the phrase, “one flesh.”

“[Husbands and wives] are no longer two but one flesh,” said Jesus. That phrase “one flesh” is more than just a figure of speech. It describes how marriage is the closest communion that can possibly exist between two people. It is the union of a man and woman in heart, body, and mind. And this communion between husband and wife is a closed communion. No one is permitted to drive a wedge between a husband and wife. Anyone who dares to do so—anyone who dares adultery—who subtly seeks to separate what God has joined together—that person is answerable to God.

That phrase, “one flesh” also tells us another truth about marriage: Marriage is the only God-pleasing place for sexual love to be expressed. Only within marriage can two people, like Adam and Eve, stand before one another naked and without shame. Here God’s command to be fruitful and multiply is gladly kept by husbands and wives.

Any sexual relationship between people who are not married is destructive, harmful, and sinful. It separates sex from marriage—separates what God has joined together for our good. Couples who live together without the benefits and blessings of marriage are dishonoring marriage—and dishonoring the God who gives marriage (not to mention setting themselves up for all sorts of marital problems in the future). And by the way, God’s truth about living together and sex and adultery—it’s all just as true for the AARP crowd as it is for twenty-somethings. No one gets a pass. God gives us His truth about marriage because He loves us and wants the best for us. And His truth about marriage contains no loopholes, no exceptions or exclusions.

In fact, God’s truth about marriage condemns us all. For we’ve all dishonored marriage in our thoughts, words or deeds. And in every marriage, every day, husbands and wives sin against one another and against the God who joined them together. We can go on excusing our sin or hiding our sin, or blaming someone else for our sin, or claiming that everybody else is doing it. Or, we can confess our sin to God, receive His full and free forgiveness, and then make the changes we need to make, all with the help of God. God’s forgiveness is always total and complete. But God’s forgiveness is never the permission to go on living in our sins.

In the Scriptures, God gives us a perfect picture of marriage. In this picture, Jesus is the groom and the church is His bride. We are the bride of Christ. But it could have been otherwise. For Jesus could have divorced us. God could have put us all away for our countless spiritual adulteries and infidelities. He could have sent us away for good, and with just cause. Instead, Jesus Christ bore our adulteries on the cross. Our sin was joined to His body. His body was joined to the cross. All of our sin was laid with Him in His tomb. Whatever your personal adulteries and infidelities—whatever the ways you have sought to separate what God has joined together—see that shameful load buried forever in the tomb of Jesus. See it all washed away in the cleansing splash of your baptism. There are no “scarlet letters” worn by those redeemed by Christ the crucified.

Husbands and wives, God has joined you to your marriage partner; and God doesn’t make mistakes. That doesn’t mean that your spouse will always be your best friend, or that your spouse will always make you happy. No one can be that spouse. The problem isn’t that Men are from Mars and women are from Venus—those differences are not our downfall. We’re just struggling sinners, cleansed and redeemed by the blood of Jesus. But as we confess our sins to God and one another, we have an ever-present help. For the God who joins husbands and wives together is surely willing, ready and able to provide every marriage with help and healing and hope and joy. Are you willing to look for that help, and ask for that help, and receive that help?

Beloved in the Lord, it’s not just a matter of “marriage is good” and “divorce is bad.” It’s a matter of “marriage is holy, and we must all keep it holy with the help of God.” Apart from His help, there’s not much we can do. “Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain” (Ps. 127:1). But with the Lord—with His mercy, help, and forgiveness—all things are possible. Through the family, God gives and protects life. Through the family—through your family—God is doing some of His very best work. Amen.

A Witness to the Light

In Nomine Iesu
St. John 1:6-8, 19-28
December 17, 2017
Advent 3B

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Hark! A thrilling voice is sounding. John the Baptist is back once again this Sunday as our guest preacher. And it’s a good thing, too. I’m not sure I would have been up to the task—not sure I would have known what to say. It’s been a horrible week for most of us. But John knows just what to say. John does what He does best. He walks with us in the wilderness. He leads us to the Light. He

takes us from tragedy to triumph. He points the way to Jesus. And that is all we need. That will be enough.

Nearly all of us were touched by tragedy last week. It wasn’t the first time and it won’t be the last. Tragedies come in all shapes and sizes: Some are public; while others are private. There can be one victim or hundreds. There can be a motive that makes sense, or no motive that makes sense. Tragedy can be self-inflicted, or inflicted upon others. Sometimes tragedy is anticipated; but more often it comes with no warning.

Last Sunday we heard about the huge crowds that were making their way out into the Jordan River wilderness to listen to John preach, and to be baptized by John with a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. And I think it’s safe to say that the vast majority of those people were hurting people—people whose lives had been touched by tragedy to some degree. Lots of outcasts, tax-collectors, and prostitutes. Somewhere along the line their lives began to trend downward. And who’s to say why? Where did things go wrong? Bad decisions? Risks taken or not taken? Poor impulse control? Whatever the case, tragedy had taken a toll on them, and they were looking to John for answers.

Today, however, we don’t hear so much about the crowds as we do about one very small contingent of priests and Levites. This blue-ribbon task force wasn’t touched by tragedy as much as by jealousy and curiosity. It seems that the church bureaucrats at the home office in Jerusalem wanted to know more about this locust-eating, leather-wearing preacher out in the wilderness. They went to John the Baptist with a simple question: “Who are you?” Or, perhaps, more to the point, “Who do you think you are?”

John proceeded to tell them who he wasn’t. John told them that he wasn’t the Christ. John told them that he wasn’t Elijah. John told them that he wasn’t the Prophet whose coming had been foretold by Moses. Now, by this time, the stuffed shirts from corporate were likely getting a little impatient. They needed something substantial to include in their report. They wanted facts, answers, data, details, explanations, flow charts, pie graphs. Because, armed with the right information, then they could start to make sense of what was happening. “Who are you?” they demanded. “What do you say about yourself?”

But John would not indulge their curiosity. Never once did John give in to the temptation to “tell his story,” or to “give his testimony” about how he came to be known as a “great” man of God. I mean, we all know that John had impeccable ecclesiastical credentials. He had a religious resume that was unparalleled. You know how his parents, Elizabeth and Zechariah, were childless and well into their golden years—how the angel Gabriel appeared to Zechariah in the temple—how Zechariah didn’t believe it and couldn’t speak until the day that John was circumcised. John had a back-story that could have been a made-for-tv motion picture for the Hallmark channel. But John didn’t speak about any of that.

John refused to give them what they wanted; but he gave them what they needed. Whether he was dealing with people who were hurting—whose lives had been touched by tragedy—or those who were just casually curious—John gave them Jesus. And that’s why I’m so glad to have John as our guest preacher this morning. He doesn’t come to entertain us or to explain away the tragedies that confound us and overwhelm us. He comes to give us what we need. He comes to give us Jesus. And that is all we need. That will be enough.

John came as a “witness.” That’s a very important word. He came as a witness to the Light. He doesn’t talk about himself; it wouldn’t be right. He doesn’t engage in speculation. If you are called as a witness in a trial, you aren’t called to talk about yourself, but about the facts—to tell the truth—so help you God. That’s what a witness does.

Sometimes the truth and the facts are unpleasant and horrible. But we don’t have to be afraid of the facts and the truth. If John were really standing here today as our guest preacher he would give you the hard facts of God’s Law. He would remind you that to intentionally hurt or harm yourself or someone else—no matter how sincere your motivations may feel to you—is a sin against God and against all the people God has given you to love.

John, of course, would make the law personal. He would single you out and remind you that—even on your very best days—you, yes you, are one bad decision away from triggering a tidal wave of tragedy that will forever alter the landscape of the world as we know it. John would remind you that even your most honorable and noble instincts are laced with satanic poison—the antidote for which you neither possess nor control. There, but for the grace of God, go you and me. Those are the facts—the unpleasant reality—the inconvenient truth—that stands behind one of the first phrases you spoke in this service: I, a poor, miserable sinner. And John’s message for poor, miserable sinners: Repent!

John is a witness. He’s all about the facts—all about the truth. Now, if all we had were the hard facts about our sinful condition, then we might try to re-frame the truth to make ourselves look a little better. But we don’t have to do that. We don’t have to be afraid of the truth about ourselves (or the fact that our sin runs death deep) because John also gives us the truth about Jesus Christ—who is the way, the truth, and the life.

John came as a witness to the Light. John came to tell the blessed truth about Jesus of Nazareth—that He is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. Jesus came for sinners. Jesus stands shoulder-to-shoulder with sinners. Jesus took on our human flesh in a virgin’s womb and was born into our world of terrible tragedies. Remember what King Herod did to all the baby boys in Bethlehem? Christmas isn’t just a cute story about motherhood and childbirth—it’s about the Son of God taking on our human flesh to redeem us by His blood. Jesus comes to us in the midst of tragedy to offer us the remedy of His redeeming love and the forgiveness of our sins. In His wounds—the wounds He suffered on the cross—we can find healing for our wounds.

John came as a witness to the light—to point us to the only one who can save us from our sins. I’m pretty sure if John were here he would point that finger of his at the crucifix and say: Do you see that? Do you see God’s Lamb bleeding and dying? That was no accident. That was no tragedy. That crime scene was God’s plan from the before the world began to save you, to deliver you, to love you, to be with you in your darkest days in this world—and for eternity in the life of the world to come. Oh, and one more thing. That Lamb of God—He lives. On the third day he rose again. He destroyed death. And in Him you, too, will rise and live forever. See how loved you are. See how precious you are to Jesus. See how valuable your life really is. God is for you. And if God is for you, who can be against you?

If you think otherwise—if you feel unloved, abandoned, or hopeless—if you feel worthless and in despair of your life—then your thinking and your perception are impaired. Let someone know. Ask for help. Bring your burdens to Jesus. Talk with one of His witnesses. For those witnesses have light and life to share.

For I am looking at a room full of witnesses—witnesses to the light. You, like John, are witnesses to the light of the world, Jesus Christ. You are a voice like his in today’s wilderness of sin and death and tragedy. No, you don’t have all the answers or just the right words or even the power to convert one person. But you do have a finger and voice like John. You don’t need flow charts or PowerPoint slides. You can point people to Jesus. You can say, “There’s the One for you. In Him is forgiveness, life, and salvation.”

The Divine service is where you get your credentials as a witness. This is where the Risen Christ comes to serve you and give you the facts of His love. This is where He locates Himself for you, in tangible, observable ways that you can taste and see and hear. There is Jesus, in the water of your baptism. There is Jesus, speaking through the mouth of your preacher, declaring you absolved, forgiven, and free. There is Jesus in the bread and wine of His Holy Supper. These are the facts. This is the blessed truth to which we are so privileged to bear witness. Look! Jesus! He died bearing your sins. He rose again, holding your precious life in His nail-scarred hands. He now reigns and in Him you reign too.

There is so much we don’t understand. But we do know this: God is stricter than we are. And He is more merciful and forgiving than we are. The death and resurrection of His Son embraces and encompasses all things. He is the remedy for tragedy. He is our joy on this third Sunday in Advent.

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

Borrowed by the Lord

In Nomine Iesu
St. Mark 11:1-10
December 3, 2017
Advent 1B

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

When the season of Epiphany begins next month, it’s entirely possible that it might escape your notice. And, also, when season of Lent gets underway in mid-February, you might miss it. Sometimes we can be oblivious to the changing seasons of the church year. It happens. But Advent escapes nobody’s notice. No one can claim to be clueless as to the arrival of Advent. There’s an oversized wreath with candles dangling in the front corner! You can’t help but see it—and smell it—along with all the other greenery that graces the nave.

But in addition to the seeing and the smelling . . . what matters most in Advent is the hearing. And what we hear in Advent has everything to do with the coming of the Christ. Christ came in humility as the babe of Bethlehem and the Son of Mary. He comes among us today—here and now—in the means of grace. And He will come again with glory to judge both the living and the dead. Advent is one complex season—so much more than just a countdown to Christmas.

Advent always accents the coming of the Christ. This is why the Triumphal Entry of Jesus into Jerusalem always sets the table for

us on the First Sunday of Advent. Jesus comes into Jerusalem in humility, riding a borrowed donkey. He comes to die—to bow His sacred head in submission to the Father—to bear the sins of the world on His crucifixion cross.

Did you notice the Lord’s mode of transportation? That donkey would seem to be kind of important as Saint Mark tells of the Triumphal Entry. It was a borrowed donkey—a never-before-ridden donkey. And did you notice just how that donkey was acquired? Jesus told two disciples to seek it, find it, and take it. It would be as if Jesus told you to wander through the parking lot at Bayshore and look for a nice, new 2018 model with the keys in the ignition—and take it. And if anyone should ask just what you’re up to, just say, well, “The Lord has need of it.” (I don’t recommend trying that.)

These details about the donkey don’t make a lot of sense to us. We wouldn’t have scripted things out like that. But that’s how the Savior scripted it. Those are the orders He gave. And amazingly, that donkey was acquired in just the way Jesus had directed. At the very least, this is a gentle reminder to us that the all-knowing Lord is also at work in the strangely scripted details of our lives—that He has a plan and purpose for His people which isn’t always pretty and neat (like the packages that will soon start piling up beneath your Christmas tree.)

It’s also worth noting that when Jesus gave those two disciples marching orders on just how to borrow that beast of burden, they went and did exactly what the Savior said. They may have had their doubts about the mission. There was certainly some risk involved. But they trusted Jesus and kept His Word. That’s also what you’ve been called to do—to trust Jesus and keep His Word—to do what He says even when you’d rather not—even when you have doubts about the outcome—even when others may laugh at you and mock you—even when there’s some risk involved.

What it all comes down to is a beggar king on a borrowed donkey. Back in the day, King David had always been partial to the steady, stable, dependable ride of a donkey. The pro-Jesus folks in that Palm Sunday crowd picked up on that little tribute to David and started calling out to the Christ with kingly kinds of language: Hosanna! Lord, save us! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest! That crowd had a plan for Jesus—a plan to run the Romans out of town, to reestablish the throne of David, and to revive the glory of Israel.

But that borrowed donkey reminds us that Jesus had other plans—not for an earthly kingdom but an eternal one. He was riding into Jerusalem to suffer and die and rise again—to conquer sin and death for the whole world—including you. This King would be crowned with thorns, not gold. His throne would be a cross. His victory would come through submission and suffering and death—for you and every sinner.

Those are the facts of history. That’s exactly what happened at Christ’s first coming—His first advent—which began in Bethlehem and concluded at His ascension to the Father’s right hand. But today His advent continues. The Risen Lord continues to come among His people. No, He doesn’t come here today atop a borrowed donkey (although that would be kind of fun). But He does come here to serve you and love you in ways that are no less humble and hidden.

The same Jesus who borrowed a donkey because He had need of it—well, Jesus is still in the borrowing business. He borrows our language to speak to us—to crush us with His commandments and to forgive us with the power of His promises. He borrows our water and adds His Word, and makes it a baptism—a cleansing splash for you that works forgiveness of sins, rescues from death and the devil, and gives eternal salvation. He borrows our bread and our wine and then comes to save us in the meal of His body and His blood. The same Christ who rode into Jerusalem also comes among us in His Holy Supper. This Jesus has also borrowed our humanity—permanently. He is bone of your bone and flesh of your flesh, tempted in every way just as you are, yet without sin. He became one of us to save all of us.

And so that this salvation can be delivered into your ears and your mouth and your heart, the Lord Jesus has borrowed a man named John to be His minister. And through this congregation the Lord has called John Wohlrabe to serve you with His Word and sacraments. The Lord has borrowed John—ordained him and called him to serve as a shepherd of this little flock. Now, it’s obvious to us why the Lord would want to borrow for His holy purposes a man like Pastor Wohlrabe—a man who can battle with church bureaucrats, and huddle with historians, and teach twenty-somethings at Concordia, and sail serenely through the challenging waters of Lake Michigan (not to mention he’s married to Julie.) There’s a lot to like and admire about this man.

But perhaps it’s simply sufficient to say that he’s been borrowed by the Lord. The Lord has need of him. Like that lowly donkey, Pastor Wohlrabe will bear the Lord Jesus Christ into our midst—by the words He preaches, by the sins he absolves—through teaching and catechesis and visitation He comes among us bearing the Christ, our Savior. His ministry is always an Advent ministry—for through his lips and in his hands the Lord Himself comes to serve His holy people.

We pastors wear stoles and vestments as a reminder that we are borrowed men—called and sent by the Lord—preaching not ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord. Those vestments are a necessary reminder because we aren’t so different from you. We are frail and flawed sinners—with egos and ambitions and quirks that need to be reined-in constantly. The vestments help cover up that mess so that we can magnify Christ—so that He might increase and we might decrease. All that remains uncovered among those men borrowed by the Lord are lips to preach His holy name and a finger to point you to Jesus, who loved you and gave Himself for you.

The Christ who comes among us today is visible only to the eyes of faith. And just like His coming to Jerusalem on that Palm Sunday, so today He comes in ways that are humble and rejectable. Jesus doesn’t force His gifts on anyone. It is within your power to reject those gifts—to close your ears to His holy Word, and shut your mouth to His Holy Supper. You can live as if you are not a baptized child of God. And your Old Adam pushes, pulls and drags you in these directions ceaselessly. As John the Baptist will remind us next week, repent. Return to the Lord. Confess your sins and receive absolution from the pastor as from God Himself, not doubting but firmly believing that by it your sins are forgiven before God in heaven.

That forgiveness is why Jesus came in history. It’s why He comes today—to cover your sin with His blood-bought righteousness and innocence. He comes to set you free from captivity to sin and death so that sin will no longer be the boss of you, and so that you can know for sure that your destiny is not destruction, but resurrection. Jesus comes to show you God’s mercy and kindness so that you won’t be afraid to die, and so that you won’t be afraid to live.

Lastly the Lord comes this Advent to remind you that He has need OF YOU. He’d like to borrow you too. Pastors aren’t the only ones with vocations of importance. Are you a parent? The Lord has need of you. You are irreplaceable. Are you a husband or wife? The Lord has need of you. You are irreplaceable. Are you a student, a neighbor, a citizen, a voter, a worker, a baptized child of God? The Lord has need of you. You are salt for the earth and light for the world.

Christ has come. Christ comes today. Christ will come again! Happy Advent.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

The Covert Christ

In Nomine Iesu
St. Matthew 25:31-46
November 26, 2017
Last Sunday A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Well, we’ve finally made it to the grand finale—the Last Sunday of the Church Year. Next Sunday (should Jesus not return in the meantime) we’ll be lighting candle number one on the Advent wreath, the sure sign that a new church year has begun. So, in effect, today is something like the church’s version of New Year’s Eve. But unlike the parties and revelry that accompany the end of the calendar year, the end of the church year is an occasion for solemn sobriety.

And few sections of Scripture sober us up more quickly than the words of Jesus in today’s Holy Gospel. The account of the sheep and goats is not a parable in the usual sense. It’s really not an earthly story with a heavenly meaning. It’s a vision of the Last Day and the Final Judgment. [Christ] will come again to judge both the living and the dead. And today Jesus gives us the cold, hard facts about that judgment. But prepare to be surprised as we dive into these words for a deeper look. For these words tell us as much

about this day as they do about the Last Day.

When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on his glorious throne. Before him will be gathered all the nations, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. During the day, sheep and goats hang out together. During the day, sheep and goats are partners in the pasture. During the day, sheep and goats are treated the same. In fact, from a distance, looking out across the pasture, it’s kind of hard to distinguish between sheep and goats.

In the same way, it’s not always easy to distinguish between believers and unbelievers in the world today. Just to walk around Bayshore Town Center, you really can’t tell by looking who has faith in Christ and who doesn’t. Believers don’t get any preferential treatment in this world. If you’re coming to church because you believe it guarantees a certain degree of success in this world, or because it will give you a leg up on the competition, think again. Bad things happen to good people. Good things happen to bad people. But, some people believe in their hearts and confess with their lips, “Jesus Christ is Lord.” And that will make all the difference—the difference between heaven and hell—between eternal life and eternal punishment.

Only at the end of the day—only as night begins to fall—will a distinction be made between sheep and goats, between believers and unbelievers. Sheep to the right; goats to the left. And, for the love of God, please carefully note the terms of this separation: They are sorted on the basis of what they are, not what they have done. It’s not like a separation of those who only sinned a little and those who really sinned a lot. It is separating one thing from an altogether different thing—sheep and goat, believer and unbeliever. You will be judged not on the basis of what you did, but on the basis of who you are. It is by grace you have been saved, through faith. And this not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not by works so that no one can boast. The sheep are saved by grace, through faith in Jesus. The goats are condemned; because they lack faith in Jesus.

To the sheep the King will say, Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. The believers are blessed with a kingdom that was theirs from before time began. Before these sheep even had the chance to do one good deed (or one bad deed, for that matter), this kingdom had been prepared for them. And the sheep receive it, not as wages earned, but as an inheritance. You don’t earn an inheritance; you can only receive it as a gift from someone who died.

The timing of all this is terribly important. Notice that there’s been a sorting and a separation—a kingdom has been given and received—but still not yet a single word has been breathed about works. Their works didn’t save the sheep. The righteous didn’t earn their righteousness. But wow, were those sheep busy! I was hungry and you gave me food. I was thirsty and you gave me drink. I was a stranger and you welcomed me—naked and you clothed me. I was sick and you cared for me—in prison you came to visit me. Your good works don’t save you either. But do your good works matter? Will they be taken note of? Do they have eternal significance? Does what you do for the least and the lowly of this world matter at all? Let there be no mistake: the answer is yes, yes, and yes.

Why do your good works have such tremendous value? Here comes the surprise of all surprises. Notice how the sheep are puzzled after hearing about all the good works they did. But listen carefully. They don’t ask, “When did we do these things?” They knew they had done those things. But what they do ask is this: “Lord, when did we see You hungry? When did we see You thirsty, a stranger, sick or in prison?” And then comes one of the most amazing sentences the Savior ever spoke: “Truly I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.”

Who would have guessed it? Jesus has hidden Himself in the sick, the poor and needy. Christ has concealed Himself in the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger. In the one who is sick or in prison, there is the covert Christ. The Savior has secretly hidden Himself in those around you—in your family members, in your brothers and sisters in Christ—there is Jesus! And whatsoever you do for the least of these, you do for Jesus.

Beloved in the Lord, Jesus has let the cat out of the bag and things can never be the same again! This mysterious sentence changes everything! Luther hit the nail on the head when He preached on these words: Thus the world is full of God. In every yard, in every lane you may find Christ. . . . Do you wish to serve God? You have Him in your home, with your children. . . . Go and comfort your sad and sick neighbors. Help them with all your possessions, wisdom and skill (Day by Day, p.325). Why bother? Because there, in them, is the covert Christ.

Jesus is all around you—in the least and lowly—in your pew partners this morning; but do you see Him? Do you see the Jesus in me? Do you see the Jesus in your spouse? In your children? In your parents? Do you see the Jesus in the people of this Christian family? Do you see Jesus in the sick, the shut-ins, the mentally ill? Do you see that what you do for them you do for Jesus? The tiniest gestures of gentleness take on cosmic significance because the covert Christ says, “You have done it unto me.”

It sounds easy, right? But here’s the rub: It’s a lot easier to see the devil in those around us than it is to see the Jesus in them. Because the people around us, well, they aren’t perfect, like Jesus. They aren’t very Christ-like. You can look long and hard at some folks, and see no trace of the Savior. He’s really good at hiding Himself in some people. And quite frankly, when it comes to some of the people some of the time, we’d simply rather not see the Jesus in them—because then we can ignore them, tune them out, declare them to be somebody else's problem, or worse. But Jesus says, “I am there. Whatever you do for them—for the least—you do it to me.” Do you believe it? And if you do believe it, how will your life be any different between now and the day of judgment?

Beloved in the Lord, your ability to see the Jesus in me or in anyone else starts right here. It begins by seeing Jesus Himself. For you’ll never see Jesus in the least and the lowly until you first see Jesus Himself as the least of all. On the cross Jesus became the least of all to save us all. On the cross, bearing your sin, Jesus was literally hungry, thirsty, naked, sick, imprisoned, a stranger to this world—all so that He might save the world, including you. When you see a hurting person, think of Jesus who hurt on the cross. When you see a helpless person, think of Jesus who hung helpless on the cross. When you come across someone who is crushed by the burdens of this world, remember Jesus who was crushed for our iniquities—who died for our sin and rose again to give us victory.

It’s not always easy to see Jesus in our brothers and sisters; so thank God that when He looks at you, He sees Jesus—Jesus in you. It’s true. The all-seeing, all-knowing, un-fool-able God looks at you; and He chooses to see in you His own dear Son, Jesus the Christ. He looks at you and He sees a sheep of the Good Shepherd. After all, you’ve been baptized into Jesus. You’ve been clothed with the righteousness of Jesus. You’ve been nourished with the body and blood of Jesus. And this is why God sees Jesus in you. And this is why you can see the Jesus in those around you. Jesus says that when you serve them, you serve Him. Serve them not to earn the right to be a sheep of the Good Shepherd; serve them because YOU ARE A SHEEP of the Good Shepherd. A heavenly inheritance is waiting for you—waiting for you since before time began.

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

Remember to Remember

In Nomine Iesu
Deuteronomy 8:1-10
November 23, 2017
Thanksgiving Day

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

The Book of Deuteronomy is essentially one last, long sermon from the mouth of Moses. It is Moses’ swan song; for his departure was near. He was 120 years old. And for those final four decades he had been leading the children of Israel through the wilderness. This final “sermon” consists of thirty-some chapters, filled with law and gospel, threats and promises, history and prophecy.

If you’ve read much of Deuteronomy, you may have noted how it sometimes sounds redundant to modern readers. But what you have to remember is that, with the exception of Caleb and Joshua, that original generation of Israelites who had been delivered from slavery in Egypt—they were all gone. It was a new crew of Hebrews who were about to cross the Jordan and take possession of the Promised Land—with all of its bounty. They needed to hear the history. They needed to know what had come before. Going forward, they needed to remember to remember.

That’s what Moses reminded them in today’s text: Remember how the Lord your God led you all the way in the wilderness these forty years, to humble you and to test you in order to know what was in your heart, whether or not you would keep his commands. 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. What, exactly, did Moses’ listeners have to remember? Well, there was the idolatry of the golden calf, grumbling about the manna, murmuring against Moses, fire and snakes and plagues as punishments from the Lord. We like 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, the challenge before us today is giving thanks, not remembering. This is Thanksgiving Day, not Remembrance Day. 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 wilderness 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 to remember.

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 and mumbled against the Lord—when you cursed His holy name for taking away from you that which you loved—or for how He humbled you the hard way, in full view of everyone. Do you remember?

Because if you do remember that unholy history, then you cannot help but also see traces of grace in that history of horrors. For here you are on this Thanksgiving Day in the year of our Lord 2017. 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.

There’s a tradition at some Thanksgiving tables where before the meal everybody has to tell something for which they are thankful. Now, there’s nothing wrong with that per se—nothing wrong with praising God for your Play Station or blessing Him for you 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 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 and anticipation: wheat and barley, figs and pomegranates, milk and honey. 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 into the life of the world to come. 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 just 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: including the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting. We look back and see grace; we look ahead and see a sure and certain hope.

Have a happy Thanksgiving . . . and don’t forget to remember.

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