Lacking, but Loved

Jesu Juva

St. Mark 10:17-22                                         

October 13, 2024

Proper 23B                    

 Dear Saints of Our Savior,

        What do you think of the Ten Commandments?  Can you remember all ten?  Do you view them as an irritating inconvenience?  Or do you view them with thanksgiving—as a helpful guide along life’s way?  And perhaps more importantly, do you know why God gives us the Ten Commandments?  I’ve asked that question in many and various ways over the years.  And I’ve received many and various answers.  But behind every good answer lies the best answer:  God gives us the Ten Commandments because He loves us.

        The Ten Commandments figure prominently in today’s Holy Gospel.  Those verses center on a man who is traditionally known as “the rich, young, ruler.” Given that title, he seems to have it all.  He’s rich.  He’s young.  He’s a ruler—he’s got power.  What more could a person want? 

        Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?  He has everything you could want in this life.  But he’s not so sure about the life of the world to come.  He’s got a great life, but something’s missing.  There’s an emptiness.  There’s something troubling him that his wealth, his youth, and his power cannot address:  It’s his mortality—the unavoidable truth that death comes to all. 

        And so he seeks out someone who can help him.  Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?  And before you critique his question too severely, let’s acknowledge that he’s making a good move here.  He’s coming to Jesus for help.  Note the man’s sincerity.  He comes running and kneeling before this good Teacher.  His question is genuine—from the heart.  He’s not out to trap Jesus or trick Jesus.  He really wants to know:  What must I do to inherit eternal life?

        Jesus takes him to the Ten Commandments.  Do not murder.  Do not commit adultery.  Do not steal.  Do not bear false witness.  Honor your father and mother.  It’s tempting to think that Jesus is just setting him up to fail—using the Ten Commandments as a trap—taking him to the Law just to show him how bad he is—to show him his sin.  Certainly the Law does that.  It has that effect at times.  But let’s not forget why.  Why does God give us the Ten Commandments?  God gives the law for reasons of love—because He loves us and wants the very best for us.

        Too often, we think that, because we cannot keep God’s commandments perfectly, we’re somehow free to view them as ten strong suggestions—or as ten helpful options to consider.  No, God gives the Ten Commandments because he loves us.  Things will go immeasurably better for you if you don’t hurt or harm your neighbor in his body—and if you lead a sexually pure and decent life—and if you do not despise or anger the authorities in your life.  The Ten Commandments are serious business.  God is serious about you obeying them.  Anyone who chooses to “opt out” of these divine requirements—or views them as “optional,” that person is answerable to God.

        And speaking of answers, the answer of the rich, young ruler sounds surprising:  Teacher, all these [commandments] I have kept from my youth.  Now, I don’t think he’s claiming to have obeyed all the commandments perfectly.  The verb “to keep” has a broader meaning—as in, to observe.  In fact, I think it’s possible that the rich, young ruler is a lot like you.  He knows the commandments of God.  He honors them.  He observes them.  He takes them seriously.  And given that you are here this morning—that you are listening to the words of this sermon—I suspect and hope that you, too, observe and honor and take seriously all of God’s commandments.

        But . . . you lack one thing.  That’s what Jesus said.  You lack one thing.  Go, and sell all that you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.  Jesus isn’t making a new commandment here.  He’s not preaching poverty as a prerequisite for all who would follow Him.  No, this is a precise and personal prescription for the rich young man who knelt before Him.  In love, Jesus uncovered and exposed the man at his weakest point.  Jesus was applying the Law at the point of greatest resistance—which, for this man, was his love of money and possessions.  And he went away sorrowful.

        What’s your “one thing?”  What do you lack when it comes to following Jesus?  What’s your point of greatest resistance to God that prevents you from following Him more closely?  What’s your favorite idol?  At what one point do God’s will—and your will—clash and collide? 

        What’s your “one thing?”  Do you honor and obey all the authorities in your life—your parents, your boss, your teachers, your pastors?  Or do you despise them, treat them with contempt, and delight to point out their shortcomings?  Do you honor marriage by avoiding adultery and other sexual sins that separate sex from marriage?  Do you give in where gossip is concerned—delighting in the downfall of others?  Or do you do the hard work of defending your neighbor, speaking well of him, and explaining everything in the kindest way?

        Jesus wants you to see the sin that separates you from Him—not to embarrass you—not to shame you—not to delight in your discomfort—not to drive you away.  Jesus exposes your sin for reasons of repentance—so that He can forgive your sin—so that He can draw you even closer and use you more effectively—so that you can have your share of treasure in heaven.  Jesus does the difficult work of diagnosing our sin with but one motive—love.  In fact, it was so obvious that St. Mark wrote it down.  One little sentence.  Right before Jesus skewered the rich, young ruler for his love of money, Mark writes this simple sentence:  Jesus looked at him and loved him. 

        You, too, can know that look of love from the Savior.  The love of Jesus is patient and kind.  Jesus is at work in you for the long haul.  Jesus looked at that rich, young ruler and loved him.  But make no mistake, this love is a tough love.  Jesus allowed the man to walk away with sorrow and sadness.  Jesus allowed the law to do its work.  We don’t know what happened with this man—whether the law Jesus spoke eventually drove him to despair, or to repentance and faith.  Did he go home and continue to delight in his possessions?  Or did he look at all his stuff and conclude, “This isn’t worth it, nothing can compare with following Jesus in faith?”

        Jesus doesn’t make it easy to follow Him.  His love is a tough love—a love that is as tough as nails.  Jesus works to expose our sin because He delights to forgive our sin.  He demolishes with His Law so that He can resurrect with His Gospel.  He doesn’t want any “one thing” to separate you from Him.  In fact, He’s already paid the penalty for your sin by the nails that pierced His hands and feet—by the blood He shed on His holy cross.  That is tough love.

        You can see the Savior’s love for you not only in His dying, but also in His living.  From His mother’s womb to Joseph’s tomb, Jesus of Nazareth kept all of God’s law perfectly.  We all fall short when it comes to commandment-keeping, but Jesus—He gets an A+.  And He earned that A+ on your behalf.  He was your substitute.  His perfect record of commandment-keeping counts for you, and for all who follow Him in faith.  None of us is perfect.  We are all found to be lacking—lacking, but loved by Jesus.  He shares His perfection with you in the waters of your baptism, in the comfort of absolution, and in the bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood.  With a Savior like this, who gives gifts like these, you lack nothing.  You are perfectly positioned to inherit eternal life. 

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

 

What God Has Joined Together

 Jesu Juva

Mark 10:2-16                                                  

October 6, 2024

Proper 22B             

 Dear saints of our Savior~

        I really wish those Pharisees had come to Jesus with a better question.  Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?  What an awful question.  What a telling question.  How different things might be if they had asked:  Jesus, what are the five keys to a successful, happy marriage? Jesus, how can we love and serve our wives better?  Jesus, what can we do to avoid the tragedy and trauma of divorce?  If Jesus had just answered one of those questions, wow, we would have a ready-made sermon text for every wedding.  Husbands and wives could review our Lord’s answer every night before going to bed and at the beginning of every new day.  What beautiful answer might Jesus have given to a more earnest question about marriage?  We will never know.

        Instead, what we’re stuck with is:  Jesus, is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?  It was a question not prompted by faith or by a love for God’s gift of marriage.  No, they were testing Jesus—tricking Jesus—trying to get Him off-message.  It was just days before Palm Sunday, holy week, Good Friday.  The Pharisees were looking for creative ways to charge Jesus, to try Jesus, and to kill Jesus.

        We love Jesus.  We rightly view marriage as His gift—His institution.  Marriage is holy; and we must keep it holy.  Marriage should be honored by all—even if you happen to be single.

        Yet sometimes our approach to marriage—sometimes our take on God’s gifts and God’s Law—leaves us sounding a lot like those faithless Pharisees.  They knew divorce was not God’s will; but they wanted to explore the legal loopholes.  What are the exceptions?  What are the exclusions?  What does the fine print in Deuteronomy say?  Where’s the wiggle room?  Is this really a black and white issue?  Isn’t there some contradiction in the by-laws that we can exploit so as to maneuver around God’s will and God’s ways and God’s Words?

        We all do this.  Our sinful nature is pre-programmed to do this.  I know we’re supposed to forgive those who sin against us; but . . .what’s the limit?  Seven times?  Or, what sins are so bad that we can be justified in not forgiving them?  “Love your enemies,” Jesus says, “pray for those who persecute you.”  But this is just hyperbole, right?  Loving your enemies is for losers.  Love the one who has hurt you—lied about you—cheated you—cheated on you?  Surely, there’s another way—a way that allows me to do my will rather than God’s will.  With our carefully crafted questions we’re very good and waffling and schwaffling and evading and avoiding what is true and right and salutary.

        But Jesus doesn’t let terrible questions prevent amazing answers.  Jesus took His terrible questioners back to the beginning—back to Genesis chapter two—back to male and female and the two becoming one flesh.  But to this ancient history, Jesus adds a new and timeless insight concerning marriage:  What therefore God has joined together, let not man separate.

        With that phrase, “what God has joined together,” Jesus tells us a glorious truth—a truth we might not otherwise realize.  If you are married, it wasn’t the preacher who joined you together—or the justice of the peace.  You may have wooed, and wowed and dated and proposed and bought the dress or rented the tux.  But God Himself has joined you to your spouse.  In, with, and under the engagement and the ceremony, God was at work.  Backing up your vows and your commitment to have and to hold until death parts you—there stands Jesus.  And this truth makes marriage—your marriage—precious and valuable and holy.  Not perfect, but holy.

        No perfect husbands.  No perfect wives.  Just a relationship rooted in repentance.  Just two sinners drinking deeply every day of the forgiveness Jesus earned when He carried our sins and sorrows to His crucifixion cross.  No more playing the blame game—looking for loopholes—seeking to skirt the clear commands of God.  Instead of excuses, instead of blaming and shaming, marriage is marked by confession and reconciliation:  I’m sorry.  I forgive you.

        In the Scriptures God gives us a perfect picture of marriage.  In this picture, Jesus is the groom and His church is the bride.  We are the bride of Christ.  But it could have been otherwise.  For Jesus could have divorced us.  God could have sent us away for good—with just cause—for our countless adulteries and idolatries.  Instead, Jesus bore our sin on the cross.  Our sin was joined to His body.  His body was joined to the cross.  Whatever the ways you have sought to separate and undo what God has joined together—see that sin buried in the tomb with Jesus.  Feel it washed away in the cleansing splash of your baptism.  Taste and savor the forgiveness that comes to you when our heavenly Bridegroom gives His body and blood to eat and drink.

        There’s a strange twist in today’s holy gospel—a rather abrupt transition.  Perhaps as a foil to the Pharisees—to counter-balance their malicious question on matrimony—the scene suddenly shifts:  They were bringing little children to Jesus that He might touch them.  These children—like all little children—had no agenda—no sly, clever questions—not looking for loopholes to evade and equivocate.  These children, like all children, were simply “givable-to.”  They were glad to receive what Jesus had to give.  That’s why the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.  Our newest, youngest member—little Colter—he’s totally helpless.  He’s completely dependent.  But moments ago, through water and word, this little one was joined to Jesus.  The holy cross left its mark on Colter, marking Him as one redeemed by Christ the crucified.  The kingdom of God belongs to such as Colter.

        Beloved in the Lord, be like Colter.  Channel your inner child—whatever your age may be.  Be givable-to where the gifts of God are concerned.  Believe and receive the blessings Jesus earned for you.  Whoever believes and is baptized will be saved.  The kingdom of God belongs to such as you.

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

Something Terrible & Wonderful

Jesu Juva

Revelation 12:7-12                                   

September 29, 2024

St. Michael & All Angels

 Dear saints of our Savior~

        A few years ago you sent me on sabbatical to Germany.  There I quickly learned that to journey through Germany is to be confronted by things both terrible and wonderful.  At first the cobblestone sidewalks seem quaint.  But then you notice how some of the little stones are inscribed with names—marking an address where German Jews were arrested in the dead of night, never to return home again.  Look closely at the monuments and you’ll see how bullet holes still scar those structures from when the Russians arrived in 1945 to exact vengeance.  A sign next to a nondescript parking lot tells that beneath your feet was Hitler’s bunker, a little suburb of hell which housed demonic evil.  It’s terrible—terrible tokens of evil.

        But right next to the terrible . . . is the wonderful:  the ruins of the Berlin wall, relegated to the ash heap of history, cathedrals with spires that stretch into the heavens, museums housing the finest artworks ever created.  It’s wonderful and beautiful and inspiring.

        My little pilgrimage through things both terrible and wonderful—this vision of violence and beauty—it changed me.  It reconfigured my view of the world as I continue down the path of my earthly pilgrimage.

        This Sunday—on which we give thanks for St. Michael and all the angels of God—is like a journey through Germany.  All the Scripture readings direct our attention to things both terrible and wonderful—on a cosmic scale.  The reading from Revelation 12 in particular gives us a vision of heavenly violence—of terrible trauma—of a war in heaven.  St. Michael and the angels fight against the dragon who is called the devil and Satan—the deceiver of the whole world.  We’re familiar with war on earth.  We see the images from Ukraine and Israel.  But war in heaven is unimaginable—angels and demons—a dragon and a Lamb—terror and violence on a cosmic scale, where victory comes only by blood—the blood of the Lamb.  However you picture it, it is both terrible and wonderful.  And this vision changes us as it leads us to ponder things unseen.

        Terrible things and wonderful things are so tightly intertwined in today’s readings that it can be tough to decipher.  Michael gets the victory, and Satan is evicted from heaven.  Jesus said: I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven.  That’s wonderful!  But without missing a beat, Revelation gives a warning of woe for those of us who dwell on earth.  Why?  Because the devil has come down to us in great wrath and rage.  And that’s terrible and terrifying.

        What the devil does best is deceive and accuse.  And we are the targets of his deceptions and accusations.  His ultimate goal is to extinguish your faith in the Lord Jesus Christ—to pull you away from your Savior by any means necessary.  He deceives and he accuses.  Some of us he draws into despair—convincing us that we are truly worthless and unforgivable—that the weight of our sins will rightly drag us down to hell.  But others of us he pulls into pride—causing us to look with contempt on others and how bad they are, while engaging in smug self-satisfaction at how righteous and respectable we are.  Worst of all, many of Satan’s accusations are dead-on accurate!  He’s not just making stuff up about us.  He’s a liar; but he can also leverage the truth to attack us:  Fickle faithlessness, greed, idolatry, adultery, drunkenness, theft.  You know which of those accusations might rightly stick to you.  Give the devil his due; even a stopped clock shows the true time twice a day. Do not be deceived.  This is our sin; and it is terrible.

        But this day holds before our eyes something supremely wonderful and mysterious.  This day declares that you are victorious in Jesus.  Even Saint Michael—that great warrior angel—even Michael is a participant in the victory of Jesus.  Think about how strange this account is in Revelation 12.  Michael and the holy angels fight a war against the devil; and that devil is evicted from heaven.  The devil gets his butt kicked.  This is wonderful, but weird.  If I were writing this story—even though my name is Michael—it wouldn’t be Michael who demotes and defeats the devil.  It would be Jesus!  Right?  Shouldn’t it be the Christ who conquers?

        But it’s Michael.  And it is Michael for this reason:  Because Michael participates in the victory of Christ.  How do I know?  Because right there in Revelation 12, when Michael casts Satan out, the heavens break into song.  Only they don’t sing about Michael, but about the Christ—about His rule, His authority, His salvation, His power, and His blood—blood that cleanses sinners, blood that silences every ugly accusation, and blood that conquers all the powers of evil.  The victory comes through Jesus.  The devil’s demise is our Lord’s doing.  Michael shows this.  Michael demonstrates this.  The Lord Jesus enables all who trust in Him—including you—to participate in His victory.

        And this ought to encourage you as you press on in your earthly pilgrimage through things terrible and wonderful.  See the wonder of God’s love for you in the terror of our Lord’s crucifixion.  See how He suffered so that you might conquer—in Him!  See how the blood that seeped from His terrible wounds has so wonderfully cleansed you of all the sin that would condemn you.  We witness His terrible death; and we watch with wonder His glorious resurrection.

        War arose in heaven.  This is true.  But you are not collateral damage in this war.  You have not been abandoned to stagger and stumble through a never-ending no-man’s land.  God has chosen you—drafted you in the waters of holy Baptism to participate in His victory over Satan.  This is why the baptized always renounce the devil and all his works and all his ways.  I do renounce them!  Because they are being born again into the victory of Jesus!

        Those little babies at the baptismal font are the perfect illustration.  There’s no way a little infant could ever defeat the devil.  There’s no way someone so helpless could ever secure salvation.  And that’s the point.  All of us—from the littlest infant to mighty St. Michael—we fight and we conquer by the strength of our Savior, who loved us and gave Himself for us.  In Him we are more than conquerors.

        I don’t know all the terrible battles you are fighting today—or what, exactly, Satan is hurling in your direction.  But let me tell you something wonderful.  We are on our way!  We are pressing on in a pilgrimage from earth to heaven.  And once in a while on this long journey God pulls back the curtain to show us things terrible—and things too wonderful for words—to stiffen our spines and speed our steps and strengthen our faith as we spy the golden horizon ahead.  We are on our way to Jesus, walking with angels, and archangels, and all the company of heaven.

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

 

Last of All

Jesu Juva

St. Mark 9:30-37                                            

 September 22, 2024

Proper 20B                        

 Dear Saints of Our Savior,

        The ministry of Jesus had been successful beyond belief.  His popularity and His approval numbers were off the chart.  “He has done all things well,” the crowds exclaimed with applause.  The deaf hear.  The mute speak.  The lame walk.  Lepers are cleansed.  Demons are cast out.  The dead are raised to life.  Peter, James and John had just seen Jesus transfigured on the mountain top, shining brighter than the sun.  Jesus was a winner.

        But as today’s Holy Gospel picks up, Jesus sounds a distinctly different note.  Jesus began teaching about the cross:  The Son of Man is going to be delivered into the hands of men, and they will kill him.  And when he is killed, after three days he will rise.  Jesus couldn’t have said it more clearly than that.  He spoke simply and plainly.  No mysterious metaphors.  No puzzling parables.  Jesus would be killed; and Jesus would rise.

        Despite the Savior’s simplicity of speech, the disciples didn’t understand.  What’s more, they were afraid to ask for clarification.  Who can blame them, really?  Put yourself in their sandals.  These twelve men were “all in.”  They had left everything to follow Jesus.  They had visions of victory and greatness.  All this talk about death and resurrection must have sounded like crazy talk—irrational.  Not the kind of talk one would expect from a respectable Messiah who should be assembling an army to fight a holy war in Jerusalem.  To the disciples, it seemed safer to pretend that they hadn’t heard a word of what Jesus had said.

        So the twelve quickly found something else to talk about on their walk back to Galilee.  But rather than discuss the warm weather or the Brewers clinching a playoff spot, the twelve began to argue about who was the greatest.  Who was the top dog?  If something bad did happen to Jesus, who would succeed Him as number one?  Would it be Peter?  A natural choice.  Or did those “Sons of Thunder,” James and John, team up to take down the competition?

        However it actually played out, this was not the disciples’ finest hour.  Jesus had just uncorked the greatest prophesy of His ministry.  He had just told them in simple sentences how He would save His people from their sins—that He would be killed and rise again.  And instead of pondering this or asking about it or confessing their fears, they began to argue over which one of them was the greatest.

        This is another great example of the brutal honesty and accuracy of the Scriptures.  This account hasn’t been whitewashed and edited to put a positive spin on things.  Instead, St. Mark admits that at this crucial point, all the disciples completely missed the point and were selfishly thinking of their own greatness.

        Things haven’t changed in the church that much over the years.  The same Old Adam that drove the debate among the disciples is alive and well in each of us.  That old Adam in you wants to be the winner—not the chief of sinners, but just the chief—the boss—period.  We’re all afflicted with that same drive for power—to be in control, to be the top dog, to get everyone else to follow our orders and do it our way.  And this disorder is more than just excessive ambition.  Ambition is just setting goals and striving to attain them.  Perhaps we could all use a little more ambition.  But what’s going on in today’s text is something different.  This is selfishly stepping on the backs of others to fight your way to the top of the pile.

        That’s not the way of Jesus.  St. James in today’s epistle reminds us that the proper stance before God is always one of repentant humility.  God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble.  The posture of faith before God should never be one of pride or boastfulness or arrogance.  Rather, the way of faith is rooted in humility, repentance, and gratitude for God’s mercy.  Humble yourselves before the Lord, and He will exalt you.

        Jesus takes the twelve to task.  He turns their ideas about greatness upside down.  “Do you want to be great?” Jesus asks, “Then go to the back of the line and become the servant of all.”  That’s greatness in the way of Jesus—the first becoming last.  That’s how Jesus lived; that’s how Jesus died.  He left His privileged position at the right hand of the Father to live among us, and to make Himself a slave.  He left the boardroom of the Holy Trinity to join us in the cubicle of our humanity.  He became a king whose crown was of thorns and whose throne was a cross.

        Right about then, Jesus introduced an object lesson.  Ever the master Teacher, Jesus grabbed a living, breathing example of greatness:  a little child.  In those days little children were not the big winners they are today.  Back then they didn’t glamorize and idolize children and childhood the way we do.  In fact, children were considered little losers—nothing but a drain on the family assets.  Children were pretty worthless until they could work and start to earn their keep.

        But Jesus chose a child—a little child—a child small enough to be picked up and held in Jesus’ arms—to teach us what it means to be great.  He said: Whoever receives one such child in my name receives me, and whoever receives me, receives not me but him who sent me.  Now, I’ll be perfectly honest with you.  I don’t know precisely what it means to receive a little child in Jesus’ name.  But I think we can make some safe assumptions about this.

        To welcome a child in Jesus’ name must surely mean that we allow children to be born—that we do not abort babies—but we welcome them into the human community, and receive them as gifts from God, no matter how inconvenient it might be.  To welcome a little child in Jesus’ name must also surely mean that we bring them with haste to the waters of Holy Baptism to be born again in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.  To welcome a little child in Jesus’ name must also mean that we welcome little ones here in the Divine Service.  Every parent knows that managing children in church can be a challenge.  I’m here to tell you, it’s worth the trouble.  It’s worth the hassle and inconvenience.  For here your children are welcomed and received by the Lord Jesus Christ.

        Perhaps Jesus is trying to teach us to embrace the hassle and to accept the inconvenience.  That’s always how it is when you deal with little children.  It requires you to lower yourself—to humble yourself—to bend down low to an entirely different level.  When I walk my dogs around the neighborhood it’s not too unusual to be approached by little children asking if they can pet the dogs.  This halts my progress.  It often requires me to kneel down and facilitate an interaction between the little ones and the labradoodles.  Now this is hardly a great sacrifice on my part.  But it does require that I set aside my agenda, and my idea of a successful and speedy walk, for the sake of some little children I don’t even know.

        Greatness in the kingdom of Jesus requires that we always set aside our own drive for greatness and look instead to Jesus.  Jesus is the one who came not to be the first, but to be the last of all.  Jesus is the one who came not to be served, but to serve, and to give His life as a ransom for many.  Jesus became the servant of all, who suffered for the salvation of all, and who rose again from the dead to open the kingdom of heaven for all believers—including you.

        The disciples had it all wrong.  Faith never asks, “Who is the greatest?”  Faith looks to Jesus on the cross, suffering as our substitute beneath the wrath of God, and says, “There.  That’s greatness.  That’s what it means to be great.”  And through that cross we view the world in a whole new way.  We understand greatness in a whole new way.  We see greatness where the world would never, ever look to find it:  in the least and the lowly, in the little ones and in the children.  And as we welcome them in Jesus’ name, we welcome Jesus Himself.

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