Come!

 Jesu Juva

St. Matthew Passion                                        

March 29, 2026

Sunday of the Passion                                       

 Dear saints of our Savior~

        We’ve never done it that way before.  Someone once labeled that phrase as the seven last words of the church—the church that never changes.  We’ve never done it that way before.  You who are members of this church—you don’t get to use that line very often.  This isn’t the church of change.  Things are perfectly predictable around here, even on this Sunday of the Passion and palms.

        That we should hear an extended account of our Lord’s Passion from one of the gospels is nothing new for this Sunday.  But, that your voice should help to proclaim and announce these ancient words—that’s new.  That you are drawn into the drama—that you give voice to the deeds of the disciples—that you take your place right next to Judas and Peter and Pilate and all the Passover pilgrims—we’ve never done it that way before.

        I hope you didn’t enjoy it.  I hope it made you uncomfortable and uneasy.  I hope it disrupted your carefully crafted normalcy.  Holy Week is always a call to be uncomfortable—to step away from your padded pew and the serenity of stained glass—to ponder a passion like no other.

        When Johann Sebastian Bach set the entire Passion of St. Matthew to music, he started it all—he set the stage for everything we just heard—with an invitation:  Come!  The first word sung by the singers—the first word called out by the choir—is that word:  Come!  It’s an invitation to leave behind our petty problems and regular routines, and take our place in the Passion of our Lord Jesus, to save us.  What is your place in the Passion of Jesus?  Where do you fit in?

        Come!  You can start by measuring your generosity toward Jesus against the woman who wastefully anointed Jesus with priceless perfume.  She poured out every last ounce of this liquid of love.  It was an expensive, extravagant act that fed no poor and sheltered no homeless.  But it prepared Jesus for His burial.  How do the gifts we offer to Jesus measure all the thanks we owe?

        Come, sit at the table with Jesus and the Twelve.  Hear Jesus warn that someone will betray Him.  Join the chorus of innocence voiced by every man present:  Is it I?  Is it I?  Surely not I?  Yet, you know.  You know that it could be you.  You know it has been you.

        Come, watch, and pray with Jesus in the Garden.  See His sorrow.  Watch His struggle.  Your prayers always falter and fall short, but not Jesus.  He prays perfectly: Thy will be done.  And He prays it knowing the terrible toll that God’s holy will will exact from His flesh. But watch out, for your eyelids are getting heavy.  Your strength is gone.  Your spirit may be willing; but your flesh is weak.

        Come, and weep bitterly with Peter.  For you too have said: I don’t know the man—and you have said it under circumstances far less threatening.  Carelessly, casually, we have all distanced ourselves from Jesus when it seemed like the prudent thing to do, or when we deem the opinions of other people more important than being faithful to Jesus.

        Come, and make your political calculations together with Governor Pilate.  What should you do?  What do the polls say will increase your popularity?  On whose hind quarters should you plant your lips so as to consolidate your power and prestige?  Forgive yourself, absolve yourself, wash your hands in a deluded display of innocence—even as, deep down, your guilt and shame remain.

        Come, and place yourself in a prison cell with Barabbas.  It’s where you both belong according to the strict standards of justice and of God’s holy law.  You and Barabbas deserve what you’ve got coming.  But then, suddenly, Jesus gets what you’ve got coming.  God’s innocent Lamb will be crucified in your place—while a guilty, craven criminal is acquitted and set free.

        Come, and take your place in the fickle, feckless crowd of Passover pilgrims.  Deep down, they just want to be entertained.  They want to be wowed.  Show us what you’ve got, Jesus!  But don’t you dare disappoint us.  That crowd cries out that the blood of Jesus should be on them, and on us, their children . . . And it is!  Cleansing blood that whitens and removes every sinful stain.

        Come, and stand with the Centurion.  He saw what they did to Jesus.  He heard what they said to Jesus.  He heard our Lord’s cry of dereliction:  My God, my God.  And when the sun disappeared, and the earth shook and the rocks split, the centurion could not help but confess: Truly, this was the Son of God!

        Let the invitation go out from here:  Come!  Take your place in the Passion of our Lord.  For only then can you know that your sin made it all necessary.  And only then can you see that Jesus Christ is not only the Savior of sinners, but your Savior.  He humbled Himself and became obedient to death, even death on a cross.  He now lives and reigns in glory, working all things for your eternal good.

        Holy Week is underway.  Come!

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

Martyrs of the Bible: James

 Jesu Juva

Mark 10:35-45/Acts 12:2                               

 March 25, 2026

Midweek Lent 5                                         

Witness with James

Dear saints of our Savior,

        Martyrs of the Bible.  That’s been our theme for these midweek Lenten services.  Of course, the number of martyrs in the Bible is actually a small number.  The number of martyrs in the Bible is tiny compared to the number of martyrs who are not in the Bible—men and women who lost their lives for the sake of Jesus long after the Bible was completed.

        Tonight’s martyr—St. James—he barely makes the cut.  His martyrdom is barely mentioned.  Even though this “James” was one of the very first apostles called by Jesus—even though James was an eye witness to so many key events of our Lord’s ministry—and even though James was the very first of the Apostles to be martyred—the account of his departure barely registers in the book of Acts.  You heard it earlier:  [Herod] killed James the brother of John with the sword.  And that’s it.  That’s the entire account.

        After all the ink spilled a few chapters earlier about the martyrdom of Stephen, it seems strange how streamlined the death of James gets reported by comparison.  Now, while we can’t read too much into that, I wonder if James’ martyrdom was somehow expected or anticipated.  Maybe people saw it coming.  Maybe it was not a surprise.  Maybe James’ fate to be the first of the Twelve to be baptized in blood was something of a foregone conclusion.

        Why do I suggest that?  Well, let’s back things up by a matter of months. . . .

        One thing you can say for James and his brother John:  they took Jesus at His word.  Ask and you shall receive, our Lord famously said.  So, James and John asked for what they wanted with the full expectation of getting it: Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.  No hem-hawing around.  No pious pleasantries.  Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.  Simple enough.  Straight to the point.

        It’s tempting for us to wag our fingers at these two brothers.  But notice that Jesus doesn’t scold them outright.  He does have a few words of correction, all right; but it was the other ten disciples who got ticked off.  They were the indignant ones—perhaps because they coveted those glorious seats for themselves but didn’t have the gumption to ask.

        In response to their request that day, Jesus said:  You do not know what you are asking—no idea.  And in a sense, we’re all together in the same boat with these two “Sons of Thunder.”  For like them, we do not know what to pray for as we ought.  We are like toddlers on Ticktock throwing tantrums, demanding more sugar, more screen time, more attention.  We want what’s easy and comfortable and successful.  And if it’s not asking too much, we wouldn’t mind a little more money, a nicer car, and a successful season for the Brewers.  It’s true, like James and John: We do not know what we are asking.

        But even though James and John were told “no,” Jesus didn’t chew them out for making that request.  They may have been immature.  They may not have known what to ask for. But they got one thing right:  They knew who to ask.  And that’s important.  For even if we don’t always pray piously for all the right things in all the right ways—what matters is that we ask Him.  What matters is that we know and believe that God is indeed our true Father, so that with all boldness and confidence we may ask Him as dear children ask their dear Father.

        The request of James and his brother may have been audacious and over-the-top; but when you make such requests in faith—just know that those prayers are heard and answered.  He may give you what you ask for.  Or He may give you something better—something better for you.   

        To James our Lord would give indeed the cup from which He Himself would drink and the baptism with which He Himself would be baptized.  To the lips of James would be pressed the chalice of martyrdom.  James would receive a baptism of blood.  The sword of Herod baptized the body of James.  He was first of all.  He was number one.  He shared in the true glory of Jesus.  He was the first of the Twelve who died as a witness to Him who died and rose again.  And in that, James finished the race in first place and received the crown of glory that does not fade away.

        Did James get what he asked for?  He certainly received an answer to his request.  What James requested was to be beside his Lord Jesus.  He wanted to sit not twelve seats away, not six, but right there at His right hand.  And Jesus gave him something better.  For not only was James beside Christ, he was in Christ, and Christ was in James.  James was conformed to the death of Jesus.  He died in Him and is now forever with Him who is the resurrection and the life.  He was crucified with Christ, such that he no longer lived, but Christ lived in him.  James was able to give his life as a witness to Him who gave His life as a ransom for many—as a ransom for you.

        St. James shows us that our prayers are heard, that our sins are forgiven, that what God ordains to give us is always, mysteriously, good.  In fact, He gives you Himself.  He has given you a wet and wonderful baptism with which to be baptized—in which you are buried in the tomb with Him and raised up together with Him.  He holds a cup to your lips and invites you to drink of the blood given and shed for you, for the forgiveness of sins.  He has given His life as a ransom for you, so that now you are His own.  He has bought you at a price.  You are His and He is yours.  And nothing in heaven or on earth can change that.

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

Martyrs of the Bible: Stephen

Jesu Juva

Acts 6-7                                                           

March 18, 2026

Midweek Lent 4                                      

Witness with Stephen

 Dear saints of our Savior~

        It’s easy to romanticize and fantasize about life in the early church—especially about the good ol’ days of the church’s infancy, immediately following our Lord’s Ascension and the Day of Pentecost.  Everything was so new, so pure, so fresh.  The church was growing by leaps and bounds.  There were signs and wonders and miracles happening left and right.  The power of preaching and the Holy Spirit seemed unstoppable.

        But tonight we learn that those first days of the faith were actually filled with problems and troubles.  The reality of the early church was quite different from what we might imagine or dream it to be.  It’s all laid out for us in the early chapters of the book of Acts.  And even those early pages are stained a crimson color.  From those pages there can be seen an unmistakable trickle of blood.

        That blood belonged to Stephen, who was an unlikely martyr.  He made for an unlikely martyr because he wasn’t an apostle.  He was a deacon.  He wasn’t on the front lines; he worked behind the scenes.  He went to work for the church precisely because the church (even in her infancy) had problems and conflicts.

        The apostles were delighted to hand over their headaches to Stephen and six others.  These deacons, led by Stephen, were problem-solvers and peacemakers.  They were full of the Holy Spirit and wisdom. 

Already there was griping and grumbling in those post-Pentecost days.  Certain widows were being neglected in the daily distribution of food.  Stephen was sent to solve that problem and fix those logistics.  Lesser men might have been overwhelmed with despair and frustration.  Lesser men might have lost heart.  But Stephen went to work for the church precisely because there were problems and conflicts.  And Stephen wanted to be part of the solution. 

        What about you and your life in the church?  Do you want to be part of the solution?  For the church is still beset with challenges, problems, troubles, and crosses.  It’s so easy to say, “That’s not my problem.  That’s not my job.”  It’s so easy to point out the problems.  It’s so easy to complain and grumble about what doesn’t work right.  Against that chorus of complaint came Stephen, singing a different tune, full of grace and the Holy Spirit:  problem-solver, logistics expert, peacemaker.

        Jerusalem’s Jewish Council quickly began to view Stephen as a threat—a threat that needed to be neutralized.  They arrested him and charged him with speaking against the Temple.  And this charge had just enough truth to make it stick.  For Stephen wasn’t just running a meals-on-wheels program.  As he fed those widows and took care of the poor, he was apparently always telling the good news about Jesus.  Stephen declared that the temple in Jerusalem was no longer God’s dwelling place on earth—that since the Word became flesh—since God’s Son, Jesus, became man and dwelt among us—God’s presence was no longer confined to a place, but to a person:  Jesus, the Christ.

        It was this point that got Stephen into trouble—his claim that God’s presence was found in Jesus, and no longer in the temple.  Jesus, too, had spoken of His own body as a temple that would be destroyed and raised again in three days.  Stephen was confessing that the real temple was now wherever Jesus gives Himself to us—and for us.  Jesus once mourned over Jerusalem and laid bare the desire of His heart to gather her people together as beneath the wings of a mother hen.  “But you were not willing,” He said.  “See, your house is left to you desolate.”  And, without Christ, the temple/house of the Jews was indeed desolate.

        This beautiful truth about the presence of Jesus was rejected by the Sanhedrin.  They resisted the Holy Spirit and sought to kill Stephen for the truth he spoke.  Our own sinful natures also work against this truth about the presence of Jesus in our lives.  Your Old Adam works overtime against the Holy Spirit, seeking to substitute other things in place of Jesus:  Human relationships, human pleasures, human pride, human wisdom.  The devil can and does use all of these things to get us to grind our teeth and stiffen our necks to the truth of God’s Word and the gift of His real presence here in His church.

Stephen lived and died believing and trusting that Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life—that where two or three are gathered together in His name, Jesus is among them.  For Stephen, this meant that, at the moment of His death, he was welcomed into the presence of Jesus for all eternity.  The angry lies were told for only a brief time.  The outrageous accusations were heard for an even shorter time.  The bruising stones rained down on him for just a matter of minutes.  But for Stephen, the presence of Jesus was to be enjoyed forever and ever.

God sent His Son to live and die and rise again so that you, too, might enjoy the presence of Jesus forever—so that this very day in this very temple Jesus Himself can absolve you of your sin, place His promises in your ears and heart, and feed you with heavenly food.  That’s what it meant when Jesus breathed His last on the cross, and the curtain in the temple was torn in two from top to bottom.  It meant that the dividing wall of your sin was done away with by the death of Jesus in your place.  Now there is no division between you and Him.  No separation.  No condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.

        Jesus Christ has opened the gates of heaven for you, just as they were opened for Stephen.  Through faith in Jesus you can know for certain that, as your eyes close for the final time, you will see it.  You will see what Stephen saw—the Son of Man in human flesh standing at the right hand of God.  Even stone-throwing, teeth-gnashing, stiff-necked sinners like us—cleansed by the blood of the Lamb—even we will see what Stephen saw.

        God grant us daily to unstop our ears for this reason.  God grant us to confess our faith for this reason.  God grant us to forgive our enemies for this reason.  God grant us to fall asleep in Jesus with this confidence.  By His life, death, and resurrection, Jesus Christ has opened heaven for you.

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

 

Was Blind but Now I See

Jesu Juva

St. John 9:1-41                                                

March 15, 2026

Lent 4A                            

 Dear saints of our Savior~

        I saw a memorable video last week.  It featured a man who was colorblind.  And he was an old guy—older than me.  And for all those decades he had lived a life that was devoid of color—a bland, black and white existence.  No blue sky.  No yellow daffodils.  No green grass or forest.  In the video he’s given what looks like a pair of sunglasses to put on.  But these glasses actually enable him to see the colors of creation for the very first time.  And when that happens, this gruff old duffer absolutely melts with emotion.  He is speechless as his tear-filled eyes take in color for the very first time.

        Of course, that video made me think of the man cured of blindness in today’s Holy Gospel.  This man had been born not colorblind, but totally blind.  He had lived in literal darkness until the Light of the World opened his eyes to see the wonders of this world in colorful clarity.  But being cured of his blindness—that glorious miracle—that was not the greatest thing that happened to him that day.

        This account begins with our blind man begging by the side of the road.  He sees nothing.  But Jesus—Jesus sees him. Blind beggars were a dime a dozen in those days.  And nobody was easier to ignore.  But in the ministry of Jesus, it’s those least likely to be seen who end up receiving the full attention of Jesus.

The disciples immediately want to diagnose why the man had been born blind.  Who sinned? This man or his parents?  The blindness was obviously payback for somebody’s sin. Sin has consequences; therefore consequences must have sins. Right? Wrong! It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be displayed in him. Go figure. His blindness is not a curse for sin.  His blindness is not a punishment.  But rather his blindness will become a canvas on which Jesus will display His glory as the light of the world.

This man born blind represents us. He is you. You too were born blind.  Every disciple of Jesus must make the transition from blindness to light.  You never do see clearly in this life, but only through the eyes of faith.  And that is everything.

Jesus spits on the ground, bends down, and makes some clay with His saliva.  Making clay like this was forbidden on the Sabbath, lest you accidentally create some pottery. But here, the Divine Potter was applying a little fix to Adam’s clay. Here’s mud in your eye. It’s a strange way to cure blindness, don’t you think? Jesus makes him even more blind in a way. Then comes water and the Word:  Go, wash in the pool of Siloam. Echoes of Naaman who was sent to wash seven times in the Jordan to be cleansed of leprosy. Water and a promise. Water and the Word.  A baptism.

The man goes, washes, and comes back seeing. Eyes that hadn’t worked since birth now suddenly see with 20/20 clarity. Can you imagine what it must have been like to see for the first time?  Please upload that video to Instagram. 

The man’s neighbors immediately take note.  They ask about his healing; and he tells them about Jesus. “Where is this Jesus?” they asked. “I don’t know,” the man says.  Even if Jesus were standing right next to him, the man would not have known. He’d never laid eyes on Jesus. Jesus put mud in his eyes and sent him away to wash, and when he returned, Jesus was gone. He’s never seen Jesus. And yet, he believes. Just like you.

Well, this causes a stir. Naturally, the Pharisees want to investigate. This happened on a Sabbath day, and the Pharisees were Sabbath day sticklers. They devised 32 kinds of work you couldn’t do on the Sabbath, including making clay. How can a man who is a sinner do such signs? Much arguing ensued.

Others came up with the easy explanation that the blind man had never been blind in the first place. He was just faking it to get on the welfare rolls—probably running a Somalian daycare center on the side. So the Pharisees call in his parents. But they don’t have much to say because this is a kangaroo court. They plead the Fifth.  Anyone who confesses Jesus to be the Christ is kicked out of the synagogue. 

When they finally put the miracle man himself under oath, he says the one thing he knows: I once was blind but now I see. Amazing grace. But amazing grace is no explanation for a legalist. Rules must be kept. God doesn’t listen to sinners; He strikes them blind. The Pharisees have all the answers.

The man confesses his faith—as much as he could—which didn’t go over well. The Pharisees didn’t take kindly to being lectured in matters of religion.  They are the experts. They told the man he had been born in sin. They were correct. The man was born in utter sin. That’s not why he was blind; but he was born in utter sin. So were the Pharisees. So are we. But the thing about a religion based on works is that you can only see the sin in others; you’re blind to the sin in you.  Don’t be blind to your own sin; but confess it.

The man is kicked out of the synagogue—excommunicated. Things aren’t going too well for him. Now that he can see, no one believes him.

Finally, Jesus returns. He’d heard about all this. “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” The man’s not sure. Who is He that I may believe in Him? And then the revelation: “You have seen Him and He is speaking to you.” Lord, I believe, and in faith, he worships.  That’s what believers do.

The Pharisees, with their 20/20 commandment-keeping are blind, though they think they see quite clearly. And this man, blind from birth, sees Jesus for who He really is and worships Him.  That man born blind is all of us. You and me. We are born blind, beggars steeped in sin. Just as a blind man cannot make his eyes to see, so we cannot by our own reason or strength believe in Jesus Christ as Lord or come to Him. He comes to us—He sees us—in our sin and blindness. He washes us in Baptism—by water and the Word. And by that washing we are made to see, and to believe. 

The “seeing” we now do is by faith, and not with the eyes. Like the blind man who believed before he saw Jesus, so we too believe prior to seeing. We will see it all one day, when Jesus raises our earthly clay and fixes our eyes in the resurrection so that we can look on Him who is our Light, our life, and our salvation. But for now, we view the world by faith. We see ourselves as the sinners we are; but more importantly, we see Jesus for who He is, the Savior of sinners.

Like the man born blind, we confess Jesus. We tell everyone what He has done. That confession may cost you. Parents may disown you. Friends may distance themselves.  Neighbors will view you with suspicion. But all you can say is what the blind man said: I once was blind but now I see.

Those words were immortalized by John Newton, a hymn-writer and priest in the Church of England.  Newton renounced the faith as a youth and worked on a slave ship. There his profanity was so extreme as to make the other sailors blush for shame.

This vile, obscene slave trader eventually came to faith in Christ. He got married, taught himself theology, and was ordained at the age of 39. As a preacher, he wasn’t eloquent, but honest. While other preachers seemed to be above the sins of the common man, Newton plead guilty to them all; and composed this memorable hymn text:

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, That saved a wretch like me.  I once was lost, but now am found.  Was blind but now I see.

God, in the richness of His grace and mercy, in His undeserved kindness to sinners, has washed us in this Siloam pool of Baptism—uniting us with Jesus in His death and resurrection.  Amazing grace to a man born blind that the works of God might be displayed in him.  And amazing grace to you, that the glory of God might also be displayed in you.

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