In Nomine Iesu
Revelation 7:9-17
November 7, 2010
All Saints’ Sunday
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
Did you hear what I just called you? You might have missed it, since I address you in the same way as I begin nearly every sermon. I called you “brothers and sisters” in Christ. Now, to be brothers and sisters is to be family. And on this All Saints’ Sunday we are able to catch a glimpse of just how big and how diverse and how blessed this Christian family of ours really is. “How great is the love the Father has lavished on us,” writes St. John, “that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are.”
What we learn about our Christian family today is similar to what I used to learn in the family gatherings of my youth. My immediate Henrichs relatives were a small group indeed. Not a clan or a tribe by any stretch of the imagination. Even today I have but two sisters and four first cousins. But every so often in my childhood there would be a family reunion—at which all manner of Henrichses would seemingly emerge from the woodwork—people I had never met or seen or heard of before—people to whom I was related. Suddenly, I felt strength in those numbers. My puny, little family had hope—a lively history and an ongoing future. My only question was, “Who are all these Henrichses; and where did they come from?”
That question is not unlike the question that will be asked at the end of time when all the people of God, from the greatest to the least, are gathered together around the throne of God. “These in white robes—who are they, and where did they come from?” Today’s reading from Revelation chapter seven is a beautiful, hope-filled reminder that we are—each of us—on our way to a grand and glorious family reunion. And the sense of wonder and amazement that we sometimes feel at our earthly family reunions will pale in comparison when all the family of faith gathers around the throne of God in heaven. Then, the central question of today’s reading will be on your lips and mine: “These in white robes—who are they, and where did they come from?”
St John describes them as a great multitude that no one can count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and in front of the Lamb. They are wearing white robes and holding palm branches in their hands. And this family is not a quiet family, but in a loud voice this multitude declares, “Salvation belongs to our God, who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb.” Those in white robes are also joined by all the angels and archangels in worship of God, lifting their voices to proclaim, “Praise and glory and wisdom and thanks and honor and power and strength be to our God forever and ever. Amen.”
Beloved in the Lord, my brothers and my sisters, this is your family being described. This is the family reunion to which you are being drawn—and in which you are already a participant every time you gather around this altar. Who is this host arrayed in white? “These are they,” John says, “who have come out of the great tribulation; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. . . . Never again will they hunger; never again will they thirst. The sun will not beat upon them, nor any scorching heat. For the Lamb . . . will be their shepherd . . . and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”
It sounds too good to be true; but it is true and better than good. You might think of these words as a kind of family portrait. Most of you have probably had a family portrait taken at some point. My little family of four posed in front of the camera a few weeks ago. Clothing was carefully coordinated. Hair was parted perfectly. Smiling faces were huddled together as if all was perfectly blissful between us and never was heard a discouraging word and the sky was not cloudy all day. It’s a beautiful family portrait that somehow manages to bring out the very best in us.
But I have to tell you, it’s almost too good to be true. It is true in that it is us; and we weren’t photo-shopped. But we don’t always look like that. Our hair is mostly messy and we’re probably better at snarling than we are at smiling. But a good family portrait brings out the best. And there’s no better family portrait than the one in which all of us are dressed in white robes, with palm branches in our hands, with eyes that weep no more, and voices that sing for joy. That’s the family portrait—that’s the family reunion—which is not too good to be true. It’s our family. It’s our reunion. And all this is thanks to our Savior, Jesus the Christ.
It’s Jesus who makes it possible for sinners like us to stand among the white-robed saints of God. The beatitudes that Jesus spoke in today’s holy gospel are first and foremost descriptions of Himself—the perfect life He lived as our substitute. We are anything but meek, merciful, pure-hearted peacemakers. Not by nature. Not in and of ourselves. Jesus alone is all of this. He embodies these beatitudes perfectly. Jesus is poor in spirit. Though He was rich, He became poor so that by His poverty you are rich. Jesus mourns. He weeps over our sin as He did over Jerusalem; and He weeps over our death as He did at the tomb of Lazarus. But by that mourning He brings us comfort and joy. Jesus hungers and thirsts for our righteousness, and out of His hunger you are fed. Jesus is merciful, pure-hearted, peace-making. He showed mercy by laying down His life for the sin of the world. He made peace by the blood He shed. He offered His pure and holy life as the sacrifice for your sins. He was persecuted, insulted, and falsely convicted. But by that conviction you have been acquitted, justified, declared righteous before God. On the cross Jesus hung bloody in nakedness and shame. But by that blood you have been washed. You have been cleansed. You have been forgiven.
In addition to those formal family portraits, most families also have photo albums filled with candid, casual snapshots which tell the family story in a more informal way. These candid snapshots capture us the way we really are at a given moment in time. Sometimes it’s not too pretty. This is also true for the family of God here and now. For us who walk as yet by faith, there is hunger and thirst and tears and the ongoing struggle with temptation and sin and death. The wages of sin is death, and there can be no denying that. Death is the consequence of sin. But today and every Sunday we celebrate the fact that Jesus has done something remarkable with death. He has taken this feared and dreaded enemy, and He has made it into the gateway of eternal life in heaven. This is why it also says in Revelation, “Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on.”
Yes, you heard correctly, “Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord.” The Lord Jesus has gone the way ahead of them. He Himself has gone to death and the grave, and those who follow Him, trusting Him in faith, are called “blessed” in their death. They are blessed because those who die in the Lord are with the Lord. There’s no waiting around at the pearly gates—no standing in line. There’s no joking around with St. Peter. There’s no soul sleep. No, when you close your eyes for the final time in this world you will immediately open them in paradise with Jesus. Blessed are those who die in the Lord.
Our numbers here today are small. It will take our ushers a mere matter of minutes to total up the attendance here today. But let’s not forget the family portrait that tells the whole story for all the people of God on this day. That portrait depicts a great multitude that no one can count. Our numbers here today are not too diverse. I see a lot of white people of European descent. But don’t forget the family portrait that tells the whole story for all the people of God on this day. That portrait depicts people from every nation, tribe, people and language. Our numbers here today make a joyful sound with their singing. But don’t forget the family portrait in which all the saints who are alive forevermore in Christ, join their voices to sing “Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength and honor and glory and praise.” It will be the grandest hymn festival you will ever hear.
And you will be there, with all the family of God, dressed in white, standing shoulder to shoulder with the very people next to you now—and with that multitude that no one can even begin to number—a multitude that now includes Susan Kautz, Kaethe Scholz, and Charles Dittmar. Today we feebly struggle; they in glory shine. To say that you will be happy when you join them would be an understatement. “Blessed” would be more accurate. Blessed are you, my brothers and my sisters, fellow children of God, blessed are you in Jesus, now and forever. Amen.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
The Reformation of Zacchaeus
In Nomine Iesu
St. Luke 19:1-10
October 31, 2010
Reformation Day
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
My very earliest recollections of attending Sunday school as a little boy are of Zacchaeus. Still too young to read or write, I was not too young to sing. And that song is still with me all these years later: Zacchaeus was a wee, little man—a wee, little man was he. He climbed up in a sycamore tree for the Lord he wanted to see. And as the Savior passed that way he looked up in the tree. And he said, “Zacchaeus, you come down, for I’m going to your house today . . .”
As I got a little older—and as I got a lot taller—it seemed that I had less and less in common with Zacchaeus. You see, I was always the tallest kid in the class. Whenever there was a group photo to be taken, I automatically knew that my place was in the center of the back row. “Wee” and “little” were two adjectives that were never used to describe me.
But in more recent years I’ve come to realize that Zacchaeus isn’t defined by his diminutive stature any more than I’m defined by my above-average height. No, the life of Zacchaeus is defined by the grace of God in Jesus Christ, and by the repentance that flowed from that grace. Grace and repentance are the themes of this Reformation Day. And so I invite you to consider with me this morning the reformation of Zacchaeus.
Zacchaeus was a tax collector; and there was perhaps no better place to be a tax collector than in Jericho. Jericho was (and is) the oldest city in the world. It was a prime spot for collecting customs, levies, surcharges, fees, tariffs and all other manner of taxes on goods and produce being shipped east and west. Mind you, Zacchaeus was a chief tax collector. That probably meant that Zacchaeus’ line of work wasn’t all that different from the typical mafia crime boss of today. Graft, corruption, kick-backs, money laundering, bribes, extortion—it was all in a day’s work when you worked as the chief tax collector in Jericho.
Then, one day the word on the streets of Jericho was that Jesus of Nazareth was coming to town. What Zacchaeus had heard about Jesus we don’t know, but it was evidently enough to trigger his curiosity. So Zacchaeus set out that day to be a spectator. He simply sought to catch a glimpse of the Savior as he passed that way. But being small of stature, he would have to perch himself above the crowd in the branches of a sycamore tree. From there he could take it all in as a spectator. But as the Savior passed that way He looked up in the tree—looked up at one little fan sitting in the stands. And Jesus did what every spectator in Wisconsin dreams about—did what can almost be described as a “Lambeau Leap,” only better!
Imagine it! Jesus hurtles a verbal volley directly up at Zacchaeus—draws him down from his safe and secure perch above the fray—announces that He MUST go to the house of Zacchaeus immediately. (Even Donald Driver wouldn’t dare to do that!) St. Luke tells us that Zacchaeus came down immediately and welcomed Jesus gladly into his home.
And as a result of this surprise visit, Zacchaeus—greedy Zacchaeus, organized crime boss Zacchaeus, unclean, sinful Zacchaeus—he is made a new man, transformed by the amazing grace of God. He repents of his crimes, renounces his shameful ways, and promises restitution to those he has wronged above and beyond what the Law of God required. And Jesus gets the last word, declaring Zacchaeus to be a “son of Abraham,” saved by grace through faith alone.
Zacchaeus teaches us that Christianity is not a spectator sport. Zacchaeus would have been content to be just a spectator that day—perhaps to see Jesus from afar, perhaps to overhear a parable, or possibly even witness a miracle. But at the end of the day, Zacchaeus the spectator would have returned to being Zacchaeus the tax collector on the road to hell. And nothing would have changed. Filthy rich Zacchaeus would have continued on living in spiritual poverty.
Every Sunday the Savior passes right this way, here among us; and every Sunday we are tempted to see ourselves simply as spectators. We love being spectators. We pay good money to be spectators of sports and the arts in all kinds of beautiful venues. But this place is no place for spectators. What do I mean? Well, spectators come here hoping to glean a little good news, to be inspired, to hear beautiful music, to connect with friends—but doing all this with no serious thought about what needs to change in their lives.
It would have been unthinkable that Jesus should personally visit the home of Zacchaeus, only for Zacchaeus to go right back to his life of crime afterward. There was a part of Zachaeus that needed to be changed—that needed reformation. More accurately, there was a part of Zacchaeus that needed to be put to death. He was a lover of money who lined his pockets with all his ill-gotten gain. That pocket lining could no longer continue. It had to be stopped. It had to be put to death.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a Lutheran pastor executed by the Nazis, put it more succinctly than I ever could. Bonhoeffer famously wrote, “When Christ calls a man He bids him to come and die.” That striking sentence sounds a lot like the very first of those 95 Theses that Martin Luther nailed to the Castle Church doors at Wittenburg exactly 493 years ago today. Luther wrote, “1. When our Lord and Master, Jesus Christ, said ‘Repent’, He called for the entire life of believers to be one of repentance.” The grace of God leads to this repentance. The grace of God leads us to put to death in us whatever will not conform to the Lordship of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.
The account of Zacchaeus leaves us with but two choices—you can go on being a spectator, enjoying your carefully crafted complacency, living at ease with the normalcy of your sin—OR you can welcome the presence and power of Jesus into your life and radically reform your life through repentance. What is there in your life that needs to die? Where does your Old Adam express himself best? Is it your constant need to be in control, to call the shots, to be the boss? Is it the simmering anger that boils over far too often? Is it your love of money that causes you to be stingy and tight fisted—even toward God? What needs to die in you? Your gift for gossip? Your refusal to flee from sexual immorality?
Saying goodbye to the comfort of old sinful ways is never easy, but your help comes from the Lord—an ever present help in time of trouble. You can’t do it alone. Zacchaeus couldn’t do it alone. It takes the power and presence of Jesus to root out the rot for a meaningful reformation of life. You see, the parts of your life that need to be put to death have already been died for by Jesus. As we heard today in Romans 3, “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus.” The blood that Jesus shed on the cross—that blood means that your scarlet sins can be made snow-white. In Jesus you are forgiven. In Jesus you are a son of Abraham. In Jesus you are justified.
Today what happened to Zacchaeus can happen to you. You may have come here today simply to be a spectator or simply out of habit. But your motive doesn’t matter now. What matters is that Jesus Himself is passing this way. Think of your padded pews as being big branches of a sycamore tree. And here and now today, Jesus does a Lambeau leap into your life. He engages the spectators, drawing them in, connecting His life to their life. In the waters of your baptism. In the comforting cadence of Holy Absolution. In the preaching and proclamation of His Word. In the bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood—Jesus Christ is here FOR YOU. You are not just one of the crowd—not just a spectator in the nosebleed seats. You have a one-on-one encounter today with Jesus the Christ. He comes to our house today. He transforms sleepy spectators into saints who lead holy lives of service. He seeks out sinners. He eats with sinners. He forgives sinners. The sinners gathered in this house will one day be welcomed into His heavenly house.
Don’t think you can have this forgiveness without repentance. You can’t. Don’t think you have this grace while remaining a mere coffee-sipping, donut-munching spectator of the Christian faith. You can’t. Don’t think that Jesus’ forgiveness is permission to go on living the same old sinful patterns. It doesn’t work that way. “When Christ calls a man He bids him come and die.” The Christian life is one of repentance and cross-bearing. Just ask Zacchaeus. His net worth dropped like a stone after his encounter with Jesus.
His net worth dropped, but His Grinch-like heart grew three sizes that day. He was a wee, little man, but Jesus made him a giant in the faith. He went looking for Jesus, but Jesus found him and called him and loved him and saved him. And today, He is doing the same for you. Happy Reformation Day. Amen.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Here Comes the Judge
In Nomine Iesu
St. Luke 18:1-8
October 17, 2010
Pentecost 21/Proper 24C
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
The themes for today are faith . . . and the life of persistent prayer that flows from faith. It all comes to us from a simple parable about a pesky widow and a corrupt judge. And just to make sure that we get the main point of the parable, St. Luke spells it out right at the beginning. Unlike some parables that might leave us scratching our heads about the meaning, St. Luke sets up this parable by telling us exactly what it’s about, right up front: “And Jesus told them a parable to the effect that they ought always to pray and not lose heart.”
Losing heart is what tends to stifle prayer. Losing heart is what sometimes happens when you pray, and pray, and pray some more—sometimes praying about something or someone for months or even years—and nothing changes. Do you know someone who is losing heart—giving up—ceasing to pray instead of praying without ceasing?
It happens to all of us from time to time—we begin to lose heart. It happens even to pastors who ought to know better. I’ve spent the better part of the last decade praying for the recovery of my son who has autism. When he was first diagnosed, there was an intensity to my prayers—an outright expectation—that my prayers would be heard, that there would be a medical breakthrough, and he would be healed. As the years go by, I’m sad to admit that the intensity of those prayers for healing and the level of expectation, and the frequency of those prayers, is not what it used to be. This is, I think, what it means to lose heart. Each one of us has been there, done that. Each one of us, like Jacob, has wrestled with God in prayer, but only to feel like we’ve come out on the losing end.
So it ought to perk up our ears just a bit to hear that Jesus has a parable especially for us—a parable leading us always to pray and not lose heart. The praying protagonist is just an old widow, a nobody, a woman with no standing, no influence, no money. And even the little bit she has has apparently been ripped off. And this unlikely heroine is an icon of faith and prayer. She does not lose heart. She does not give up. She does not despair because faith is alive in her. This pesky widow keeps on showing up in the courtroom of a crooked, corrupt judge who doesn’t fear God or respect his fellow man. This judge is unjust; he could care less about justice—particularly for someone as insignificant as this widow.
And while this judge keeps on delaying and stonewalling, the widow refuses to give up. She continually pounds the judge with her claim. She bothers the judge. She beats the judge by her continual appearances before him. She grinds away at him with her persistent petitions. The corrupt judge eventually gives in and grants her justice, simply to get her off his back. And this, my friends, is the picture of faith expressing itself in persistent, patient prayer.
The corrupt judge in the parable should lead us to think about Jesus, who is indeed our judge. The point of comparison is obviously from lesser to greater. Jesus is not an unrighteous judge, but the Righteous One whose judgments are pure and precise and grounded in mercy. If a corrupt, crooked judge can be persuaded by the persistent petitions of a pesky widow, then how much more will Jesus work for justice and relief for His elect—His chosen—who cry out to Him in prayer day and night? In fact, Jesus says that the justice He gives is always given “speedily.”
Really? Speedily? If I had been one of the disciples listening to this parable, I think I might have raised my hand at that point and asked, “Lord, could you define what you mean by ‘speedily?’” Our definitions of “speedily” are all skewed by the fact that we sinners are inherently impatient. This is often why we lose heart and fail to pray. It’s not so much that God is slow, as that we are terribly impatient. We are driven by impatience. Our Old Adam is unashamedly impatient. It’s now or never. Have it my way in sixty seconds or less. Long lines, slow traffic, a sluggish internet connection, being told to take a number and wait—Don’t you know who I am?! This is an insult. You are wasting my time. I want it now. Instant gratification is what it’s all about for the Old Adam in us.
But prayer prompted by faith is always an exercise in patience. We are praying to the God for whom a day is like a thousand years and a thousand years are like a day. This could take a while. One of the characteristics of faith is patient endurance, persistence in the face of hardship, long-suffering. The widow in the parable keeps coming back to the crooked judge with her persistent petitions because she has no place else to go. Even though the guy is uncaring, unsympathetic, and waiting for a bribe, yet she keeps coming back, day and night, over and over again, because there is no one else who can grant her justice.
We lack her patience most of the time. When years go by it’s easy to lose heart and just give up. Our prayers become shallow, sporadic, undisciplined and anemic. It’s like someone who goes to the gym a few times, lifts a few weights, and then concludes that exercise doesn’t work because he can’t detect a hint of new muscle. But prayer is to be exercised over the long haul. It’s a marathon, not a sprint. I usually exercise at the gym five or six times a week. I started doing that about nine years ago. I’m still waiting on bulging biceps and six-pack abs. But that’s not important. What is important is that prayer, like physical exercise, is good and beneficial, even when we don’t notice all the desired results. The important thing is not to lose heart—to keep at it.
I was reading last week about an amazing woman of prayer. She was a model of patient, persistent prayer. Although she was raised as a Christian, she married an unbeliever with a violent temper who was also an adulterer. Her mother-in-law hated her and made her life miserable. But this amazing woman attended church daily and prayed just like the widow in today’s parable. Eventually, over many years, she won the favor of her mother-in-law and her husband changed his ways and became a Christian.
But then there was her rebellious son. This loser shacked up with his girlfriend, had a child out of wedlock, and got caught up in a new age religion. And so she prayed for her son, year after year for ten years (a decade of tears—a decade of being tempted to lose heart and give up!) That son’s name was Augustine—who we now refer to as St. Augustine—a great theologian and bishop. His mother, who so famously prayed for him, was named Monica—but who we now refer to as St. Monica—a woman you honor every time you say “Santa Monica Blvd” (the street on which our church is located). She could be the patron saint for patient, persistent prayer. (And now you know . . . the rest of the story!)
But if I simply tell you to be more like Saint Monica—if I just tell you to be like the widow in the parable—I haven’t yet given you what you need so that you don’t lose heart. I need to direct you to the Judge. Not the corrupt judge in the parable, but the One who will come again to judge the living and the dead. He is the judge in whose name all our prayers are expressed. He is the judge who will rule in your favor. The unjust judge in the parable refused to be troubled or bothered by the widow. But your judge, Jesus, is so troubled and concerned for you that He went to Calvary for you. He is the judge who stands in your stead and takes your guilt and sin and punishment upon Himself. Your sin, your impatience, your angry demands—they can no longer condemn you. There is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. The One who was crucified for you—the One who shed His blood for you—He alone will be your judge. He is the Son of Man who, when He returns, will find faith in you—faith that He has given, faith that He has nourished, faith that He has sustained and strengthened through decades of prayers and years of tears.
It’s strange the way Jesus ends this parable. It’s unexpected how He concludes with a question that doesn’t seem to fit with the parable He told about prayer. “When the Son of Man comes,” Jesus asks, “will He find faith on earth?” With that question Jesus takes our prayers, takes the deepest desires of our hearts, and He connects them to the day of His return. And it really makes perfectly good sense. For only then, on judgment day, will it be perfectly clear. When we stand before Jesus our Judge we will see things as they truly are. Then it will become clear how tenderly—how generously—Jesus has carried us along through those dark times when everything went wrong, and our prayers went unanswered, and our lives seemed so widowed and worthless. Then it will become clear how God’s delaying—how His slowness and His seeming not to care—is really part of His wanting our good, readying us for larger gifts, building our faith not on short term satisfactions and easy solutions, but teaching us to rely completely on His grace, His mercy, His love.
It’s that love that will keep you and me from losing heart. It’s that love of God that leads us to lives of prayer—patient, persistent prayer. It’s that love that comes to you this morning in the bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood. It’s that love that rings in your ears through the Words of this sermon. His Word and His Spirit Jesus puts into you. In these ways your faith is forged and fed. And where faith is forged and fed, there is always persistent, patient prayer. So do not lose heart. For your judge . . . is Jesus. Amen.
St. Luke 18:1-8
October 17, 2010
Pentecost 21/Proper 24C
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
The themes for today are faith . . . and the life of persistent prayer that flows from faith. It all comes to us from a simple parable about a pesky widow and a corrupt judge. And just to make sure that we get the main point of the parable, St. Luke spells it out right at the beginning. Unlike some parables that might leave us scratching our heads about the meaning, St. Luke sets up this parable by telling us exactly what it’s about, right up front: “And Jesus told them a parable to the effect that they ought always to pray and not lose heart.”
Losing heart is what tends to stifle prayer. Losing heart is what sometimes happens when you pray, and pray, and pray some more—sometimes praying about something or someone for months or even years—and nothing changes. Do you know someone who is losing heart—giving up—ceasing to pray instead of praying without ceasing?
It happens to all of us from time to time—we begin to lose heart. It happens even to pastors who ought to know better. I’ve spent the better part of the last decade praying for the recovery of my son who has autism. When he was first diagnosed, there was an intensity to my prayers—an outright expectation—that my prayers would be heard, that there would be a medical breakthrough, and he would be healed. As the years go by, I’m sad to admit that the intensity of those prayers for healing and the level of expectation, and the frequency of those prayers, is not what it used to be. This is, I think, what it means to lose heart. Each one of us has been there, done that. Each one of us, like Jacob, has wrestled with God in prayer, but only to feel like we’ve come out on the losing end.
So it ought to perk up our ears just a bit to hear that Jesus has a parable especially for us—a parable leading us always to pray and not lose heart. The praying protagonist is just an old widow, a nobody, a woman with no standing, no influence, no money. And even the little bit she has has apparently been ripped off. And this unlikely heroine is an icon of faith and prayer. She does not lose heart. She does not give up. She does not despair because faith is alive in her. This pesky widow keeps on showing up in the courtroom of a crooked, corrupt judge who doesn’t fear God or respect his fellow man. This judge is unjust; he could care less about justice—particularly for someone as insignificant as this widow.
And while this judge keeps on delaying and stonewalling, the widow refuses to give up. She continually pounds the judge with her claim. She bothers the judge. She beats the judge by her continual appearances before him. She grinds away at him with her persistent petitions. The corrupt judge eventually gives in and grants her justice, simply to get her off his back. And this, my friends, is the picture of faith expressing itself in persistent, patient prayer.
The corrupt judge in the parable should lead us to think about Jesus, who is indeed our judge. The point of comparison is obviously from lesser to greater. Jesus is not an unrighteous judge, but the Righteous One whose judgments are pure and precise and grounded in mercy. If a corrupt, crooked judge can be persuaded by the persistent petitions of a pesky widow, then how much more will Jesus work for justice and relief for His elect—His chosen—who cry out to Him in prayer day and night? In fact, Jesus says that the justice He gives is always given “speedily.”
Really? Speedily? If I had been one of the disciples listening to this parable, I think I might have raised my hand at that point and asked, “Lord, could you define what you mean by ‘speedily?’” Our definitions of “speedily” are all skewed by the fact that we sinners are inherently impatient. This is often why we lose heart and fail to pray. It’s not so much that God is slow, as that we are terribly impatient. We are driven by impatience. Our Old Adam is unashamedly impatient. It’s now or never. Have it my way in sixty seconds or less. Long lines, slow traffic, a sluggish internet connection, being told to take a number and wait—Don’t you know who I am?! This is an insult. You are wasting my time. I want it now. Instant gratification is what it’s all about for the Old Adam in us.
But prayer prompted by faith is always an exercise in patience. We are praying to the God for whom a day is like a thousand years and a thousand years are like a day. This could take a while. One of the characteristics of faith is patient endurance, persistence in the face of hardship, long-suffering. The widow in the parable keeps coming back to the crooked judge with her persistent petitions because she has no place else to go. Even though the guy is uncaring, unsympathetic, and waiting for a bribe, yet she keeps coming back, day and night, over and over again, because there is no one else who can grant her justice.
We lack her patience most of the time. When years go by it’s easy to lose heart and just give up. Our prayers become shallow, sporadic, undisciplined and anemic. It’s like someone who goes to the gym a few times, lifts a few weights, and then concludes that exercise doesn’t work because he can’t detect a hint of new muscle. But prayer is to be exercised over the long haul. It’s a marathon, not a sprint. I usually exercise at the gym five or six times a week. I started doing that about nine years ago. I’m still waiting on bulging biceps and six-pack abs. But that’s not important. What is important is that prayer, like physical exercise, is good and beneficial, even when we don’t notice all the desired results. The important thing is not to lose heart—to keep at it.
I was reading last week about an amazing woman of prayer. She was a model of patient, persistent prayer. Although she was raised as a Christian, she married an unbeliever with a violent temper who was also an adulterer. Her mother-in-law hated her and made her life miserable. But this amazing woman attended church daily and prayed just like the widow in today’s parable. Eventually, over many years, she won the favor of her mother-in-law and her husband changed his ways and became a Christian.
But then there was her rebellious son. This loser shacked up with his girlfriend, had a child out of wedlock, and got caught up in a new age religion. And so she prayed for her son, year after year for ten years (a decade of tears—a decade of being tempted to lose heart and give up!) That son’s name was Augustine—who we now refer to as St. Augustine—a great theologian and bishop. His mother, who so famously prayed for him, was named Monica—but who we now refer to as St. Monica—a woman you honor every time you say “Santa Monica Blvd” (the street on which our church is located). She could be the patron saint for patient, persistent prayer. (And now you know . . . the rest of the story!)
But if I simply tell you to be more like Saint Monica—if I just tell you to be like the widow in the parable—I haven’t yet given you what you need so that you don’t lose heart. I need to direct you to the Judge. Not the corrupt judge in the parable, but the One who will come again to judge the living and the dead. He is the judge in whose name all our prayers are expressed. He is the judge who will rule in your favor. The unjust judge in the parable refused to be troubled or bothered by the widow. But your judge, Jesus, is so troubled and concerned for you that He went to Calvary for you. He is the judge who stands in your stead and takes your guilt and sin and punishment upon Himself. Your sin, your impatience, your angry demands—they can no longer condemn you. There is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. The One who was crucified for you—the One who shed His blood for you—He alone will be your judge. He is the Son of Man who, when He returns, will find faith in you—faith that He has given, faith that He has nourished, faith that He has sustained and strengthened through decades of prayers and years of tears.
It’s strange the way Jesus ends this parable. It’s unexpected how He concludes with a question that doesn’t seem to fit with the parable He told about prayer. “When the Son of Man comes,” Jesus asks, “will He find faith on earth?” With that question Jesus takes our prayers, takes the deepest desires of our hearts, and He connects them to the day of His return. And it really makes perfectly good sense. For only then, on judgment day, will it be perfectly clear. When we stand before Jesus our Judge we will see things as they truly are. Then it will become clear how tenderly—how generously—Jesus has carried us along through those dark times when everything went wrong, and our prayers went unanswered, and our lives seemed so widowed and worthless. Then it will become clear how God’s delaying—how His slowness and His seeming not to care—is really part of His wanting our good, readying us for larger gifts, building our faith not on short term satisfactions and easy solutions, but teaching us to rely completely on His grace, His mercy, His love.
It’s that love that will keep you and me from losing heart. It’s that love of God that leads us to lives of prayer—patient, persistent prayer. It’s that love that comes to you this morning in the bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood. It’s that love that rings in your ears through the Words of this sermon. His Word and His Spirit Jesus puts into you. In these ways your faith is forged and fed. And where faith is forged and fed, there is always persistent, patient prayer. So do not lose heart. For your judge . . . is Jesus. Amen.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Praying with Lepers
In Nomine Iesu
St. Luke 17:11-19
October 10, 2010
Pentecost 20/Proper 23C
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
I don’t know if you’ve ever considered it or not, but a pineapple doesn’t really look like much from the outside. It’s not very colorful like some other tropical fruits. The skin of a pineapple is rough and jagged. In fact, if you’re not careful, you could hurt yourself with a pineapple . . . or hurt somebody else, I suppose. To walk by a display of pineapples at the grocery store does nothing to catch your eye or make you salivate with anticipation.
But of course, everybody knows that the appeal of the pineapple is what’s on the inside. It’s sweet. It’s juicy. Cut it open, take a bite, and let your taste buds be transported to someplace tropical—not to mention all the vitamins and nutritional benefits that come from fresh fruit. No, pineapples may not look like much on the outside; but dare to go deeper and you won’t be disappointed.
That’s exactly how it is for me when I hear the account of Jesus cleansing the ten lepers. From the outside, this well known story seems so basic and straightforward. No surprises! Anyone who’s attended Sunday school knows that leprosy was a debilitating disease of the skin that affected many people in Bible times. And again, anyone who’s done the Sunday school thing knows that whenever Jesus encounters diseased people, there’s a fairly good chance that He will heal them. About the only surprise here is when but one of the healed men returns to give thanks to Jesus. And the importance of saying “thank you” is something that most of us learned, well, in pre-school.
But today I’d like you to go a little deeper with me. Let’s do more than scratch the surface. Let’s pause, and ponder, and dig down deep, and take to heart the sweet, golden good news of the Savior—which is perfectly ripe for our hearing.
First of all, the bad news about leprosy: It was more than just a disease of the skin like acne or eczema. Aside from the pain and disfigurement it could sometimes cause, the emotional and spiritual pain was greater. According to the Old Testament law, leprosy made you unclean. And if you were unclean, that meant that no one could have anything to do with you. You were essentially cut off, cast out and quarantined. Leprosy meant separation from family and friends (no cell phone, no facebook, no twitter or texting). Leprosy meant separation from worship and the temple and the God who dwelt there. Leprosy, therefore, meant depression, grief, and unimaginable loss.
Knowing all that—and knowing that Jesus had already healed at least one leper up to this point in His ministry—what do you suppose those ten leprous men would be saying to Jesus as He came within earshot? What would you be saying and praying? Jesus, heal me? Jesus, make me better? Jesus, cleanse me of this disease? All those would be perfectly suitable requests to make. Yet that wasn’t the prayer of the lepers.
Their prayer to Jesus wasn’t specifically for healing, but for mercy. “Kyrie Eleison. Lord, have mercy.” It’s what you pray when you’re stuck and helpless and hopeless. It’s what you pray when you are in dire straits and powerless to do anything about it. Kyrie Eleison. Lord, have mercy. It’s what we pray here in this place almost at almost every service. It’s a beautiful, faith-filled prayer, really. I’m afraid that we often say those words thoughtlessly and far too casually. But there was nothing thoughtless or casual about this prayer as it was shouted from the lips of lepers.
When you pray “Lord, have mercy,” you’re praying for God’s help. But like the lepers, you’re leaving the details of your deliverance in God’s hands. You’re leaving the particulars and the specifics up to the Lord. You’re trusting Him to provide you with the help you need, but you’re leaving the methods and the timing in His hands. I’m telling you, it takes faith to pray, “Lord, have mercy.” It’s like saying, “I am nothing, Lord, and You are everything.” This prayer has an intensity and a zeal that we too often forget. But don’t forget this: Whenever we pray, “Lord have mercy,” we are praying together with lepers. We are admitting our helplessness.
Incidentally, this is a prayer that Jesus cannot and will not ignore. When Jesus heard their prayer He stopped and said but one sentence to the lepers: “Go,” He said, “and show yourselves to the priests.” Okay. (From the outside, that doesn’t sound like much.) Notice that there were no explicit promises from Jesus. No encouraging words, no “fear not,” no angels choirs or shafts of light beaming down from heaven. No, Jesus just says some words. “Go and show yourselves to the priests.”
In the book of Leviticus it says that you’re supposed to show yourself to the priest after you have been cleansed of leprosy. The priests would verify your healing and offer a sacrifice to mark the occasion. Jesus’ words make perfectly good sense for someone who had already been cleansed of leprosy. Only these ten men had not been cleansed of leprosy. Their skin was still festering! They were still outcasts! Nothing had changed! The only difference was that now they had the words of Jesus ringing in their ears.
And right about now, my friends, we are approaching the center of the pineapple. In one short sentence St. Luke gives us what may just be the juiciest, most sticky-sweet bit of good news that you’re going to get for a while. Luke writes: “And as they went they were cleansed.” Now, if you were daydreaming about pineapple upside down cake, you might have missed what I just said. So let me read it again: “And as they went they were cleansed.”
I don’t know about you, but if I had been one of those lepers I don’t think I would have hurried off quite so fast. I think I would have needed to see at least some evidence of healing before I set off. “Seeing is believing,” or so they say. But not these lucky lepers. All they had were the words of Jesus ringing in their ears and they were good to go. “And as they went they were healed.”
There’s sticky-sweet, 200 proof gospel good news in that sentence. It’s a great illustration of the Christian life. We’re just like the lepers. We’re helpless and hopeless and so sick with sin that it’s killing us and cutting us off from those we love. We’re desperate for cleansing and healing and hope. And every so often Jesus passes our way right here in this place and we can’t do much but lift our voices and pray the prayer of those desperate lepers: “Kyrie Eleison. Lord, have mercy.”
And in response to that prayer, Jesus puts His words in our ears. “Go,” He says. Go and love me above all other things. Go and serve your neighbor. Go and love your spouse; honor your parents. Go and forgive those who sin against you. Go and do the holy work of the vocations I’ve assigned you. Go and take up your cross and follow me. And as you go, Jesus promises healing and cleansing. Along the way of life, as you place one foot before the other, Jesus promises help and hope and the forgiveness we so desperately need.
The question is, “Will you go?” Do you believe it? Will you walk with the lepers and step out in faith—even though you have no evidence of deliverance—even though your life is still festering with sin and doubt and fear? Will you go? Will you walk into the days and years ahead confident and expecting that Jesus will fulfill every promise—even though right now, at this moment, things look grim? Jesus knows what it’s like when things look grim. His own journey led to death by crucifixion. He was sacrificed as your substitute. The One who laid down His life for you is the same One who will carry you through this life in faith—all the way to the life of the world to come.
If those lepers had decided not to go—if they had stayed stuck in their despair—if they had decided to do the safe thing and stay put—this story would have ended far differently. The promises were from Jesus. The healing was from Jesus. The miracle was from Jesus. But it was the faith of the lepers that enabled them to receive that promised healing. “Your faith has made you well,” Jesus said.
That’s the same faith God gave to you way back when you were cleansed in the splash of your baptism. That baptism of yours is the reason you can indeed go when your God says “go.” That baptism means that you have cleansing and healing from every sin. That baptism means that Jesus’ perfect, sinless life counts for you. It means that He’s already died your death, so that the life you live today—you live for Him.
Hear again this simple, sweet sentence about the lepers: “And as they went then were cleansed.” As they went where their feet carried them in faith, they received cleansing and healing. Today, your feet have carried you in faith to this place. Your feet will carry you in faith to this altar. And as you go—as you walk this way—the Savior will feed you with His body and blood. And by that holy food you will be cleansed. You will be healed. You will receive forgiveness, and the strength to keep on going in faith—all the way to eternal life.
As you come and go from this place—with the words of Jesus ringing in your ears—you are being cleansed. There’s a miracle happening. Oh, your life is probably messy and complicated, riddled with anxiety and weariness, but you are being cleansed by Jesus. You are being healed. You are being saved and delivered from death. This is how your God operates. He cares for you more than you can know. No detail of your life is too small or insignificant. You are holy and precious to Him—as precious as the blood of His Son and as holy as the perfect life of Jesus, our Savior. So savor the sweet, golden goodness of that good news. Be reminded of it the next time you savor some fresh pineapple. And learn to pray together with the lepers—the least, the lowly, the losers of life: “Lord, have mercy.” Amen.
St. Luke 17:11-19
October 10, 2010
Pentecost 20/Proper 23C
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
I don’t know if you’ve ever considered it or not, but a pineapple doesn’t really look like much from the outside. It’s not very colorful like some other tropical fruits. The skin of a pineapple is rough and jagged. In fact, if you’re not careful, you could hurt yourself with a pineapple . . . or hurt somebody else, I suppose. To walk by a display of pineapples at the grocery store does nothing to catch your eye or make you salivate with anticipation.
But of course, everybody knows that the appeal of the pineapple is what’s on the inside. It’s sweet. It’s juicy. Cut it open, take a bite, and let your taste buds be transported to someplace tropical—not to mention all the vitamins and nutritional benefits that come from fresh fruit. No, pineapples may not look like much on the outside; but dare to go deeper and you won’t be disappointed.
That’s exactly how it is for me when I hear the account of Jesus cleansing the ten lepers. From the outside, this well known story seems so basic and straightforward. No surprises! Anyone who’s attended Sunday school knows that leprosy was a debilitating disease of the skin that affected many people in Bible times. And again, anyone who’s done the Sunday school thing knows that whenever Jesus encounters diseased people, there’s a fairly good chance that He will heal them. About the only surprise here is when but one of the healed men returns to give thanks to Jesus. And the importance of saying “thank you” is something that most of us learned, well, in pre-school.
But today I’d like you to go a little deeper with me. Let’s do more than scratch the surface. Let’s pause, and ponder, and dig down deep, and take to heart the sweet, golden good news of the Savior—which is perfectly ripe for our hearing.
First of all, the bad news about leprosy: It was more than just a disease of the skin like acne or eczema. Aside from the pain and disfigurement it could sometimes cause, the emotional and spiritual pain was greater. According to the Old Testament law, leprosy made you unclean. And if you were unclean, that meant that no one could have anything to do with you. You were essentially cut off, cast out and quarantined. Leprosy meant separation from family and friends (no cell phone, no facebook, no twitter or texting). Leprosy meant separation from worship and the temple and the God who dwelt there. Leprosy, therefore, meant depression, grief, and unimaginable loss.
Knowing all that—and knowing that Jesus had already healed at least one leper up to this point in His ministry—what do you suppose those ten leprous men would be saying to Jesus as He came within earshot? What would you be saying and praying? Jesus, heal me? Jesus, make me better? Jesus, cleanse me of this disease? All those would be perfectly suitable requests to make. Yet that wasn’t the prayer of the lepers.
Their prayer to Jesus wasn’t specifically for healing, but for mercy. “Kyrie Eleison. Lord, have mercy.” It’s what you pray when you’re stuck and helpless and hopeless. It’s what you pray when you are in dire straits and powerless to do anything about it. Kyrie Eleison. Lord, have mercy. It’s what we pray here in this place almost at almost every service. It’s a beautiful, faith-filled prayer, really. I’m afraid that we often say those words thoughtlessly and far too casually. But there was nothing thoughtless or casual about this prayer as it was shouted from the lips of lepers.
When you pray “Lord, have mercy,” you’re praying for God’s help. But like the lepers, you’re leaving the details of your deliverance in God’s hands. You’re leaving the particulars and the specifics up to the Lord. You’re trusting Him to provide you with the help you need, but you’re leaving the methods and the timing in His hands. I’m telling you, it takes faith to pray, “Lord, have mercy.” It’s like saying, “I am nothing, Lord, and You are everything.” This prayer has an intensity and a zeal that we too often forget. But don’t forget this: Whenever we pray, “Lord have mercy,” we are praying together with lepers. We are admitting our helplessness.
Incidentally, this is a prayer that Jesus cannot and will not ignore. When Jesus heard their prayer He stopped and said but one sentence to the lepers: “Go,” He said, “and show yourselves to the priests.” Okay. (From the outside, that doesn’t sound like much.) Notice that there were no explicit promises from Jesus. No encouraging words, no “fear not,” no angels choirs or shafts of light beaming down from heaven. No, Jesus just says some words. “Go and show yourselves to the priests.”
In the book of Leviticus it says that you’re supposed to show yourself to the priest after you have been cleansed of leprosy. The priests would verify your healing and offer a sacrifice to mark the occasion. Jesus’ words make perfectly good sense for someone who had already been cleansed of leprosy. Only these ten men had not been cleansed of leprosy. Their skin was still festering! They were still outcasts! Nothing had changed! The only difference was that now they had the words of Jesus ringing in their ears.
And right about now, my friends, we are approaching the center of the pineapple. In one short sentence St. Luke gives us what may just be the juiciest, most sticky-sweet bit of good news that you’re going to get for a while. Luke writes: “And as they went they were cleansed.” Now, if you were daydreaming about pineapple upside down cake, you might have missed what I just said. So let me read it again: “And as they went they were cleansed.”
I don’t know about you, but if I had been one of those lepers I don’t think I would have hurried off quite so fast. I think I would have needed to see at least some evidence of healing before I set off. “Seeing is believing,” or so they say. But not these lucky lepers. All they had were the words of Jesus ringing in their ears and they were good to go. “And as they went they were healed.”
There’s sticky-sweet, 200 proof gospel good news in that sentence. It’s a great illustration of the Christian life. We’re just like the lepers. We’re helpless and hopeless and so sick with sin that it’s killing us and cutting us off from those we love. We’re desperate for cleansing and healing and hope. And every so often Jesus passes our way right here in this place and we can’t do much but lift our voices and pray the prayer of those desperate lepers: “Kyrie Eleison. Lord, have mercy.”
And in response to that prayer, Jesus puts His words in our ears. “Go,” He says. Go and love me above all other things. Go and serve your neighbor. Go and love your spouse; honor your parents. Go and forgive those who sin against you. Go and do the holy work of the vocations I’ve assigned you. Go and take up your cross and follow me. And as you go, Jesus promises healing and cleansing. Along the way of life, as you place one foot before the other, Jesus promises help and hope and the forgiveness we so desperately need.
The question is, “Will you go?” Do you believe it? Will you walk with the lepers and step out in faith—even though you have no evidence of deliverance—even though your life is still festering with sin and doubt and fear? Will you go? Will you walk into the days and years ahead confident and expecting that Jesus will fulfill every promise—even though right now, at this moment, things look grim? Jesus knows what it’s like when things look grim. His own journey led to death by crucifixion. He was sacrificed as your substitute. The One who laid down His life for you is the same One who will carry you through this life in faith—all the way to the life of the world to come.
If those lepers had decided not to go—if they had stayed stuck in their despair—if they had decided to do the safe thing and stay put—this story would have ended far differently. The promises were from Jesus. The healing was from Jesus. The miracle was from Jesus. But it was the faith of the lepers that enabled them to receive that promised healing. “Your faith has made you well,” Jesus said.
That’s the same faith God gave to you way back when you were cleansed in the splash of your baptism. That baptism of yours is the reason you can indeed go when your God says “go.” That baptism means that you have cleansing and healing from every sin. That baptism means that Jesus’ perfect, sinless life counts for you. It means that He’s already died your death, so that the life you live today—you live for Him.
Hear again this simple, sweet sentence about the lepers: “And as they went then were cleansed.” As they went where their feet carried them in faith, they received cleansing and healing. Today, your feet have carried you in faith to this place. Your feet will carry you in faith to this altar. And as you go—as you walk this way—the Savior will feed you with His body and blood. And by that holy food you will be cleansed. You will be healed. You will receive forgiveness, and the strength to keep on going in faith—all the way to eternal life.
As you come and go from this place—with the words of Jesus ringing in your ears—you are being cleansed. There’s a miracle happening. Oh, your life is probably messy and complicated, riddled with anxiety and weariness, but you are being cleansed by Jesus. You are being healed. You are being saved and delivered from death. This is how your God operates. He cares for you more than you can know. No detail of your life is too small or insignificant. You are holy and precious to Him—as precious as the blood of His Son and as holy as the perfect life of Jesus, our Savior. So savor the sweet, golden goodness of that good news. Be reminded of it the next time you savor some fresh pineapple. And learn to pray together with the lepers—the least, the lowly, the losers of life: “Lord, have mercy.” Amen.
Monday, September 27, 2010
The Crossroads of Heaven and Hell
In Nomine Iesu
St. Luke 16:19-31
September 26, 2010
Pentecost 18/Proper 21C
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
There are so many fascinating angles to consider when it comes to the parable of the rich man and Lazarus. It’s one of the most unique and memorable parables Jesus ever told. It’s kind of tempting to consider some of the interesting issues that this parable raises.
For instance, how much thought have you given to hell recently? While it’s true that the word “hell” gets tossed around frequently in a variety of contexts and conversations these days, I suspect that hell isn’t getting all the publicity it used to. Preachers years ago used to spent lots of time describing the fire, the heat, the unending torment and tortures of the damned in hell. But for some reason, hell isn’t as popular a topic as it used to be. Today’s parable vividly describes the plight of a rich man in the agonies of hell, longing to receive even one drop of water on his tongue. Let there be no doubt that hell is a real place of real torment for those who depart this life rejecting the grace of God in Jesus Christ. But . . . today’s parable is not primarily about hell.
Another interesting issue in this parable is the idea of ghosts and the paranormal—or, at least, the idea that the dead can somehow communicate with the living. Too bad Halloween is still a month away. When the rich man in hell begins to be concerned for his five living brothers, he decides that they must be warned so that they don’t end up in hell like him. And who better to warn them than poor Lazarus? Surely a messenger from the dead would be the perfect plan—a spooky spirit to scare straight those wayward brothers—a word of warning from beyond the grave. That would certainly be an intriguing a topic for today. But . . . today’s parable is not primarily about spooks, spirits or ghosts.
Another angle to this parable is the contrast between the rich and the poor. There were few men richer than the rich man in this parable—with his expensive purple attire, his fine linens, and the sumptuous foods and wines that graced his table every day. And as for poor Lazarus, he was poverty-stricken well beyond what any of us can imagine. The rich man had everything; while poor Lazarus had nothing. Now, the time came when both men died. The rich man ended up in hell; while poor Lazarus was carried by the angels to heaven, to Abraham’s side. It’s tempting to conclude that this is a parable about the dangers of riches and the blessedness of poverty. But hear this: It wasn’t riches that brought the rich man to hell and it wasn’t poverty that brought poor Lazarus to heaven. No, today’s parable is not primarily about the spiritual effects of wealth or poverty.
Now, all of this is very, very interesting for those with inquiring minds. In this parable the curtain that encloses heaven and hell is temporarily drawn back, and we get a sneak peak at the life of the world to come. We get to see things and hear conversations that are not ordinarily available to mere mortals. But the things that might intrigue us are not the main thing. The horrors of hell and the sweet comforts of heaven are simply beside the point of this parable.
No, the words that matter most in this parable are those spoken by father Abraham to the rich man in hell. Right after the rich man proposes that Lazarus should be sent to warn his five brothers, Abraham says this about those brothers: “They have Moses and the Prophets; let them listen to them.” That sentence is the key to everything. “They have Moses and the Prophets; let them listen to them.”
“Moses and the Prophets” was simply a shorthand way of describing the entire Old Testament, from Genesis to Malachi. Abraham is essentially saying of the rich man’s brothers, “They have God’s Word. They have the Scriptures proclaimed and preached every Sabbath. They have Bibles. Let them hear those Scriptures. Let them listen to what God is saying in His Holy Word. And the Greek word translated as “listen” means to listen in faith—to take to heart—to order one’s life around what God is saying in His Word.
Poor Lazarus had listened. Poor Lazarus had heard. Poor Lazarus had taken to heart the Word of God. And through that Word of God—through Moses and the Prophets—God was at work to save poor Lazarus and make him rich—by grace alone, through faith alone, for the sake of Jesus the Christ. It’s not rocket science. It’s not theoretical astro-physics. It’s the good news of the Gospel! And it’s so incredibly simple that even little children articulate it perfectly every time they sing, “Jesus loves me. This I know, for the Bible tells me so.” We have Bibles. We have Moses and the Prophets. We have the Evangelists and the Apostles. Let’s listen. Let’s hear and take to heart God’s Word.
Someday what happened to the rich man and Lazarus will happen to you and me. Someday you and I will depart this world to tread the crossroads of heaven and hell. And the path on which we will be ushered will depend completely and entirely on what God has told us in His Word—and whether we have received that Word in faith.
Between now and then (I’m here to tell you) there will be no one appearing from the dead to scare you straight. There will be no spooky voices sounding. Don’t be looking for any messages written in the clouds, any apparitions, visions, or special revelations to light some kind of a spiritual fire beneath you to spur you on in the faith. You don’t need any of that! For between this moment and the moment when you die, you already have all that you will ever need to depart this life in peace and joy, in the sure and certain hope of the resurrection. You have Moses and the Prophets. You have the inspired, infallible Word of God. You have the whole story from Genesis to Revelation—how Jesus died bearing the sins of the world and your sin—how He made Himself the least of all, like Lazarus. He who was richer than any man made Himself wretched and poor for your sake, to save you. Jesus loves you—this you know—for the Bible tells you so.
Everything that God could possibly do to save you He has already done—and He is doing it right now as His blessed Word—His strong Word that once cleaved the darkness at creation—now cleaves the darkness of human hearts with the glorious gospel that Jesus Christ has destroyed death and brought life and immortality to light. All of God’s power to love you—all of God’s power to save you—all of God’s might to deliver you from sin and death is found in the preaching and proclamation of the Word. As it says in Romans 10, “Faith comes by hearing, and hearing by the Word of God” (Rom. 10:17).
Are you hearing that Word? Are you taking that Word to heart when you come here, or are you just taking up pew space and enjoying the free coffee? When was the last time you opened your Bible at home? When was the last time you attended a Bible study? When was the last time you shared something from the Word of God with someone in need—some poor, desperate person like Lazarus in the parable?
The Word of God takes us to the crossroads of heaven and hell. And what you find standing there at that crossroads is Christ the crucified. His holy cross is the sure and certain sign that the way to eternal life has been opened for you—that the gates of heaven are ready to receive you—that your sins have all been forgiven in the cleansing blood of Jesus. Your heavenly Father loves you for Jesus’ sake. And today He is waiting for you to take your place with all the other poor beggars at Abraham’s side—beggars who are now fully satisfied—who have been given life to the full.
That full life has come to you in Holy Baptism, where God lovingly washed and healed all the stinging sores of your sin. That full life comes to you this morning—not as mere crumbs from the Master’s table—but in the bread that is Jesus’ body and in the wine that is Jesus’ blood. These good gifts of Baptism and Communion are called the “visible word” in our Lutheran Confessions. In these good gifts we can taste—we can see!—the goodness of God which we hear about in the audible Word. In short, we’ve been given everything we need to join with Lazarus at the Savior’s side in everlasting glory.
For now, “We are all beggars.” That’s what Martin Luther said as he himself was about to die. We are all beggars. We are all Lazaruses—each of us—begging, hungry, helpless, sick and sore. And the good news is that Jesus Himself, the Son of God, has joined us there among the dogs, the outcasts, the losers. Jesus became a beggar to save the beggars. You can hear all about it in the Word of God. So hear what it says: Your sins are forgiven in Jesus. Your death is undone in Jesus. Because of Jesus, hell has no power over you. Amen.
Monday, September 20, 2010
God and Money
In Nomine Iesu
St. Luke 16:1-13
September 19, 2010
Pentecost 17/Proper 20C
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
There are photographs of money on the front of today’s bulletin. I have to say, there was a part of me that was uncomfortable with having money so front and center. After all, money is such a worldly thing. It’s an idol for so many. A part of me thought it was just a little crass to feature money so prominently—an intrusion of the secular into this sacred space.
But then it hit me, there’s nothing wrong with money. Money is a good thing. It’s God who gives us our money. The love of money is the root of all evil. Idolatry is evil. Greed is evil. But money itself is a good gift from our good God. Money—viewed rightly and managed wisely—is always a blessing for the Christian, not a curse. In fact, a good chunk of the Bible is devoted precisely to matters of money and finance.
The parable Jesus told in today’s Holy Gospel is a prime example. Nowhere in this parable does Jesus indicate that we should avoid money or that money is evil—quite the opposite, in fact. This parable tells us how we should use money and we should invest money—prudently, wisely, and shrewdly—for the good of our gracious Lord and Master. This parable teaches us that heaven and hell can have a lot more to do with our checkbooks than with our hymn books.
The parable focuses on a manager whose behavior is not all appropriate. This manager’s job was to oversee his master’s money and investments. But as the parable begins, this manager is in deep trouble. Instead of managing his master’s funds wisely, he’s accused of wasting them. He had squandered his master’s money. And when you squander something that isn’t yours to squander, that’s known as stealing. And for that reason this manager got himself fired.
Let me pause here to say he’s lucky he only got fired. You see, this manager had a merciful master. His master fired him, it’s true. But his master could have pressed charges. His master could have prosecuted his manager to the full extent of the law, which would have resulted in a lifetime prison sentence. At the very least, his master could have demanded that the wasteful manager pay back all that he had squandered. But instead, all the master did was fire his dishonest manager. Think of the woman here in Milwaukee who’s been accused of embezzling millions of dollars from the Koss Corporation. I’m sure she would love to trade places with the fellow in today’s parable who only got fired for his misconduct. This manager had a merciful master.
Now, back to the parable, where things start to get interesting. At the very moment when the dishonest manager should have been cleaning out his desk and heading down to Human Resources for an exit interview, he wises up and starts thinking shrewdly. He spins the rolodex and starts calling up everyone who owes his master. He applies a discount to each bill, and he successfully brings in nearly every outstanding debt his master is owed. Chaa-ching. Chaa-ching. Not only that, he makes both himself and his master look good and generous with that discount he applies to each account. At the end of the day, the man’s merciful master commended his manager for this wheeling and dealing because he had acted shrewdly.
Now, the point of all this is NOT that we should go and be just like this manager in every respect. No, he’s clearly got some flaws and failings, and some of his business practices are questionable at best. But, we ARE managers—all of us. God has entrusted each of us to manage a portion of all His wealth. Our money, our possessions, and all we have—all of these things have been entrusted to our management, but only for the short season that we spend in this life.
Clearly one of the reasons Jesus gives us this parable is that we should pause to evaluate our own management of the wealth He has placed into our hands. And let me just say that while there’s more to stewardship than money—while it’s true that God also wants us to manage our time and our talents wisely—yet, God’s Word in this parable focuses clearly on our management of money. The olive oil and the bushels of wheat in the parable were really functioning as a kind of currency—just like dollars and cents.
So how are you doing at managing the money God has entrusted to you? Would you say that you own your money, or does your money own you? Is your money working for you, or are you just working for money? It’s not unusual for the average American to be carrying tens of thousands of dollars in credit card debt alone. It’s not unusual for the average American to be a slave to money—a slave to paying off piles of debt and interest.
When money becomes our master, that’s not just a problem—that’s a faith problem. Because Jesus says we can’t serve two masters. We can’t serve both God and money. And by the way, it’s not just a matter of “putting God first” as we so often say. God doesn’t simply want to be first among our many gods; He demands to be our only God—at the center of every part of our lives, including the financial part.
Perhaps the best way to evaluate our faithfulness as God’s managers is to consider the portion of our money that we give back to God—out of love and thankfulness. Let’s be clear right away that when you place a gift in the offering plate, that is first and foremost your gift to the Lord. Period. What it eventually may get used for is ultimately beside the point. And let’s also be clear that God doesn’t view our gifts solely according to the amount we give. It’s the percentage of our income that matters. Two people may each drop a five dollar bill into the offering plate, but that doesn’t tell the whole story. If one of those people is Bill Gates and the other is a six-year-old girl who just received twenty dollars for her birthday, then those “identical” offerings are really not “identical” at all. God asks that, as His managers, we return a percentage of everything back to Him. He also asks that we take that percentage from off the top—or, in the language of the Bible—that we give Him our first fruits.
I have a couple of questions for you as my fellow managers of the Lord. First, do you know what your annual income is? If you filed a tax return in April, then figuring out your total income is relatively easy. Second, do you know what percentage of that annual income you are giving back to the Lord through your offerings? Some of you, I’m sure, do know what percentage of your earnings you give back to the Lord—be it 5%, 10% or 12%. But for every person who knows that percentage, I suspect that there are many others who don’t have the foggiest idea—who simply write out their offering checks based on some criteria pulled out of thin air—or based on whether it’s been a good week or not—or based on whatever seems like a reasonable amount based on the latest economic news—or because that’s just the amount we’ve been giving every Sunday for the past 30 years.
Beloved in the Lord, if that’s how you’re making decisions about the management and stewardship of the money God places into your hands, then learn from the shrewd manager of the parable to crunch the numbers. Do the math! Remember, money itself is a good thing. Christians need to be wise, prudent, thoughtful, and yes, even shrewd and calculating when it comes to money management and the percentage we return to the Lord. Too many of us just don’t take the time or give the attention that we should to these important decisions.
If our gracious and merciful Master were to audit the financial records here at Our Savior, would we be commended for our shrewdness or would we be fired? On the one hand, perhaps we would be commended that nearly 25% of all the offerings received here don’t stay here. Those funds go for missionaries, for seminarians, for the Christian education of children—including children with learning and cognitive disabilities, for pregnant women at “A Place of Refuge” who choose life over the death of abortion for their babies. On the other hand, we’ve taken on a significant debt over the past several years. We agreed to a plan for paying off that debt about a year and half ago. But so far we haven’t really made a dent in that debt. And that debt needs to be dented. Debt that goes unaddressed quickly takes over and powerfully dictates every other decision. It becomes an idol of the worst kind.
Perhaps the bottom line of today’s parable is this: If even the shady, shifty, dishonest manager in the parable, who was operating on purely selfish motives, if even he could double down and ultimately earn the praise of his master—then how much more should we be the very best money managers ever. How much more should we who have been purchased not with gold or silver, but with the holy, precious blood of Christ absolutely excel at managing the wealth we have been given. How much more should we who are blood-bought, died-for and redeemed be ever motivated and moved to manage the money God has entrusted to us with care and precision. How much more should we who have nothing to lose as children of the heavenly Father be empowered to make bold decisions about our giving—knowing that in Jesus Christ there is no condemnation—that we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us and gave Himself for us.
When it comes to the money you give back to the Lord, the only rule is, there is no rule. That giving is guided purely by freedom. Your offerings are always free-will offerings, given freely by hearts set free. No laws, no rules, no obligations or regulations. We give back to God for reasons of freedom. That freedom flows from sins forgiven in Jesus. That freedom flows from having died and been buried with Jesus in Holy Baptism. That freedom flows from Jesus’ body and blood that passes from your lips to your heart to your hands—hands that are prepared to serve and sacrifice and give back in the name of Jesus—who is our most merciful Master.
You cannot serve both God and money. But today your God is present here in the Divine Service to serve you—to honor you and commend you and remind you that you are His manager. You work for Him. And one day He will welcome you into eternal dwellings. Amen.
Monday, September 6, 2010
On the Basis of Love
In Nomine Iesu
Philemon 1-21
September 5, 2010
Pentecost 15/Proper 18C
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
The time we spend here in the Divine Service is very different from how we spend the rest of our time during the week. This time is unique and different in so many ways. Certain things happen here that rarely happen elsewhere. There’s the music of the pipe organ. There’s the pastor’s sermon. There’s the movement that happens here—standing and sitting and kneeling, bowing and the sign of the cross. These are just some of the things that set apart the divine service from the rest of life.
The devil loves to exploit the distinctiveness of the Divine Service for his own purposes. In fact, he loves nothing more than to isolate the Divine Service from the rest of life. You come to church on Sunday, get your fix of religion for the week, then go back out and live your life on your terms. Ideas like sin and grace, forgiveness and reconciliation, just become part of the Sunday morning experience—with no relevance or application for Monday through Saturday. Church and faith get safely compartmentalized so as to have no effect in real life. That’s the devil’s plan for the Divine Service.
To guard against that danger, God has given us the book of Philemon—most of which you heard read just a few minutes ago. Paul’s letter to Philemon contains both a slice of real life, with all the ugliness of sin and its effects, together with a slice of the Christian life, with all the beauty of forgiveness, reconciliation and peace-making. Philemon gives us a picture of the gospel of Jesus Christ in action, in real life, between real sinners. It takes the truths of the Divine Service and puts them into practice.
Reading the book of Philemon is like arriving late for a movie. You’re not exactly sure what’s already taken place, but eventually you’re able to make sense of the plot. There are three main players in Philemon, with St. Paul being the most well known. St. Paul was in prison somewhere when he gets a visitor named Onesimus. Onesimus had been a slave in the household of Philemon. Philemon was a wealthy Christian layman in the city of Collosae. In fact, one of the churches at Collosae met for the Divine Service in Philemon’s living room.
Philemon’s slave, Onesimus, had run away. Not only that, he didn’t run away empty-handed. No, Onesimus likely grabbed Philemon’s cash and credit cards, laptop and cell phone when he made his dash for freedom. And please disabuse yourself of whatever negative feelings you may have about slavery. Slavery in the Roman Empire of the First Century was nothing like slavery in the American south. There was nothing racial about it. In fact, it’s probably better to think of Onesimus as being a kind of household manager for Philemon. Philemon trusted Onesimus, gave him great responsibility, compensated him well—then one day Onesimus up and left, helping himself to his master’s money and possessions before hopping the bus to Ephesus.
While he was a fugitive, Onesimus came into contact with St. Paul. And while he was with Paul a miracle happened. Onesimus was brought to faith in Jesus Christ. That’s why Paul referred to Onesimus as his “son.” And now Paul is writing to Philemon, urging him to take back his runaway slave, to forgive him, and to receive him as a brother in Christ. “Welcome him as you would welcome me,” Paul wrote to Philemon.
In this brief letter Paul teaches us a thing or two about peace-making in the church. After all, that was Paul’s aim—to make peace between Philemon and the newly converted Onesimus. And the first thing to note here is how high the stakes were. There was the potential for disaster. It could have gone all wrong. What if Paul’s request didn’t go over well with Philemon? What if Paul’s request offended Philemon? What if Philemon’s desire for justice outweighed the need for mercy? If Paul were to make an enemy out of wealthy Philemon, the resulting damages to the church could add up quickly.
Did these possibilities even occur to Paul the peace-maker as he sat down to write this note to Philemon? Surely they did. And yet, when you hear what Paul wrote there’s no evidence of a quivering fearfulness—no pessimism, no panic, no nervous negativity. Paul seems perfectly confident that all will turn out well.
Have you ever attempted to play the peace-maker? Jesus calls the peace-makers “blessed” for a reason. It’s tough work to bring together the sinner and the one sinned-against—to reconcile the one who hurts and the one who inflicted the pain. Human emotions can be unpredictable in those situations. You yourself might get injured in the peace-making process. How is it possible that Paul could be so confident—so certain that Philemon would willingly take back Onesimus and forgive him?
Beloved in the Lord, learn from Paul how to navigate these treacherous waters. If your purpose is to make peace, then learn from Paul that it really isn’t your tact or your interpersonal communication skills that will save the day. Learn from Paul that it isn’t your boldness or your powers of persuasion. It is love—on the basis of love—that peace is made. Listen to how Paul puts it: “Although I could be bold and order you to do what you ought to do, yet I appeal to you on the basis of love.”
Paul’s whole appeal for peace was made on the basis of love. The Greek word is agape. And agape love is first and foremost the love of God in Jesus Christ. It’s not a feeling or an emotion that comes and goes. No, God demonstrates His own love for us in this: while we were still sinners Christ died for us (Rom. 5:8). It is the sacrificial love of Jesus for sinners that kept Paul so confident that things would turn out well. It is that powerful love of Jesus that changes hearts and causes anger and animosity to melt away. Paul’s confidence was not in himself, but in the power of Christ’s love, poured out at the cross. It’s this love of which Paul wrote in Corinthians: “It is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. [It] does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails” (1 Cor. 13). That love will not fail you. That love can be your confidence as you step into sticky, sin-filled situations to make peace between brothers and sisters in Christ.
If Paul teaches us about peace-making, then Philemon teaches us about forgiveness. For just a moment imagine Philemon’s anger and disappointment with Onesimus. He trusted Onesimus with everything—treated him well—and Onesimus stabbed him in the back—betrayed him, stole from him, really stuck it to the man.
Perhaps you don’t have to imagine Philemon’s feelings. Perhaps you know that same anger and disappointment. Perhaps someone you trusted has hurt you and stuck it to you. That pain is real pain—not easily forgotten or swept aside. We don’t know for a fact whether Philemon forgave or not; but we know it’s what Paul expected to happen. But how? How could Philemon forgive the one who had caused so much pain, offense and anger—the sinner, the scoundrel, the thief—Onesimus?
It would be easier said than done; and it could only be done on the basis of love—on the basis of Jesus’ love for all sinners. For Philemon to forgive, Philemon would have to give up his rights. Runaway slaves could be put to death under Roman Law. Philemon had the right to prosecute and persecute and strike back at the one who had struck him first. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. And neither can you who are in Christ. In order to forgive, Philemon would have to give up every right and every claim for justice. In fact, Philemon—wealthy, important, free Philemon—he would have to make of himself a slave, letting go of everything for Jesus’ sake. Isn’t it ironic? The slave, Onesimus, comes home a free man in the love of Christ; while the free man, his master, Philemon, makes himself a slave in the love of Christ. Philemon gives up everything, takes up his cross, and follows Jesus in the wonderful way of forgiveness.
That’s a way in which you also can go. You can deal with those who sin against you like Philemon—on the basis of love. For that’s the very approach that God Himself has taken with you. On the basis of love the Son of God was born of the virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died and was buried. On the basis of love the holy God has named you and claimed you in the gentle splash of your baptism. On the basis of love He forgives all your sins in the cleansing cadence of Holy Absolution. On the basis of love He feeds you with the bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood.
It is that calling, cleansing, feeding, forgiving love of God in Christ that makes you what you are. It defines you. It also defined Onesimus. The name “Onesimus” means “Useful.” It was a great name for a slave. But as a fugitive, on the run, living life in the shadow of his sin, Onesimus was actually useless. But in this formerly useless man God worked repentance and faith and reconciliation. God makes the useless useful; and He has done no less with you. You are valuable, precious, and so very, very useful. He has plans for you.
I said earlier that reading Philemon is like arriving late for a movie; but it’s also like leaving the movie early. We don’t actually know how things turned out between Paul and Philemon and Onesimus. The conclusion wasn’t scripted out for us. There’s no tear-filled, heartwarming embrace before the music swells and the credits roll. But that’s how it is in real-life too. You leave here this morning to go back into a world where you will sin and you will be sinned against. And how your attempts at peace-making and reconciliation will work out no one can say for sure. All we know is that as we head back out into the messiness of life, we carry the life of Jesus in our bodies. On the basis of love—His love—we can carry on with confidence and joy, knowing that our labor is not in vain—that in Christ, we are useful. We are loved. We will live forever. Amen.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Some Things Never Change
In Nomine Iesu
Hebrews 13:1-8
August 29, 2010
Pentecost 14—Proper 17C
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
Some things never change. Oh sure, most things do change. Our technology changes. Who knew about i-pods, i-pads, and i-phones just ten years ago? It’s also true that our bodies are always changing. Toddlers turn into teenagers. Hair goes gray. And sometimes hair just goes! I’ll even concede that our perspectives change—the way we see the world—the way we think—our attitudes change.
But some things never change; and that’s why we’re gathered here this morning. Our God does not change. The author of the sermon to the Hebrews states clearly, “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” God’s Law, summarized in the Ten Commandments, does not change. And neither does our ongoing rebellion against that Law—our attempts to circumvent those commandments—our attempts to be god in place of God. Thankfully, the promises of our God don’t change either—promises to forgive our sin for Jesus’ sake. He is the Lamb who was slain as our substitute whose blood sets us free to be people of God. That doesn’t change.
Earlier this year we studied the book of Hebrews during our Sunday morning Bible study. We learned that the book of Hebrews is, in many ways, a sermon—written for Jewish converts to Christianity during the first century. For these former Jews, the very foundations of the faith had radically changed. Everything was new and different. The primary purpose of the “sermon” to the Hebrews is to proclaim Jesus Christ—how He is true God and true man, how He is superior to the angels and superior to Moses, how His mercy and forgiveness are received not by sacrifices at the temple, but by faith.
But despite all the changes that these Jewish Christians were facing, the sermon to the Hebrews concludes (as we heard today) with a reminder that some things do not change—such as the need for God’s people to keep on loving each other, the need to be hospitable and to look after those who had been imprisoned because of their faith in Jesus, the need to beware of the love of money. These were comfortable old truths—unchanging commands from the unchanging God.
Of all these truths that do not change, perhaps the one we most need to hear today is stated in v.4: “Marriage should be honored by all, and the marriage bed kept pure, for God will judge the adulterer and all the sexually immoral.” In that one sentence the preacher to the Hebrews has given us an earful. Some things never change. What God declares about sex and marriage will never change. God declares that sex and marriage go together—and what God has joined together, let not man separate.
A lot of people today would find that to be a rather quaint, old-fashioned notion, but it’s really just some straight talk from God about sex and marriage. We live in a world that’s not all that different from the early New Testament world. Back when the book of Hebrews was written prostitution, adultery, homosexuality and even pedophilia were all socially acceptable practices. Today the only thing that’s changed is that we have an entertainment industry to glamorize it and publicize it and digitalize it. Christians then and Christians now are part of a small minority who hold fast to what the Creator of sex and marriage has to say about these gifts. And what He says is that any sexual relationship outside the marriage union is sinful. It is harmful. It is wrong.
But it’s not just a question of what not to do; for God also reminds us that marriage should be honored by all. Literally, marriage should be treasured and respected. Marriage isn’t a human idea. It’s not a human institution. It’s divine—a good gift from God. Therefore, we should honor marriage. We should value marriage. We should esteem it as a very precious thing. It’s not ours to tinker with, to revise, revamp or redefine. Marriage, God says, should be honored by all.
Yet, we find so many ways to dishonor marriage. Adultery and sexual immorality dishonor marriage, but that’s just the tip of the iceberg. When husbands do not love their wives as Christ loved the church—when husbands refuse to sacrifice and suffer for the good of their wives—marriage is dishonored. When wives do not submit to their husbands as they submit to Christ—when wives attempt to rule the roost with a steady barrage of bitterness, criticism and fault-finding, marriage is dishonored. Pornography dishonors marriage. So does abuse and grudge-holding and a refusal to forgive. Some things never change, including, sadly, our ability to dishonor God’s wonderful gift of marriage. And for this we all need to repent and be reconciled.
Why devote so much time to a topic like this? After all, it’s an uncomfortable subject for some and perhaps a little embarrassing for others. But if our God loves us enough to give us this unchanging truth about sex and marriage, then this straight talk needs to be proclaimed and heard—here and now more than ever. Because the messages we hear outside these walls about sex and marriage couldn’t be more wrong. Our children (whatever their age), our teens, our twenty-somethings—every person here today—is constantly assaulted with the destructive and harmful lie that sex and marriage do not go together—that marriage is whatever you want it to be—that your body is yours to do with whatever you see fit.
You can buy into those lies about sex and marriage. You can accept as normal the emptiness, the loneliness, the fear that always follows behind those who choose to live by their own rules.
OR, you can live each day in the glad confidence that you are not your own—that your body from the top of your head to the tips of your toes—is a temple of the Holy Spirit. You can live each day in the joy of your baptism. It’s because of that baptism that your body is sacred space—holy ground where the Holy Spirit has taken up residence. And this is the best of news! For it’s by that Holy Spirit that you can honor marriage and keep your own marriage holy and pure. It’s by that Holy Spirit—living in your body—that you can lead a sexually pure and decent life in what you say and do, and husband and wife can love and honor each other.
It’s by the Holy Spirit that the forgiveness of Jesus Christ is personally applied to you, for your sins—including sins of adultery and sexual immorality and homosexuality. You see, in the grace of Jesus Christ adulterers are not always adulterers. The sexually immoral are not always sexually immoral. There’s an amazing passage in Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians. There in chapter six he writes, first of all, about God’s strict judgment on all adulterers and all the sexually immoral. But because Jesus Christ died to forgive those very sins, Paul doesn’t stop there. He can’t. And so he writes, “That is what some of you were.” Notice the verb tense. Some in the Corinthian church had committed acts of adultery and immorality in the past. But they were adulterers no more. They were guilty no more. Because, Paul writes, “You were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God” (1 Cor. 6:11).
To those troubled about sexual sins, Paul points them to their baptism, where they were washed—where they became holy children of God. To those who have pretended that sex and marriage do not go together, Paul points them to Jesus. Why? Because with Jesus there is forgiveness. “You are not your own,” the Bible says, “you were bought at a price.” Jesus is the One who paid that price, not with gold or silver, but with His holy precious blood and His innocent suffering and death, so that you might be His own—so that you now belong to Jesus.
Beloved in the Lord, this is precisely why we Christians practice sexual abstinence before marriage. This is precisely why we Christians practice sexual faithfulness within marriage: We’ve already been spoken for! Our bodies are members of Christ’s body. Our bodies belong to Him. How then could we use these bodies for cheap thrills or selfish gratification?
Some things never change. What God declares about sex and marriage will never change. Sex and marriage go together. God has put those things together for your good, because He loves you, and because He wants nothing but the best for you. How can we use these good gifts as God intends? How can we lead sexually pure and decent lives? Our own willpower isn’t enough. Good intentions, pledges and promises can’t be guaranteed to corral the passions of the body or the lusts of the heart. No, purity and self-control are gifts of God—fruits of His Holy Spirit. That Spirit does His work in you by the power of your baptism, in your hearing of God’s Word preached and proclaimed, and in the Holy Supper of Jesus’ body and blood. There you will find power to drown the Old Adam. There you will find strength to honor marriage. There God gives purity, self-control, forgiveness of sins, and life everlasting. You can count on it. Because some things—those things—never change. Amen.
Hebrews 13:1-8
August 29, 2010
Pentecost 14—Proper 17C
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
Some things never change. Oh sure, most things do change. Our technology changes. Who knew about i-pods, i-pads, and i-phones just ten years ago? It’s also true that our bodies are always changing. Toddlers turn into teenagers. Hair goes gray. And sometimes hair just goes! I’ll even concede that our perspectives change—the way we see the world—the way we think—our attitudes change.
But some things never change; and that’s why we’re gathered here this morning. Our God does not change. The author of the sermon to the Hebrews states clearly, “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” God’s Law, summarized in the Ten Commandments, does not change. And neither does our ongoing rebellion against that Law—our attempts to circumvent those commandments—our attempts to be god in place of God. Thankfully, the promises of our God don’t change either—promises to forgive our sin for Jesus’ sake. He is the Lamb who was slain as our substitute whose blood sets us free to be people of God. That doesn’t change.
Earlier this year we studied the book of Hebrews during our Sunday morning Bible study. We learned that the book of Hebrews is, in many ways, a sermon—written for Jewish converts to Christianity during the first century. For these former Jews, the very foundations of the faith had radically changed. Everything was new and different. The primary purpose of the “sermon” to the Hebrews is to proclaim Jesus Christ—how He is true God and true man, how He is superior to the angels and superior to Moses, how His mercy and forgiveness are received not by sacrifices at the temple, but by faith.
But despite all the changes that these Jewish Christians were facing, the sermon to the Hebrews concludes (as we heard today) with a reminder that some things do not change—such as the need for God’s people to keep on loving each other, the need to be hospitable and to look after those who had been imprisoned because of their faith in Jesus, the need to beware of the love of money. These were comfortable old truths—unchanging commands from the unchanging God.
Of all these truths that do not change, perhaps the one we most need to hear today is stated in v.4: “Marriage should be honored by all, and the marriage bed kept pure, for God will judge the adulterer and all the sexually immoral.” In that one sentence the preacher to the Hebrews has given us an earful. Some things never change. What God declares about sex and marriage will never change. God declares that sex and marriage go together—and what God has joined together, let not man separate.
A lot of people today would find that to be a rather quaint, old-fashioned notion, but it’s really just some straight talk from God about sex and marriage. We live in a world that’s not all that different from the early New Testament world. Back when the book of Hebrews was written prostitution, adultery, homosexuality and even pedophilia were all socially acceptable practices. Today the only thing that’s changed is that we have an entertainment industry to glamorize it and publicize it and digitalize it. Christians then and Christians now are part of a small minority who hold fast to what the Creator of sex and marriage has to say about these gifts. And what He says is that any sexual relationship outside the marriage union is sinful. It is harmful. It is wrong.
But it’s not just a question of what not to do; for God also reminds us that marriage should be honored by all. Literally, marriage should be treasured and respected. Marriage isn’t a human idea. It’s not a human institution. It’s divine—a good gift from God. Therefore, we should honor marriage. We should value marriage. We should esteem it as a very precious thing. It’s not ours to tinker with, to revise, revamp or redefine. Marriage, God says, should be honored by all.
Yet, we find so many ways to dishonor marriage. Adultery and sexual immorality dishonor marriage, but that’s just the tip of the iceberg. When husbands do not love their wives as Christ loved the church—when husbands refuse to sacrifice and suffer for the good of their wives—marriage is dishonored. When wives do not submit to their husbands as they submit to Christ—when wives attempt to rule the roost with a steady barrage of bitterness, criticism and fault-finding, marriage is dishonored. Pornography dishonors marriage. So does abuse and grudge-holding and a refusal to forgive. Some things never change, including, sadly, our ability to dishonor God’s wonderful gift of marriage. And for this we all need to repent and be reconciled.
Why devote so much time to a topic like this? After all, it’s an uncomfortable subject for some and perhaps a little embarrassing for others. But if our God loves us enough to give us this unchanging truth about sex and marriage, then this straight talk needs to be proclaimed and heard—here and now more than ever. Because the messages we hear outside these walls about sex and marriage couldn’t be more wrong. Our children (whatever their age), our teens, our twenty-somethings—every person here today—is constantly assaulted with the destructive and harmful lie that sex and marriage do not go together—that marriage is whatever you want it to be—that your body is yours to do with whatever you see fit.
You can buy into those lies about sex and marriage. You can accept as normal the emptiness, the loneliness, the fear that always follows behind those who choose to live by their own rules.
OR, you can live each day in the glad confidence that you are not your own—that your body from the top of your head to the tips of your toes—is a temple of the Holy Spirit. You can live each day in the joy of your baptism. It’s because of that baptism that your body is sacred space—holy ground where the Holy Spirit has taken up residence. And this is the best of news! For it’s by that Holy Spirit that you can honor marriage and keep your own marriage holy and pure. It’s by that Holy Spirit—living in your body—that you can lead a sexually pure and decent life in what you say and do, and husband and wife can love and honor each other.
It’s by the Holy Spirit that the forgiveness of Jesus Christ is personally applied to you, for your sins—including sins of adultery and sexual immorality and homosexuality. You see, in the grace of Jesus Christ adulterers are not always adulterers. The sexually immoral are not always sexually immoral. There’s an amazing passage in Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians. There in chapter six he writes, first of all, about God’s strict judgment on all adulterers and all the sexually immoral. But because Jesus Christ died to forgive those very sins, Paul doesn’t stop there. He can’t. And so he writes, “That is what some of you were.” Notice the verb tense. Some in the Corinthian church had committed acts of adultery and immorality in the past. But they were adulterers no more. They were guilty no more. Because, Paul writes, “You were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God” (1 Cor. 6:11).
To those troubled about sexual sins, Paul points them to their baptism, where they were washed—where they became holy children of God. To those who have pretended that sex and marriage do not go together, Paul points them to Jesus. Why? Because with Jesus there is forgiveness. “You are not your own,” the Bible says, “you were bought at a price.” Jesus is the One who paid that price, not with gold or silver, but with His holy precious blood and His innocent suffering and death, so that you might be His own—so that you now belong to Jesus.
Beloved in the Lord, this is precisely why we Christians practice sexual abstinence before marriage. This is precisely why we Christians practice sexual faithfulness within marriage: We’ve already been spoken for! Our bodies are members of Christ’s body. Our bodies belong to Him. How then could we use these bodies for cheap thrills or selfish gratification?
Some things never change. What God declares about sex and marriage will never change. Sex and marriage go together. God has put those things together for your good, because He loves you, and because He wants nothing but the best for you. How can we use these good gifts as God intends? How can we lead sexually pure and decent lives? Our own willpower isn’t enough. Good intentions, pledges and promises can’t be guaranteed to corral the passions of the body or the lusts of the heart. No, purity and self-control are gifts of God—fruits of His Holy Spirit. That Spirit does His work in you by the power of your baptism, in your hearing of God’s Word preached and proclaimed, and in the Holy Supper of Jesus’ body and blood. There you will find power to drown the Old Adam. There you will find strength to honor marriage. There God gives purity, self-control, forgiveness of sins, and life everlasting. You can count on it. Because some things—those things—never change. Amen.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
M is for Mary--and Much, Much More
In Nomine Iesu
St. Luke 1:46-55
August 15, 2010
St. Mary, Mother of Our Lord
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
Gathered here on a warm day in August, it seems a little strange to be talking about Mary, the mother of Jesus. We’re much more accustomed to hearing about Mary on cold, gray mornings in December—as we light candles on the Advent wreath and snow flurries fall from the sky. What were those Christians thinking centuries ago when they chose August 15th as a special day to thank God for Mary? Maybe their calendars were off. Maybe they wanted a taste of Christmas in August. Or maybe they knew that we can’t talk about Mary without talking about faith. After all, that’s mostly why we remember Mary—for the fact that she believed the outrageous promises of God. And faith-talk—words that build and strengthen our faith—well, that’s the kind of thing we need to hear during every month of the year, August included.
Here's a bit of trivia for you: If you were to travel to the Holy Land—and if you were to seek out the largest Christian Church, you wouldn’t find it in Jerusalem. Nor would you find it in Bethlehem. No, the largest Christian church in the Holy Land is located in Nazareth. It’s called the Basilica of the Annunciation. Some of you have probably been there. It was built in the 1960s, constructed right on top of the traditional site of the annunciation—where the angel Gabriel announced to Mary that she would be the mother of God’s Son.
The design of this church incorporates the letter “M” in a variety of ways. When tourists ask about the letter “M” in the design, the tour guides like to say that the “M” is for Mary—and much, much more. Today I’d like you to consider that thought along with me: M is for Mary—and much, much more.
The M of Mary also stands for “mystery.” There’s much mystery about Mary. The gospel-writers tell us almost nothing about her. We know nothing of her life story up until that day when God sent the angel Gabriel to Nazareth, “to a virgin pledged to be married to a man named Joseph.” And that’s it! We don’t know what she looked like, whether she was rich or poor, or whether she was in her teens or twenties. We just don’t know. The Bible doesn’t tell us. As far as Mary’s life is concerned, there’s a lot of mystery.
Some Christians aren’t comfortable with that amount of mystery, and so they try to fill in some details about Mary’s life. In fact, if you were to head down the street to St. Monica’s or to Holy Family today, you would discover that Roman Catholics today are celebrating the Assumption of Mary into heaven—the belief that at the end of her earthly life Mary was assumed, body and soul, into heaven. The only problem with that is that the Bible tells us nothing of the sort. The end of Mary’s earthly life is just as much a mystery as its beginning.
I believe there’s a reason for all the mystery about Mary—that the Holy Spirit knew what He was doing by withholding all the details about Mary. Here’s why: If the Bible told us that Mary was very smart, we might be tempted to conclude that God chose her for her intelligence. If the Bible told us she was poor, some might conclude that God chose her because of her poverty. Or if the Bible said that Mary was beautiful, some might think that God chose her because of her appearance. In other words, we’d always be tempted to think that Mary somehow earned or deserved to be God’s special pick. But I’m here to tell you that the M in Mary does not stand for “merit.”
No, Mary’s life is a mystery because it forces us to see that God makes His choices, not based on merit, but on grace. Mary neither earned nor deserved to be the mother of God’s Son, but that special role was given to her, all by God’s grace. And the very same thing holds true for you and for every child of God. God has chosen you to be His own—not because of who you are, but because of who He is—because He is a God of grace and mercy, who always chooses the least and the lowly and the unlikely. He chose you and gave you the gift of faith in His Son—not because there’s any merit or worthiness in you—but because of His fatherly divine goodness and mercy. All generations call Mary “blessed,” not because of what she did—but because of what God did for her and through her. And in the same way, you too are blessed. M is for Mary. M is for mystery . . . and more.
M is also for “memory.” How good is your memory? Is it like a steel trap or more like a sieve? The ironic thing about the human memory is that we always seem to forget the things we want to remember, and we always seem to remember the things we’d like to forget. Anniversaries, passwords, and locker combinations need to be remembered, but we often forget them. But the embarrassing, sinful and hurtful things we’d like to forget about—the memory of these things lingers long for many of us.
The M of Mary is also for “memory.” Part of Mary’s song we heard today has to do with memory—with God’s memory to be precise. Mary sang in her Magnificat about the Lord: “He has helped His servant Israel, remembering to be merciful to Abraham and his descendants forever, even as He said to our fathers.” What that means is that God remembers His promises. When God promised Adam and Eve that the woman’s offspring would crush the head of Satan, God didn’t forget. When God promised an old man named Abraham that he would have a son—that his descendants would be as numerous as the stars in the sky—God didn’t forget. When God promised David that one of his descendants would rule and reign over an eternal kingdom, God didn’t forget. And when God promised you in the waters of Holy Baptism that He would never leave you or forsake you, He hasn’t forgotten that promise and He never will. And the proof of God’s great memory is found in Mary’s Son, Jesus the Christ.
In Jesus, God remembered all His promises—not only the promises to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob—but also to you. For in Jesus God was reconciling the world to Himself, not counting your sins against you. In Jesus, God has adopted you as His own dear child. In Jesus, God has destroyed death and brought life and immortality to light through the Gospel. In Jesus, your sin and shame was nailed to the cross. Your ugliest deeds and your most regrettable words—your trail of lies and broken promises—all the awful things you wish you could forget—in the blood of Jesus they are washed away, atoned for, forgiven. Because of Jesus, your God says to you, “I will forgive your wickedness . . . and I will remember your sins no more” (Jer. 31:34). M is for memory—for God’s memory. He remembers His promises and His mercy. But your sins He remembers no more.
M is for Mary, for mystery, for memory, and more! M is also for “magnify.” Mary sang, “My soul magnifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.” When you magnify something, your perception of it gets bigger. When you use a magnifying glass for reading, the letters on the page don’t actually change size; but what changes is your perception of the letters—they’re larger, bolder, magnified.
We so often magnify the wrong things in life—the sins of somebody else, the flaws and failures of others. It’s easy, too, for me to magnify my own suffering, my own troubles and disappointments. We’re naturals when it comes to magnifying all the unfairness of life and all the crosses that we bear.
But rather than make those things loom larger, Mary invites you and me and all who follow her Son in faith to magnify the Lord—to let His promises fill our ears and hearts—to let His grace and mercy be at the center of our lives. Mary’s song—the Magnificat we heard today—takes up eleven verses in Luke chapter one. And in those eleven verses, Mary refers to the Lord’s deeds and actions no less than eleven times. Mary doesn’t sing about herself. She didn’t magnify all the fear and uncertainty that must have swirled around her after hearing the angel’s message. Instead, she magnifies the promises God has kept, the mighty deeds He has done, the mercy He has always shown.
Beloved in the Lord, let’s magnify with Mary. After all, those promises and those mighty deeds and that mercy are for you, as well. In Mary’s Son, God has made you His own child. And now neither life nor death can separate you from His love. M is for Mary—and so much more. On this day we thank God for the mother of our Lord Jesus. Through Him, the mighty one has done great things for you, so that you too can magnify the Lord and rejoice in God your Savior. Amen.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
A Time for Everything
In Nomine Iesu
Ecclesiastes 3:1-11
August 9, 2010
Chuck Dittmar Funeral
Dear family and friends of Chuck Dittmar,
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus,
Our Savior is a wonderful congregation, made up of wonderful people whom I am blessed and honored to serve. A fair share of our members, however, find it difficult to get here on time on Sunday morning. We are sometimes a good twenty minutes into the service before the last stragglers manage to trickle in. But not Chuck. Not only did Chuck arrive early for Sunday morning choir rehearsals, but he was usually the very first of the choir members to arrive. And he always made a point of stopping by my office to greet me. Chuck was often the first of the “rank and file” that I would see on Sunday morning. For all the years that I’ve known Chuck, he was on-time if not early. I don’t know why that was the case. However, I suspect that being outnumbered six to one by females in the family probably gave Chuck a deep appreciation for getting places on time.
I mention this because as Chuck planned out the details of this funeral service, he requested that the sermon be based on the reading from Ecclesiastes chapter three, a reading that highlights the concept of time: “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven.” Tradition holds that King Solomon wrote the book of Ecclesiastes, and that he wrote it near the end of his life—perhaps when he (like Chuck) was around 80 years old.
The theme of Ecclesiastes summarized in chapter three is a call for contentment in the face of life’s difficulties and hardships. It’s a very honest appraisal of life in this world—how God’s timing is often so very different from our timing, how all of our hard work, toil and labor often amounts to very little, and how so much of how we spend our time is about as profitable as chasing after the wind. “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven.”
I’m sure many of you would agree that time often feels like an enemy in this life—that time seems to be working against us—that there isn’t enough time to do what needs to be done. As much as we might like to go back in time to fix our mistakes and to correct our destructive choices, yet time does not allow it. Whether we like it or not, time marches on and carries us right along with it.
Time certainly feels like the enemy when cancer is your diagnosis. Terminal illness is an un-ignorable reminder that our time in this world is limited. To you, Beth, Debbie, Janet, Sue, Mimi, and Amy—to you I know that in recent months and especially for the past two weeks it felt like time was the enemy as you saw someone you love grow weaker. But in reality that time—these last weeks and days—it was a precious gift. During that time, you graciously helped Chuck to bear the burdens of his illness. You prayed for him and with him. You advocated for him. You comforted him. You surrounded him with love and support—as God enabled you and gave you strength. The time of Chuck’s illness was a gift—your gift to Chuck, and God’s gift to you.
Of course, in God’s original design for this world, time was never the enemy. In God’s original plan for this world, life and work were always a pleasure and a joy. But when sin came into the world, God’s perfect world of life and joy was ruined. With sin came fear and shame and brokenness and death. That sin still runs through each human life. We try to ignore it. We try to excuse it. But there can be no denying the sin in our lives. It makes life miserable. It runs death deep. The good things that God demands from us, these things we do not do. And the evil we ought to be avoiding, these are the very things we keep on doing. The wages of our sin is death, and that’s the one payday none of us can avoid for long (Rom. 6:23).
When it came to Chuck’s sin, he did the only thing he could: He confessed it to God. O Almighty God, merciful Father, I, a poor, miserable sinner, confess unto You all my sins and iniquities with which I have ever offended You and justly deserved Your temporal and eternal punishment. With those words and other similar words, Chuck regularly confessed his sins to God. He asked that for the sake of Jesus’ bitter suffering and death that God would be gracious and merciful to him.
And for Jesus’ sake, Chuck was forgiven and absolved. You see, it’s because of Jesus that we can walk through all the times and seasons of this life—not perfect, but forgiven. (And that is everything!) Scripture tells us that at just the right time God sent His Son into this world to redeem all of us who struggle with the demands of the law (Gal. 4:4-5). In real time and space—when the time was just right—God’s Son lived and worked among us as true man and true God. He was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died and was buried.
At some point over the past two weeks, Chuck’s doctors became convinced that what caused his lungs to fail was not the lung cancer he was diagnosed with earlier this year. Rather, they concluded that Chuck’s lungs had been damaged by the radiation treatments he had received. Perhaps the very thing that was intended to cure Chuck ultimately resulted in his death. But with Jesus, it runs in reverse: Jesus’ death results in our cure. His death is now our life. Faith in Jesus brings real healing that lasts forever—healing that Chuck now fully enjoys. “Jesus was crucified for our sins,” the Scriptures say, “and raised again for our justification” (Rom. 4:25). “God was reconciling the world to Himself in Christ, not counting men’s sins against them” (2 Cor. 5:19).
The same Jesus who died and was buried on Good Friday was raised to life three days later. Jesus Christ has defeated the power of death. He is the resurrection and the life. And that good news is the beating heart of all our hope and joy. “Because I live,” Jesus said, “you shall live also” (Jn. 14:19). And late last Thursday night the Jesus who gave His life for Chuck—the Savior who claimed Chuck as His own dear child in the waters of Holy Baptism, the Jesus who is Lord of all history—He led Chuck right through that place we call “the valley of the shadow of death.” Jesus alone knows the way. He’s been there; done that. He is the way the truth and the life; no one comes to the Father except through Jesus Christ, the Son of the living God. He is holding on to Chuck with those nail-scarred hands.
There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven. Time is not the enemy when Jesus is your friend. Jesus is the Lord of the past. We can’t go back through time and “undo” and “fix” all that our sin has ruined. But Jesus has redeemed us from a past that is littered with sin. He is the God who “forgives our wickedness and remembers our sin no more” (Jer. 31:34). Time is not the enemy when Jesus is your friend. Here and now, at this difficult time, Jesus is here with His comfort and His love. He promises His strength for those who mourn. He will turn our weeping into laughter and our mourning into dancing. Our times—all our days and seasons—are in God’s hands.
Time is not the enemy when Jesus is your friend. Jesus makes our time in this world more precious. Day by day Jesus is at work in those who believe, transforming us with His love and forgiveness. That love and forgiveness were at work in Chuck. I know, because I was so often on the receiving end. When I was feeling worn and frazzled, Chuck would sometimes say, “You look like you need lunch.” And then he’d treat me to lunch and conversation at “The Green 7.” Every year at Christmas Chuck wanted to get something for my little boy who has special needs. And one year my wife told Chuck that Caleb really enjoyed pomegranates, and they had to be organic. And from that year on, if there were organic pomegranates to be had in the Milwaukee metro area, Chuck made sure that some of them ended up under our Christmas tree. And each of you, I know, could tell similar stories. But know this: That was the life of Christ at work in Chuck. Chuck received that life and love of Christ every Sunday right here in this place—in the preaching and proclamation of God’s Word, and in the bread that is Jesus’ body and the wine that is Jesus’ blood. Those gifts had their way with Chuck, so that Chuck could say together with St. Paul, “I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me” (Gal. 2:20).
Time is not the enemy when Jesus is your friend. Today Chuck is with Jesus—his friend. And in heaven, incidentally, time (as we know it) doesn’t really exist. In heaven the sun and moon on which we base our time and seasons are no more. There the glory of God provides the light, together with the Lamb on the throne, surrounded by angels, and archangels and all the company of heaven, and, oh yes, Charles Dittmar. He’s there too—now part of a much bigger and better choir than he’s ever known before. There is no more death or crying or pain. Because Christ is risen, and in Him you too will rise. That time is coming—you can count on it—and it will be here before you know it. Amen.
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