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.

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.

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.

The Tyranny of Anxiety

In Nomine Iesu
St. Luke 12:22-34
August 8, 2010
Pentecost 11—Proper 14C

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

What do you think of when you hear the word “tyranny?” When I hear the word “tyranny” I think of the people who lived in the old Soviet Union, or people who live in China today. Under the tyranny of communism people—millions of people—were routinely arrested on trumped up charges, tried without legal representation or a jury of peers, and sentenced to lifetimes of prison or hard labor, where a good share of these people eventually died of disease or starvation. That kind of tyranny is still alive and well in the world today.

But there’s another kind of tyranny, and you don’t have to travel overseas to experience it. I’m talking about the tyranny of anxiety—the way that our own worry enslaves us and robs us. Jesus wants to liberate you from the tyranny of your anxiety. Jesus said, “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life.” It’s that worry, after all, that keeps you awake at night, that distracts you during the day, and often causes your digestive tract no end of troubles. Anxiety robs you of the joy of life, the joy of being, the joy of living as a child of God and receiving everything as a gift from the hand of a loving Father. Jesus wants to set you free from the tyranny of anxiety.

In order to accomplish that, we need Jesus to re-order our disordered priorities. Jesus said, “Life is more than food, and the body more than clothes.” But you wouldn’t know that by looking around, would you? We are obsessed with food—junk food, health food, fast food, gourmet food. Food is everywhere—even at the gas station and the hardware store. And as for clothing, our closets are full. Back to school shopping is already underway, insuring that our children have the latest styles and accessories. Life around here almost seems defined by food and clothing. We’ve erected a temple to the gods of food and clothing right in this neighborhood. You might have seen it; it’s called “Bayshore Town Center.” Take away food and clothing from Bayshore Town Center and what’s left, Yankee Candle and the Apple store? Think about it! But to free us from the tyranny of anxiety, Jesus reminds us that food and clothing are not the main things.

Jesus says, “Do not worry about your life.” But to our ears Jesus might as well be saying, “Don’t breathe” or “Don’t blink your eyes.” We worry habitually—all the time. And we’ve got some pretty impressive reasons for our worries. The economy, the housing Market, the stock market—not to mention all the private burdens we bear pertaining to health and family and friends. And Jesus simply says, “Don’t worry. Don’t be anxious.”

Coming from any other source we could simply laugh off that advice. But these words come from Jesus. He’s the Lord who died and rose again on the third day. He knows a thing or two about anxiety. He’s the one who agonized in the garden of Gethsemane. He’s the one forsaken by the Father on a Roman tool of torture we so casually refer to as the cross. He is your sacred substitute who died your death and paid for your sin. So when He says, “Don’t worry,” we should be all ears.

As we listen with our ears, Jesus would also have us look with our eyes. Look at the birds of the air, He says. They don’t sow or reap; they have no storeroom or barn or pantry, yet God feeds them. God takes care of them. Now I know what you’re thinking, “Those birds don’t have a mortgage to pay or teenagers to raise or a car with the ‘check engine’ light on.” But the point is that those birds can’t control their world. They can only play the hand they’re dealt. They can only fly around and grab whatever God provides for them from moment to moment. And how much more valuable you are than birds. God provides for them, but for you He gave His one and only Son that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life.

I’m now almost at the half-way point of the sermon and I’d like to pause to give you a chance for rebuttal. Specifically, I’d like for some of you to share all of the ways that worry and anxiety have made your life better. I want to hear how worrying has increased your life-expectancy—how anxiety has made you healthier, wealthier, and wiser. I now yield the floor . . . Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. Because I think we all know that anxiety is never a good thing—that it shortens life and really makes life miserable. [And now, back to our regularly scheduled sermon.]

Consider the lilies. Look at the wildflowers in the fields. They don’t labor or spin or go shopping, yet not even King Solomon with all his bling was arrayed with a beauty found in flowers. There’s nothing more beautiful than flowers. Flowers reflect the very best of God’s lavish creativity. And do you know what happens to flowers after a few days? They become dried up, rotten, brown, compost-ready. The point of this object lesson is this: If God expends all that creative energy on flowers, which are here today and compost tomorrow, then what must we conclude about you who are destined for eternal life through faith in Jesus—you for whom the blood of His Son was shed—you who are baptized in His name? You are more beautiful and precious to God than even the most beautiful flowers.

O you of little faith. Despite the sermons preached by birds and flowers, our faith is little, Jesus says. It’s ironic how we trust God with the big stuff like our sin, our death, our salvation. But the little things—the day to day things like food, clothing, finance—that’s all under our control, we like to think. We’re in charge of the small stuff, or so we think. A wise preacher once said that anxiety is the worship we offer to our false gods. Do you want to know where your idols are—where your false gods are hiding? Then follow the anxiety trail. It will lead you straight to your false gods who promise everything and deliver nothing. But don’t be surprised when that anxiety trail leads right to your own idolatrous heart—a heart that beats to the rhythm of “God doesn’t know what He’s doing. I need to help Him. Better yet, I need to be god in place of God. . . because God doesn’t know what He’s doing.” Nothing adds to the tyranny of our anxiety like trying to be God.

Here’s the deal (which is really no “deal” at all): Your Father in heaven knows what you need, even before you ask Him. All the things that those without faith run after with all their heart, soul and mind—clothing, shoes, food, drink, house, home, spouse, children, land, animals, good government, good weather, good health, protection—your Father in heaven knows that you need them. And He knows best how and when and in what proportion to give these things to you—for your eternal good. You are died-for, baptized, a child of the heavenly Father, an heir of eternal life.

For those who feel the tyranny of anxiety Jesus says, “Don’t worry about food and clothing and stuff. Your Father will take care of all that. But seek first and foremost His kingdom.” Seeking His kingdom means setting your eyes on Jesus who, for the joy set before Him, endured the cross for you. Celebrate what God gives you in your baptism. Repent of your sins and confess them (including your sins of idolatry with all its anxieties) and receive the full and free absolution that Jesus earned for you. Receive the bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood. That’s the stuff of His kingdom and His righteousness. That’s the stuff that remedies our idolatry and frees us from the tyranny of our anxieties. That’s the stuff our God so graciously gives away in this place every Lord’s Day in His Word and Sacraments.

“Do not be afraid, little flock, for your Father has been pleased to give you the kingdom.” That’s good news you can bank on. Do your banking in heaven where thieves and moths and interest rates and high taxes can never chisel away at your treasure. Rejoice and be glad in this: You have a million bucks worth of forgiveness, life and salvation stored up for you that you can live in and enjoy through faith in Jesus the Christ. Amen.

Drifting Toward Idolatry

In Nomine Iesu
St. Luke 12:13-21
August 1, 2010
Pentecost 10--Proper 13C

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Jesus said, “A man’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.” And I doubt that anyone here today would argue with that. “A man’s life [certainly] does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.” Possessions can be a blessing and, at the same time, a curse. Many of you, I know, lost a fair share of your things in the flood ten days ago. Possessions that were securely stowed in basements a few weeks ago—those same possessions are now piled high at the curb—soggy, and moldy and ruined.

Our lives often become intertwined with our possessions. Many of our things are invested with meaning and emotion: a wedding dress, a photo album, a gift from a loved one. It is painful—it hurts—to lose those kinds of possessions. They are, in a sense, reminders—tokens—of God’s goodness and mercy. But that is all they are, just reminders and tokens. Those things themselves have nothing to do with who you are in Jesus Christ. Your God treasures you and loves you no matter how much or how little you have. You were a child of God, holy and dearly loved, before the flash flood came; and your status in that respect is unchanged—come hell or high water.

But possessions can also be perilous. There is always the danger—always the temptation—to draw our meaning and security and identity from the people and things around us, rather than from the God who created us, redeemed us, and makes us holy. And when this happens—when our deepest sense of identity comes from the things and the people around us—the problem runs far deeper than simple greed. Greed, we learned from Colossians today, is really idolatry—having another god.

The drift toward idolatry always happens slowly and gradually. Nobody (at least no Christian) wakes up in the morning and says, “I think I’m going to start committing idolatry today. Starting today, I’m going to draw my security, my identity and my very life from the people and possessions around me. I’m going to stop setting my mind on things above, and start setting my mind squarely on earthly things.” Of course, that’s not the way it happens. But how does it happen? How do greed and idolatry take over?

The parable we heard from Jesus today is a case study on greed and the drift toward idolatry. It’s often called the parable of the rich fool; but I think that title makes it far too easy to dismiss the main character as someone that most of us could never identify with. I think he’s not so different from us. For instance, please notice that the rich man got rich, not through scheming or stealing or gambling or real estate or playing the stock market. No, Jesus reports that the man was a farmer, and that his land produced a good crop—a bumper harvest. It was God who provided the seeds, the sun, the soil and the rain. It was God who gave the growth. It was God who gave the man his wealth.

Do you believe that about your wealth and your possessions? Do you believe that it is God who has placed these things into your hands? Or perhaps it’s not a black and white issue? Perhaps your possessions and wealth are 50 percent your accomplishment and 50 percent God’s doing. Or is it 70-30 or 80-20? Is all that you have a gift from God; or would you be more inclined to say, “I worked for it. I earned it. I bought it. It’s mine?” How you view your possessions says as much about you as it says about your God.

As for the man in the parable, we don’t know exactly how he viewed his spectacular harvest. His plan to build bigger barns was probably a rather prudent thing to do. Without barns to store it, his crop would just pile up on the ground and eventually become rotten. Nor do I think we can find fault with the man’s decision to “take life easy; eat, drink and be merry.” Those words don’t sound much different from what King Solomon wrote in Ecclesiastes about how “a man can do nothing better than eat, drink and find satisfaction in his work.” There’s no crime in enjoying God’s good gifts. Would you honestly have done anything differently if you had been in this man’s shoes?

Then why—why does God eventually call the man a “fool?” How was it that this man quietly, slowly, almost imperceptibly drifted into idolatry? Well, judging from the words of the parable (which is all we have to go on) perhaps the man started to drift when he called the crops “my” crops. Perhaps he drifted a little further when he called the barns “my” barns. Perhaps he drifted further still when he called the grain and the goods “my” grain and “my” goods. And although it’s not reflected in the translation you heard today, at one point the man refers to his very soul as “my soul.” It’s just a tiny, two-letter word—a possessive pronoun that can’t even stand alone. But where you place your possessive pronouns can make all the difference between being wise men and women—or being a faithless fool. Perhaps the road to idolatry is paved—not so much with money—but with misplaced possessive pronouns.

There’s only one remedy for those who have drifted into idolatry—those who sinfully refuse to acknowledge God as the giver of every good and perfect gift. The remedy we need to reverse course is contentment. “Godliness with contentment is great gain,” the Scriptures say (1 Tim. 6:6). I love the way that an old King Solomon describes contentment in today’s reading from Ecclesiastes: “There is nothing better for a person than to eat and drink and find satisfaction in his work. This too, I see, is from the hand of God, for without Him, who can find enjoyment?” Being satisfied with what we have—being content with what God so graciously gives us—that itself is a gift from God. This is the gift of contentment. This is the remedy for idolatry. Do you have this gift?

There was one man who was perfectly content—a man who found perfect fulfillment in the work He was given to do. His work, He said, was to do the will of the Father. And the work He did, He did for you and for your salvation. As a true man like you, Jesus toiled and labored under the same hot sun that shines down on us in these dog days of summer. With all knowledge, wisdom and skill Jesus set out to do the work appointed for Him. His work reached its climax on Good Friday. It was a labor of pain and grief. And all that Jesus accomplished at that placed called “Golgotha”—the forgiveness of sins, opening the kingdom of heaven to all believers—these precious gifts Jesus gives away—gives away to those who follow Him in faith. You didn’t work for it. You didn’t earn it. You don’t even deserve it. And that’s why we call it “grace.” (Amazing grace!)

In your baptism Jesus filled the empty void inside you—that same empty void that always wants to name and claim everything as “my” and “mine.” Jesus has filled that void with His Holy Spirit, who daily and richly forgives you all of your sins. And in place of those sins, Jesus gives you His perfect record of obedience. His perfect work record belongs to you, and your future is now tied to Jesus. “You died,” Paul wrote, “and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is your life appears, then you also will appear with Him in glory” (Col 3). In that resurrection promise you have contentment. You don’t have to run on empty. You don’t have to run the rat race for more and better and bigger. You can be content with what you have because God has said, “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you” (Heb. 13:5).

So let it begin today. Give up on chasing after the wind. A man’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions. Watch out when you find yourself attaching the word “my” and “mine” to the people and things of this world. Rather, like Thomas, you can lay claim to something better. You can lay claim to the resurrected Christ as “my Lord and my God” (Jn. 20) “Our Savior!” (That’s a great way to use your possessive pronouns!) Count the blessings He so richly gives. Rejoice in your work. And you will learn to enjoy life through God’s gift of contentment. Amen.

God's Gift of Prayer

In Nomine Iesu
St. Luke 11:1-13
July 25, 2010
Pentecost 9--Proper 12C

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Not long after bringing their newborn baby home from the hospital, her parents began to suspect that something was wrong. The little girl seemed far too lethargic—even for a newborn. She showed little interest in eating. Within a few days her breathing became labored and a major heart defect was diagnosed. The hospital chaplain baptized little Bethany in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. And shortly thereafter the tiny baby girl departed this life, and was received into the loving arms of her heavenly Father.

Her parents, as you might imagine, were stricken with grief and guilt. Brothers and sisters in Christ gathered around them to help them bear the burden. Many loving and comforting words were expressed. They remembered the promises of God which had been applied to their daughter in Holy Baptism. But one friend of the family, attempting to rationalize what had happened, said this: “I guess we just didn’t pray enough.” The implication was that if more people had prayed more fervently and with enough faith, then perhaps things would have turned out differently. The woman had unintentionally taken God’s gift of prayer—intended for our comfort and joy—and had turned it into a source of guilt, a burden, an unmet obligation of the Law.

Unfortunately, God’s gift of prayer gets distorted and twisted like that all the time—mostly by faithful and devout Christians. Christian bookstore shelves are lined with volumes that claim to give you the proper methods, techniques and attitudes for effective prayer. But before running off to purchase the word of man about prayer, let’s listen to what the Word of God offers us concerning the gift—God’s gift—of prayer.

Jesus Himself was a man of prayer. You can’t read too far in the gospels without encountering a passage where Jesus is engaged in prayer. Today’s Gospel reading is all about one such occasion. When Jesus had finished praying, one of his disciples said to Him, “Lord, teach us to pray.” Even the disciples of Jesus—men who were situated around the Savior for days at a time—even they could not pray without the help of Jesus. Even they needed to be taught. Prayer doesn’t come naturally for anyone. That’s lesson number one about prayer—we can’t do it apart from Jesus—apart from His help and His invitation.

Jesus first of all teaches us how to pray by giving us the Lord’s Prayer. You heard Luke’s version in today’s gospel. Together with Matthew’s fuller version we have some very well-known words—probably the best known words in the Bible. We pray the Lord’s Prayer every Sunday, at every Baptism, at every wedding, at every funeral. For many of us it is part of our daily devotions.

There’s not enough time this morning to unpack every petition of the Lord’s Prayer, but here’s a little insight into this prayer. It’s called the “Lord’s Prayer” not simply because the Lord Jesus is the author and giver of these words. It is called the Lord’s Prayer because it is, properly speaking, His prayer. This is the prayer that Jesus Himself prays. He alone has the right to address God as Father. The Lord’s Prayer is the prayer Jesus prays—and He invites you to pray it right along with Him. He shares His prayer with you. Jesus didn’t give this prayer as chapter one of the prayer textbook—as a mere homework assignment for the prayer apprentice. Rather, Jesus says, “Here is my prayer. I’m inviting you to join with Me as we together go to our Father in heaven.”

In short, know this: You never, ever pray alone. Jesus joins you in your praying, even as you are joined to Him. When you pray, it’s not like you’re a peasant before the king. No, you go to the King with the King’s Son at your side, and you are honored and listened to as if you yourself were a son or daughter of the King. And that is what you are through faith in Jesus, the Son of God. You never, ever pray alone. You’ve got friends in high places—in fact, a friend in the highest place.

To drive home this point about prayer, Jesus also gives us a prayer parable. In this parable Jesus compares God the Father to a grumpy next-door neighbor. A needy neighbor comes knocking at midnight because an unexpected guest has arrived, and the host has nothing to set before his guest. Do neighbors still go to one another when there’s a food emergency? As a little boy growing up in a small town, I can recall times when a cup of sugar or a few eggs or a stick of butter would get passed along neighbor-to-neighbor, especially if the one and only grocery store was closed.

In the parable, the grumpy neighbor eventually gets up to give his neighbor the needed bread because of the man’s “boldness,” (it says in the NIV). Some have taken that word “boldness” to mean that if you want your requests answered then you need to storm the gates of heaven, badger, beg, cajole, manipulate and engage in all manner of arm-twisting to get what you want. And if you don’t get what you want, then you haven’t been bold enough.

Beloved in the Lord, banish that thought about boldness. The word “boldness” is better translated as “lack of shame” or “shamelessness.” The man requesting the bread exhibited a lack of shame. It wasn’t what the man did, or even how he did it. It wasn’t his technique or even his persistence that caused his request to be granted. It was something the man didn’t have that made his request un-ignorable. He was without shame and without guilt and without fear to go to his neighbor in the middle of night to present his need for help.

In Jesus Christ YOU ARE THAT MAN. Jesus Christ has taken away your shame. Jesus Christ has taken away your guilt. Your shame and guilt were placed upon Jesus. He was crucified for your sins and raised again for your justification. God made Him who knew no sin to be sin for us, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God—so that in Him we might be shame-free and guilt-free—so that we can be joined to Jesus as sons and daughters of God—so that we can pray without fear and in the glad confidence that our prayers are heard for the sake of God’s beloved Son.

Now, the exact events described in this prayer parable are rather unlikely today. It’s rare that guests show up unexpectedly at midnight and you have nothing to feed them. But let me ask you this, how often each day are you confronted with needy friends and acquaintances—with people who need help from you, either physically or spiritually? What do you have to offer your friend who has lost his job? What do you have to offer that couple whose marriage is struggling? What do you have to offer someone who is dying of cancer, or someone who has lost faith in God? What can you give them? You have nothing to give them. Your cupboard is bare. But . . . you do have access to a friend next-door. There is someone you can go to in prayer who can help. You can shamelessly borrow from God for all your neighbors in need. You can go to Him when you have nothing to give. And your God who neither slumbers nor sleeps, who is never grumpy, will lend you His help and His mercy. On the one hand, you have nothing to give your needy neighbors. On the other hand, you have the resources of heaven at your fingertips!

And this help and mercy God gives not because you are some highly trained prayer warrior; this He does because of His Son who has taken away your shame and your guilt and your sin. Through faith in Jesus you are holy and loved and honored by God. This is why we so often conclude our prayers with the phrase, “in Jesus’ name.” It’s not a magical formula, but a confession that all we are and have—that our very identity and status comes from being joined together with Jesus. What a joy to see both Savannah and Esme joined together with Jesus today in the miracle of Holy Baptism. What a friend they now have—in Jesus!

Jesus puts an exclamation point on this parable by directly inviting His hearers to “ask, seek, and knock.” Askers receive. Seekers find. Knockers will find opened doors. Ask, seek and knock are plain and simple directions when it comes to prayer. We don’t have to use prayer to wear God down or pester Him like demanding children often do with their reluctant parents. Nor do we need to spend a lot of time informing God about what we need, as if He were ignorant of what’s going on. Just ask—ask Him for what you need. Ask Him for what your neighbor needs.

It is in this asking, seeking, and knocking that Jesus Himself joins us. Jesus joins us as we knock at the door of His Father’s house. And when our heavenly Father opens the door, like any good Father He doesn’t merely ask, “What do you want?” He also invites us in. He doesn’t just give us things, but as an added bonus we get His company, His fellowship, His very life.

Jesus concluded His teaching on prayer that day with a great analogy: If we earthly fathers can give good gifts to our children—if even we who are flawed by sin can take delight in helping our children—then how much more will our heavenly Father respond to the needs of His children? So what are you waiting for? Get busy asking, seeking, and knocking. Jesus Himself joins with you in your prayers. In Jesus you can shamelessly present your requests to God. In Jesus you have a friend—what a friend—all your sins and griefs to bear. What a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer. Amen.

A Tale of Two Sisters

In Nomine Iesu
St. Luke 10:38-42
July 18, 2010
Pentecost 8-Proper 11C

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Today’s text is a tale of two sisters—Mary and Martha. And like a lot of sisters, Mary and Martha were quite different. Martha was hard-working, practical, task-oriented, and just a little bit uptight (and probably the older sister). Mary, on the other hand, was more of a free spirit—a “big picture” thinker who didn’t let the details of life get in the way of doing what she wanted to do.

The differences between the two sisters were magnified by the presence of an important visitor in their home. Jesus Himself had come calling. The arrival of important guests is often a stressful time for any household, and it was no different for the household of Mary and Martha. Luke reports that Martha was “distracted” by all the preparations. Literally, the original Greek describes Martha as being “dragged around with much service.” Do you ever feel like you’re being dragged around from task to task and job to job with no end in sight? Today we’d simply say that Martha was stressed out. Her sister Mary, meanwhile, simply sat there—passively—at Jesus’ feet, listening to His Word. When Martha finally blows her stack, Jesus gently reminds the sisters that only “one thing” is needed, and Mary had made the better choice.

So are you like Martha or Mary? Are you, like Martha, worried and uptight, distracted and dragged around, stressed out from serving others? Or are you more like Mary, content to be served by Jesus—to make the Savior your top priority in life—to sit at His feet and listen to His Word—focused on His promises?

Now, in all fairness, we should set the record straight. Both of these sisters were good girls. Both sisters had faith in Jesus. Both were well intentioned. So let’s be careful not to condemn Martha too harshly. She wasn’t wrong in what she was doing. Serving others is what Christians are called to do. Martha was, in a sense, just being a good Samaritan, providing for the needs of others. We need our share of Marthas, don’t we? If it weren’t for all the Marthas, then the work would never get done. After all, we can’t always be reading the Bible. We can’t always be sitting in the pew or kneeling at the Communion rail. Someone has to take out the trash! Someone has to mow the lawn! Someone has to cook the meal and set the table. Please notice that Jesus didn’t condemn Martha because of what she was doing. It was her attitude that needed some gentle adjustment. Her priorities needed tweaking. She needed to be reminded of the one needed thing—Jesus and His Word.

Every day you and I are called to do what Martha was doing. We’re called to serve others. We are God’s hands and God’s feet in this world. Each of us has vocations, or callings—such as parent or child, employer or employee, neighbor, citizen or CEO, custodian or care-giver. And whatever your vocations are, know this: They are holy callings. Because as we do the work of our vocations, we are serving as instruments of God to do His work. We are “masks of God,” Luther liked to say. We provide for others in the name of Jesus Christ. And that loving service—no matter how routine or ordinary—is God-pleasing. So let’s set the record straight: It wasn’t Martha’s busyness or her serving that bothered Jesus. It was her attitude. “Martha, Martha,” He said, “you are worried and upset about many things.”

I wonder if Jesus couldn’t say much the same thing to many of us here this morning? I can hear him: Michael, Michael, YOU are worried and upset about many things. You see, even as we walk by faith, doing the very things that God has called us to do, there’s an awful lot that can lead us to be anxious, fearful and upset. It happens when someone we love gets sick. It happens when we lose our job and the regular paycheck. It happens when our homes become battlegrounds instead of places of peace.

Many of us here today could justify our stress and our worry without much difficulty. But stress and worry are also symptoms of something deeper. When God Himself tells us that we should have no other gods, He means that we should fear, love and trust in Him above all things—despite all things, regardless of how hopeless things may seem. We who are baptized into Christ, are called to trust in Christ. Worry and upset are symptoms—reminders that we’re not totally trusting the God who did not spare His own Son, but gave Him up for us all—the God who says, “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.”

How does the trust disappear? Well, no one wakes up in the morning and says, “I think I’ll trust less in God today.” No one who is baptized makes a decision to cut back on trusting God. It just happens. It happens even as we do the Lord’s work in this world—the holy, God-pleasing work of our vocations. As one hectic, stress-filled day runs into another, we somehow set aside the one thing we need: Jesus and His Word. Before we can faithfully serve our family and neighbors, we need to be served by Jesus with His Word and promises—the cleansing splash of His baptism and the holy meal of His body and blood. We simply have to sit at the Master’s feet (like Mary) and listen.

You can choose to live like Martha—to share her attitude—but I wouldn’t recommend it. People like Martha tend only to become more worried and upset and bitter as time goes by. They become comfortable playing the part of the poor martyr who has to do it all alone without any help from anyone. How different today’s account would have been if Martha had simply asked Mary to set the table, for instance, instead of playing the martyr and going to Jesus with her complaint against her sister. Did you notice that? Martha never asked Mary to help. Rather than ask for what she needed, she opted for bitterness and attempted to draft Jesus to set her sister straight.

But Jesus didn’t come to play the referee; He came to be our sacrifice for sin—for our bitterness and faithlessness, for our upset and worry. Jesus is the remedy for all that. And that’s why Jesus Himself is the one thing needed. Mary knew that; and that’s why she planted herself at the Savior’s feet and listened. For Mary, Jesus’ Word was a lamp to her feet and a light for her path.

Jesus and His Word is the one needed thing in this life. You need Jesus and His Word, and here’s why: Because Jesus has reconciled you with the Father. Jesus presents you to the Father holy, without blemish and free from accusation. Just this morning we saw Jesus pour out all the blessings and all the forgiveness He earned on the cross into the lives of our newest and littlest members: Eliana and Andrew.

Nowhere does Jesus promise that life won’t be chaotic and stressful. But in the midst of it all, Jesus does promise peace—peace for you and in your troubled life. That peace was established at the cross—signed, sealed and delivered in the blood of Christ—peace proclaimed by the Savior’s empty tomb and the promise of the life of the world to come. This is the place where that peace becomes your personal possession—in the preaching and proclamation of His Word and through the sacraments administered in Jesus’ name. This is the place where you can sit at the Savior’s feet.

In that peace and joy, you can let go. You can let go of the worry, the fear, the stress. You can lay your burdens down and let Jesus carry them awhile. So lay your burdens down and listen . . . because Jesus is speaking . . . to you. And that’s the one thing needed. Amen.

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

In Nomine Iesu
St. Luke 10:25-37
July 11, 2010
Pentecost 7-Proper 10C

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

If you live in this neighborhood or one like it, then you know the importance of being a good neighbor. In most neighborhoods around here there’s little more than a narrow driveway that separates one house from another. That means during the summertime when windows are open it’s easy to overhear what’s going on next door—and just as easy to be overheard. And in the wintertime, when you have to clear the snow from that long narrow driveway, it’s important not to rev-up the snowblower too early in the morning, and equally important not to blow the snow onto your neighbor’s house and windows. One positive aspect to living in such close quarters is that if you don’t like what’s on television at your house, you can put a chair by the window and watch whatever your neighbors are watching. Whatever the season, neighbors need to be good neighbors in a neighborhood like this.

The parable of the Good Samaritan all hinges on the question, “Who is my neighbor?” And as the children just illustrated, the Biblical definition of “neighbor” is much more inclusive than what we normally think of in our northshore neighborhoods. That question—Who is my neighbor?—was posed to Jesus by a lawyer. And whenever lawyers start asking questions, it’s time to sit up and pay attention.

Who is my neighbor? Just who is it that I’m supposed to love as much as I love myself? But just asking the question implies that there are some people who are not my neighbor. And if some people are not my neighbor, well, then, I can safely go through each day loving who I want to love, while simply passing by those who don’t fit my limited, segregated, restricted definition of “neighbor.” You see, when we ask the question, “Who is my neighbor?” we’ve got all the veto power. We can define who our neighbors are just narrowly enough to make ourselves comfortable.

But Jesus turned that lawyerly question on its head in the parable of the Good Samaritan. A certain man was on his way down from Jerusalem to Jericho. And it was, in fact, a long way down to Jericho. The road down to Jericho twists and turns and drops nearly three thousand feet in elevation in just 17 miles. That road afforded bandits and robbers any number of good hiding spots from which to surprise their victims. The man in the parable was set upon by thugs—was stripped, beaten, and left half-dead.

Well, along came a priest—a clergyman. And Jesus’ hearers must have heard this as good news. Admit it. If you were beaten up and laying half dead out here on Santa Monica Blvd, and I—your pastor—came walking along, most people would view that as a positive development, right? It’s my job to be compassionate. But imagine if I crossed over to the other side of the road purposely to avoid you. That’s what the priest in the parable did. He may have wanted to help; there’s nothing that says he didn’t. But according to the law of Moses, if that priest touched something dead then he himself would become unclean and unfit to carry out his priestly duties. He’d have a lengthy purification process to undergo, an expensive sacrifice to offer, and a lot of explaining to do.

Later a Levite came walking along. Levites were priestly assistants, kind of like elders or deacons. The same law of Moses applied to him and, like the priest, he made a hasty detour to the other side of the road. Both men could argue that they had kept the law. Both men could justify their actions with pious-sounding excuses. But . . . neither man loved his neighbor as himself.

Both the priest and the Levite made a conscious decision to look the other way. They made a detour so as not to see the half-dead man—so that they didn’t have to look at the poor guy. Because do you know what might have happened if they had stopped and looked at the beaten, bloody man? All of their excuses might have evaporated. You see, being a good neighbor necessarily involves looking—not looking the other way, but—looking at my neighbor’s misery and suffering. Only after we look can we love. Only after we open our eyes can we open our hands to do something about the suffering we see.

Beloved in the Lord, don’t look the other way. Don’t do the safe, convenient thing and look the other way when a neighbor is suffering. Open your eyes instead. On Judgment Day Jesus will say to those on His left, “It was me. I was the one that you met in the naked, the hungry, the sick, the imprisoned; and you did not help me.” The response of the accused is not surprising. Do you remember what they say? “Lord, when did we see You? When did we see you hungry, thirsty, naked or sick?” They didn’t see it because they didn’t want to see it—because they looked the other way—because they passed by on the other side.

Who is your neighbor? Who needs you to open your eyes and look? Who is it that you can see lying on the roadside of life, battered and beaten down, hurting and helpless? Is it a family member in a nursing home? A friend recently divorced? Is it that family you know that has to contend with the stigma of mental illness? Is it the widow who lives alone in your neighborhood? Parents of a special needs child? Someone you’re sharing a pew with this morning? All we have to do is open our eyes and look.

The lawyer’s question was the wrong question. Asking “Who is my neighbor?” allows us to go through life with blinders on—unburdened and uninterrupted—helping others when it suits our schedule and when we can get some recognition for our service—a little detail to add to the college application or job resume. The far better question to ask is this: To whom am I a neighbor? Who’s right there lying in my path beaten and bruised? Who is it that needs my neighborly attention? Who is it that needs me to be a neighbor?

That was the approach taken by the Samaritan in the parable. The Jews despised their Samaritan neighbors. Samaritans were considered half-breeds and heretics. They were impure both in race and in religion. When Jesus’ listeners heard that a Samaritan was coming, they probably suspected that this thug would finish off what the robbers had left undone. But they couldn’t have been more wrong.

The compassion of the Samaritan ran so deep that he didn’t hesitate to stop, despite the danger. The Samaritan wasn’t a priest or a pastor of any sort—just an ordinary guy doing the right thing. He did not look the other way, but climbed right down into the ditch with the beaten, bloody man. He bandaged his wounds, put him on his donkey, took him to an inn and spent the night taking care of him. The next day he left two days’ wages with the innkeeper and ran a tab for the rest of the expenses.

The Samaritan undoubtedly had people to see, places to go, appointments to keep. But when you’ve got your eyes of compassion open, you have to expect surprises. You have to be ready to improvise. It’s Murphy’s Law that some poor, wounded, needy neighbor is bound to show up or call right about the time we’re running out the door—right about the time we’re sitting down for dinner—right about the time we’re settling in for a good night’s sleep—right when it seems that life can’t get any more hectic. There’s never, ever a convenient time to be a neighbor to someone in need. And most of the time we’re not—not very neighborly or compassionate.

But in Jesus you have a neighbor who’s even better than the good Samaritan. Jesus Christ, the Son of God, took on human flesh and became your neighbor. He has compassion on you and He has joined you and me in the ditch of death. God sent His Son to be our Good Samaritan neighbor. Jesus loved God and loved a world full of neighbors so purely and perfectly that no one is excluded. He binds up your wounds with the wounds He endured on the cross. He pours the healing balm of holy Baptism on you. He brings you here to His church, which is essentially a hospice for sinners justified by Jesus. He forgives you and pays your debt in full. He serves you the bread of His body and the wine of His blood for nourishment, strength, healing and forgiveness.

Then the day will come when these half-dead bodies of ours will die altogether. The people and places and noises of this life will be silenced. But right then—at that very moment—Jesus Christ will be your neighbor—the neighbor who will not forsake you—the neighbor who will never look the other way and who will not pass you by when you need Him most. Jesus has already faced that robber called death, so that He can walk with you through that last bitter stretch—to the life of the world to come.

Already here and now—today—when you’re suffering in a way that others don’t understand—when loneliness or anxiety or depression seems to have taken all the joy out of your life—there’s still One who is your neighbor, right by your side. Because on the cross Jesus suffered in the dark dungeon of ultimate loneliness. Already here and now—today—as you stand all alone, quivering under the awful guilt of your sins, which nobody else even suspects, which would cause your friends to desert you if they found out, here too Jesus is the neighbor who stands with you—who cleanses you with baptismal water, who forgives and forgets, who feeds you with the medicine of His body and blood.

The question is not, “Who is my neighbor?” The question is, “To whom am I a neighbor? Who needs me?” That’s the question for all of us who follow in the footsteps of the good Samaritan. This is the Christian life—admittedly easier to talk and preach about than to do, and never done without the Lord’s help. He’s your neighbor. He’s your brother. His mercy and compassion will never fail you. Amen.

Satan Falls Like Lightning

In Nomine Iesu
St. Luke 10:1-20
July 4, 2010
Pentecost 6-Proper 9C

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

You’re not fooling anyone, you know. I know what’s on your mind this morning . . . and it isn’t the account of Jesus sending out the seventy-two to proclaim the kingdom of God. After all, it’s the Fourth of July in Whitefish Bay. Just a few hours from now—and just a few blocks from here—you get a parade, followed by good food, good music, fun and games, and last but not least—fireworks. For many of us this day will conclude with our eyes trained upward to the heavens. Up in the sky we will see and hear dazzling explosions. Bold bursts of color and light will fill the skies, fade, and fall back to earth again.

Later on tonight as you take it all in, as you “ooh” and “ahhh” at the lights in the heavens—I want you to recall this sentence from Jesus: “I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven.” Jesus saw a light display that would rival tonight’s show at Klode Park. Jesus saw a burst of light in the heavens that signaled something far more important than the independence of our nation. Jesus said, “I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven.”

What was it that caused Jesus to see such a spectacular sight? It was the accomplished mission of the seventy-two whom Jesus had sent out. These 72 did not include the 12 apostles. Their number (72) corresponded to the 72 nations listed in the book of Genesis after the flood. Sending seventy-two was a symbolic way to show how the church—from the very beginning—was concerned with making disciples of all nations. Their mission was relatively simple: They were to proclaim the peace of Jesus. They were to heal the sick. Even the demons submitted to the seventy-two. And when the 72 returned, Jesus famously congratulated them saying, “I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven.”

How did these 72 men manage to accomplish such an astounding feat? It wasn’t because they were gifted public speakers, trained in the art of persuasion. It wasn’t because they had taken classes on evangelism and demonology. It was because Jesus Himself had sent them out with His own power and authority. Jesus told them straight-up, “whoever listens to you listens to me; he who rejects you rejects me.” These men went out “in the stead and by the command of their Lord Jesus Christ.” It was the authority of Jesus, vested in them, that caused Satan to “fall like lightning from heaven.”

These men were, in a sense, precursors to pastors. Proto-pastors. Men called and sent by Jesus . . . to preach Jesus. The sending of the 72 is really, at its heart, a lesson about pastors—and about the great authority Jesus gives to pastors. You catch a glimpse of that authority most Sundays when the pastor says something like, “As a called and ordained servant of Christ, and by His authority, I forgive you all your sins.” This is what Jesus had in mind when He told the 72, “Whoever hears you . . . hears Me.” It may be the pastor who vocalizes the forgiveness of your sins, but in hearing the pastor you are hearing Jesus. As it says in the catechism, absolution comes “from the pastor as from God Himself.” And you, for your part, should not doubt, but firmly believe that by that absolution your sins are forgiven before God in heaven.

Your pastor has the power and authority of Jesus . . . (not all the time—not when he’s mowing the lawn—not when he’s walking around the house in his jammies, but) when he’s doing and speaking the things that Jesus has given him to do and speak. When he forgives your sins, when he preaches and proclaims the Word of God, when He feeds you with the body and blood of Jesus, when he washes you in holy baptism—whenever and wherever pastors are doing these things the kingdom of Satan is being rolled back. Jesus saw it going on in the mission of the 72. And it’s still going on today. We may not see it, but Jesus does. It’s as bright and explosive as tonight’s fireworks, even though it might not seem that way to our eyes and ears. But Jesus calls it like He sees it: “I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven.”

What do you think about that fact—that through the work of pastors Satan himself is being beaten back? I don’t often preach about this because it sounds like I’m tooting my own horn; but I’m really sounding the horn of Jesus. He’s the one who calls pastors. He’s the one who sends pastors. He’s the One who puts power and authority in their words. “Whoever hears you hears me,” He says. “And he who rejects you rejects me.”

To be honest, both lay people and pastors have problems with this truth about pastors. Too often people don’t respect the authority of the pastor. They don’t see their pastor as a gift sent from God. Or they expect the pastor to be something that God hasn’t called him to be—like an expert in marketing technique, or a fund-raiser, or merely a motivational speaker. Unfortunately, pastors too often confuse the matter by acting like . . . well, by acting like marketing gurus, fund-raisers and motivational speakers. They see their job as to be in charge and tell people what to do, rather than to apply the Word of God to sinners. Some pastors see their congregations as their own little kingdoms, rather than seeing them as part of the kingdom of God, and themselves as simply shepherds and spokesmen in the stead of Jesus.

Beloved in the Lord, we need to see it the way Jesus sees it. Pastors who preach Christ and proclaim the forgiveness of sins are a part of God’s plan. And going all the way back to the sending of the 72, this plan has prevailed. It has worked. What happens between pulpit and pew matters. It matters eternally.

There are fireworks going off right here every Sunday. Oh, you can’t see them or hear them, but Jesus does. When you come here weak and weary, beaten down from another week of battles against Satan, Jesus is here to forgive you and strengthen you with the forgiveness of your sins—pardon proclaimed by the pastor. And when that happens, I tell you that Satan is falling like lightning from heaven. When the pastor speaks the words of institution, declaring that the body and blood of Jesus are on this altar to feed you and forgive you and strengthen your faith—and you for your part believe it and receive it—I tell you that Satan is falling like lightning from heaven. And when the pastor preaches from this pulpit, the very peace of Christ is being placed into your ears and heart. When that happens I tell you that Satan is falling like lightning from heaven. The prince of this world is being beaten back, his time is almost up. For Jesus the Christ has died your death and paid for your sins with His own blood. His resurrection lit up the world with the brightness of a Roman Candle, declaring that death has been destroyed—that those who believe in Jesus will live with Jesus forever.

Fireworks on the Fourth of July are exciting. But as you look skyward tonight, remember this: Satan is falling fast—like lightning—because of what goes on here every week. But Jesus also reminds us that the big thing—what is truly cause for rejoicing—is that your names are written in heaven—written in the Lamb’s book of life. That is why God sent His Son into the world. This is why God has sent me to be your pastor—to tell you with certainty and with conviction that the kingdom of God includes you—that the peace and life of Jesus Christ are yours—that your name is written in heaven. Don’t doubt it; but firmly believe it. Your sins are forgiven before God in heaven. Happy Independence Day! Amen.

Apostle of the Also-Rans

In Nomine Iesu
Acts 1:12-26
May 16, 2010
Easter 7C

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

It was a pivotal moment in time for the very first Christians. The Lord Jesus had ascended into heaven, but the day of Pentecost had not yet arrived. It was a span of ten days during which the 120 or so believers had been told by the Lord to wait—to wait for the coming of the Holy Spirit. Baptizing, preaching, breaking of the bread—these gifts of God would get underway in earnest starting on Pentecost. But it wasn’t yet Pentecost. How would the believers bide their time as they waited?

In Acts chapter one we learn exactly what transpired. We learn that the eleven apostles were there. We learn that it’s eleven—and not twelve—because Judas had departed this life. We also learn that Mary the mother of Jesus was there. This, incidentally, is the last time we hear of Mary in the Scriptures. It’s worth noting that Mary isn’t calling the shots here. She isn’t being worshipped. Nor is she performing any miracles. It leads me to suspect that if Mary were here today, she’d likely be sitting where you are (not standing here where I am)—receiving the gifts of her Son, just as you are.

It seems that there was one very important item of business that needed to be addressed before the arrival Pentecost. They needed to replace Judas. A successor needed to be named. But you have to wonder, “Why?” Are twelve apostles that much better than eleven apostles? Was the workload so great that eleven simply wouldn’t be enough to get the job done? Was it just a matter of keeping with the tradition of twelve? No, not at all. The need for a replacement was spelled out in the Scriptures. Peter drew from the Psalms to explain why it was necessary to have a call meeting.

Or to express it with a double negative: The Lord is simply not going to not have Himself a twelve. It began with the twelve sons of Jacob in Genesis, who evolved into the twelve tribes of Israel. It continued with twelve apostles in the New Testament. And it will continue in heaven where the population there is symbolized by the number 144,000—or 12 times 12 times 10 times 10 times 10. The Lord is not ever not going to not have Himself a twelve. (That’s a triple negative by the way.)

And so the very first call meeting of the very first Christian congregation takes place. Two names are proposed: a fellow named Joseph and a fellow named Matthias. They prayed. They cast lots (which is a little bit like rolling the dice), and the lot fell to Matthias; and Matthias became apostle number 12. And we never hear one thing more about Matthias ever again.

It’s tempting to conclude from all this that you can’t be much more of an “also-ran” than St. Matthias. “Also-ran” is a horse-racing term; it means that you’re finishing in the middle of the pack—as in, “That horse was just an also-ran.” Also from the world of sports come terms like “bench-warmer” or “minor-leaguer.” It is tempting to place Matthias in one of these categories. After all, he does join the roster very late in the season. We get no sermons from Matthias, no miracles, not even an acceptance speech. As new congregations have formed over the centuries, you can be sure that only a small fraction chose to name themselves after St. Matthias (as in St. Matthias Lutheran Church).

Despite all that, I hear good news in the story of St. Matthias. He may indeed be an also-ran. But then again, so are we! Matthias demonstrates clearly that the history the church of Jesus Christ is a history of addition—a history of adding to, and not subtracting from. Twelve minus one was no good. But eleven plus one was perfect—a perfect twelve. And you are a part of that twelve. You are one of millions of also-rans—ransomed souls called to faith and redeemed by Christ the crucified. To some it may seem insignificant and unimportant that God called Matthias to get His twelve. But it was clearly important to Jesus—important enough that the Holy Spirit inspired St. Luke to write down exactly what happened at that pivotal moment between Ascension and Pentecost. Our Lord is into adding, and Matthias reminds us that you have been added by Jesus, called to receive the forgiveness and life of Jesus.

If not for this forgiveness things would be far different. If our Lord kept track of every misdeed, of every shameful act, of every hateful word, then the story of the church would be far different. Then it would be a story of subtraction—a story of minus one, and minus another and another and another—a story of the subtraction of sinners. If God judged us according to our deeds, we could not stand before Him. To each of us the verdict would be “not good enough.” And our sentence would be eternal death. There would be no room for us in the church, and no church at all. Because one by one we would surely be whittled away and pared down—subtracted because of our sins.

But your God won’t stand for that. He’s not going to not have His twelve. He’s not going to not have His one holy Christian and “apostolic” church. He’s going to add you and keep you in His eternal care. And He does it through His Son, Jesus Christ. All of our shameful sins and guilt—that awful load that should rightly subtract us from the ranks of the redeemed—all of that wickedness was laid upon Jesus. Do the math! Take the whole rotten load of your sin and then multiply it by every person that has ever lived, and you begin to see the enormity of the burden that Jesus carried in His crucified body. Jesus Himself was subtracted and forsaken by God. He suffered hell as He hung derelict and damned on the cross.

But God raised Jesus from the dead. The Father accepted His sacrifice on your behalf. Jesus is the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep. That means that His resurrection is the first of many resurrections. To the resurrection of Jesus will be added millions and millions of resurrections, including your own! Our Lord will have His twelve, His new Israel, His holy church—those who have washed their robes in the blood of the Lamb. And you are a part of that glorious twelve.

Matthias teaches us that the Lord is into addition, not subtraction. And Matthias also teaches us how God quietly and secretly uses ordinary people—also-rans and back benchers, and bench-warmers—to do what needs to be done in this world. On the Day of Pentecost you can be sure that Matthias was right there with the rest—a tongue of fire resting on him, preaching the good news of Jesus in a language he’d never spoken before, baptizing a share of the three thousand who were baptized that day. Matthias did great things that we never hear of. He never had the headlines like Peter or Paul or Luther. He just quietly did what God had called him to do, and we never hear of him again.

So it is with you and me. Through water and the Word, God has called you and set you to work in this world. He’s put you in this place and in this pivotal time to work on His behalf for the life of the whole world. There’s work to be done in this congregation, and the Lord is counting on you to do it. There’s work to be done in your home and family, and you’re just the man/woman/child for the job. Your neighbors and co-workers have needs too. And don’t forget your nation and neighborhood. God has given you responsibilities in that realm too. These are your vocations, and they aren’t easy. And you’ll probably never make the headlines or the history books for all the faithful work you do. Why, even Matthias achieved more notoriety than you or I ever will.

But our Lord loves and uses also-rans like us to accomplish great things. Your labor in the Lord is not in vain. Matthias teaches us that we can be sure and certain of that. When you do the simple things you have been called to do, the angels rejoice.

Through you—through your witness and work—the Lord is determined to continue adding to His church, ceaselessly striving to get His perfect twelve. The book of Revelation gives us a glimpse ahead:

Then I looked, and there before me was the Lamb, standing on Mount Zion, and with him 144,000 who had his name and his father’s name written on their foreheads . . . .and they sang a new song. . . . No one could learn the song except the 144,000 who had been redeemed from the earth. . . . They follow the Lamb wherever He goes. They were purchased from among men and offered as firstfruits to God and the Lamb. . . . and they are blameless.

Those words are all about you, by the way. In that preview of heaven you are described as purchased, redeemed, and blameless through faith in Jesus Christ. You and I will be there, following the Lamb, along with Matthias. Don’t forget St. Matthias. He’ll be there too. The Lord added Matthias to the eleven and got His perfect twelve. And the Lord has added you too—also-rans, back-benchers, middle of the pack, and the stragglers too. Jesus comes to seek and save them all—including you. For Jesus is simply not going to not have Himself a twelve. Amen.

The Love of Lydia

In Nomine Iesu
Acts 16:9-15, 40
May 9, 2010
Easter 6C

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Here in the church it is the sixth Sunday of Easter. I’ve prepared a sermon based on it being the sixth Sunday of Easter. Your bulletin cover also reminds us of that fact. But the brisk business I witnessed at Winkie’s on Friday, the boatload of brunches, buffets and smorgasbords going on today, together with a flurry of floral creations—these things tell me that it’s Mothers’ Day.

I’ve often thought that it would be good to preach a sermon on the vocation of motherhood. After all, God gave each of us a mother. Many mothers are fondly remembered on this day, while other mothers are remembered not as fondly because they were either neglectful or abusive in some way. All of us have sinned against our mothers. We have failed to honor them, serve and obey them, love and cherish them. Today would be a good day to repent of those sins. Jesus Himself had a mother. And from the cross, you will recall, Jesus blessed and redeemed motherhood, as He tenderly provided for the care of His own mother. It wouldn’t be too difficult to draw a sermon out of all that.

But rather than preaching on the topic of mothers in general, our first reading today led me to learn this week about a particular mother named Lydia. It’s likely that Lydia was a mother. She did have an entire “household” which probably included children. But what we can say about Lydia with perfect accuracy is that she was a mother in the faith. And just as we all learn much from our earthly mothers, so also do we have much to learn from Lydia.

It was no accident and no fluke—no random coincidence—that Lydia was converted to Christianity. In fact, the mission trip that led to her conversion began when Paul had a vision of a man in Macedonia standing and begging him, “Come over to Macedonia and help us.” Paul concluded that this was a direct message from God Himself. Wouldn’t it be nice if all of our evangelism efforts were so clear cut and definitive—God not only telling us to go, but also where and when to go—with 3D, High Definition clarity?

The place Paul and Silas headed off to was Macedonia—a place you may know better as simply “Greece.” Greece was in the news last week for all the wrong reasons. The Greek office of tourism is no doubt experiencing some frustration right now—assuming it hasn’t yet been burned to the ground by angry mobs. But for our purposes this morning, all you really need to know is that Greece is located in Europe. And it’s safe to say that most of us here today can trace our ancestry back to somewhere in Europe. Christianity, of course, got its start in Asia. But beginning with Paul’s mission to Macedonia, the Gospel was being preached for the first time on European soil. And Lydia—our mother in the faith—just happened to be the first person to be converted and baptized in Europe—perhaps at the very spot pictured on today’s bulletin cover.

Lydia probably wasn’t the typical woman of the First Century. Luke tells us that she was a dealer in purple cloth. Purple cloth is nothing extraordinary today. (Some of you are probably wearing purple right now; and you didn’t pay more for your purple attire than, say, your yellow attire.) But in those days, purple dye was a costly color that could only be drawn from a tiny drop extracted from a tiny snail that lived in the desert. This is why purple was considered the color of royalty—because only royalty could afford it. This is also why it’s safe to assume that Lydia was a woman of means—a wealthy woman—a business woman whose home was big enough that the church at Philippi would eventually gather for worship in her living room (16:40).

But when Paul first showed up at Philippi (in Macedonia) there was no Christian church at all. There wasn’t even a Jewish synagogue. Lydia and her household were Jewish. Unfortunately, it took a quorum of ten Jewish men to establish a synagogue. Apparently that threshold couldn’t be met. That’s why Lydia and her posse, along with other women, had to gather at the river for worship. But Paul began to speak to the women gathered there—telling them the good news about Jesus—that He was crucified for our offenses and raised again for our justification. That good news had its way with Lydia. The Lord opened her heart to respond to Paul’s message, and she and her entire household were baptized right then and there. “If you consider me a believer in the Lord,” she said, then “come and stay at my house.”

Let no one tell you that women are second-class members of the Christian church. Close your ears to all that hogwash about sexism and patriarchal attitudes pervading Christianity. Oh, there have been individuals with a sexist agenda in the church; but learn from Lydia that in the church of Jesus Christ no one—male or female, father or mother, single or married—no one is a second class citizen. Under the Old Covenant rules of Judaism it took ten men to start a synagogue. In the church of Jesus Christ it took one determined, devout woman down by the river to open up her heart and her home so that the good news of Jesus could begin to cross a new continent and make its way to the ends of the earth, and eventually into your ears and into your heart today.

Doesn’t our own experience show this to be true—that it’s often the devout and devoted women of the church who work the hardest—who are most eager to share the faith with others—who best recognize the importance of faith in the family, and who most readily teach that faith to their children and grandchildren through songs and Bible stories? Lydia’s love for the Lord lives on today—lives on in the women of this congregation and in many of our mothers and grandmothers.

But all of us—women and men—have even more to learn from Lydia. For once Lydia came to believe in Christ as her Savior, she immediately did what she could to support the work of the church. Without hesitation she opened up her home to Paul and Silas—and later to all the new Christian converts in Philippi. For Lydia, there was an urgency—an intensity—about her faith in Christ. Her faith didn’t take a back seat to anything—to school or sports or career or anything.

Beloved in the Lord, we need that urgency and that intensity when it comes to our faith today. Our membership in the Christian church comes with more privileges—and more responsibilities—than any other vocation we have. Lydia was a woman of means who fully utilized and leveraged those means to benefit the work of the Lord. We have a congregation that is filled with people of means—talented, gifted, generous people. But where is the intensity? Where is the urgency? Too often what we hear in the church is, “It’s not my job. It’s not my job to teach Sunday school. It’s not my job to greet visitors. It’s not my job to fix this or repair that. It’s not my job to sing in the choir or usher.”

Let me ask, what would our families be like if our mothers always took that attitude? You need food to eat and clothes to wear? Sorry, not my job. You need someone to kiss that boo-boo and make it all better? Sorry, not my job. You need someone to encourage you and correct you? Sorry, not my job. But Lydia is one of many blessed mothers who was led by the Lord to say, “yes.” To invest herself in the life of the church, and in so doing, to invest herself in the lives of those around her—serving out of love for the Lord Jesus.

Beloved in the Lord, you too are being led by the Lord to say, “yes.” To boldly and fearlessly invest yourself with intensity and urgency in the church of Jesus Christ. You and Lydia have so much in common—things like one Lord, one faith, one baptism. It was the Lord who opened Lydia’s heart. That same Lord is working and knocking on the door of your heart. Are you looking and listening and answering? Will you say yes? Will you invest yourself like Lydia? Will you follow Lydia’s lead? And don’t say to yourself, “Well, nobody’s asked me to do anything.” Nobody asked Lydia either. She was smart enough to see what the needs were; and she told Paul and Silas, “You’re coming to my house.”

The thing that made all the difference for Lydia is the same difference-maker for you. You might have missed it in the fine print of today’s reading, but it’s right there in black and white: “Lydia and the members of her household were baptized.” It sounds so routine—so ordinary. But that baptism brought life and liberty to Lydia. It freed her from her sins—washed them away in the cleansing water of Christ’s forgiveness. We saw it happen just minutes ago with little Grant.

And Grant’s baptism is a reminder for all of us who are baptized. It’s a reminder that your life is ripe with God’s plans and purposes. He’s always knocking, always guiding, always inviting. No, you may not receive a vision telling you to leave tomorrow for Macedonia. But tomorrow you may cross paths with someone who is hurting, and you can listen with the compassion of Jesus. You can tell them that your church is place of hope and invite them to come along. No, you might not be asked to open your home to missionaries like Lydia did, but when the offering plate comes your way in a few minutes, you’ll have an opportunity to provide housing for missionaries, to educate pastors, and to take your place in spreading the kingdom of God to the ends of the earth—just like Lydia.

Lydia was loved by the Lord; and that love had its way with Lydia. That same love can have its way with you too. It is a love that runs even deeper than a mother’s love. It’s a love that stretches from the manger to the cross to the open tomb of Easter—all the way to the New Jerusalem with streets of gold where the light of the sun and moon is simply not needed. That’s where you’re headed by grace, through faith, for Jesus’ sake. Meanwhile today, in the water and in the Word, in the bread and in the wine—the love of Jesus is here for you. Happy Mothers’ Day. Amen.