A Blessed Family Portrait

In Nomine Iesu
Revelation 7:9-17
November 7, 2010
All Saints’ Sunday

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Did you hear what I just called you? You might have missed it, since I address you in the same way as I begin nearly every sermon. I called you “brothers and sisters” in Christ. Now, to be brothers and sisters is to be family. And on this All Saints’ Sunday we are able to catch a glimpse of just how big and how diverse and how blessed this Christian family of ours really is. “How great is the love the Father has lavished on us,” writes St. John, “that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are.”

What we learn about our Christian family today is similar to what I used to learn in the family gatherings of my youth. My immediate Henrichs relatives were a small group indeed. Not a clan or a tribe by any stretch of the imagination. Even today I have but two sisters and four first cousins. But every so often in my childhood there would be a family reunion—at which all manner of Henrichses would seemingly emerge from the woodwork—people I had never met or seen or heard of before—people to whom I was related. Suddenly, I felt strength in those numbers. My puny, little family had hope—a lively history and an ongoing future. My only question was, “Who are all these Henrichses; and where did they come from?”

That question is not unlike the question that will be asked at the end of time when all the people of God, from the greatest to the least, are gathered together around the throne of God. “These in white robes—who are they, and where did they come from?” Today’s reading from Revelation chapter seven is a beautiful, hope-filled reminder that we are—each of us—on our way to a grand and glorious family reunion. And the sense of wonder and amazement that we sometimes feel at our earthly family reunions will pale in comparison when all the family of faith gathers around the throne of God in heaven. Then, the central question of today’s reading will be on your lips and mine: “These in white robes—who are they, and where did they come from?”

St John describes them as a great multitude that no one can count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and in front of the Lamb. They are wearing white robes and holding palm branches in their hands. And this family is not a quiet family, but in a loud voice this multitude declares, “Salvation belongs to our God, who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb.” Those in white robes are also joined by all the angels and archangels in worship of God, lifting their voices to proclaim, “Praise and glory and wisdom and thanks and honor and power and strength be to our God forever and ever. Amen.”

Beloved in the Lord, my brothers and my sisters, this is your family being described. This is the family reunion to which you are being drawn—and in which you are already a participant every time you gather around this altar. Who is this host arrayed in white? “These are they,” John says, “who have come out of the great tribulation; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. . . . Never again will they hunger; never again will they thirst. The sun will not beat upon them, nor any scorching heat. For the Lamb . . . will be their shepherd . . . and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”

It sounds too good to be true; but it is true and better than good. You might think of these words as a kind of family portrait. Most of you have probably had a family portrait taken at some point. My little family of four posed in front of the camera a few weeks ago. Clothing was carefully coordinated. Hair was parted perfectly. Smiling faces were huddled together as if all was perfectly blissful between us and never was heard a discouraging word and the sky was not cloudy all day. It’s a beautiful family portrait that somehow manages to bring out the very best in us.

But I have to tell you, it’s almost too good to be true. It is true in that it is us; and we weren’t photo-shopped. But we don’t always look like that. Our hair is mostly messy and we’re probably better at snarling than we are at smiling. But a good family portrait brings out the best. And there’s no better family portrait than the one in which all of us are dressed in white robes, with palm branches in our hands, with eyes that weep no more, and voices that sing for joy. That’s the family portrait—that’s the family reunion—which is not too good to be true. It’s our family. It’s our reunion. And all this is thanks to our Savior, Jesus the Christ.

It’s Jesus who makes it possible for sinners like us to stand among the white-robed saints of God. The beatitudes that Jesus spoke in today’s holy gospel are first and foremost descriptions of Himself—the perfect life He lived as our substitute. We are anything but meek, merciful, pure-hearted peacemakers. Not by nature. Not in and of ourselves. Jesus alone is all of this. He embodies these beatitudes perfectly. Jesus is poor in spirit. Though He was rich, He became poor so that by His poverty you are rich. Jesus mourns. He weeps over our sin as He did over Jerusalem; and He weeps over our death as He did at the tomb of Lazarus. But by that mourning He brings us comfort and joy. Jesus hungers and thirsts for our righteousness, and out of His hunger you are fed. Jesus is merciful, pure-hearted, peace-making. He showed mercy by laying down His life for the sin of the world. He made peace by the blood He shed. He offered His pure and holy life as the sacrifice for your sins. He was persecuted, insulted, and falsely convicted. But by that conviction you have been acquitted, justified, declared righteous before God. On the cross Jesus hung bloody in nakedness and shame. But by that blood you have been washed. You have been cleansed. You have been forgiven.

In addition to those formal family portraits, most families also have photo albums filled with candid, casual snapshots which tell the family story in a more informal way. These candid snapshots capture us the way we really are at a given moment in time. Sometimes it’s not too pretty. This is also true for the family of God here and now. For us who walk as yet by faith, there is hunger and thirst and tears and the ongoing struggle with temptation and sin and death. The wages of sin is death, and there can be no denying that. Death is the consequence of sin. But today and every Sunday we celebrate the fact that Jesus has done something remarkable with death. He has taken this feared and dreaded enemy, and He has made it into the gateway of eternal life in heaven. This is why it also says in Revelation, “Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on.”

Yes, you heard correctly, “Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord.” The Lord Jesus has gone the way ahead of them. He Himself has gone to death and the grave, and those who follow Him, trusting Him in faith, are called “blessed” in their death. They are blessed because those who die in the Lord are with the Lord. There’s no waiting around at the pearly gates—no standing in line. There’s no joking around with St. Peter. There’s no soul sleep. No, when you close your eyes for the final time in this world you will immediately open them in paradise with Jesus. Blessed are those who die in the Lord.

Our numbers here today are small. It will take our ushers a mere matter of minutes to total up the attendance here today. But let’s not forget the family portrait that tells the whole story for all the people of God on this day. That portrait depicts a great multitude that no one can count. Our numbers here today are not too diverse. I see a lot of white people of European descent. But don’t forget the family portrait that tells the whole story for all the people of God on this day. That portrait depicts people from every nation, tribe, people and language. Our numbers here today make a joyful sound with their singing. But don’t forget the family portrait in which all the saints who are alive forevermore in Christ, join their voices to sing “Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength and honor and glory and praise.” It will be the grandest hymn festival you will ever hear.

And you will be there, with all the family of God, dressed in white, standing shoulder to shoulder with the very people next to you now—and with that multitude that no one can even begin to number—a multitude that now includes Susan Kautz, Kaethe Scholz, and Charles Dittmar. Today we feebly struggle; they in glory shine. To say that you will be happy when you join them would be an understatement. “Blessed” would be more accurate. Blessed are you, my brothers and my sisters, fellow children of God, blessed are you in Jesus, now and forever. Amen.

The Reformation of Zacchaeus

In Nomine Iesu
St. Luke 19:1-10
October 31, 2010
Reformation Day

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

My very earliest recollections of attending Sunday school as a little boy are of Zacchaeus. Still too young to read or write, I was not too young to sing. And that song is still with me all these years later: Zacchaeus was a wee, little man—a wee, little man was he. He climbed up in a sycamore tree for the Lord he wanted to see. And as the Savior passed that way he looked up in the tree. And he said, “Zacchaeus, you come down, for I’m going to your house today . . .”

As I got a little older—and as I got a lot taller—it seemed that I had less and less in common with Zacchaeus. You see, I was always the tallest kid in the class. Whenever there was a group photo to be taken, I automatically knew that my place was in the center of the back row. “Wee” and “little” were two adjectives that were never used to describe me.

But in more recent years I’ve come to realize that Zacchaeus isn’t defined by his diminutive stature any more than I’m defined by my above-average height. No, the life of Zacchaeus is defined by the grace of God in Jesus Christ, and by the repentance that flowed from that grace. Grace and repentance are the themes of this Reformation Day. And so I invite you to consider with me this morning the reformation of Zacchaeus.

Zacchaeus was a tax collector; and there was perhaps no better place to be a tax collector than in Jericho. Jericho was (and is) the oldest city in the world. It was a prime spot for collecting customs, levies, surcharges, fees, tariffs and all other manner of taxes on goods and produce being shipped east and west. Mind you, Zacchaeus was a chief tax collector. That probably meant that Zacchaeus’ line of work wasn’t all that different from the typical mafia crime boss of today. Graft, corruption, kick-backs, money laundering, bribes, extortion—it was all in a day’s work when you worked as the chief tax collector in Jericho.

Then, one day the word on the streets of Jericho was that Jesus of Nazareth was coming to town. What Zacchaeus had heard about Jesus we don’t know, but it was evidently enough to trigger his curiosity. So Zacchaeus set out that day to be a spectator. He simply sought to catch a glimpse of the Savior as he passed that way. But being small of stature, he would have to perch himself above the crowd in the branches of a sycamore tree. From there he could take it all in as a spectator. But as the Savior passed that way He looked up in the tree—looked up at one little fan sitting in the stands. And Jesus did what every spectator in Wisconsin dreams about—did what can almost be described as a “Lambeau Leap,” only better!

Imagine it! Jesus hurtles a verbal volley directly up at Zacchaeus—draws him down from his safe and secure perch above the fray—announces that He MUST go to the house of Zacchaeus immediately. (Even Donald Driver wouldn’t dare to do that!) St. Luke tells us that Zacchaeus came down immediately and welcomed Jesus gladly into his home.

And as a result of this surprise visit, Zacchaeus—greedy Zacchaeus, organized crime boss Zacchaeus, unclean, sinful Zacchaeus—he is made a new man, transformed by the amazing grace of God. He repents of his crimes, renounces his shameful ways, and promises restitution to those he has wronged above and beyond what the Law of God required. And Jesus gets the last word, declaring Zacchaeus to be a “son of Abraham,” saved by grace through faith alone.

Zacchaeus teaches us that Christianity is not a spectator sport. Zacchaeus would have been content to be just a spectator that day—perhaps to see Jesus from afar, perhaps to overhear a parable, or possibly even witness a miracle. But at the end of the day, Zacchaeus the spectator would have returned to being Zacchaeus the tax collector on the road to hell. And nothing would have changed. Filthy rich Zacchaeus would have continued on living in spiritual poverty.

Every Sunday the Savior passes right this way, here among us; and every Sunday we are tempted to see ourselves simply as spectators. We love being spectators. We pay good money to be spectators of sports and the arts in all kinds of beautiful venues. But this place is no place for spectators. What do I mean? Well, spectators come here hoping to glean a little good news, to be inspired, to hear beautiful music, to connect with friends—but doing all this with no serious thought about what needs to change in their lives.

It would have been unthinkable that Jesus should personally visit the home of Zacchaeus, only for Zacchaeus to go right back to his life of crime afterward. There was a part of Zachaeus that needed to be changed—that needed reformation. More accurately, there was a part of Zacchaeus that needed to be put to death. He was a lover of money who lined his pockets with all his ill-gotten gain. That pocket lining could no longer continue. It had to be stopped. It had to be put to death.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a Lutheran pastor executed by the Nazis, put it more succinctly than I ever could. Bonhoeffer famously wrote, “When Christ calls a man He bids him to come and die.” That striking sentence sounds a lot like the very first of those 95 Theses that Martin Luther nailed to the Castle Church doors at Wittenburg exactly 493 years ago today. Luther wrote, “1. When our Lord and Master, Jesus Christ, said ‘Repent’, He called for the entire life of believers to be one of repentance.” The grace of God leads to this repentance. The grace of God leads us to put to death in us whatever will not conform to the Lordship of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.

The account of Zacchaeus leaves us with but two choices—you can go on being a spectator, enjoying your carefully crafted complacency, living at ease with the normalcy of your sin—OR you can welcome the presence and power of Jesus into your life and radically reform your life through repentance. What is there in your life that needs to die? Where does your Old Adam express himself best? Is it your constant need to be in control, to call the shots, to be the boss? Is it the simmering anger that boils over far too often? Is it your love of money that causes you to be stingy and tight fisted—even toward God? What needs to die in you? Your gift for gossip? Your refusal to flee from sexual immorality?

Saying goodbye to the comfort of old sinful ways is never easy, but your help comes from the Lord—an ever present help in time of trouble. You can’t do it alone. Zacchaeus couldn’t do it alone. It takes the power and presence of Jesus to root out the rot for a meaningful reformation of life. You see, the parts of your life that need to be put to death have already been died for by Jesus. As we heard today in Romans 3, “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus.” The blood that Jesus shed on the cross—that blood means that your scarlet sins can be made snow-white. In Jesus you are forgiven. In Jesus you are a son of Abraham. In Jesus you are justified.

Today what happened to Zacchaeus can happen to you. You may have come here today simply to be a spectator or simply out of habit. But your motive doesn’t matter now. What matters is that Jesus Himself is passing this way. Think of your padded pews as being big branches of a sycamore tree. And here and now today, Jesus does a Lambeau leap into your life. He engages the spectators, drawing them in, connecting His life to their life. In the waters of your baptism. In the comforting cadence of Holy Absolution. In the preaching and proclamation of His Word. In the bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood—Jesus Christ is here FOR YOU. You are not just one of the crowd—not just a spectator in the nosebleed seats. You have a one-on-one encounter today with Jesus the Christ. He comes to our house today. He transforms sleepy spectators into saints who lead holy lives of service. He seeks out sinners. He eats with sinners. He forgives sinners. The sinners gathered in this house will one day be welcomed into His heavenly house.

Don’t think you can have this forgiveness without repentance. You can’t. Don’t think you have this grace while remaining a mere coffee-sipping, donut-munching spectator of the Christian faith. You can’t. Don’t think that Jesus’ forgiveness is permission to go on living the same old sinful patterns. It doesn’t work that way. “When Christ calls a man He bids him come and die.” The Christian life is one of repentance and cross-bearing. Just ask Zacchaeus. His net worth dropped like a stone after his encounter with Jesus.

His net worth dropped, but His Grinch-like heart grew three sizes that day. He was a wee, little man, but Jesus made him a giant in the faith. He went looking for Jesus, but Jesus found him and called him and loved him and saved him. And today, He is doing the same for you. Happy Reformation Day. Amen.