Blessed Disciples

In Nomine Iesu
St. Matthew 5:1-12
January 30, 2011
Epiphany 4A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Last Sunday we heard about how Jesus began His public ministry. We heard Jesus call His first disciples. “Come, follow me,” He said, “and I will make you fishers of men.” Those disciples, for their part, walked away from everything they knew best—left behind comfortable careers and steady work as fishermen—gave up paychecks and pensions and a predictable plan for life. And if you don’t find that astounding, then consider what it would take to get you to leave behind your salary, your security, your predictable plan for life. The first disciples left it all behind for the sake of Jesus.

Did they know what they were getting into? Did they understand entirely who Jesus really was? No, they really didn’t. These men were disciples of Jesus; but they had no idea what it meant to be disciples of Jesus. Thankfully, they didn’t have to wait long to begin learning about discipleship.

For that’s what today’s Holy Gospel begins to unpack for us—what it means to be a disciple of Jesus. In Matthew chapter four Jesus called disciples to follow Him in faith. In Matthew chapter five (today) Jesus begins to preach and proclaim just what it looks like when men and women follow Him in faith. Jesus speaks nine beatitudes—nine statements of blessing. Crowds had gathered around, but please note that Jesus was speaking these words of blessing to those whom He had called—His disciples. These beatitudes served two purposes: They are, first of all, an introduction to the entire Sermon on the Mount (which we will be hearing in weeks to come). But secondly, these beatitudes give us a glimpse into the life of discipleship. Want to know what a disciple is and how a disciple lives? Then listen to the beatitudes.

The beatitudes show how disciples face the challenges of the present while living in the confident expectation of what the future will bring. They teach us how to live in difficulty of “now” while never losing the joy of the “not yet.” Here’s the best way I can explain it: To really get the beatitudes you need to recall what it was like on the last day of school, back in second or third grade. On that last day of school, you were still in school. There were still rules and expectations and report cards. But I always had a smile on my face on that last day of school because I already had one foot firmly planted in summer vacation. Baseball and swimming and sleeping late hadn’t yet begun; but in my mind, I was already there. I was living the present in the confident expectation of the future. My “now” was being heavily influenced by my “not yet.” In a manner of speaking, you could say that for the disciples of Jesus, every day is the last day of school.

“Blessed are the poor in spirit,” Jesus said, “for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” This first beatitude functions like an introduction—a summary, really—of all the rest. Jesus’ disciples mourn. They are meek, they hunger and thirst for righteousness, they are persecuted peace-makers. But at the top of the list, Jesus says, they are poor—poor in spirit.

To be poor in spirit is more than just being humble. And it has nothing to do with how big or how small our paychecks may be. To be poor in spirit is to be a beggar before God. In our affluent culture we don’t know much about begging and beggars. After all, we have county hospitals, social security, food pantries and homeless shelters to keep people from having to beg. Beggars are those who have absolutely nothing—those who are completely dependent upon the goodness and generosity of others for their very existence.

To be poor in spirit, then—to be a beggar before God—is to stand before God empty-handed—completely dependent upon Him for life and salvation and everything! No merit of our own. No goodness in us. No snazzy resume full of spiritual feats and accomplishments. No credit for attending long church meetings. No receipts for offerings given. No gold stars for church attendance. No tally sheets for how many times you shared the faith with someone else. None of that. The poor in spirit—the disciples of Jesus—are beggars. They don’t say, “I thank You, God, that I’m not like other men.” But in their emptiness they pray, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”

St. Augustine once expressed it this way. He wrote this sentence: “God gives into empty hands.” Disciples with full hands are not disciples at all. Hands that are full—full of self, full of pride, hands tightly wrapped around money and entertainment and pleasure and sin and shame and vice—those are not the hands of the poor in spirit. Those hands are not “blessed” by Jesus. Those hands will never be the hands into which God can give Himself and His mercy and forgiveness and salvation. And be forewarned that Jesus (in His drastic mercy) sometimes takes it upon Himself to empty our hands for us.

Beloved in the Lord, disciples of Jesus, open your hands. Unclench your fists. Admit your spiritual poverty. Jesus has a word for people like that. He calls such poor, spiritual beggars “blessed.” “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of God.” It is precisely when you have nothing that Jesus gives you everything. Into your empty hand Jesus has placed His nail-scarred hand. And that is everything—faith, forgiveness, mercy, purity, peace and joy. Those are the goods Jesus gives away to His poor, empty-handed disciples. Yours is the kingdom of heaven, not because you’ve achieved it—not because you’ve earned it—but only because Jesus has given it into your hands as a gift. Jesus achieved it. Jesus earned it. Jesus emptied Himself and became obedient to death—even death on a cross. His poverty makes you rich. His poverty makes you blessed.

To be blessed is to be saved—to be safely secured—to be anchored to the grace of God through faith in Jesus. Blessed are you, Jesus says. But you should also know that to be a blessed disciple of Jesus doesn’t mean a happy, care-free life in this world. To borrow from my earlier analogy, you’re still “in school.” Playground bullies threaten to pummel you. Homework and expectations and evaluations threaten to overwhelm you. Temptations of every kind swirl around you minute by minute. While the rest of the world rejoices over recess, the disciples of Jesus are mourning over sin and its effects in this dying world. While the rest of the world adopts an aggressive, me-first attitude, the disciples of Jesus live under the cross in meekness. While the rest of the world gorges itself in gluttony, the disciples of Jesus hunger and thirst for righteousness. They are merciful. They are pure in heart. They don’t stir up conflict, but work to make peace. And they are persecuted, because this world cannot long tolerate these who are blessed by Jesus.

It isn’t easy being a disciple of Jesus. But Jesus calls you blessed. He invites you to live in the troubles of today with the promises of tomorrow in mind. And what are those promises? You will be comforted. You will inherit the earth. You will be filled with righteousness. You will be shown mercy. You will see God and be called sons and daughters of God. The kingdom of heaven is yours. It doesn’t get any better than that.

The last day of school was a day of joy and gladness because you knew what was ahead. In the same way, Jesus says, “Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven.” Already in Holy Baptism you were joined to Jesus. You will go where He has gone. Already today in Holy Communion you will receive a foretaste of the heavenly feast to come. Today in the Divine Service, heaven breaks in, heaven spills into time and space, the “not yet” works its way into the “here and now.”

Now is where you are. And where is that? Well, now you are blessed. Now you can rejoice and be glad. Now you are an empty-handed disciple of Jesus—poor in spirit but rich in grace. Now you can live in the absolute confidence that school is almost over—that an eternal summer of joy and feasting and happy reunions is about to begin—for the sake of Jesus Christ our Savior, who gave Himself for you. Amen.

Christmas Detour

In Nomine Iesu
St. Matthew 2:1-12
January 6, 2011
The Epiphany of Our Lord

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

The twelve days of Christmas have come and gone; but there is one final holy day that draws us back to Bethlehem. On this Epiphany we worship with the wise men—we rejoice with great joy that One has been born who is king of the Jews . . . and Gentiles too.

I’m especially glad to be preaching on this Epiphany at Luther Memorial Chapel, here in the 3800 block of North Maryland Avenue in Shorewood. I’m glad not for pastoral or personal reasons, but for reasons of proclamation and preaching. You see, all of you hearers tonight—especially you Shorewoodians (or is it Shorewoodites?) all of you have agonized for most of the past year over the construction on Capitol Drive. You’ve been relentlessly rerouted, detoured and delayed. You’ve been inconvenienced and frustrated because a familiar pathway for travel and commerce has been an absolute mess. On this Epiphany I suspect most of you are rejoicing exceedingly because the work is largely done and all lanes are open.

But the detouring and re-routing caused by Capitol Drive construction is a good reminder--a reminder of how the entire Christmas account is really comprised of a series of detours and re-routes. We hear the good news of Jesus’ birth so often that we mistakenly hear it as little more than a smooth sequence of carefully planned events. In fact, it was anything but a smooth sequence of events. It was one detour after another. The betrothal of Mary and Joseph began with an unplanned, unprecedented pregnancy. Then came the decree that a census should be taken—a decree that meant Mary would have to leave behind the comforts of home and the birthing center of Nazareth for the backwater, low-tech town of Bethlehem. Not a move that even modern mothers would tolerate. Joseph was probably muttering about politicians and intrusive government and high taxes the whole way from Nazareth to Bethlehem. Their best laid plans had been disrupted and detoured.

The wise men, as well, were detoured in Jerusalem. Jerusalem seemed like the natural place for the “king of the Jews” to be born. How disappointing to travel all that way—through field and fountain, moor and mountain, following yonder star—only to have things grind to a halt in Jerusalem. Only after the local clergy dug out and dusted off the scroll of the prophet Micah—only after the Word of God was proclaimed and heard—did the wise men learn that the Christ was to be born in Bethlehem of Judea. They heard the Word. They followed the star, they found the Christ, they fell on their faces and gave their gifts. But even the departure of these wise men was marked by—you guessed it—another detour. “And being warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they departed to their own country by another way.”

Detoured, re-routed, re-directed—the birth of the Son of God in human flesh has that effect on the world. It should also have that effect on us who claim the Christ child as our Savior from sin and death. Christmas comes and Christmas goes—and no one is ever the same again. Stinky shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God, making known to all what the angel had told them about the child. Mary treasured it all and pondered those words in her heart. Joseph named the child “Jesus” on the 8th day and claimed Jesus as his Savior from sin. Saintly Simeon sang that he was ready to depart this life in peace. And Gentile wise men from the Middle East knelt down to worship the king of the Jews.

God and man are united in Jesus the Christ and things are never the same again. It must also be that way for us. Jesus came not only to save us from our sins, but also to detour and derail our sinful nature. As we leave another Christmas behind and head back into the comfortable routines of a New Year, we need to be detoured—we need to be re-routed from the sinful patterns we find so easy to follow. St. Paul expressed the detouring effect of Jesus’ birth with these words to Titus: “For the grace of God that brings salvation has appeared to all men. It teaches us to say ‘No’ to ungodliness and worldly passions, and to live self-controlled, upright and godly lives in this present age, while we wait for the blessed hope—the glorious appearing of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ, who gave himself for us” (Titus 2:11-14).

Christ has come to detour us and to re-route us and re-direct us. The birth of Jesus teaches us to say “no” to the pride and passions that are furiously at work in us with sinful special effects. Our sin likens us to a bunch of little King Herods. You might not like being grouped together with Herod, but we all want to be king. We all want to be in charge of our world, in control, calling the shots. We can excuse and justify our every sin just as if we were answerable to no one—just as if we were kings. We need to be detoured. We need to be re-routed. We need to say “No” to all of that.

We need to say “no” to the selfishness, the greed, the covetousness that characterizes our attitudes toward the wealth we call our own. We may not have much in the way of gold, frankincense or myrrh. But with Herod-like efficiency we gather and grab and grasp for more. When what we need is a detour with the wise men to kneel before the true King with open hearts and open hands and bended knees—to give our best to Him who gave Himself for us. Like the wise men, we need to return home tonight—we need to depart Bethlehem—by a different way—the way of repentance and forgiveness.

And even though our Christmas pilgrimage must be one of detours and u-turns and contrition and repentance, we walk this difficult path with the great joy of the wise men. We have this joy tonight because Jesus our Savior was not detoured. The One who came to save His people from their sins—He was not re-routed. Nothing could deter Him from His mission to make you His own. Neither the applause of the crowds nor the temptations of Satan could derail His mission of mercy. “Nails, spear shall pierce Him through, the cross be borne for me, for you.”

In fact, the Word of God makes a direct connection between the events of the Epiphany and the events of Good Friday. There is a straight linguistic line between His birth and His death. For the wise men came wandering into Jerusalem asking this question: “Where is He who has been born king of the Jews?” In the three decades that followed, Jesus would be addressed with many different titles: such as “Christ” and “Rabbi” and “Lord” and “Son of David.” But that title, “King of the Jews,” would not be heard again until that dark day when His only crown was of thorns and His only throne was a cross. That day the soldiers mocked Him, “Hail, King of the Jews.” Pilate likewise had a notice placed above Jesus’ head on the cross: “Jesus of Nazareth,” it read, “the King of the Jews.” Where is He who has been born king of the Jews? He is the man on the center cross who gave Himself for you. That is why He was born.

After a three day detour Jesus was re-routed to resurrection life. The living Christ still gives Himself for you today. Just as Jesus’ divinity and glory was hidden from the wise men, yet they worshipped Him with joy. So also will we kneel tonight, to worship the same Jesus who is both concealed and revealed for us in the preaching and proclamation of His Word—in the cleansing splash of holy baptism—in the bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood. And we will trust as the wise men trusted—that God is true to His Word—that He always keeps His promises—that He is Emmanuel, God with us.

Whatever the detours may be that stand in your path tonight—the unplanned, uncomfortable, aggravating detours in your life. Know that God will use them for your eternal good. Not every detour is what we would call a good thing. But God does work all things for the good of those who love Him, those whom He has called. That’s you! God Himself has called you in your baptism. He is at work in you for eternity. Between now and the end of your earthly journey, things will not go as planned. Detours lie ahead. It will not be smooth sailing. “Earth’s deep sadness may perplex us and distress us.” But the Lord we love is first and last, the end and the beginning. Our life’s journeys are all begun in Him and ended in Him—the bright morning star. The King of the Jews. Our Savior. Happy Epiphany. Amen.

The Manger and the Martyr

In Nomine Iesu
Acts 6-7
December 26, 2010
St. Stephen, Martyr

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

It seems horribly wrong. Or at least it’s a case of bad judgment. It seems so out of place that the tragic death—the murder—of a faithful Christian man should be remembered so close to Christmas. It’s such a harsh and jarring transition: White paraments and festive joy yesterday to the blood-red paraments of the martyrs today. It’s the second day of Christmas, after all—two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree. Caroling and mistletoing and ho-ho-ho-ing are still in the air.

But celebrating the feast of St. Stephen on December 26th is a tradition as old as Christmas itself. The one, holy, Christian and apostolic Church has observed the martyrdom of Saint Stephen for just as long as she has observed Christmas. Sometime back in the Fourth Century, December 25th was officially designated as the date on which the birth of Jesus would be celebrated. And sometime back in that same century, December 26th was appointed as the date on which the first martyr would be commemorated.

This was no accident. Placing Christmas and the martyrdom of Stephen right next to each other on the calendar was the church’s way of ensuring that Christmas wouldn’t simply be romanticized into a cute story about a little baby born to a poor couple surrounded by barnyard animals beneath a starry sky. Remembering the death of Stephen today, December 26th, shows the direct connection between the birth of the Christ and the death of His saints. It’s intentional. It’s by design. The manger and the martyr go together.

St. Stephen has much to teach us about Christmas—about what it means for us that the Word became flesh and dwelt among us. Stephen’s death shows us, first of all, that the birth of Jesus did not occur to magically erase all of life’s burdens and problems. Jesus wasn’t born to win us a life on earth that’s free from the distressing and depressing troubles of life.

Stephen was a member of the very first Christian congregation in Jerusalem. Jesus had ascended into heaven only a short time earlier. Everything was new and fresh in the life of the church. The Holy Spirit had come at Pentecost and three thousand souls were baptized and brought to faith in Jesus the Christ. Every day the Christians in Jerusalem were meeting together to hear the Apostles’ doctrine, to pray, and to receive the body and blood of Jesus in the Lord’s Supper. The Apostles were preaching the Word of God with great boldness, and the Lord was adding daily to their number.

Yet, even then there were problems in the church. There was conflict among the first Christians. Every day food was distributed to those who were needy. But complaints arose because some of the widows didn’t think they were getting their fair share. And so a special voters’ meeting was called to address the problem. The result was that seven deacons were chosen, including Stephen, whose main task was to oversee the daily distribution of food. To use the jargon of our congregation, we would consider these men to be the very first board of social ministry.

But please note this important point: Stephen was a layman—not an apostle or a pastor. He was full of faith and the Holy Spirit. He went to work for the church because there were problems in the church—and Stephen wanted to be part of the solution. Stephen gave generously of his time, his talent, and his treasure so that the apostles could focus on the work of preaching and baptizing and feeding God’s people with Jesus’ body and blood. Without dedicated, faithful laypeople like Stephen—without all of you in the pews this morning—without your sacrifice, your commitment, your deep desire to solve problems and make peace—things in this church would quickly grind to a halt. There have always been and there will always be problems in the church—for the church is made up of poor, miserable sinners. I thank God for you men and women who, like Stephen, realize that what God has given us in this congregation is worth preserving, and worth all the sacrifices that you make for our life together.

What ultimately got Stephen into trouble was what He confessed about Jesus. Stephen was a layman, yes, but that didn’t stop him from speaking the truth in love about the Savior. It’s worth noting that the Greek word “martyr” means simply “witness.” Stephen was a witness for the Lord—in life and in death. On trial before the Sanhedrin, Stephen showed that Christmas is about God blessing us with His real presence in Christ. On trial, Stephen recounted much of Israel’s history—how God’s presence had always been linked to a certain place—first to Sinai, then to the tabernacle, then to the temple in Jerusalem.

But Stephen’s main point was that now—since Christmas—since the Word became flesh—God’s presence was not to be found in a certain place, but in a certain Person. God’s presence was now located in the flesh-and-blood person of Jesus the Christ. “The Most High,” Stephen testified, “does not dwell in houses made by human hands” (7:48). Stephen testified that the real temple was now to be found wherever Jesus gives Himself to us. Jesus Himself expressed that same point in today’s Holy Gospel when He lamented, “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather you together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing. Look,” Jesus said, “your house is left to you desolate.” And without the Christ, the temple of the Jews was indeed desolate.

The members of the Sanhedrin resisted the Holy Spirit and sought to kill Stephen for the truth he spoke. Sadly, we too are tempted to work against the truth that Stephen spoke—the truth of God’s presence in our lives. Even among us—those of us like Stephen redeemed by Christ the crucified and washed clean in the splash of Holy Baptism—IN US ALL there are dark and terrible things that masquerade through our lives with sinful special effects—things that seek to push away the Christ and His saving presence—things like human relationships, human pleasures, human pride and suffering. Satan can and does use all of those things to get us to gnash our teeth at the truth of God’s Word and the gift of His presence. Our sin is his success.

But Christmas is God’s great answer to our self-inflicted sin and its heart-wrenching wages. For Stephen, this is what Christmas meant: It meant that at the moment of his death, he was welcomed into the presence of Jesus for all eternity. The angry lies were told for only a short time. The angry shouts were heard for an even briefer time. The bruising stones rained down upon him for just a brief moment. But for Stephen, the presence of Jesus was to be enjoyed forever and ever. “Look,” he said, “I see heaven open and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God.”

“I see heaven open.” The mission that began at the manger—the mission that was finished at the cross—that mission is fulfilled in each of us when we see what Stephen saw—an open heaven and a waiting Savior. This is why we are now engaged in a twelve-day-long celebration. Jesus was born to destroy death—to bring life and light to Stephen, to you and me, and to all those dear ones you remember at Christmas who have already departed this life in peace and who are already with Christ. Even as our eyes close in death someday, we will surely see what they now see: the Son of Man in human flesh at the right hand of God. Even stone-throwing, teeth-gnashing, stiff-necked sinners like us will see that beautiful sight by grace, through faith in Jesus Christ.

All of our caroling and “merry-Christmas-ing” cannot begin to compare with the voice from heaven which cries out, “Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on” (Rev. 14:13). Shepherd costumes and Christmas sweaters and neckties cannot begin to compare with those who are wearing white robes: “These are they who have come out of the great tribulation; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb” (Rev. 7:14). Christmas is the presence of Christ. And there is no greater Christmas than seeing Him face to face. God grant us like Stephen to fall asleep in Jesus with this certainty in our hearts: By His manger and by His holy cross, Jesus has opened heaven for us. Amen.