The Widow's Might

In Nomine Iesu
St. Mark 12:38-44
November 11, 2012
Pentecost 24/Proper 27B

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

You know about the widow’s mite, don’t you? Today’s message centers on this antiquated coinage; so we’d better be perfectly clear as to what we’re talking about. For people who didn’t grow up hearing the King James Version of the Bible, the widow’s “mite”. . . is a mystery. We could just as well talk about the widow’s ice box, or the widow’s water closet, or the time the widow stepped into a phone booth. Times change. Language changes. The once familiar is now outdated and obsolete. For most of the under-twenty crowd, the only available definition for “mite” (m-i-t-e) is a tiny, biting insect.

So let’s set the record straight: Mite is an old English word for a copper coin. The two copper coins given away by the widow were mites—the most worthless of all coins. It took two mites just to equal one penny. It is a pure coincidence that today there just happens to be a “mite box” in the narthex—because today we recognize the work of the Lutheran Women’s Missionary League. For longer than most of us have been alive, these Lutheran women have been hoarding their pennies, nickels and dimes, faithfully filling their own personal mite boxes with these nearly worthless coins. But from these meager mites Christian missions have been fueled and funded, the Word of God has been proclaimed, and the Savior’s love has been shared in Word and deed around the world. Through these mites, the LWML has been busy nickeling and diming the world to life.

In today’s Holy Gospel Jesus does two things: He warns his disciples about the scribes, and He commends and memorializes a widow’s penny-sized offering. “Beware of the scribes,” Jesus warned. They like to put on a show with their pretend piety. And they like to prey on gullible, rich widows. Then along came a poor widow with her mite-sized offering. She didn’t put on a show. And the little she gave was all she had to live on. At the temple, they didn’t use offering plates. No, there were thirteen offering boxes made of metal. The tops of these money boxes were shaped like the bell of a horn. And as coins were dropped into these metallic money boxes, the sound of money on metal reverberated throughout the temple courtyard. When the rich emptied their money bags, everyone heard it. Everyone noticed. Everyone turned and looked. But the plink, plink of the poor widow’s coins were almost inaudible. No one noticed her meager gift—no one, that is, but Jesus. For Jesus always notices what we do not notice. Faith always gets His attention.

It would be easy enough to make a two part sermon out of this text: Part One: Don’t be like the scribes. Part Two: Be like the widow. She gave one hundred percent and so should you. But that’s not exactly what Jesus is teaching in this passage. So let’s aim for a slightly different angle.

Beware of the scribes, Jesus warns, because they are everything the poor widow is not. For they love attention; they love applause; they love the places of honor; and even though they blush with fake humility, yet in their heart of hearts they love living in the limelight. Yes, beware of the scribes, for the scribes are in you and me. If only we could see it as clearly in ourselves as we can see it in other people. Some of you are old enough to recall a time when it was the practice of many congregations to post publicly the annual offering amount given by each member. I can’t think of a better, more efficient way to turn a family of believers into a den of scribes, each person jealous of those who gave more and judgmental of those who gave less. What a breeding ground for pride and prejudice. We really have no business looking at how much others give or don’t give; but we ought to carefully examine what we give—and why we give what we give.

Jesus certainly notices the offerings we give. After all, He noticed the widow’s offering; and He is the intended recipient of every offering we give. So now let’s consider the widow and the gift she gave. From a worldly standpoint, the widow’s offering did not matter. Those two copper coins comprised an offering so small that it almost wasn’t worth counting. The widow’s offering would do nothing to pay down the temple debt. It would not impact work on the mission field. It fed no hungry, clothed no poor, paid no utility bill. To the eyes of the world, that widow’s offering was probably the least significant thing that transpired that day at the temple.

But to the eyes of Jesus, who sees deep into the heart—that poor widow’s penny-sized offering was worth more than all the gold in King Herod’s treasury. Jesus said that this poor widow had given more—more than all the others who gave out of their abundance. For she, out of her poverty, gave everything she had. The wealthy put in large amounts to be sure; but even larger amounts remained in their pockets. The widow put in a microscopic amount; but the amount that remained in her purse was zero. Her gift totaled one hundred percent.

And a quick reminder about widows in Jesus’ day: Most of them were not "merry" widows, living large on their husband’s pensions and life insurance policies. Nor were they enjoying even the modest benefits of social security, Medicare or Medicaid. No, most of them, like this widow, had only pennies to their name. And did you notice that Jesus calls her “poor,” but nowhere is she called “old” or “elderly?” I noticed that when I was viewing how artists and painters have depicted this widow down through the ages. I was shocked to see several paintings where the widow wasn’t old and gray, but very young, and some depictions had her even holding a baby on her hip while also holding a toddler’s hand. And actually, for those times, a young widow was probably almost as common as an older widow. How does it change your understanding of this passage to see the widow as a twenty-year-old mother of little ones, and not as an aging octogenarian?

This account doesn’t give us the whole story of stewardship, but it does teach us a few crucially important points. Jesus notices what we do not notice. He noticed the widow’s offering. He notices your offering. He notices the offerings given by teens, and by pre-teens and even the kindergarten crowd. And it’s not unheard of for someone in that crowd occasionally to give a few pennies for Jesus—often in a carefully folded envelope, maybe with a unicorn sticker attached for good measure. But make no mistake, those pennies are precious to Jesus. And if we don’t teach our children about this grace of giving, they will never learn it from anyone else.

This widow should cause us to question our own offerings—to evaluate not just the amount, but the percentage we return to the Lord. The point is not that we turn over every last penny to Jesus. But I think it’s also safe to say that this widow didn’t just give what she felt “comfortable” giving. She didn’t just give what she could spare. She didn’t just give what was left over after she paid the mortgage and the utilities and the cable TV and the car payment. She gave sacrificially. She gave off the top without fear of hitting rock bottom. You can do that too.

Or consider the other widow we heard about today—the widow of Zarephath. The Lord directed Elijah to go to her for food because there was a terrible famine in the land. Elijah must have assumed that this was going to be a widow of means—the Jackie Onasis of widows. Turns out she and her son were destitute. Their kitchen cabinets contained nothing but a little flour and a little oil. But by the grace of God (who loves especially the widow and the fatherless), the oil and the flour did not run out. There was always enough. There was always more. The Lord always provides. You know that too. You believe that too. “He who did not spare His own Son, but gave Him up for us all—how will He not also . . . graciously give us all things” (Rom. 8:32)? And the offering you give is a chance to show that you believe it—that with our gracious God, there is always more, always enough, always abundance. The Lord always provides.

These widows show us what faith looks like. But it would be a mistake to see these two widows merely as teachers of the law. That dear widow with her two mites wasn’t merely singled out by Jesus to show us what do do—or just to make us feel guilty about the offerings we give. No, this dear widow is showing us the Savior—pointing ahead to the crucifixion cross of Jesus—to the greatest offering ever given in the history of the world. This widow gave everything—all she had—in an act of pure love and devotion. Her pennies preach a sermon more powerful than any preacher could ever proclaim. For just as she gave away all she had, so Jesus gave all He had for you on Calvary’s cross. Only there was not the plink, plink of gold or silver coins, but only the steady dripping of His life’s blood, for your sin, securing your salvation, cleansing you from every stain. Jesus gave away all He had and all He was for you. He held nothing back as your sacred substitute.

That offering—the offering given by Jesus on Good Friday—that offering makes you rich. By faith in Jesus, you enjoy the riches of God’s grace, forgiveness for your sins, comfort in your sorrow, peace that passes understanding. Today you are invited to an extravagant meal that money can’t buy. On the menu is the body and blood of Jesus, shed for you, for the forgiveness of sins. Unlike any other meal, we come to this meal with empty pockets, empty hands, empty hearts. And Jesus fills us with His very life.

We trust Jesus with the big things—forgiveness, salvation, the life everlasting. Why not also trust Him with the small things? Why not trust Him with our coins and currency? Sometimes the oil and flour may run low. Sometimes your account balance might not register much more than the widow’s two mites. But you are never outside the Lord’s notice—never beyond the reach of His care and His love. He will never leave you or forsake you. “Let not your hearts be troubled,” He says. Seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and He will take care of everything else. Amen.

One of the Crowd

In Nomine Iesu
Rev. 7:9-17
November 4, 2012
All Saints’ Sunday

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

It is All Saints’ Sunday—a day which I look forward to every year—and especially this year. As the rest of the world around us plunges into darkness and petty partisanship this week, we are privileged (we are blessed) to set our minds on things above. All Saints’ Sunday is the church’s Memorial Day—the day on which we remember with deep thanksgiving all the saints who from their labors rest—all who by faith before the world confessed—including those dear saints from our fellowship who, during the year past, have departed this life to be with Christ. "We feebly struggle; they in glory shine."

I read recently about the final words spoken by one of the great theological minds of the last century. Laying on his deathbed, he reached an astoundingly simple conclusion: “If Christ is risen, then nothing else matters. If Christ is not risen, then nothing else matters.” In other words, everything hinges on Jesus’ resurrection. And that resurrection puts everything else in proper perspective. The results of this week’s elections, the tribulations and persecutions you face, the burdens you bear—All Saints’ Day leads us to say together with Saint Paul, “I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing to the glory that will be revealed in us” (Rom. 8:18).

In today’s reading from Revelation, we are given a glimpse of that glory. The curtain that separates the church on earth from the church in heaven is lifted, and we are given a sneak peek at what is transpiring around the throne of God. St. John is our tour guide. And the first thing he points out is a crowd—a crowd of unimaginable size and scope: “After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands.” On the one hand, to think about such a crowd is awe-inspiring—a reminder that no Christian is ever alone—that we are constantly surrounded by what the writer of Hebrews calls “so great a cloud of witnesses” (12:1). The martyr burned at the stake, the prophet sawn in two, the confessing Christian on the receiving end of a firing squad—they were never alone, for we are one with them in the body of Jesus Christ. This crowd can be a comfort.

But on the other hand, I’ve always been a little leery of big crowds. Where I grew up in Kansas there weren’t all that many big crowds. Crowds—especially big ones—were not to be trusted. “Going along with the crowd” was always a risky road to travel. My parents (and, I think, almost all parents) were quick to point out the perils of adopting an “everybody else is doing it” mentality. For whenever I would argue that all of my friends were getting to do it, or that everybody else had some particular item I coveting, my parents would just say, “Well, if everybody else was jumping off of a cliff, would you be jumping too?” And while that pearl of parental wisdom can sometimes be overused, it’s hard to deny the truth it teaches: What everybody else is doing—what the crowd is doing—is often the wrong thing, the dangerous thing, the thing that leads you away from Jesus.

That white-robed crowd in heaven is a crowd that we can’t yet see—very different from the crowd we do see each day. I’m here to tell you that going along with the crowd here on earth is risky business, and you shouldn’t be doing it. The crowd on earth is a deadening crowd that wants to swallow you up. We often warn our teenagers about the perils of peer pressure; but peer pressure isn’t just a teenage problem. The push to follow the crowd is powerful; and you must resist it. For that crowd will suck the life right out of you. The crowds that swarm around you welcome sexual immorality in all its deadening manifestations. That crowd wants you to view your body as a mere instrument for the pursuit of personal pleasure, rather than as a temple of the Holy Spirit which is destined for resurrection glory. The crowd wants you to live as if this life is all that matters—to live a life of pride and selfishness—rather than to walk the way of humility, service, and self-sacrifice. The crowd wants you to view your suffering as a sign that God doesn’t exist (or if He does exist, that He is unfair, unjust, uncaring), rather than to see your suffering as a place where the power of God and the grace of God will prove all-sufficient.

Beloved in the Lord, we’ve all followed the wrong crowd often enough to know that it has the power to draw us into a lifeless existence—to transform us into spiritual zombies—without purpose, without hope, without joy.

But rejoice and be glad, for Jesus Christ has called you from this world’s crowd of walking dead and has made you a member of that great heavenly multitude. That’s who you are in Christ already today! All Saints’ Day calls us to live today in light of the glorious future that awaits us. I compare the Christian life to the last day of elementary school. For me, it was always near the end of May. I went to school on the last day, but it was different than any other day. Why? Because I was thinking about summer vacation. In my mind, I was already there—thinking about swimming and baseball and sleeping late and ice cream sundaes at Dairy Queen. It was still technically a school day and I was present for it; but I was living that day in the future—full of plans and hope and joy.

All Saints’ Day is given to re-orient us to live today in the promise of the future—to live today with purpose and hope and joy because we belong to the right crowd—the crowd created in Jesus Christ. This crowd is different from every other crowd. Notice how, on one hand, this crowd is uncountable and endless. But notice also how every single member of this crowd receives gentle, tender, individual attention: "The Lamb,” it says, “will wipe away every tear from their eyes.” Think about that. Whatever tears of tribulation still stain your face, Jesus will wipe them away. And the only way to wipe another’s tears is to be right there, up close and personal—face to face. With a touch of His nail-scarred hand, Jesus will wipe away your tears and you will never weep again. “We shall see Him as He is.”

And those nail-scarred hands will remind us of why we poor sinners are there in the Savior’s presence—because our tattered and sin-stained robes have been washed and made white in the blood of the Lamb. All of our sin—all that should rightly keep us out of heaven—has been answered for in the blood of Jesus, shed on the cross, as our sacred substitute. But again, that washing and that blood were applied to you individually and personally. You became a part of that heavenly multitude in the washing of Holy Baptism. You didn’t join this crowd; you were born again into this crowd belonging to Christ. And the blood He shed on the cross He here and now offers to you: “Drink of it all of you, this is my blood of the new testament, shed for you, for the forgiveness of sins.”

The church of Jesus Christ—the body of Christ—this crowd of those redeemed by Christ the crucified—it is so big and so vast that no one can even count that high. But God can and does. He knows you by name—you individually—you in particular—you matter to Him. Your life has eternal significance. In a few minutes the chimes will toll for four sisters in Christ who are today with Christ. Let each chime remind you of how precious each one is to Jesus. Your life, also, is precious to Jesus. And one day a chime will toll for you, too. “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints” (Ps. 116).

Right now your life has its fair share of trouble and turmoil and tribulation—and sin that so easily entangles. But don’t get too accustomed to that tribulation. For you are on your way out—out of the great tribulation. Tribulation is just for a little while; life with the Lamb is forever. He has called you to be a member of His crowd. On the day of resurrection He will call you from your grave. Your white robe will be waiting. And your voice will be strong to join in that delightfully deafening chorus: Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever. Amen.

What God Has Joined Together

In Nomine Iesu
St. Mark 10:2-16
October 7, 2012
Pentecost 19-Proper 22B

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Dear husbands and wives, congratulations on your marriage! It’s no small accomplishment—getting married, and staying married. You deserve a pat on the back and a whole lot more. But I’m afraid we can’t give you all the credit. Even those of you who have been married for upwards of fifty or sixty years—even you need to realize this wonderful truth about your marriage. You may have done the wooing and the wowing. You decided on the dating. You did the proposing and the accepting. You purchased the rings. You reserved the church. You rented the hall. You sent the invitations. You ordered the cake, bought the dress, rented the tux, hired the photographer, and planned the honeymoon. You did all that and more. But it was God who joined you together.

It was God who joined you to your spouse—for better for worse, for richer for poorer, until death parts you. In, with and under the courtship and dating, the engagement and wedding—God Himself was at work, drawing you and your spouse together. Behind your promises and your pledges to one another, stand God’s promises and pledges to you and your spouse. God’s fingerprints are all over your marriage. Yours is truly a match made in heaven. And even if you don’t believe that or feel that to be the case, then at least take Jesus at His Word. For today Jesus describes your marriage and every marriage as, “What God has joined together.”

If you are married, then know that God Himself has joined you to your spouse. Your marriage is a work of God—maybe even a miracle of God. At the very least, we ought to recognize that marriage—your marriage—is holy. It matters to God. God is using your marriage to change the world. He wants your marriage to proper and flourish. When the marital waters get rough, your God wants to still the storm and bring you peace. Couples facing conflict often feel isolated and alone. But those couples are not isolated or alone! The God who joined them will never leave them or forsake them.

That’s part of the good news from God’s Word today about marriage; and I thought it important to start there, since other parts of today’s text are perhaps a bit more troubling. God’s Word about marriage is challenging, first of all, because a good portion of you here today are not married. There’s nothing wrong with that. Marriage isn’t for everyone. But marriage is God’s gift to the whole world. In many ways, marriage is the God-given glue that holds the world together. It’s challenging to preach about marriage and adultery—about divorce and the “one flesh” relationship between husbands and wives. After all, I don’t want to increase the guilt of the guilty or make the complacent more comfortable. But I do want to give you God’s truth about His gift of marriage. And if you don’t get that truth here, then I don’t know where you’ll get it. So I’m going to trust that God’s Word about marriage will accomplish what God desires—and in whom God desires to accomplish it.

It’s important to remember why Jesus said what He said about marriage and divorce in today’s Holy Gospel. He was responding to a question tossed out by some Pharisees. And they weren’t asking out of a desire to build better marriages; no, they were trying to trip Jesus up with a gotcha question. “Is it lawful,” they asked, “for a man to divorce his wife?” However Jesus answered, He was sure to offend someone. Back in those days, the conservative rabbis taught that a man could only divorce his wife if she had been unfaithful. But the liberal rabbis taught that a man could divorce his wife for practically any reason at all. Even the slightest shortcoming—just burning the roast beef—was grounds for divorce.

Jesus responded by leading the Pharisees back to the beginning—back to Genesis chapter 2. There we see that God is the Giver of marriage—how it was not good for the man to be alone, how God made a woman out of the man’s side and then brought her to the man as a gift, and how the man rejoiced over the woman, declaring, “This at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh.” God’s giving and man’s receiving is the basis for marriage. Jesus sums it up by quoting directly from Genesis: “Therefore a man shall leave his father and mother and hold fast to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.” And then Jesus adds, “What God has joined together, let not man separate.”

But ever since the fall into sin one chapter later, human beings have been busy working to separate what God has joined, rejecting what God has given, and revising and re-defining God’s gift of marriage to suit our sinful desires. And nowhere have human beings sought to change things up more, than when it comes to the phrase, “one flesh.”

“[Husbands and wives] are no longer two but one flesh,” said Jesus. That phrase “one flesh” is more than just a figure of speech. It describes how marriage is the closest communion that can possibly exist between two people. It is the union of a man and woman—physically, emotionally, spiritually. And this communion between husband and wife is a closed communion. No one is permitted to drive a wedge between a husband and wife. Anyone who dares to do so—anyone who dares adultery—who subtly seeks to separate what God has joined together—that person will be answerable to God.

That phrase, “one flesh” also tells us another truth about marriage: Marriage is the only proper and God-pleasing place for sexual love to be expressed. Only within marriage can two people, like Adam and Eve, stand before one another naked and without shame. Any sexual relationship between people who are not married is destructive, harmful, and sinful. It separates sex from marriage—separates what God has joined together for our good. Couples who live together without the benefits and blessings of marriage are dishonoring marriage—and dishonoring the God who gives marriage (not to mention setting themselves up for all sorts of marital troubles in the future). And by the way, God’s truth about living together and sex and adultery—it’s just as true for teenagers as it is for senior citizens. No one gets a pass. God gives us His truth about marriage because He loves us and wants the best for us. And His truth about marriage contains no loopholes, no exceptions or exclusions.

In fact, God’s truth about marriage condemns us all. For we’ve all dishonored marriage in our thoughts, words or deeds. And in every marriage, every day, husbands and wives sin against one another and against the God who joined them together. We can go on excusing our sin or hiding our sin, or blaming someone else for our sin, or claiming that everybody else is doing it. Or, we can confess our sin to God, receive His full and free forgiveness, and then make the changes we need to make. God’s forgiveness is always total and complete. But God’s forgiveness is never the permission to go on living in our sins.

In the Scriptures, God gives us a perfect picture of marriage. In this picture, Jesus is the groom and the church is His bride. We are the bride of Christ. But it could have been otherwise. For Jesus could have divorced us. God could have put us all away for our countless spiritual adulteries and infidelities. He could have sent us away for good, and with just cause. Instead, Jesus Christ bore our adulteries on the cross. Our sin was joined to His body. His body was joined to the cross. All of our sin was laid with Him in His tomb. Whatever your personal adulteries and infidelities—whatever the ways you have sought to separate what God has joined together—see that shameful load buried forever in the tomb of Jesus. See it all washed away in the cleansing splash of your baptism.

Husbands and wives, God has joined you to your marriage partner; and God doesn’t make mistakes. That doesn’t mean that your spouse will always be your best friend, or that your spouse will always make you happy. No one can be that spouse. Men are not from Mars and women are not from Venus. We’re just struggling sinners, cleansed and redeemed by the blood of Jesus. But as we confess our sins to God and one another, we have an ever-present help. For the God who joins husbands and wives together is surely willing, ready and able to provide your marriage with help and healing and hope and joy. Are you willing to look for that help and receive that help?

Beloved in the Lord, it’s not just a matter of “marriage is good” and “divorce is bad.” It’s a matter of “marriage is holy, and we must all keep it holy with the help of God.” Apart from His help, there’s not much we can do. “Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain.” But with the Lord—with His mercy, help, and forgiveness—all things are possible. Amen.

Ancient Prayers Answered

In Nomine Iesu
Numbers 11:4-6, 10-16, 24-29
September 30, 2012
Pentecost 18-Proper 21B

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Is it possible that a prayer prayed years ago is somehow being answered in your life today? Thomas Merton, a 20th Century theologian, includes a very touching scene in his autobiography. He is standing outside the ruins of a 13th century French monastery. A fascinating thought crossed his mind as he viewed the empty, abandoned monastery. He wondered whether the prayers of those monks—who had been dead and gone for hundreds of years—whether some of their prayers were being answered by God in his life on that day.

Does God answer ancient prayers in a way that shapes our lives today? After all, God is in eternity. He stands outside of time as we know it. His “inbox” is not at all like my e-mail inbox. As I go through my inbox I can recall e-mails that I’ve received in recent weeks and months; but if you sent me an e-mail back in September of 2009 I can assure you that I have no recollection of it whatsoever. But with God, every prayer and every petition ever received is just as fresh and new today as ever.

Is it possible that God answers ancient prayers, long forgotten by us, in a way that impacts us today? Is it possible that a prayer offered for you by a parent or grandparent way back when you were just a tiny baby is shaping your life today—that a prayer offered for you by a godparent on the day of your baptism is guiding your decisions and your steps today—that the prayer of someone you never even knew is making a difference in your life this day? And if so, it is possible that God could answer a prayer you speak today much later in your lifetime—or even long after you are dead and gone? Is it possible that our lives today could be shaped by ancient prayers?

In today’s Old Testament reading we have just such a prayer—a prayer that God is answering here and now to shape your life. I’m guessing that you probably missed it. It is admittedly hard to hear that prayer because as you listen to Numbers chapter eleven, the things that really jump out are the grumblings. Now, grumblings can sound a lot like prayers. And sometimes our prayers to God do include complaints. But you must understand that grumblings are not prayers. Grumblings are not spoken to God. Grumblings are spoken to the world—to anyone who will listen.

The grumbling in Numbers 11 got its start like this: The tribes of Israel were encamped in the wilderness. At the center of the camp was the tabernacle, the tent of meeting, the place where God dwelled among His people. That tabernacle was like the hub of a wheel, and spread out around it were tents as far as the eye could see. The grumble began perhaps when one man stepped out of his tent early one morning. He looks and he sees what’s wrong. He used to love to get up in the morning—to go outside and see manna covering the ground as far as the eye could see—precious, mysterious food from God. The name “manna” literally meant “What is it?” The very name of this food expressed wonder and amazement, as it reminded you that it was a gift from the hand of God—that it was the bread of angels.

Who knew you could get so sick of the bread of angels? Baked, battered, boiled, pickled or fried—it didn’t matter. Just the sight of that manna now made him sick. Manna yesterday, manna today, manna tomorrow for years on end. So, rather than gather up that gift of God, the man let out a beautiful grumble. He let loose his longing to go back to Egypt. Only he conveniently forgot about the hardships and slavery; and all he could recall was the veritable smorgasbord of meat and fish and cucumbers and melons and leeks and onions and garlic. And his mouth watered and his neighbors’ mouths watered, and all too soon that one grumble had spread throughout the entire camp. That grumble—that awful, beautiful grumble had a terrible power to shape the world.

You know the power of a good grumble, don’t you? Like when you’re driving home from church, after you’ve had your sins forgiven and you’ve been fed and nourished with the precious, priceless body and blood of Jesus, and the Word of God is still ringing in your ears and you let loose with a good grumble about how the sanctuary was too warm (or too cold), or how the choir sounded flat, or that the distribution took too long or the organ was too loud or how it seemed like pastor just “mailed in” the sermon this week. And suddenly the precious, powerful gifts God gives in this place fade away—just disappear—erased by the power of a good grumble.

Or it’s like in marriage, when you are sacrificing of yourself for the sake of your spouse. And that sacrificial love for your spouse is Christ-like. It is holy. It makes the angels in heaven rejoice because that’s the hard work husbands and wives are called to do. But in your frustration, you let loose with a good grumble about how lazy and unthankful your spouse is—about how you are taken for granted day in and day out, and about if only you knew back then what you know now. And suddenly—suddenly—the gift of God that is your spouse is despised and what God has joined together you have ripped apart by the power of a good grumble.

The grumbling of the Israelites drove Moses to his knees. Moses took all those grumbles and gave them to God—made them into a prayer. Only it’s not a prayer for wisdom or strength or faith. Moses prays a prayer for himself—that God would annihilate him! Because Moses was sick of these people! Moses takes it all and throws it up to God. God has a leader who doesn’t want to lead and people who don’t want to follow. The people are looking at the past in a way that takes away the gift of the present. Moses is looking at the present in a way that takes away the gift of the future. And Moses prays a terrible prayer, “Kill me now!” But God doesn’t kill Moses.

Instead God looked ahead to the future—and in the future God would indeed kill the leader of His flock—the Good Shepherd of His sheep. The punishment His grumbling people deserved would be heaped up upon the One God sent to save them. God didn’t kill and God didn’t punish that day because of His mercy. The mercy of God was hidden right there in their midst—behind the curtain in the Holy of Holies in the tabernacle. God must have longed to pull back that curtain and dwell among His people in the flesh—to gather them as a mother hen gathers her chicks beneath her wings. But when that time had fully come—when the Word became flesh and dwelt among us in the person of Jesus the Christ—God’s grumbling people grabbed Him and grasped Him and nailed Him to the cross. Jesus was beaten and battered and crucified—and this was the desire of God—to offer His life for you. This is the merciful heart of God—that He does not punish us as our grumbling hearts deserve; but shows us mercy instead.

It was because of that mercy that God answered Moses’ prayer in an unexpected, undeserved fashion. Instead of gathering manna, the Lord told Moses to gather men—seventy men of the elders of the people. And the Lord Himself came down in the cloud and took some of the Spirit that was on Moses and put that same Spirit on the seventy elders. And they began to prophesy. And that Spirit was so full and so strong and so powerful that even two men who were way out on the far edges of the camp—Eldad and Medad—even they began to prophesy. Joshua came running to Moses to make them stop. But Moses responded with a prayer—a prayer which doesn’t sound like much more than a footnote to the whole episode. Moses prayed, “Would that all the Lord’s people were prophets, that the Lord would put His Spirit on them all!”

That’s the ancient prayer I want you to hear today. “Would that all the Lord’s people were prophets, that the Lord would put His Spirit on them all!” That prayer went unanswered for centuries. It sat in God’s “inbox” year after year. But God began to answer it when He raised Jesus Christ from the dead and lifted Him up in glory to be seated at His Right Hand in the heavenly realms, and then sent His Holy Spirit into this world to call and gather for Himself a holy people, filled with His Spirit—each one a little temple—a temple of the Holy Spirit.

And do you know what this means? It means that that ancient prayer of Moses is today, here and now, being answered. It is being answered in all of you, here, in this place. It is being answered in the members of our choir and musicians, as they use their voices and instruments to lift up our hearts and to set our minds on things above, not on earthly things. That ancient prayer is being answered by our organist, Benjamin, who rings out the praises of God each week with discipline, dedication and humility. That ancient prayer is being answered in our midst by our Sunday school teachers who week after week welcome our little ones in Jesus’ name and teach them God’s Word—in Marcy Angeli who, even though her own girls are gone and graduated, continues to lead the opening each week and oversee the all-important snack distribution. That ancient prayer is being answered in those of you who fix things—in Matt and Jerry and Jim who keep this place up and running, and do it on-time and under budget. And speaking of the budget, we have a treasurer in Curt Steinhaus who quietly and fearlessly crunches the numbers each week so that none of us has to give it a second thought—in the counters who count the offerings and in you givers who give the offerings—in you who serve at the Bethany soup kitchen, who labor at Blessed Again, in you who put your arm around that one who is hurting and mourning, in all those who do good works in this congregation—those who toil, those who sing, and in all the people here present who await from the Lord great and abundant mercy, ancient prayers are being answered in you and through you.

God’s answers shape our life together here at Our Savior. It’s not easy—what you do. What is easy is the grumbling. I know because I do it all the time. But I also know that that grumbling takes away God’s gift of the present. So when you feel the urge to let out a good grumble, give it to God. Because God will hear and answer. And He will answer not according to what we deserve, but according to His grace. He will forgive us for Jesus’ sake. And He will continue to put His Spirit in you so that you might always be an answer to prayer. Amen.

The Problem with Pride

In Nomine Iesu
James 3:13-4:10
September 23, 2012
Pentecost 17-Proper 20B

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

The artwork on the cover of today’s bulletin is probably not the kind of thing
that you’d like to have hanging in your living room—or in any other room for that matter. But I’d like you to have that artwork handy for the next few minutes. For this painting wonderfully illustrates the theme of this sermon, drawn from the book of James: “God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble.”

This painting is called “Death of the Firstborn.” It depicts the scene in Pharaoh’s house on that dark and scary night when the Lord struck down all the firstborn of Egypt. From the firstborn of Pharaoh all the way down to the firstborn of the prisoners in the dungeon, there was not a house in Egypt where someone was not dead. Only the Hebrew houses marked red by the blood of the lamb had been “passed over” by the Lord. Only in the homes of Hebrew slaves were the firstborn still living, loving and laughing.

But there was no laughter for Pharaoh. Look again at the painting and this time gaze into the eyes of Pharaoh. His vacant, empty stare is hardly watching the professional mourners and musicians around him. He does not look down at his dead son. He does not look down on the boy’s mother who has dissolved in tears of grief. Pharaoh’s eyes are open, but he does not see. All he can do is remember.

All Pharaoh can do is remember the days that have now passed him by—days of joy. Days of laughter. Days when he proudly believed that he was the untouchable god of Egypt. No doubt he also remembered more recent days—days when he dared to say “no” to Yahweh, the God of the Hebrews—the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Time and time again, as Moses and Aaron made their way into his presence, Pharaoh had refused the will and the Word of Yahweh. It mattered not that water turned to blood—that frogs and boils and hail and locusts and darkness descended one after another upon his kingdom. Pharaoh had scoffed at this so-called “God of Israel.”

There is hopelessness in the face of Pharaoh. He may have been regarded as the god of Egypt, but on that night at that moment, he was powerless. There was no power, no magic, no heartfelt prayer that could ever bring his son back to life. On that night, at that moment, Pharaoh’s hollow eyes had come to know this timeless truth: “God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble.” And just to make sure that Pharaoh had received the message, Aaron and Moses, the humble servants of Yahweh, are making their way into the room, just visible in the shadows of the upper right corner. On that night, at that moment, a humbled and defeated Pharaoh would finally say, “Go. You and your people. Go and worship Yahweh, the Lord.”

As we turn to the words of James in today’s epistle, he takes aim at this same timeless truth of human nature called pride. As James surveyed the scene among Christians in his day, he was dismayed at what he saw: bitter jealousy, selfish ambition, and boasting. It was every man for himself, each one driven by prideful inner passions. Just like Pharaoh, they had fallen into the sin of pride.

What about you? Is pride a problem for you? If you were to make a list of besetting sins—sins that do a good job of entangling you and tripping you up, would pride be on your list? I suspect that a lot of us aren’t too concerned about the problem of pride. Our thoughts on the matter are summed up quite nicely in a little poem by David Budbill. The poem is entitled, “Dilemma.” “I want to be famous/ so I can be humble/ about being famous. What good is my humility/ when I am stuck in this obscurity?” In other words, I’ll worry about pride when I become rich and famous. Until then, I’ve got bigger fish to fry. But even for those of us “stuck in obscurity,” pride is an ever present problem.

We need to learn this lesson about the problem of pride: Pride in its worst form is not what you think it is. Pride is not trash-talking, smack-speaking, jaw-boning braggadocio. Most of us learned not to indulge in that kind of thing by the time we graduated from Sunday school. (Although, whenever the Packers play the Bears all bets are off.) The real problem with pride—pride in its most dangerous form—isn’t running around saying, “Look at me. I’m better than you.” Beloved in the Lord, pride is saying “no” to God.

Pride is saying “no” to God—reducing Him, shrinking Him down to size, confining God only to the cracks, the crevices and corners of our lives. On Sunday morning we pray, praise and give thanks. On Sunday morning we let God be God. But is there any connection between your Sunday and your Monday? We may bow our knees on most Sundays, but most of the rest of the time we simply declare our independence from God. We call the shots. We make the calls. We exercise judgment based upon what we think is right.

We know God’s Word. We know God’s will. But we choose to ignore it. We simply say “no.” God says, “Be kind and tender-hearted, forgiving one another as you have been forgiven,” but we say “no.” We say “no” as we nurse our grudges and look for ways to repay evil with evil. God says, “Flee from sexual immorality,” but we say “no.” We say “no” with sexual relationships outside of marriage, with downloaded pornography, and with our so-called entertainment choices. God says to defend your neighbor and speak well of him and explain everything in the kindest way, but we say “no.” We say “no” every time we go along with the gossip and leave the lies unchallenged and refuse to protect the reputations of anyone but ourselves. I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know. You know God’s Word and God’s will. And you say “no.” Who do we think we are? We are all little pharaohs at heart, unafraid to tell God “no” and keep Him in His place—and to do it over and over and over again.

But be prepared to learn the lesson Pharaoh learned: God opposes the proud. God opposes the pride in you. And that’s why God has done something about the pride in you.

Look once again at the cover of today’s bulletin. It features a dead firstborn son who is held by a grieving father. But now as you look into the eyes of Pharaoh, imagine a different Father; and imagine a different Son. Imagine a Father whose love for you is so great that He did not spare His own Son, but gave Him up for us all. But, of course, you don’t have to imagine it. For your God—the God who spared all the firstborn of Israel—He did not spare His one and only Son, Jesus. He sent forth His Son like a lamb to the slaughter. And the blood of that Lamb is the only hope for the proud.

God opposes the proud. God opposed your pride by assigning it to His one and only Son. Jesus carried your pride in His body. Your unforgiving heart, your immorality, your slander and gossip were all assigned to the Son of God. And on Good Friday God the Father opposed Him with even greater wrath and fury than Pharaoh had experienced. The God who opposes the proud opposed His Son—so that He might save the proud by the humility of His Son.

In the painting on the bulletin cover, it’s interesting how Pharaoh’s dead son is portrayed in a remarkably Christ-like pose. Walk through the galleries of any major art museum and you will likely see some Renaissance painting of the Christ taken down from His cross, who is posed remarkably like the son of Pharaoh. Yet, Jesus, even in death, was held by a different kind of Father. Where Pharaoh sat passive, powerless and impotent, God the Father could and did put an end to the mourning and gloom. He is not powerless in the face of death, but brought His Son back to life. And in the death and resurrection of God’s Son, Jesus Christ, the problem of your pride has found a solution. The problem of your sin has been met with God’s forgiveness. The problem of your death has been undone by the Lord of Life.

The eyes of our heavenly Father are looking upon you this day and those eyes are filled with grace. For in you God sees not your pride, but His Son, Jesus. God opposed your pride in Jesus. God punished your pride in Jesus. And in Jesus you have now been given humility. “God opposes the proud, but give grace to the humble.” Through faith in Jesus, the humility of Jesus is yours. Grace is yours. Forgiveness is yours. God is for you, not against you. With His help you can say “yes” to God. Yes to His Word. Yes to His will. Yes to lives of humble service toward those whom God places in your path. As you receive the body and blood of Jesus today—as the Word of God has its way with you today—the God of Sunday becomes the God of Monday too. You begin to decrease; Jesus begins to increase. Your pride that says “no” to God is being replaced by faith that says “yes” to all His promises. For Jesus cannot be confined to the corners and crevices of your life. He is the Lord of heaven and earth, Our Savior.

The problem of pride has met its match in Jesus. He rescues us from our pride and gives us a whole new kind of life—the baptized life. It’s a life of humility and service for the last and the least. It’s a life of purified hearts. It’s a life of being cared for by a loving and forgiving Father in heaven. Amen.

Mary, Martha, and Mildred

In Nomine Iesu
St. Luke 10:38-42

June 25, 2012

Dear family and friends of Mildred Schwertfeger,
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus,

Hear the Word of the Lord from St. Luke, chapter 10:
. . . Jesus entered a village. And a woman named Martha welcomed him into her house. And she had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet and listened to his teaching. But Martha was distracted with much serving. And she went up to him and said, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Tell her then to help me.” But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her.”

You know about Mary and Martha, the two famous sisters who welcomed Jesus into their home. You know about Martha, the sister who got distracted with much serving. There was food that needed preparing, drinks that needed pouring, a table that needed to be set in just the right way (and probably decorated with some freshly cut flowers). Martha was the woman for the job (and we need our share of Martha’s, don’t we?). You also know about her sister, Mary. Mary was the sister who was content to do nothing but sit at the Savior’s feet and listen to His teaching. Everything else could wait. For Mary, everything else took a backseat to hearing the life-giving words of Jesus.

You know about Mary and Martha; and you also know about Mildred, who was something like Mary and Martha all rolled into one. Mildred was like Martha, who was distracted with much serving. As a mother and pastor’s wife in Whitefish Bay for all those decades of the last century, “much serving” was a non-negotiable part of Mildred’s calling. Pastor’s wives today have it a little bit easier; but back in those days being a pastor’s wife also meant being the “hostess with the mostest.” It meant being prepared to open your home to parishioners at any time of any day. And when there was a dinner at church, being the pastor’s wife meant that you were on the set-up committee, the decorating committee, the cooking committee, the serving committee, and the clean-up committee. Sunday school classes met next door in Mildred’s basement. And of course, for the pastor’s wife, there were expectations that her children would always behave like little angels as they all sat in the front pew every Sunday—that she would accompany Pastor on his evangelism calls—that she would be an active member of the afternoon guild and the evening guild and the altar guild (and whatever other guilds there may have been). For Mildred, like Martha, there was “much serving” to be done; and Mildred managed to do it with grace and with a smile on her face.

Mildred was also like Mary, who soaked up the Savior’s Word of life—who listened to the Word of God. She may have been anxious and troubled about many things over the years; but Mildred believed that this one thing was necessary. Of course, it was more challenging for Mildred to hear the Word of God than it was for most of the congregation, precisely because she was married to the preacher. I never had the privilege of knowing Harold, as he departed this life a few weeks before I came to Our Savior. But if he was like most preachers, the halo probably came off at home sometimes. Pastors are people too. And pastor’s wives know that best of all. It takes a special measure of faith to be able to say “amen” to the pastor’s sermon, when you also know all the pastor’s weaknesses, all his quirks, all the times when he loses his cool. But Mildred, like Mary, believed that the power of salvation was in those words, whether spoken by Jesus, or by His called and ordained servant.

By the grace of God, Mildred had a way of rising to the occasion—of exceeding the high standards and expectations that came with her many God-given vocations. But when it came to God’s standards and God’s expectations, Mildred came up short. In fact, we all come up short when it comes to hearing God’s Word and putting it into practice. By nature we would rather be giving commands to those around us than to listen to the commands of God. By nature we would all rather be served than roll up our sleeves and get to work serving others with mercy and kindness. God doesn’t expect us to simply do our best; He expects us to love Him with our whole heart, and to love our neighbor as ourselves. And those expectations—those standards—have not been met by a one of us. Sin is not a quaint, old-fashioned notion that went out of style—like the hats and gloves Mildred used to wear every Sunday. Sin is the dark reality which separates us from God and from one another.

Our sin has but one remedy, and His name is Jesus, the Christ. Deliverance from sin and death is found exclusively and freely in Him. As your sacred substitute, Jesus met all the expectations that were laid upon Him. In love, He laid down His life as the payment for your sins; and through faith in Him, His perfect, sinless record now counts for you as your perfect, sinless record. The holy standards that neither Mary nor Martha nor Mildred could meet . . . have all been met in Jesus. Mildred believed that with all her heart, and last Wednesday, when she took her final breath in this world, she was immediately in the presence of Jesus. For death could not hold Him. Because He lives, Mildred now lives with Him—and we in faith await the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting.

When Martha got upset that Mary wasn’t doing her share of the work, Jesus gently reminded her that Mary had “chosen the good portion, which would not be taken away from her.” Mary had chosen Jesus and His teaching. Mildred also chose Jesus and His teaching; and that is why nothing in all creation—neither life nor death—is able to separate Mildred from God’s love in Christ. I said that Mildred chose Jesus; but of course, Jesus chose Mildred first. In the waters of Holy Baptism God the Father, Son and Spirit chose Mildred to be His own dear child. In baptism, the “one thing necessary,” what Jesus called the “good portion,” was given as a gift to Mildred. Baptism, of course, is not magic. What God gives in that splash of water and the Word can be squandered and can wither away when it is not accompanied by a lifetime of hearing and listening to the Words and promises of God.

But those words and those promises had their way with Mildred. She loved and served faithfully for 92 years because she herself was loved and served by Jesus. Whether on the farm in Juneau, at school in Horicon, or in the village of Whitefish Bay, or in retirement in Mequon, Mildred was being loved and served by Jesus—as she heard the Word of God and received the body and blood of Jesus for the forgiveness of sins. It was Jesus at work in her that allowed her to be such a source of support for Harold. It was Jesus at work in her that allowed her to raise four children with tender love and care. And she was blessed by the Lord to know and love her grandchildren, reading to them and showing them how to build with Legos. It was Jesus at work in her that allowed Mildred to wear all the hats she wore (figuratively speaking): wife, mother, grandmother, pastor’s wife, fashion buyer, wedding consultant, trusted friend, child of God.

And so today we give thanks to God for Mildred. Mildred the homemaker, who welcomed so many into her home over the years, she herself has now been welcomed home by her Savior. Mildred with the good eye for fashion has now been clothed forever in the perfect white robe of Christ’s righteousness. Mildred who hosted and prepared meals for so many, is now herself a guest by grace at the marriage feast of the Lamb in His kingdom which has no end. Mildred who lovingly designed and planned the parsonage next door, has now moved into a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens—prepared for her by Jesus the Christ.

Together with Mary and Martha, our dear Mildred also now stands in the presence of Jesus, who loved her and gave Himself for her. Her passing has no doubt left many of you feeling anxious and troubled and tearful. But let not your hearts be troubled. For you know what Mary and Martha and Mildred also knew: Only one thing is necessary. In Jesus and His Word is life that lasts forever. Amen.

The Gospel Runs Its Course

In Nomine Iesu
St. Mark 4:26-29
June 17, 2012
Pentecost 3/Proper 6B

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

When I first began to serve as a pastor sixteen years ago, I quickly developed a serious problem. You see, I couldn’t relax. I couldn’t unwind. I couldn’t stop worrying about my work because I had quickly come to realize that a pastor’s work is never done—never finished. There’s always another sermon or Bible study to prepare. There’s always another hospital call or shut-in visit to be made. There’s always another conflict to mediate. There are always inactive members who need to be contacted, as well as prospective members who need to be visited. Meetings, new member classes, confirmation classes, pre-marital counseling, births and funerals—there was always something more. And it was the constant onslaught of “something more” that prevented me (at the end of the day) from unwinding, relaxing, and disengaging from the work of the ministry.

But then, at some point, by the grace of God, I learned the lesson taught by Jesus in the first little parable we heard today. “The kingdom of God,” He said, “is as if a man should scatter seed on the ground. He sleeps and rises night and day, and the seed sprouts and grows; he knows not how.” The only thing the farmer does in this parable is plant the seeds and await the harvest. Everything else, for the most part, is out of his control. The seeds, the soil, the sun and rain take over once the planting is done. The farmer doesn’t have the power to make the seeds sprout and grow. So he’s content simply to plant the seeds and see what happens.

It works the same way with the Word of God—with the Gospel of Jesus Christ. The gospel is “the power of God for salvation.” The Word of God gets scattered like seed and it grows. It gets results. It eventually yields a harvest. It doesn’t depend on the personality of the preacher. It doesn’t depend on the goodness of the hearer. No, the power for salvation is in the Word of the Gospel—the good news that God was reconciling the world to Himself in Christ, not counting men’s sins against them—that if anyone is in Christ he is a new creation, the old has gone, the new has come.”

If there was ever a preacher who could lay claim to great results—if there was ever a man who could claim that his proclamation of the gospel literally changed the world—it would have to be Martin Luther. Popes and kings and church councils could not stop the spread of the Gospel unleashed by Luther. Yet, when asked to explain the secret of his tremendous success, Luther simply said, “While I drink my little glass of Wittenburg beer, the gospel runs its course.” While Luther was content to sit back and quaff a cold one, the gospel—the good news of God’s free gift of salvation in Jesus Christ—was rolling across the world like a tidal wave, changing lives for all eternity. In other words, it wasn’t Luther’s powers of persuasion or his preaching skills that changed the world. It was the gospel. The gospel always runs its course—always gets results—allowing even preachers like me to relax every now and then with a nice, cold beverage.

The kingdom of God grows in much the same manner as a farmer’s field. God’s Word is preached and “scattered” from pulpits around the world. The preacher then steps out of the pulpit. He tends to other things. He sleeps. He eats. He runs a few errands. He drinks a cup of coffee, talks to friends, spends time with his wife. He goes through the ordinary routines of life. And, lo and behold, all the while, the gospel runs its course. The Word does its job! Faith is strengthened. Sins are forgiven. God’s people live and die in victory. No one knows exactly how the kingdom grows; and the growth can’t always be seen or measured. But the kingdom of God grows because the gospel runs its course—propelled by its own divine power.

How terrible it would be if the gospel didn’t run its course. How awful it would be if the gospel had no power of its own, but was completely dependent upon the power and personality of the preacher. How could he ever stop preaching? How could he ever relax or unwind if everything was dependent upon his efforts? How could he ever be sure that he’d said enough, or that he’d said it in the right way? I didn’t fully realize that at the beginning of my ministry. I would mow the lawn and begin to feel guilty that I wasn’t making visits at the nursing home instead—even though I had just been there recently. I didn’t trust God. I thought it all depended on me.

As if that isn’t bad enough, how terrible it would be if the gospel had no power of its own, but was completely dependent upon those who heard the word. What if your salvation depended entirely upon you—upon your intelligence, your strength of character, your ability to stop sinning and shape-up? What if it was entirely up to you to fix all the trials and tribulations in your life—if your wisdom and your fervent prayers held the key to healing that person you love, or to getting a new job? Some of us live that way. We don’t trust God. We think it all depends on us. If that’s really how it was, then there would be no hope for this preacher (or for this preacher’s hearers). We need to re-learn the very first commandment, and how it leads us to fear, love and trust in God above all things.

Thank God it doesn’t all depend on us. The gospel is the power of God for all who believe. The gospel always runs its course. God promises that His Word will never return empty, but will always accomplish what He desires and always achieve the purpose for which He sends it (Is. 55:10-11). The growth of God’s Word in us is something like the growth that’s been going on in my garden for the past month—slowly, steadily, surely. While I tend to other things, that garden is growing—and will continue to grow until the time of harvest arrives.

We need to remember this in the church. We need to remember that God gives the growth. Our efforts, our strength, and our smarts are not what keep this church growing and flourishing. In too many churches today Christians think that they have to “dress up” the gospel—market it and sell it using the same savvy techniques that Madison Avenue uses to market deodorant, blue jeans, and beer. Too often, we think that we need to add something to the Word of God to make it really effective.

What about you? Do you believe that the gospel of Jesus Christ is running its course in your life? Do you believe that His power is enough—that it’s sufficient to carry you through whatever troubles or trials you face? At times, we don’t believe it. When worry takes over, when the tyranny of anxiety robs our lives of joy and peace, when we start to think that we’re carrying the weight of the whole world on our shoulders—those are the unmistakable signs of our utter faithlessness, our total lack of trust. That was my sin in those early years of ministry. I thought it all depended on me—super pastor. But now I know better.

Now I know that it all depends on Jesus. He carried the weight of the world’s sin upon His shoulders. You can cast your anxiety on Him because He loves you with an undying love. We walk by faith, not by sight. And by faith we know and believe and trust that God is working all things for the good of those who love Him—those whom He has called to be His own. The gospel always runs its course. That gospel leads us to live lives of faithfulness. Faithfulness is simply doing and speaking the things that God has called us to do and speak. The faithful farmer scatters seed. The faithful father is the father who brings his children to the Divine service and teaches them about Jesus. The faithful employee does her job to the best of her ability. But the faithful people of God also believe this: the results of our work and labor—the results are in God’s hands. And it can be tremendously freeing to realize that.

God is already getting results in your life. In you that Gospel is giving growth and life and faith. The seed of the Word is growing in your heart, ripening ever so surely so that you will be ready to spend a blessed eternity with Jesus, and with those who are already with Jesus today. The gospel planted in your heart will one day bloom and blossom into a life without sin, a life without tears, a life that lasts forever.

Let there be no doubt. The Lord has laid down His life for you. His death on the cross was the payment for your forgiveness. Jesus is the reason that the gospel always runs its course. He was delivered over to death for our trespasses and was raised for our justification. Let there be no worry, for in the midst of all your troubles and cares, God is at work. The faith and life He gives is growing and maturing and ripening through every earthly trouble. So let go and let God, as they say. Believe what you cannot see. The gospel is running its course you. Amen.

The Church's Teachable Moment

In Nomine Iesu
Acts 1:12-26
May 20, 2012
Easter 7B

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Today’s reading from Acts chapter one places us squarely in the middle of chaos. Jesus had ascended into heaven, leaving behind a rag-tag band of disciples totaling about 120. And the outpouring of the Holy Spirit on the Day of Pentecost hadn’t yet taken place. If ever there was a teachable moment in the life of the church, this was it.

Do you know what a teachable moment is? As the name implies, during a teachable moment something is taught and learned. But teachable moments don’t usually take place in the classroom. Teachable moments normally aren’t the result of carefully crafted lesson plans laid out by well-credentialed educators. Teachable moments can’t be conveyed by textbooks or powerpoint slides. Teachable moments most often emerge from those situations where nothing has gone according to plan, and where nearly everything that can go wrong has gone wrong. Teachable moments happen when you least expect them to, when chaos and conflict are out of control—when a light suddenly dawns in the darkness and a glimmer of insight and wisdom seems to come from nowhere.

The days right after the Ascension of Jesus were a teachable moment for the church—and for us—on at least two counts. The first is nicely illustrated by the cover art on today’s bulletin. Take just a minute to pull out your bulletin and take another look at that portrait of the ascension. The focal point of the painting, of course, is Jesus—the risen, ascending, living Lord—Son of God and Son of Man. He was crucified, died, and was buried. But on the third day He rose again. And for forty days the risen Christ appeared among His disciples, speaking about the kingdom of God. The hearts of all the believers were steadfastly united by faith in this Jesus. Every last one of them believed that in Jesus they had forgiveness of sins and eternal life.

But beyond that belief is right where the unity ended. That’s where the solidarity stopped. For take another look at the bulletin cover; and this time focus on the believers at the bottom of the painting. There you see utter confusion and disagreement. For each one of the believers is looking in a different direction, pointing in a different direction, assuming different postures and perspectives—a far cry from the neatly ordered, carefully spaced pews into which all of you are organized this morning.

Beloved in the Lord, what you see right there is a teachable moment—a moment that would be replayed in the life of the church over and over again, to this very day. For what unites the church is always invisible and unseen. What unites believers is faith in Jesus Christ; and you can’t see Jesus or faith in Jesus. What you do see a lot of in the church is what’s depicted in this painting—a lot of confusion, chaos, and disagreement. They were united in faith and doctrine; but beyond that, they didn’t see eye to eye on much else. Still today in the church you see people with different ideas, different perspectives, different visions for how the church should carry out her mission to make disciples of all nations. If you don’t know what I’m talking about then you probably haven’t attended many church conventions or voters’ meetings—or many call meetings—during your life.

This moment in the life of the church—the moment after Jesus’ ascension—is a teachable moment because it teaches us how to live together in peace even when we disagree with one another. It’s also a teachable moment because of something that you don’t see on the bulletin cover—or more accurately, because of someone you don’t see depicted. Judas was dead. Judas, who had been a trusted member of their fellowship for three years, had taken his own life. And the circumstances that led to his suicide centered on his betrayal of Jesus. There is terrible emotional trauma in the wake of every suicide—but especially that of a trusted brother in the faith whose most notorious act had been one of betrayal—a slap in the face disguised by a kiss. How would the tiny church react when one of their own had caused such trauma and so much disappointment?

And so this text is a teachable moment on two counts: What do you do when you can’t agree with your fellow believers? And what do you do when a fellow believer acts in a way that hurts and disappoints you? You know what comes naturally, don’t you? Whenever Christians can’t agree about some aspect of their life together it’s natural to get defensive, to get aggressive, to try and get your way through sharp and forceful words. It’s natural to demonize the opposition—to recruit allies and choose sides—to make those who disagree with you look bad. If we can’t agree, then I’ll be disagreeable. You don’t need me to tell you that the devil does some of his best work in these kinds of situations. For I’m sure you’ve heard about congregations that split up over the color of the carpeting, over money issues, over music issues, over a my-way-or-the-highway mentality that has no place in the church of Jesus Christ.

Beloved in the Lord, there’s a better way. There will always be disagreements among believers in the church. There will always be fellow Christians who disappoint you and cause trauma to the body of Christ. The church is made up of poor, miserable sinners; but that can never be an excuse to demonize the one you disagree with—to hurt others as you have been hurt—to fan the flames of disagreement into a scorched-earth battle against your brothers and sisters in Christ.

There’s a better way—a better way taught for us today by Peter and the little band of believers who were traumatized by Judas, each with a different vision for where to go and what to do. It was a teachable moment for them and for us.

First, they didn’t let the death of Judas distract them from the life and resurrection of Jesus. Nor did they allow their differences and disagreements to distract them from the joyful unity that they shared through their common faith in Jesus. They recognized that all of them were witnesses of Jesus’ resurrection. They had seen and touched and heard the resurrected Jesus. Because He lived, they knew what was in store for them. Because Jesus was alive, they could live each day in hope and expectation. Jesus was more important than their disagreements and disappointments. His death and resurrection were at the heart and center of life for those first believers, just as Jesus is at the heart of everything for the believers here at Our Savior. In Jesus, we are one, made holy by the truth of God’s Word. In Jesus we have the forgiveness of our sins and the power to love one another as He has loved us. He is the vine and we are His living branches.

There’s more to learn from this teachable moment. How did they preserve their unity despite disagreements? How did they continue to center their thoughts on Jesus? Well, you might have missed it, but the place where the believers gathered together to hash things out is described by St. Luke as “the upper room.” Yes, probably that upper room. They made a point to gather together in that same sacred space where just weeks before the disciples had gathered with Jesus on the night when He was betrayed. On that night, in that same upper room, Jesus had prayed for them, that they would all be one. On that night in that same upper room Jesus had washed their feet, showing them how to serve and love one another. On that night, in that same upper room, Jesus had given them His very body and blood to eat and drink for the forgiveness of sins. It was to that same upper room that the believers retreated when they felt traumatized and conflicted. There they prayed for one another, served one another, and remembered the words of Jesus.

It’s the same reason we gather right here, in this sacred space, week after week, time and time again. Here we gather to pray to Jesus, in the glad confidence that He is still praying and interceding for us. Here Jesus still washes His disciples, in the waters of Holy Baptism. Here Jesus is the host, serving us with His precious body and blood that He might lead us onward in faith toward Him and in fervent love toward one another. This is the place were disagreements are dissolved, where unity is preserved, where forgiveness is offered and received.

Those first believers also teach us today that Jesus is at work among us, despite our troubles, our traumas, and disagreements. The work goes on! For it always surprises me that even in the midst of their chaos and uncertainty, Peter turned to the Scriptures. And from the Scriptures he concluded that they needed to have a call meeting—that the Lord needed to select a new apostle to take the place of Judas. They prayed. They cast lots. And the Lord chose Matthias to be apostle number twelve. And we never hear another word about good old Matthias ever again.

Someone has pointed out that the name Matthias sounds a lot like the Greek word for “disciple,” which is “ma-thay-tase.” And you’d have to agree that Matthias and “ma-thay-tase” do sound similar. Perhaps the reason we don’t hear more about Matthias is because he stands for all the disciples that would come after him, all the believers including all of us gathered here at Our Savior this morning. His story is our story. The unfinished work of making disciples continues to be unfinished. Our work is not yet done.

But that work is being done. For the Lord Jesus is at work among us and through us. He brings order out of our sinful chaos. He brings peace and healing to each one of us. Our lives are filled with teachable moments from Jesus every day. From the Father’s right hand Jesus is working all things for your eternal good, and for the blessing of His church, until He comes again in glory. Amen.

The Healing Jesus Gives

In Nomine Iesu

St. Mark 2:1-12
April 20, 2012
Karen Schiesel Funeral

Dear friends and family of Karen Schiesel,
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus,

When someone you love is seriously ill, what do you do? When your world turns upside down and you’re powerless to stop it, what do you do? When the crosses you bear begin to feel unbearable, what do you do? For us Christians, it’s a no-brainer! You take your trouble to Jesus. You place your sick loved ones into the Savior’s hands. You take them to the Lord in prayer.

That’s exactly what we did for Karen—for all of the years since she was first diagnosed. And in these last weeks, when doctors and medicine were powerless—when we were powerless—we placed her into the Savior’s hands. For we believe that He is powerful. He is the help of the helpless. His grace is sufficient; for His power is made perfect in weakness.

Whenever a loved one is in need of a miracle, it always reminds me of the paralyzed man in Mark chapter 2. Jesus was at a nearby home, preaching and teaching. So a group of the paralytic’s family and friends decided they would take him to Jesus. For they believed that Jesus could help and heal. They carried the man to the home where Jesus was; but they couldn’t even get near the front door because the crowd was so large. Some people might have given up at that point; but not this crew of friends and family. They scaled the walls, climbed onto the roof, ripped an opening in the roof, and somehow, someway, managed to lower their paralyzed friend directly down to Jesus.

Wow! Friends and family like that are hard to come by. But I’d say there’s a similar gathering of friends and family gathered right here tonight. For all of you loved Karen and would have done anything and everything to help her. You would have moved heaven and earth. And if ripping a hole in the roof of some house and rigging up some kind of contraption could have brought Karen into the presence of Jesus for healing, you would have done it. In fact, that sounds like just the kind of project that the men in Karen’s life could have pulled off in under twenty minutes.

The truth of the matter is: You did move heaven and earth. Every prayer and plea you offered placed Karen directly into the nail-scarred hands of Jesus. And best of all, we didn’t have to fight a big crowd to get her there. We didn’t have to wait in line or climb on the roof. For those with faith in Jesus have direct access to the throne of God, twenty-four-seven. Our prayers for Karen were heard and received, loud and clear.

But sometimes, as every Christian knows, God’s response to our prayers can be surprising. What we receive isn’t always what we asked for. In fact, that’s kind of how it was for the paralytic whose family and friends went to such great lengths to get him to Jesus. For you have to admit that there’s really only one big reason to bring a paralyzed man to Jesus. That man and his friends and family were hoping and expecting that Jesus would give the man healing. They were full of faith and confidence that Jesus could and would fix that man’s broken body.

But Jesus gave them a surprise. Jesus gave the man what he didn’t expect and what he didn’t deserve. St. Mark tells it like this: “and when they had made an opening [in the roof], they let down the bed on which the paralytic lay. And when Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, “Son, your sins are forgiven.” St. Mark doesn’t tell us, but I suspect a few jaws dropped at that moment. Really? Your sins are forgiven? I mean, that’s nice, but that’s not exactly why they had gone to all this trouble. There was a bigger problem there. . . . Or was there?

The fact of the matter is that Jesus had His priorities straight. And Jesus is teaching us a thing or two about priorities as well. Forgiveness of sins was what that man needed more than anything else. His biggest problem was not paralysis, but sin. Karen’s biggest problem was not cancer. Your biggest problem is probably not what you think it is. Now more than ever, a lot of people are tempted to chuckle when they hear the word “sin.” It’s so old fashioned—so antiquated. But if you’re going to laugh about sin, then you might as well laugh about cancer or laugh about paralysis; for sin does far more damage.

In a sense, you could say that our sin paralyzes us—stops us in our tracks—prevents us from loving our neighbors as ourselves—prevents us from loving God with all our heart, soul, and mind. Sin causes us to love ourselves above all else. And just like cancer—just like paralysis—there’s no medicine that can cure it. Our sin runs death deep. It’s fatal. The wages of sin is death; and that’s a payday that none of us can avoid for long.

And this is why Jesus came. This is why God sent His Son—to save His people from their sins—to bear our sins in His broken body on the cross. He was delivered up for our trespasses and raised for our justification. He took your place under the wrath of God; and gives you His place as a dearly loved child of the heavenly Father. He takes your sin; you get His righteousness—and this as a free gift, by grace, through faith. For God so loved the world—for God so loved Karen—that He gave His one and only Son that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life. Karen knew that and believed that with all her heart. That’s why Karen was here so often, so regularly, for so many decades: to confess her sins, and to receive the forgiveness that Jesus Christ earned for her.

When Jesus forgave the sins of the paralytic, the scribes and Pharisees, of course, objected. They didn’t get it. They didn’t get Jesus. So then, as the icing on the cake—to show that His forgiveness was the real deal—Jesus then did the easy thing. Jesus tackled problem number two. Jesus healed the broken body that had been placed before Him. “So that you may know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins,” Jesus said, “I say to you, rise, pick up your bed and go home.” And the paralytic did just that. He rose, picked up his bed and walked away. And all were amazed and glorified God. That’s how our God operates! First things first! Forgiveness first, and then the icing on the cake—then the perfect healing—then the miracle.

Beloved in the Lord, I’m here to tell you that Jesus Christ did the same thing for Karen. He addressed her biggest problem first. For seventy years, beginning in the waters of Holy Baptism, Jesus forgave her all her sins. As far as the east is from the west, so far did He remove her transgressions. Forgiveness first; and then just a few days ago, the icing on the cake—the miracle, the welcome into the Savior’s arms—the end of tears and mourning and pain—then the life that lasts forever. We prayed for healing for Karen; and the God who loved her has now given her that perfect healing which she never could have had here on earth. Last Tuesday morning Karen fell asleep in faith, and woke up to see her Savior. She lacks nothing. She is home. And one day we who believe will join her.

We placed Karen into the hands of Jesus every time we prayed for her; but, actually, Jesus was already at work in Karen’s life, long before any of us ever prayed on her behalf. It began when she was washed clean in the waters of Holy Baptism on Valentine’s Day 1942—just down the road at Holy Ghost Lutheran Church. Then and there her body became a temple of the Holy Spirit. And for all the years that followed, as she listened to the Word of God—as she received the body and blood of Jesus—Jesus Himself was at work in Karen’s life, giving her strength and energy to work and sacrifice for those she loved, giving her peace through all the ups and downs.

Jesus gave her the strength and energy she needed to raise a family, and go to work, and keep a ginormous garden—strength to watch her husband go off to do a job that was fraught with danger and risk—strength to raise three children and to manage a household with an ever-changing population of pets. Jesus gave her the joy of seeing her family expand to include a son-in-law, and daughters-in-law, a dear neice—and to see her children’s children grow up to share the same faith in the same church. (We should all be so blessed.) In fact, this congregation was just like family for Karen. She was here all the time, cleaning-up the kitchen, packing up food donations, organizing the storage, serving snacks for Bible school, and countless other thankless jobs which most of us will never know about. Why? Because Jesus was at work in her, so that Karen could bear her crosses with patience, including this final cross of cancer. She met that illness with quiet courage and steadfast faith.

She did it all because her Savior was at work in her. And when Karen was at her weakest, Jesus was at His strongest—to save her and carry her right through the valley of the shadow of death. She’s where we all long to be—with Jesus. And to all of Karen’s family, even though your grief may feel paralyzing at times, you can count on the fact that your church family here tonight will be bringing you to Jesus in prayer in the days and weeks ahead. We’ll help you bear your burden, because we are one family in Jesus Christ, our Savior. He is the way, the truth, and the life that lasts forever. Amen.

The Butterfly Effect

In Nomine Iesu
St. Mark 16:1-8
April 8, 2012
Easter B

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia! It feels good to shout that again, doesn’t it? After forty days of Lent with stifled alleluias and subdued praises, it feels good to pull out all the stops, to sound the trumpets, and pump up the volume on the incredible good news that Jesus Christ is risen from the dead. Death has lost its sting. The grave has lost its grip on you. Death, your greatest enemy, has been defeated single-handedly by the Son of God who was crucified, died and was buried . . . and on the third day rose again from the dead.

But for the next few minutes I want you to consider the good news of the resurrection from a quieter, more serene perspective. I want you to think about butterflies. Butterflies have long been a symbol of the resurrection. The metamorphosis from caterpillar to cocoon to the colorful winged creatures we know and love—that’s creation’s quiet testimony to the resurrection of the body and the new life we have in Jesus. His tomb was nothing more than a cocoon. The grave could not hold Jesus, and it cannot hold you either.

You know about butterflies; but do you know about the “butterfly effect?” The butterfly effect is actually a scientific theory which proposes that a very small change at one place within a system results in big changes at a later state. One tiny change now; big changes later. It’s called the butterfly effect because of the theoretical example of a butterfly flapping its wings. The idea is that the movement of the butterfly’s wings creates a tiny change in the atmosphere—a change that may ultimately result in the formation of a hurricane, or perhaps impact the path of a tornado, several weeks into the future. The butterfly’s flapping wings introduce a tiny change to the atmospheric system, which causes a chain of events leading to a large scale alteration of events. Had the butterfly not flapped its wings, the outcome might have been far different.

The butterfly effect is a common motif found in books and stories about time travel. Earlier this year I read a best-seller about a man who travelled back in time in an attempt to prevent the assassination of President Kennedy in 1963. His hope was that by saving Kennedy, the resulting butterfly effect would prevent the other assassinations and bloodshed that marred the 1960s. Now, spoiler alert: In the book, the protagonist ultimately saved Kennedy’s life, but the resulting butterfly effect turned out to be a much darker and more dismal result than what we read about in the history books today.

While I was reading that book it struck me that the butterfly effect could be a great device for proclaiming the reason for the season which begins today. The story of our salvation is nicely illustrated by this butterfly effect—one tiny change, resulting in cataclysmic change.

So let’s travel back through time, back to paradise—back to the perfect world God created. And the crowning achievement of this creation was a man and a woman, made in the image of God. That doesn’t mean that Adam and Eve looked like God. It means something better. To have the image of God in them meant that they knew God perfectly. They were perfectly happy in Him. The relationship between the Creator and His creatures was open, honest and loving.

Then, one day, there was a tiny change to that perfect world. The tempter persuaded the man and the woman to disobey God—to rebel against His rule. They consumed the forbidden fruit. At first, nothing bad happened. Oh, sure, they felt shame for the first time. They felt a bit chilly when they realized they were naked. But they were still living and breathing. The sky wasn’t falling. But make no mistake, the butterfly had flapped its wings. Or, as it says in Romans 5: “Therefore, just as sin entered the world through one man, and death through sin, . . . in this way death came to all men, because all sinned.” From that one, small act of disobedience, the creation was forever altered in increasingly horrific ways. Idolatry and adultery, murder and mayhem, death and destruction, obituaries and cemeteries are but some of the awful, cataclysmic changes that resulted from that second of time.

You and I are also caught in this butterfly effect of sin. But we’re not passive victims in creation’s push to devolve. For we take after our first parents. We are all too ready to bite the loving hand that feeds us, and to rise up in rebellion against God and His Word and His Law. At least Adam and Eve blushed with shame at what they had done. We manage to sin with impunity. And every day we set ourselves up as gods in the place of God. We determine what’s right and wrong for us. We declare ourselves to be innocent and good, pretending that we have no need of rescue from the death we face. We are trapped in the butterfly effect of sin, set in motion by our first parents.

But now let’s re-set our time machine, and travel to another destination in time. Let’s travel back two thousand years to a rocky hill outside the city gates of Jerusalem. It’s a place of execution. Golgotha. The place of the skull. Three convicted criminals have been crucified. Three men are dying an awful death on a Roman tool of torture. But the man in the middle is different. On the center cross hangs the Christ. He has done nothing wrong; in fact, He has done everything right. But His perfect record of obedience cannot help Him now; for He bears your sin. Your rebellion, your idolatry, the murderous mayhem you have perpetrated—it has all been laid upon Him. He bears your sin. He receives your punishment. He suffers hell as He hangs there. And right before He dies He declares, “It is finished.” He breathed His last—exhaled for the final time. And that dying breath—that final gasp—was something like the gentle breeze of a butterfly’s wings.

From the cross a new breeze began to blow. A new butterfly effect was set in motion. “Consequently, just as the result of one trespass was condemnation for all men, so also the result of one act of righteousness was justification that brings life for all men. For just as through the disobedience of the one man the many were made sinners, so also through the obedience of the one man the many will be made righteous” (Rom. 5:18-19). On Good Friday, in Jesus, your sin was paid for, your forgiveness was purchased, and only one thing remained to be done.

Fast forward three days to a Sunday morning like this one. Witness the women just after sunrise, headed to the tomb of Jesus. They were expecting to find His corpse; but when they arrived they found that the stone had been rolled away, and an angel met them in the empty tomb and declared of Jesus, “He has risen.” And in St. Mark’s lean, streamlined account of the resurrection, the women immediately flee the tomb, seized by trembling and astonishment, and they don’t say anything to anyone because they are afraid. The resurrected Jesus doesn’t even put in a cameo appearance in today’s holy gospel according to St. Mark. There’s just an angel, an empty tomb, and some terrified women. And, oh yes, one other thing: a butterfly flapping its wings.

One small, tiny change to the system took place that morning. The empty lungs of Jesus drew a breath. A stilled heart began to beat. Lifeless eyes were opened to see again. Muscles moved. The stone was rolled away. And death was undone. The living, resurrected Christ walked out of His tomb. He is risen; and in Him you too will rise. Because He lives, you shall live also.

The Easter story began as just a whisper—nothing more than the quiet beating of a butterfly’s wings. But what happened that morning is now the beating heart of all our hope and joy. The butterfly effect set in motion by the sin of Adam and Eve has been overcome by the butterfly effect set in motion by the resurrection of Jesus from the dead. St. Paul connects the dots wonderfully in 1 Corinthians 15, “For since death came through a man,” he writes, “the resurrection of the dead comes also through a man. For as in Adam all die, so in Christ all will be made alive. Christ, the firstfruits; then, when He comes, those who belong to Him.”

Beloved in the Lord, you are among those who belong to Jesus. Your resurrection, your heavenly homecoming is already in the works. But the promise of the resurrection isn’t just something to wait around for. For the butterfly effect created by the resurrection is something that grows bigger and stronger with every passing day. The butterfly effect has effects in your life today—here and now. It changes you! It means, of course, that you don’t have to be afraid to die; but it also means that you don’t have to be afraid to live, either! For the God who gives resurrection life can certainly supply your life with whatever you need in the here and now.

Your life has eternal significance. Your words and your deeds are producing new butterfly effects every day. What you do and say changes things forever. When you tell the good news about Jesus, when you give an offering, when you show love and mercy and compassion to others—you are changing the world. The system will never be the same because of you—because of who you are in Jesus, a child of God.

Although Spring has sprung early this year, I think it’s still too early for butterflies. But I suspect you’ll see one soon. And when you do, remember the joy of Easter. Remember the butterfly effect. Remember that Christ is risen. He is risen indeed. Alleluia! Amen.