Isaiah 1:10-18
October 30, 2016
Reformation/Proper 26
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
The snowy scene pictured on today’s bulletin cover is not a welcome sight for many of you, I know. Recent warm weather has made it easy to be in denial about what’s coming. But you might as well come to terms with the fact that the flakes will soon be
Snow does not figure prominently in the Scriptures, which is kind of unfortunate for us. You have to admit that the gospels would be a whole lot more meaningful for us Wisconsinites if Jesus’ miracles had included the stilling of a snowstorm, or the healing of a frostbitten hand, or the resurrection of a snow-blower that had breathed its last. Contrary to what you might think, it does occasionally snow in Israel, especially in the higher elevations. Snow was not unknown to the prophets and the apostles. The Prophet Isaiah had a particular fondness for precipitation—including the frozen variety. And from his pen we hear these words from the Lord on this Reformation Sunday: Come now, let us reason together, says the Lord: though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.
That bit about scarlet sins becoming snowy white is the beautiful, good news that concludes today’s reading from Isaiah. But you may have noticed how that good news was preceded by a scorching indictment by Lord against His very own people. In this the first of Isaiah’s 66 chapters, the Lord begins to lay out the case against His people. Like the opening statement of a prosecuting attorney, the Lord details the crimes His people are committing, the sins in which they have grown comfortable and complacent, and the blood on their hands. He addresses His people as though they were residents of Sodom and Gomorrah—those notoriously sinful cities of old.
The Lord’s displeasure with His people is summed up nicely in this simple sentence: I cannot endure iniquity AND solemn assembly. The people were gathering for worship—for solemn assemblies. Outwardly, they were doing all the right things. They were offering sacrifices and burning incense and spreading out their hands in prayer. They were offering the Lord their outward works of worship; but the Lord doesn’t want outward works of worship from His people. He wants faith. The people were showing up for worship, offering sacrifices, in the hopes that they could butter God up for a blessing. It was an outward show of piety, designed to cover up what was really going on: the iniquity in their hearts. In their solemn assemblies they were pretending to be pious—without concern for the sin and iniquity that shaped their every thought, word, and deed.
Four hundred ninety-nine years ago tomorrow, an obscure Augustinian monk began to make a similar case against the church of his day. The 99 Theses which Martin Luther nailed to the door of the Castle Church in Wittenberg were a call for repentance—not unlike the call for repentance in Isaiah chapter one. The church of Luther’s day also thought that God was to be worshipped with works—that sinners had the power within themselves to make things right with God—through their offerings and indulgences, through their prayers and fasting, by the adoration of holy relics, by pilgrimages to holy sites, or especially by a life lived in a cloistered convent or monastery. The church was telling people to offer God their works—to find security in their works—to earn God’s forgiveness by their works.
But God didn’t want their works. God doesn’t want your works. God desires from you only faith. The just shall live by faith. That’s what Martin Luther read in His Bible. It’s what you heard today from Romans: We hold that one is justified by faith apart from the works of the law. God wants your faith, not your works. Good works are not for God. God doesn’t need your good works. But someone does! And that someone is your neighbor. Good works are for the sake of those around you. We are to serve God with faith; and we are to serve our neighbor with works. That was but one of Luther’s great discoveries.
But what Luther figured out 500 years ago we still can’t keep straight today. God desires your faith—all of it. Yet, what do we do with our faith? We place our faith in human beings, in human institutions, in human government. Case in point: there’s an election coming up soon. And, if nothing else, this election affords us Christians the opportunity to test whether our faith is really in God, or not. If you think that your life and well-being depend on any one candidate being elected, then you need to remember who it is that gives your life and promises to sustain it for all eternity. If you are fiercely partisan because you believe our only hope is in the election of this or that candidate, then you need to remember who alone can forgive your sins and offer you the sure and certain hope of eternal life. Or, on the other hand, if this election has reduced you to a quivering pile of despair and hopelessness—if you believe that all is lost—then you have forgotten who gives you this day your daily bread. You have forgotten who it is that works all things for your eternal good. You have forgotten Him who did not spare His own Son for you. God wants your faith. Why won’t you give it to Him? Without faith it is impossible to please Him. Without faith, you’re just going through the motions in this solemn assembly. And God won’t tolerate that kind of iniquity.
There’s nothing wrong with campaigning and politicking and voting. In fact, those are good works in God’s eyes. We are serving our neighbor by honestly engaging in those good works. We Christians are to stand up and advocate for those who cannot speak for themselves, including the disabled and the unborn, widows and orphans. We are to speak the truth in love and let our light shine before others so that they may see our good works and give glory to our Father in heaven. A world full of people needs your good works. But God alone deserves your faith. God alone will order your days and your deeds in His peace—no matter who the temporary leaders of this world may be.
We need to repent. We have not reserved our faith for God alone. We do not trust in Him as we should. Our sins are like scarlet—red like crimson. What we need is more than a few flurries of forgiveness. What we need is a blizzard of mercy—a thick, white blanket of absolution. We need grace piled up high, drifting into every crevice of our lives. This is what the Lord promises: Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow. Though your guilt runs blood-red, the pure, snowy-white innocence of Jesus can be yours by faith.
You have to admit that there’s something divinely beautiful about freshly-fallen deep snow. We Wisconsinites don’t see that beauty sometimes. When a big snowstorm comes we immediately think of how it will lengthen our commute and make our paths treacherous. But deep snow is something God alone can create. Deep snow covers everything. Everything that’s brown and dead and dirty is covered completely by a brilliant blanket white flakes. After a good snowfall, even the dirtiest, poorest, most litter-strewn, rundown neighborhood in north Milwaukee looks like a magical scene from the paintbrush of Norman Rockwell.
That’s how it is with the love and mercy of God in Jesus Christ. No matter how dirty, rundown, and sin-strewn your life may be, God can make it clean and pure. No sin is too big. No sinner is too bad. No one is excluded. Jesus is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the whole world. God was reconciling the whole world to himself in Christ, not counting our trespasses against us. He wants all people to be saved and come to the knowledge of the truth. In Holy Baptism God covers us completely with a snowy white robe of righteousness—a gift that Jesus earned for us, which we receive though faith.
One question still remains: Why does God describe our sins as being “like scarlet” and “like crimson?” Why are they red? Why not a dirty black or a muddy brown? Luther suggested that black denotes sadness. But red—red denotes blood. That’s the bad news—and that’s the good news—for this day. That’s the Law and the Gospel for this Reformation Sunday. Our sins are so serious, so deadly, so damnable—that the shedding of blood is necessary for them to be forgiven. That’s why our sins are like scarlet. That’s also why our Savior from sin shed His blood on the cross and gave up His life as your sacred substitute. His life in exchange for yours. His blood poured out in exchange for yours. He takes the bloody mess of your sins upon Himself, and you get His snowy, white robe of righteousness through faith in Him. He gives you His forgiveness in, with, and under the bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood.
Next Sunday is All Saints’ Sunday—when we remember those who rest from their labors with angels and arch angels and all the company of heaven. And regarding those departed saints who are with Christ, we will hear this mysterious sentence: They have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. The stain of our sin is scarlet; it is a stain we cannot remove. But in the blood of the Lamb, Jesus Christ, you have cleansing. You have forgiveness. You have a sure and certain hope in Jesus the Christ. Remember that when the snows come this winter. Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
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