No Empty Manger

In Nomine Iesu
St. Luke 2:1-20
December 24, 2016
Christmas Eve

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn. What would Christmas be without the manger? Most of us wouldn’t even know what a manger is

if our Lord hadn’t been laid in one. Most of us have miniature mangers in our homes—one piece among many that gets carefully placed in the crèche every December. And inevitably there’s a baby Jesus who fits nicely into that little manger.

Here at Our Savior we have a real manger—a life-size manger—a manger from which real livestock could very possibly eat (although we’ve never actually tested it out with real livestock). Instead, we pull it out for nearly every children’s Christmas program. Many years ago, I recall, there was a bit of a dust-up regarding the manger. I was directing the program that year. And after our first rehearsal one little girl came up to me with a rather grave and grim look on her face. She reported her concern to me: “Pastor, there’s no baby in the manger. The manger is empty!”

Of course, I knew that. In my mind, there were thousands of other problems that needed addressing—costumes needed altering, lines needed memorizing, music needed practicing. I quickly offered an explanation to my concerned little girl: (Although I sounded a bit like the Grinch trying to get Cindy-Lou-Hoo to be quiet and go back to bed,) I told her that the manger was just a prop—that it was just there for “effect,” that even though she could see it was empty as she stood next to it, the people in the pews wouldn’t know the difference. So, let’s not worry about it, okay? “Pastor,” she said, “I have a doll at home and I could bring that to put in the manger.” Oh, that’s okay; you don’t have to do that. “I’ll bring my doll, Pastor, so that we can have a baby in the manger.” Well, by this point it was pretty clear to me that there was not going to not be a baby in the manger for that year’s Christmas program. And sure enough, for that year’s program, the manger was not empty, but occupied. There was a baby in the manger, and everything was right in the world.

As I look back now, that little girl was right to be concerned. An empty manger just won’t do. The fact that Jesus was once a baby like us is what Christmas is all about. The fact that God has a human body in Jesus—that Jesus was born of a woman—that Jesus wore diapers just like all of us once did—these things aren’t just insignificant details or theological trivia. This is the essence of the whole story. God in Christ was born like you—suffered like you—got hungry, sleepy and thirsty—was tempted like you in every way, but did not sin—was crucified, died and was buried, all for you. Your Savior became what you are, so that you can be what He is. This is the message of the manger; this is why we need babies in our mangers.

I regret the fact that, in my role as director of the Christmas program, I overlooked something very important. I had reduced and relegated the manger to nothing more than a prop—a prop designed to produce the intended effect—to conjure up the Christmas spirit and make a memorable Christmas program for everyone. Perhaps you’ve never directed a Christmas program; and perhaps you never will. But we all aspire to be award-winning directors. We all desire to manage and script how life plays out for us. We often see ourselves as both the star of the show and the director. And in our sinful quest for control over our supporting cast members, we are fond of using Jesus as our favorite prop.

Jesus becomes a prop in our lives when we use Him to achieve a desired effect. When we use our faith in Christ to make ourselves look good in front of others. When we portray ourselves as good and respectable and religious so that others will look up to us and admire us and say good things about us—then Jesus is nothing more than a shiny prop that helps us get what we want. When we piously promise other people, “I will pray for you,” but never actually get around to praying for them, we have used our faith as a prop—to make ourselves look good. Or when we use our faith as an excuse to sin—when we say, “Since I know that God will forgive me anyway, there’s no harm in crossing the line occasionally,” then too our faith in Jesus becomes just a prop to help us stage and direct our lives according to our own whims and desires. The always-quotable Shakespeare once wrote that “all the world’s a stage.” But one day this world will come to a halt for each of us. At that moment each of us will stand before the Christ and there will be no stage, no applause, no supporting cast, no props, no costuming, no make-up, and no script—just you and your sin and Jesus.

The only hope that you will have is the baby in the manger—who became the man on the cross. In the same way that we need the baby in the manger, we need the Christ on the cross. For the Christ on the cross—like the baby in the manger—isn’t just an insignificant detail or theological trivia—it is the essence of the story. This is why the Christ was born in Bethlehem—to save us from our sins—to pay for those sins with the offering of His own life. Both the manger and the cross are reminders of reality—the reality of our sin and the reality of God’s great love for sinners.

We spend so much time trying to direct and control and stage and script and pretend. But tonight, on Christmas Eve, reality breaks in—truth breaks in—God breaks in and He rearranges everything according to His grand and glorious script: Fear not: for behold I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And in this show, written and directed by God, sinners are born again, death is destroyed, and everyone lives (by faith) joyfully ever after.

But in the Lord’s production, there are no props. You are not a prop or a minor player or a tiny pawn in God’s great plan. You are the object of His love and affection. The baby in the manger and the Christ of the cross are the essence of God’s great plan for you—to save you, and to have you as the apple of His eye, and to give your life eternal significance. You don’t have to be an actor when you come here to church. You don’t have to pretend to be something you are not. For Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners. He came to seek and save the lost and the least and the lowly. His power is made perfect in your weakness. He meets you where you are—bringing you forgiveness for your sins and resurrection life.

Jesus is no longer in the manger; although that was critically important for your salvation. Jesus is no longer on the cross; although that was critically important for your salvation. And we don’t hesitate to portray Him in the manger or on the cross—because the Word became flesh and dwelt among us. Here in the church is where the Christ is to be found. Here in the church where His promises are proclaimed—this is where the Savior’s arms are opened wide to receive you. Here in His church He claims sinners as His own family in the splash of baptism. Here the Christ of Christmas feeds us with the bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood. Here Christ comes whenever two or three gather in His name.

The manger and the cross tell the whole story tonight. They tell your story on this Christmas Eve—that you are loved and forgiven—that you are not alone. God has a plan for you. The scenes that come and go in your life are not random or haphazard. They are not meaningless. Your days and your deeds have been lovingly sketched and scripted and blocked-out by the God who knit you together in your mother’s womb. When you leave here tonight it won’t be to go home and direct the world’s most perfect Christmas. No, when you leave here you step onto God’s stage, where there are no minor parts, no bit players—but sinners redeemed by Christ the crucified—men and women who are the light of the world. So ponder that in your heart this Christmas. Glorify and praise God for all that you have seen and heard. The baby in the manger is the Christ on the cross—a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

A Bad News Christmas

In Nomine Iesu
St. Matthew 1:18-25
December 18, 2016
Advent 4A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Pregnancy, as we know it, is usually greeted as good news. Those nine months are precious times—usually filled with

excitement, anticipation, and even a few baby showers. Back in the day, baby showers were purely feminine affairs. Men were not invited and were thankful not to be. The delicate desserts, the dainty decorations, the silly games—it’s not the kind of afternoon that most men aspire to. Let the dad assemble the crib or rip out the carpeting in the new nursery and he’ll be happy with that. Because most pregnancies are meant to be happy occasions in life.

But not every pregnancy is a happy occasion in life—or so it seems. Not every child conceived seems like good news, at first. Your teenage son or daughter manages to master the skill of making a baby—even though they haven’t managed to acquire a high school diploma quite yet, and marriage is out of the question. When children have children—when abortion comes to be seen as an attractive option—when grandparents start to wonder if they will have to adopt their own grandchild—well, those kinds of pregnancies and those kinds of babies can be discouraging and hard to bear.

And, for those difficult and troubling pregnancies, we have today’s gospel reading from Saint Matthew. Thank God for Matthew and his Christmas account which addresses the darker side of Christmas. In his Christmas account there’s certainly no baby shower, John doesn’t leap in his mother’s womb, and expectant mothers don’t break out in song. Instead, what Matthew sets before us is a difficult situation. Joseph and Mary are engaged. Joseph has been good; he hasn’t slept with Mary. He’s done his part. But, oh, the darkness. Mary’s pregnant. What now? You better believe that Joseph suffered through many sleepless nights of heartache and disappointment. Perhaps Mary wasn’t who he thought she was. The ideal family he hoped for might never be. The best he could do was send her off to live with a relative and cancel the wedding.

Joseph seems like a man who wanted to do the right thing. We don’t know how he and Mary became engaged. It was probably arranged by the respective families. We don’t know whether they were “in love” or not, but that’s a modern concept. People didn’t marry on the basis of romantic love in those days. Matthew tells us that Joseph was “a just man.” But he was also a reasonable and sane man. He knew that virgins don’t get pregnant. Joseph was a builder from Nazareth, a businessman who operated in a world of income and expenses, blueprints and tools, algebra and geometry. He wasn’t some superstitious country-bumpkin. He knew that virgins don’t conceive, no matter how religious-sounding their explanation might be.

Into Joseph’s despair and darkness the Word of God gets delivered by an angel of the Lord. It would take the Word of the Lord for Joseph to overrule his reason and his senses, not to mention his common sense: “Joseph, son of David, do not fear to take Mary as your wife, for that which is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.”

Yes, that’s why Jesus came—to save His people from their sins. Those sins threaten to separate us from God eternally. Those sins—our sins—are what dims this world into perpetual darkness. Sometimes our sins produce self-inflicted wounds. Sometimes those around us get sucked in. Sometimes innocent people suffer for what we’ve done or what we’ve failed to do. This ugliness of sin—this depressing darkness—is why Jesus came. He came to save us from our sin and its deadly wages. Jesus didn’t come to shine a twinkling star on a moonlit night, or to lead us in joyful song, or to be a good excuse to roast chestnuts on an open fire. He came to people in mourning—to people in dark and difficult situations—to sinners—to you—to save you from your sins. See how much God loves you!

Matthew makes it clear that the Lord’s plan to save you had been around for a long time. There was a prophecy buried deep under about 700 years of Israelite dust—the prophecy of Immanuel. As you heard in today’s OT reading, that prophecy was first spoken to faithless King Ahaz. And even though Ahaz didn’t want a sign from the Lord, the Lord gave him one anyway: “Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call his name Immanuel (which means, God with us).” To make a long story short, Ahaz rejected the sign offered by the Lord. Ahaz didn’t trust the Word of the Lord. And Ahaz went down to swift destruction.

That prophecy of Immanuel laid dormant for centuries, like a forgotten seed planted in the soil. But when God speaks—when God makes a promise—He never forgets it. And one marvelous day a smiling angel appeared to a young virgin named Mary, who was betrothed to Joseph. And the angel said, “Guess what, Mary? You’re it. The Lord is with you. Immanuel!” God is with us. The Word has become flesh in the womb of a virgin. His name shall be Jesus. He will save his people from their sins.

Mary believed it; and Joseph believed it too. That’s the real Christmas miracle! Joseph believed; and Joseph acted according to what he believed. As you may know, there isn’t a single syllable from Joseph’s mouth recorded in the Bible. Joseph is silent in the Scriptures. Mary sings her Magnificat, but Joseph has no song. He shows his faith by what he does. His actions speak louder than words. “He did as the angel of the Lord commanded him.” He took this pregnant teenager home as his wife. He gave the child the name Jesus, as directed by the angel. He raised that child as his very own. Joseph is a picture of faith in action. When God’s Word and his own “common sense” didn’t agree, Joseph trusted the Word. He believed it. He did what it says.

You also have the Word of the Lord delivered to you—applied to your life—by a messenger sent from God. I’m no angel; and this is no dream. But I am a messenger sent by God to you. Today the Word of God comes to you, calling you to do what Joseph did—to live in the obedience of faith—to live in the light of your baptism—to say “no” to all sin and ungodliness. In Matthew’s version of Christmas, things are messy and complicated because of sin. So will your Christmas be this year—messy, complicated, corrupted by your sin and its wages.

But the Word of the Lord is at work in you. That Word intrudes, it inconveniences, it rearranges things, it forgives sin. A virgin bears a Son. That Son, Jesus, dies and rises from the dead, bearing your sins away. With God—and with His Word—nothing is impossible. Sinners are forgiven. And the dying depart this life in peace to be with Christ—awaiting the resurrection of the body. Nothing is impossible with God.

Jesus comes. He is “Immanuel,” God with us. He comes in the water of your baptism. He comes in the bread and wine of His holy supper. He comes to save you from your sin. Mary actually was a Virgin. But our Lord also comes for those who aren’t—those who have made sinful and selfish choices. That story isn’t so pretty; nor does it inspire singing or decorations. But this is the Christmas Saint Matthew gives us. This is the Christ who comes even when pregnancy is not good news. This is the Christ who comes into a world where Herod and his allies still slaughter little babies. The Christ was born to die—precisely for the likes of us. He didn’t come so that people would put up fake, plastic trees, but He did come to hang upon a tree that was stained with His own sweat and His own blood. He came to bring genuine good news into a bad news world.

Saint Luke—he gives us the Christmas we want—where Mary sings for joy and where angels fill the sky and where shepherds marvel at the manger. We love it and we’ll hear about it this afternoon from the children. But Saint Matthew—he gives us the Christmas we need. And even in our darkest days, we can still say, “Thank you” and “Alleluia.” Amen.

Beasts Made Beautiful

In Nomine Iesu
Isaiah 11:1-10
December 4, 2016
Advent 2A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

In the earliest years of my childhood there were two television programs that I watched regularly. One, of course, was Sesame Street. The other was Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom. These two programs were very different. One program featured creatures like Big Bird and Snuffolufogas learning to live together peacefully on the streets of an urban neighborhood. Whereas Wild Kingdom featured creatures like leopards and lions hungrily feasting on the bloody entrails of some unlucky zebra or gazelle, somewhere in the African Serengeti. The contrast between these two shows couldn’t have been starker.

What I didn’t realize at the time was that Marlin Perkins was actually teaching me more about the real world than Grover and Cookie Monster ever could. Sesame Street never mentioned anything about sin. For that matter, Marlin Perkins never said the word either. But every time I saw a wolf pack ripping some little bunny to shreds—every time I saw the crimson face of a lion snacking on the innards of a baby water buffalo—every time I saw a cobra sink its fangs into some cute, fuzzy mammal and then swallow the mammal whole—what I was seeing was the unmistakable evidence of the fall into sin.

Originally, in the beginning, before the fall into sin, these beasts were harmless and posed no threat whatsoever to Adam and Eve. Even the biggest and fiercest creatures were ruled and dominated by our first parents in Paradise. Predator and prey were terms you would not find in the dictionary of the Garden of Eden. But since that fateful day in Genesis chapter three, wolves, bears and lions are largely untamed. They are wild—outside of our control and dominion. If you get attacked by a bear, it’s nothing personal. Don’t be offended. Bears and other predators live by instinct, not by conscience. They prey on the weak. They fight to survive. It’s what they do. Back them into a corner or, say, threaten their offspring, and prepare to have claws and jaws aimed at your throat. The theme of this fallen creation is not “live and let live,” but rather, “kill to live.”

Sadly, the laws of the jungle don’t only apply to the predators and prey of the planet, but also to the people of the planet. For what the wolf does to the lamb and what the lion does to the fattened calf is also what we do to those around us. We don’t do it with fangs and claws, mind you, but with our words and actions. It really doesn’t take much provoking for us to rip apart the lives of others. We regularly sink our fangs into those who get in our way and inconvenience us. We chomp down on the bones of those who dare to cross our paths. For what the cat does to the mouse is what we do to those around us on a regular basis—friends, family members, innocent bystanders, it matters not. As we view the world through the lenses of our sinful nature, it’s clear: I’m always right, and everybody else is always in the wrong place at the wrong time, fully deserving all the puncture wounds we can inflict with our words and deeds.

The painful truth is that we’re much worse than the animals. Isaiah makes that clear in chapter one where he writes, “The ox knows his master, the donkey his owner’s manger, but Israel does not know, my people do not understand” (v.3). The ox and ass have things figured out. The wild animals are wise compared to us. To describe our behavior as beastly is actually an insult to the beasts! At least nature’s carnivores kill for their own survival. In the human world, unborn babies can be brutally murdered for nearly any reason at nearly any time of development. In the human world, we rip apart reputations just to make ourselves look good by comparison. In the human world, we bear our fangs purely for reasons of revenge and retribution. The “human” world is actually much less “humane” than the wild kingdom. Inside each of us is a wild, beastly, sinful creature. It cannot be domesticated, placated, or tamed. It must be killed.

This is what Advent is all about—killing the beast within. This is what John the Baptist meant when he preached repentance, calling the scribes and Pharisees a brood of vipers when they came after him with their fangs in full view. Advent is about Jesus—about the Son of God coming right into this hellish God-forsaking zoo of a world—stepping right into the lions’ den—right into this wild kingdom. Jesus came precisely for wild and untamed sinners like us. Jesus came to seek and save us beasts, to give us the beauty of His own righteousness.

When Isaiah first preached about the Messiah coming into our wild, wild world, it must have seemed pretty unlikely; in fact, darn near impossible. Isaiah preached that the coming Savior would be like “a shoot from the stump of Jesse.” You remember Jesse, don’t you? Jesse, the father of King David? God had promised David that his kingdom and his throne would be established forever (2 Sam. 7:16). But right about the time Mary and Joseph were encountering all those “no vacancy” signs in Bethlehem, David’s throne had been unoccupied and gathering dust for nearly five centuries. David’s kingdom had long ago been mowed down by the Babylonian chain saw wielded by Nebuchadnezzar; and only a dead stump remained. But from the remains of that dead stump sprouted David’s greater Son—David’s greatest Son—the Son of God—the Son of Mary—our Savior.

Isaiah said that the Savior would come to judge. But He doesn’t judge by what He sees with His eyes or hears with His ears. He judges you, Isaiah says, with righteousness. And even though you are guilty, for your sake He takes the blame. For your sake, the rod of punishment leaves welts and bloody furrows on His back. The belt of righteousness around His waist, the belt of faithfulness around His loins—these He removes from Himself and lovingly wraps them around you. You through faith become what He is; as He becomes what you are. You switch places, so that all the good He has becomes yours; and all the bad you have becomes His. As Isaiah looked ahead to Good Friday, he expressed the Savior’s work like this: He was wounded for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities . . . and with His stripes we are healed.

This great exchange—this sacred substitution—transpires here in His church. Here in the church of Jesus Christ there’s always more than meets the eye. For as my eyes scan the pews this morning, I see sinful beasts—lions and tigers and bears (oh, my). Yet at the same time, I see something glorious: baptized beasts—sinners defanged and declawed by confession and absolution—souls redeemed by Christ the crucified—living together, loving together, serving and sacrificing together, witnessing as one. Here in the church, already today, the wolf dwells with the lamb, the leopard with the goat, the cow and the bear, the lion and ox, all of them hanging out together without fear of harm or destruction—led by the little child born in Bethlehem, David’s Son and David’s Lord.

Ultimately, of course, this life we share together in the church is a preview of heaven—the life of the world to come. And that heavenly life is less about harps and halos, and more about a return to Paradise—a restoration of what Adam and Eve enjoyed before they sinned and died. In paradise there will be no predators and no prey. No sin and no death. Just the good company of the Creator and His creatures, living in perfect harmony.

But between now and then, of course, you have to head back out into that wild kingdom we call planet earth. It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there. But as you head out, remember this: the Lord Jesus has chosen you (of all creatures) to be His own, to bless you with His blood-bought forgiveness and His resurrection life. He has washed you and welcomed you into His holy family. He has fed you and clothed you with the beauty of His own righteousness. You are a beast made beautiful by the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Witness with Andrew

In Nomine Iesu
St. John 1:35-42a
November 30, 2016
Midweek Advent 1

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

You’ve probably never heard a sermon centering on Saint Andrew. I’ve never preached such a sermon. His feast day—today

—falls at a time of year when our focus is firmly fixed on other things. Frankly, there’s not a lot of biblical material to work with where Andrew is concerned. When I opened my Anchor Bible Dictionary to the entry on Andrew, I found a one-page article; and the first sentence was this: “The NT shows little interest in Andrew.” That sounded a bit harsh. But the article went on to explain that while Andrew is mentioned a dozen times in the NT, most of those times he’s simply listed along with the other apostles. He speaks two sentences. One of them you just heard: “We have found the Messiah.” The other line comes in John 6 where Andrew mentions how five barley loaves and two fish won’t be nearly enough to feed a crowd of thousands. It’s true—the NT shows little interest in Andrew.

By contrast, the NT is very, very interested in Andrew’s brother, Peter. Peter’s escapades are splashed across page after page—not to mention First and Second Peter, the two epistles written by Peter. It was Andrew’s impetuous brother, Peter, who walked on water at the invitation of Jesus. It was Peter who confessed that Jesus was the Christ, the Son of the Living God. It was Peter who beheld Jesus in the glory of His transfiguration and then offered to set up tents for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah. It was Peter who cut off the ear of the High Priest’s servant, Peter who denied Jesus three times, Peter to whom Jesus said, “Feed my sheep,” Peter who preached a Pentecost sermon after which three thousand were baptized and added to the church of Jesus Christ. Andrew, it would seem, pales in comparison to his brother, Peter.

Or so it seems, unless you take seriously our text tonight. For there we learn that Andrew had been one of John the Baptist’s disciples, along with some unnamed, anonymous guy. And when these two saw John the Baptist point his prophetic finger at Jesus and declare, “Behold, the Lamb of God,” Andrew and the other guy followed Jesus. Andrew and the other guy spent a day with Jesus. And at the end of that day Andrew tracked down his brother, Peter, and said to him, “We have found the Messiah.” And immediately Andrew brought his brother to Jesus. Andrew was the first of Jesus’ disciples. Andrew was the first missionary—the first person to bear witness to Jesus as he brought along his brother to see and hear the Savior.

What if he hadn’t? What if Andrew had never gone to Peter and said, “We have found the Messiah?” What if Andrew had never brought brother Peter into the presence of Jesus? Perhaps Peter would never have been an apostle. It’s speculation, of course, but if Andrew had kept his brother in the dark concerning the Light of the World, there would have been no Peter walking on water, no Peter on whose rock solid confession of Christ the church would be built, no Peter proclaiming Jesus as the crucified and risen Messiah on the Day of Pentecost. Without the witness of Andrew, the New Testament would be a very different document.

Will you witness with Andrew? Remember how there was another anonymous, unnamed disciple together with Andrew? There’s lots of speculation about who that other guy was—lots of interesting theories. But I, personally, like to think that that unnamed partner of Andrew is unnamed for a reason—that the Holy Spirit wants you to see yourself as a partner of Andrew—a partner in discipleship, and a partner in bearing witness to Jesus, the Messiah.

When Andrew looked Peter in the eye and said, “We have found the Messiah,” he had no idea of the fruit that those words would bear. When Andrew ushered Peter into the presence of Jesus, there’s no way he could have fathomed how that simple act of witness would impact the history of the world and the church. But then again, that’s how it is every time you bear witness to Jesus—every time you speak of the hope that you have in Jesus—every time that you invite someone to come with you here into the Savior’s presence. You never know what the results might be. The results aren’t something you can control. The results of your witness depend primarily upon the work of the Holy Spirit; and not upon you.

Will you witness with Andrew? Most of us would object that we’re not knowledgeable enough about Jesus to bear witness about Him to others. But you know a lot more than Andrew did! What did Andrew know about Jesus? He heard John call Him the Lamb of God, and Andrew had spent less than 24 hours with Jesus. Andrew hadn’t seen even one miracle performed by Jesus. Andrew’s concept of “Messiah” probably had more to do with political victory than it did with suffering, shame, and crucifixion for the sins of the world. Witnessing doesn’t depend on having an answer for every question or having a PhD in theology. Andrew himself likely had more questions than answers; but that didn’t stop him from telling his brother, “We have found the Messiah,” and then bringing his brother to that Messiah.

Will you witness with Andrew? If so, to whom will you witness? Thank about that. Andrew went to a family member—a brother he knew better than anyone. Who do you know and love that has distanced themselves from Jesus and His church? The odds are that you have no shortage of family and friends who are not receiving what Jesus wants to give them. Far better to aim your witness at those you know than to go out ringing random doorbells. You probably wouldn’t say what Andrew said, “We have found the Messiah.” But you might say that Jesus has found you, and loved you, and made all the difference in your life—that He has given your life meaning, direction, hope, comfort, and eternal significance . . . or whatever seems right to you.

And then you bring them to Jesus—you invite them to come here with you. By my count there are something like 10 services happening here between now and January 1st. Invite someone to the children’s Christmas program. Invite someone to Evening Prayer. Because, when you witness with Andrew, the results don’t depend on you. What are you afraid of? What’s stopping you? What do you have to lose? Whose life might you change—forever—with a simple invitation?

You have found the Messiah, the Lamb of God. Or, more accurately, He has found you and forgiven you—named you and claimed you in the cleansing splash of your baptism. He took on our human flesh and was born of the Virgin Mary. By His death on the cross all of our sin has been answered for. And by His resurrection from the dead we know that our present sufferings don’t even begin to compare with the glory that will be revealed in us. Sharing the hope that you have—witnessing with Andrew—you don’t know the results and you won’t know the results . . . not until you stand with all the redeemed around the throne of the Lamb—together with Peter and Andrew and all the other saints like you—valuable, precious, died-for, and loved. Amen.