Easter Greetings

In Nomine Iesu
St. Matthew 28:1-10
April 16, 2017
The Resurrection of Our Lord-A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Alleluia! Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia! It sure feels good to say and sing those alleluias again. It’s like we’ve been stifling our sneezes for forty days. Finally, today, we get to let it roll right off our tongues.

Jesus has done it. He was delivered up for our trespasses and raised for our justification (Rom. 4:25). As in Adam all die, so in Christ shall all be made alive (1 Cor. 15:22). Christ, being raised from the dead, will never die again; death no longer has dominion over him (Rom. 6:9). When Christ who is your life appears, then you also will appear with him in glory (Col. 3:4). What comfort this sweet sentence gives: I know that my Redeemer lives.

But let’s back up for a moment. For the account of our Lord’s resurrection begins with a journey to the cemetery—a visit to the tomb. That’s a journey that nearly all of us have made. We know the weariness of grief and the pain of a loved one’s death. Like the women who got up early with broken and fearful hearts, we, too, have walked that trail of tears. We’ve laid to rest the earthly remains of those we love who have departed this life. And that departure always seems so final—so permanent. The cemetery always seems to get the last word: The wages of sin is death. The soul that sins shall die.

I’ll never forget my first Easter as a pastor, 20 years ago. I was serving in the teeny, tiny town of Avon, SD. And as Holy Week drew near that year, someone mentioned to me, “By the way, pastor, our church is hosting the community youth sunrise service this year. What do you want to do?” Now, as a rookie pastor I didn’t know what do for much of anything—let alone a community youth sunrise service. But for some reason I said, “Let’s go to the cemetery. Let’s do it there.” And there, on a chilly, windswept hillside, beneath brilliant sunshine, we proclaimed that Christ is risen and death is destroyed. Amidst the tombstones we sang, “I know that my Redeemer lives.” We heard the angel ask, “Why do you seek the living among the dead?” And we confessed our belief in the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting. Turns out, a cemetery is a great place to celebrate Easter—the perfect place to declare death’s defeat.

Luckily, there was no earthquake, like there was in the cemetery on that first Easter Sunday. There are few fault lines in South Dakota—and even fewer in Jerusalem. But that doesn’t matter. Because when the Lord wants an earthquake, He gets an earthquake—with or without tectonic plates shifting. Just as there was an earthquake on Good Friday, at the death of Jesus, so is there an earthquake on Easter Sunday, at the resurrection of Jesus. These two tremblors go together. Calvary earthquake and Easter earthquake show us that the death of Jesus and the resurrection of Jesus are inseparably connected. They are the divine hinge on which all of human history hangs.

But so that there might be no question about what’s going on, God sends an angel to apply His Word to the situation. Look at that angel, as bright as lightning and as white as snow—casually camped out, sitting on the stone. Death is defeated. Death doesn’t deserve our respect. The tomb holds no terror for those whose lives are already hidden with Christ in God. So the angel sits back, stretches out, and relaxes to announce the best news since the dawn of time: Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified. He is not here, for he has risen, just as He said. An angel had announced His birth “to save His people from their sins.” And now, another angel declares, “He is risen.” The deed is done. The tomb was temporary. He is risen; just as He said.

Just as He said? Oh, yeah! Let’s not overlook what seems to have escaped everyone’s notice. Jesus had predicted, on several occasions, in clear and simple sentences, that He would not only be put to death, but that He would rise again on the third day. Anybody can predict their death with a pretty good shot at that prediction coming true. But Jesus predicted His resurrection from the dead on the third day. And it happened, just as He said.

Beloved in the Lord, do you know what this means? It means that you can trust this Jesus. You can believe Him. You can hold Him to His promises and you will not be disappointed. For if Jesus got His own resurrection right—if He could speak with truth and accuracy and specificity about rising from the dead—then there is nothing He says that you cannot believe. You can stake everything—goods, fame, child, and wife, your living and your dying—you can stake everything on every word that proceeds from the mouth of the Lord Jesus Christ.

Of course, on most days, we don’t do that. On the other 364 days of the year, we’re not so eager to hear those words and take them to heart and trust them. As the culture around us slides into madness and darkness and depravity, you must not let go of Jesus’ words. Jesus tells us that God created human beings as “male and female” (Matt. 19:4). That’s all—male and female. He tells us how a man shall leave his father and his mother and hold fast to his wife—that the two become one flesh—that God establishes the family as the foundation of His creation. Not the individual—the family. Jesus tells us that the bread is His body and the wine is His blood. He says, “Let the little children come to me,” and the word He uses for little children is also used of little children still in the womb, little children yet unborn. All are precious to Jesus. All deserve our love and protection. Take Jesus’ words to heart—all of them—and trust them. Live by them, die by them, and be raised by them. For He is the resurrection and the life.

Easter changes us. Each year the good news of Jesus resurrection touches our lives and we are never quite the same again. St. Matthew tells us that as the women left the tomb after hearing the angel’s message, they were filled with both fear and joy. They were fearful and joyful. Fear and joy make for a strange combination. But I think you can understand how it works. Many of us will leave here this morning feeling not so unlike those women—joyful yet fearful. We don’t know exactly what tomorrow brings; but we do know that the devil and our own sinful nature have certainly NOT surrendered in their war against us. They have not given up on their very creative attempts to lure us away from Jesus and so destroy our faith.

That’s why it’s worth noting that Jesus Himself met those fearful, joyful women. They hadn’t gone far from the tomb before Jesus crossed their path. You don’t have to go far either, before Jesus will cross your path here again, every Lord’s day, where His Word is proclaimed and where He gives His body and blood for the forgiveness of sins. Jesus met the women and said, wait for it, “Greetings.” Greetings? How about Easter greetings? In modern English, “greetings” sounds a bit stiff and detached. Greetings is what the aliens say when the step off the flying saucer. The King James Version translates it as, “All, hail” which doesn’t really help us modern English speakers.

But at the root of Jesus’ Easter “greetings” there is a deeper, fuller, richer, weightier connotation. It’s like in English when we say “goodbye.” Goodbye has a deeper meaning. Over the years, “goodbye” is what evolved from the phrase, “God be with ye.” The ancient root of Jesus’ Easter “greetings” actually means, “Rejoice,” or “Be ye glad.” So, take Jesus at His Word. Do what He says. Be ye glad. Rejoice. For like those lowly women, the love of Jesus has made you precious. In Jesus, your sin is paid for. In Jesus, you will live forever! The women bent their knees, knelt down in worship, and took hold of Jesus’ feet. And on this Easter, we too bend our knees, kneel down, and worship the risen Christ at His altar. “This is my body,” He says, “given for you. Drink of it all of you, this cup is the new testament in my blood, shed for you, for the forgiveness of sins.” The Lamb who was slain has begun His reign. Alleluia! Christ is risen. He is risen indeed. Alleluia.

We Wish to See Jesus

In Nomine Iesu
St. John 12:20-43
April 9, 2017
Palm Sunday (Confirmation)

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus,
And especially those of you confirmed in the faith this morning: Elizabeth, Justin, Benjamin, Leah, Keagan, and Maren~

Sir, we wish to see Jesus. No sooner had Jesus dismounted His donkey—no sooner were the

palm branches being picked up and the shouts of “hosanna” dying down—than a group of Greeks came to Philip with a request: Sir, we wish to see Jesus. We aren’t told exactly why these Greeks wanted to see Jesus. Like everyone else who squeezed into Jerusalem for the Passover feast that year, they had probably heard about how Jesus had raised Lazarus from the dead just days earlier. And since these Greeks had come to town for the Passover, it’s reasonable to assume that they knew what the Old Testament had to say. They knew that the Messiah was coming; and perhaps they had dared to believe that this Jesus was the King they had been waiting for.

Whatever their motivation, their request was right on: Sir, we wish to see Jesus. That’s what we want, too, every time we come here to the Divine Service. We, also, wish to see Jesus—to experience the Savior’s mercy and love, to cast our cares on Him and feel the burden of our sin taken away—as far as the east is from the west. I once preached from a pulpit where those words were inscribed so that the preacher would see them every time he preached: Sir, we wish to see Jesus—a reminder to the preacher to give his hearers what they needed, namely, Jesus. That’s also why six young people are being confirmed today—because they, too, wish to see Jesus, even as they are already seen and loved by Him. We all wish to see Jesus.

Jesus’ response, at first, must have caused their hearts to swell with excitement: The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. That’s exactly what they wanted to hear! The palm branches, the hosannas—this was the real Jesus, the royal Jesus. The Romans were on the way out and the kingdom of God was on the way in, with blaze of heavenly glory.

But as Jesus kept talking about “glory,” it quickly became apparent that “glory” doesn’t mean what we think it means. He talks about a seed falling into the earth and dying. He talks about losing His life. He talks about being “lifted up from the earth” and drawing all people to Himself. Of course, He said all this to show by what kind of death he was going to die. Jesus describes His impending crucifixion as His hour of glory. It’s as if Jesus was telling His Greek admirers—and all of us who wish to see Him—that you can’t see Jesus or fully know Jesus apart from His crucifixion cross. That cross is why the Father sent His Son into our flesh. He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.

If you want to see Jesus and know Him fully, then see His suffering and death in all of its glory. Those two words, death and glory, don’t ordinarily go together in our way of thinking. For us, glory means basking in the spotlight, fame and fortune. Glory is winning, not losing—and certainly not dying. But the glory of Jesus is centered at the cross. The glory of Jesus doesn’t shine; it bleeds. It bleeds for you and for your salvation.

But that kind of glory—bleeding glory, crucifixion glory—it just doesn’t seem very glorious to us; and that’s a big problem. Sin has warped our view of things so severely that important things—things divine—holy things—well, they don’t seem divine or holy to us. The holy cross doesn’t always seem holy to us. We like decorative crosses, precious moments crosses, pretty jewelry crosses made of gold and silver. But big crosses with bloody corpses we’re not so fond of.

But when it comes to the cross of Jesus, we can actually learn a few things from the enemies of the cross—enemies of the Christ and His church. I read an article in National Review last week about the Christian communities in northern Iraq. Christianity has existed in Iraq since apostolic times—long before it existed here. But three years ago, as ISIS moved in, these Christians had to flee for their lives with only the clothes on their backs. But the Islamic State has been in retreat as of late, and now a few brave Christians are returning home to sift through the rubble and ashes. In the town of Karemlash, as the author surveyed the blackened walls of a firebombed church, he made this observation: “Perhaps the most powerful symbol I came across in Karemlash was the defaced Cross. Everywhere, in all the churches and monasteries I visited, the Cross was defaced, scratched out, broken, or pierced with bullet holes. ISIS had spray-painted the message ‘the Cross will be broken’ on the walls of the rectory, and the pastor’s office door was booby-trapped, to kill him when he returned.”

What triggered the wrath and rage of the Islamists more than anything? The cross of Jesus—the tool of torture on which Jesus was lifted up for the sins of the whole world. That’s the lynchpin of the Christian faith. Everything hinges on what you believe and confess about Christ the crucified. Who do you say He is? What happened on the cross is what divides humanity. It’s either a stumbling block which causes men to fall, or it is the glorious source of your salvation. The cross divides, but at the same time, it’s the only thing that can truly unite us—with one another and with the God who loves us.

It’s ultimately the cross of Christ that distinguishes Christianity from every other religion. Mohammed had a few nice things to say about Jesus, but he denied the cross. Islam holds that Jesus never made it to the cross, that God sent in a last-minute substitute—a substitute for THE Substitute. Or consider the Latter Day Saints. They talk about Jesus. They have their temples and their meeting houses, but you won’t find a cross there to save your soul—let alone a Christ suffering upon it.

We Christians would do well to take note. Listen to Jesus and learn that He comes to die a death that is glorious—that His death is, at the same time, horrific yet holy, awful yet awesome, gory yet glorious. What appears to the world as just another tortured criminal at the killing grounds of Calvary is, in fact, the Son of God, lifted up from the earth, drawing you to Himself, paying the penalty of your sin. That moment is the defining moment in all of history, in which the Creator of all is sacrificed for all His creatures, to become their Redeemer. This is the bleeding glory of Jesus. And it is all for you.

And what about you—you the baptized—you who received the sign of the holy cross both upon your forehead and heart to mark you as one redeemed by Christ the crucified? How will you spend your days living as those marked by the holy cross? Jesus gives us a metaphor to live by: “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. Whoever loves his life loses it, and whoever hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life.” On the one hand, Jesus Himself is that grain of wheat He was describing. Try to preserve it—or simply admire it—and you get nothing. But bury it in the ground and it rises to bear much fruit. That’s what was in store for Jesus during the days that followed Palm Sunday. He went the way of death and the grave like a seed buried in the ground. He lost His life only to take it up again three days later. And in His dying and rising Jesus has borne much fruit—your eternal salvation.

As it is for Jesus, so it is for all of us who follow Him in faith. We, too, are nothing more than grains of wheat—seeds in the Savior’s hands. You are seeds for Jesus. Of course, that doesn’t sound very “glorious.” Confirmation Sunday is really a seed—planting celebration. When our six confirmands were baptized all those years ago, they were planted—planted in the fertile soil of God’s grace and mercy. “For you died,” St. Paul told the Colossians about their baptism, “and your life is now hidden with Christ in God.” In baptism, you died. You were planted like a seed. To be a seed planted in the ground is to give up everything. You have no control, no power. You don’t call the shots. You’re like Lazarus who was stone-cold dead until Jesus came along and spoke His life-giving word. The fruit you bear in this life will only come as you (like Lazarus) hear the Savior’s voice—as you come here to “see Jesus” and hear His Word, and be fed with His precious body and blood.

To those being confirmed today, remember that you are a seed. Just a seed. It’s not about you. A seed is nothing; but Jesus is everything. Your job as a seed is to be planted and to receive the growth and life of Jesus. But we all struggle with that. We would rather be in control, calling the shots, pretending to be god in the place of God. When I was confirmed, Jesus to me was the one who helped me get good grades, be a good athlete, be popular, happy and successful. Even when we’re older and wiser, we’re still tempted to see Jesus as one whose job it is to make sure my life is the good life. If that’s your Jesus; you’ve got the wrong Jesus. He wasn’t lifted up on the cross to make your life the good life, but to give you eternal life—and to make you “good” with His own holiness and righteousness.

Why do the enemies of Christ hate the cross so much? It shows just how bad, how dire, our situation really is. It shows our sin and just how much we need a Savior. The first thing the ISIS warriors tear down and smear is the picture of Christ crucified. They know that’s where the ultimate war is waged. But you—you know that cross is where the war for your salvation was waged . . . and won by Jesus. He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died and was buried. He descended into hell to proclaim His triumph over Satan and was raised on the third day never to die again. In Him you have been baptized. In Him you live forever.

Indeed, it’s true. We wish to see Jesus. And see Him we shall—on the last day, at the last trumpet, in the twinkling of an eye, with glorious, resurrected bodies. And at the name of Jesus every knee shall bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. Amen.

The Seventh Sign

In Nomine Iesu
St. John 11:1-45
April 2, 2017
Lent 5A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

In the Gospel according to St. John, Jesus performs seven “signs,” seven miracles. The very first of these signs took place at a wedding at Cana in Galilee. You remember it. The wine ran out and Jesus saved the day by turning ordinary water into the finest of wines. The first sign took place at a wedding; but the last sign—the seventh sign—took place at a funeral in a cemetery. There Jesus raised his friend,

Lazarus, from the dead to show that He is the resurrection and the life.

Jesus loved Lazarus and his sisters, Mary and Martha. Those siblings were friends of Jesus. Remember when they had welcomed Jesus into their home—how Martha got overwhelmed in the kitchen, while Mary just sat at the Savior’s feet listening? It was only natural, then, that when Lazarus got seriously ill, the sisters sent an urgent message to Jesus: “Lord, he whom you love is ill.” They hoped, and perhaps expected, that Jesus would come quickly. But He didn’t. In fact, there was little to no urgency on the part of Jesus. He seemed almost nonchalant about the whole thing and lingered a few days longer before going to visit his friends.

The delay makes almost no sense to our ears. If we get notified that someone we love is sick and dying, we make plans to visit. We drop everything. We rearrange our lives so that we can say our goodbyes and share some good memories. It’s the decent, respectful thing to do. Jesus, of course, could have visited and done a lot more than share good memories with his friends. He could have healed Lazarus—could have saved his life—could have rushed right over to that house He knew so well and spared them days of tears and grief. But He didn’t. Jesus intentionally waited and did nothing. He told His disciples that the illness “does not lead to death.” Even when Jesus knew that Lazarus was dead, He seemed to downplay the whole thing, saying, “He’s fallen asleep; and I’m going to awaken him.”

That’s how it is with Jesus. Death is merely a sleep from which He awakens us. To our eyes—to our reason and senses—death is the end, the last word, the final exit. It’s over, curtains, kicked the bucket, pushing up daisies, dead and gone. Jesus let his best friend die. And He goes so far as to say, “I’m glad—glad I wasn’t there—so that you may believe.”

Mary and Martha, however, were not glad that Jesus wasn’t there. In fact, they were angry. When Jesus finally arrives four days later, the sisters aren’t terribly happy with Jesus. Martha ran down the road to meet Him: “If you’d been here—if you’d come when we called you—my brother would not have died.” You can hear the anguish in those words. Jesus had healed so many people—strangers, children, foreigners, Samaritans. Why wouldn’t He take the time to heal His best friend? Why didn’t He do anything?

That’s our question too. We want an activist, interventionist Jesus—a superhero Jesus—who drops whatever He’s doing to fly to our assistance. Jesus on demand. What we get instead is the Jesus who delays—who does nothing—who even makes light of our death as if it were nothing more than a Sunday afternoon nap. We get understandably upset when the people we depend on don’t return our emergency calls. Double the upset when it’s our Savior; and triple it when He’s supposed to be our friend—who loves us.

Despite Martha’s frustration and grief, there’s still a glimmer of faith there. Martha says, “Even now I know that whatever you ask from God, God will give you.” At this point, for Martha, Jesus is just someone who has a special “in” with God. God listens to Jesus. Jesus can channel and apply the power of God in special situations. But Jesus is so much than that. And He wants Martha to know and believe that. “Your brother will rise again,” He says. “I know that he will rise again on the last day,” she says, probably reciting what she had learned back in Sabbath School. But Jesus wants her to see Him as the object of all her faith and hope. And so He tells her plainly: I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live.

Next, comes the question: Do you believe this? Does Martha believe that this Jesus, with whom she is angry to the point of tears, is the source of the resurrection and the life—that He holds the keys to the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting? Martha certainly believes something: “Lord, I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who is coming into the world.” But does she realize that this Christ must suffer and die for the sins for the world? Does she realize that to defeat death, Jesus Himself must die? Does she realize that to bring us resurrection life, the corpse of Jesus must first be laid in the tomb, and rise again on the third day?

Jesus’ question is for you, too. Do you believe this—that Jesus is the resurrection and the life—that in Him you will never die? It’s one thing to trust that Jesus can heal your sicknesses or change your water into wine. It’s quite another to trust Jesus with your death. Jesus could have rushed right over to heal Lazarus. He could have spared Mary and Martha their grief—could have spared Lazarus the agony of dying. He could have saved the day. But Jesus wants to give you more. He wants you to see Him as the one—the only one—who can save you from death. So what does He do? He allows his friend Lazarus to die of his illness. He doesn’t fly to the rescue in your life every time you get a new diagnoses or suffer some setback. He leaves things as they are in our lives, and then He asks, “Do you trust me? Do you trust me when I hear your prayers and do nothing? Do you trust me even when I let you die?”

In this seventh sign, so strange and wonderful, Jesus shows us that His ways are not our ways, and His thoughts are higher than ours. His help and His healing will come, but not always at the time we desire or in the way we desire. Death, however, is never His desire. And in this seventh sign Jesus backs up His Word with His deeds—He practices what He preaches. Jesus weeps. Jesus goes to the tomb. Jesus commands the stone to be rolled away. Jesus prays to His Father. Jesus cries out with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” And Lazarus comes out, alive again. All it takes is a Word: Death must obey its Master. Jesus is the resurrection and the life. Trust Him and you will live in spite of dying.

Beloved in the Lord, someday what happened to dear Lazarus will happen to you. At the sound of the trumpet, in the twinkling of an eye, the Lord Jesus will call you from your grave. Dust and decomposition are not the final destiny of your flesh and blood. Jesus has destroyed death and brought life and immortality to light through the gospel. Jesus destroyed death by submitting to it Himself—on the cross, as your substitute, bearing all your sins. “Do you believe this?” Jesus wants to know.

This seventh sign—the raising of Lazarus—the greatest and grandest of Jesus’ miracles—it had other, more grave, implications. We heard 45 verses from John chapter 11 this morning; but we would have to read on into chapter 12 to hear the rest of the story. For Jesus, the raising of Lazarus essentially signed His own death warrant. His enemies, who were already jealous, would now be sufficiently enraged to plot His death. This seventh sign was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Now Jesus would be killed.

And what about Lazarus? What became of him after he was raised by Jesus? In today’s world he could have signed a book deal worth millions. He could have sat down for an interview with Barbara Walters or Bill O’Reilly. I certainly would tune-in to watch that. But all we know for sure is this: As the Pharisees plotted to kill Jesus, so also did they plot to kill Lazarus (John 12:10). And that makes perfectly good sense, in an evil sort of way. Of course, they had to kill Lazarus! He was a walking, talking, living, breathing witness whose every breath and heartbeat was a testimony to the power and glory of Jesus Christ, the resurrection and the life, the Son of God.

In this way, you aren’t so different from Lazarus. You also are a witness for Jesus. You too are a walking, talking, living breathing “sign” for the Savior. Your words and your deeds bear witness to Christ and to the truth of His teaching—the sanctity of life, the sacred gift of marriage, the creation of the world. When you were baptized, you died. And in that baptism you were also raised with Christ. You, therefore, are a little Lazarus—you died and were raised in baptism. In you, as in Lazarus, the sinful world sees Jesus. So there’s a price on your head too. You too are a target. Don’t expect smooth sailing. But rather, take up your crosses, live as witnesses, let your light shine—all for the sake of Jesus who loved you and gave Himself for you.

What’s the worst that could happen? You die? Jesus is the resurrection and the life. Learn with Lazarus that your life is in the Lord’s hands. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.