Jesus' Ark

In Nomine Iesu
1 Peter 3:20-22
May 21, 2017
Easter 6A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

As a parent, you always have regrets of some kind or another. You can always look back at how you raised your children and think, “I should have handled that differently,” or “What was I

thinking?” Today’s epistle reading brought to mind one of those episodes in my years as a parent where I should have been smarter. I should have done better. For you see, I bought my children a toy play-edition of Noah’s ark—with pairs of cute plastic animals that could walk right up a few short steps and into the waiting ark.

What was I thinking? I placed into my children’s little hands a toy that commemorated the deadliest event in all of human history. With that Noah’s ark play set I gave my children hours of fun and enjoyment based on the most catastrophic, cataclysmic act of divine wrath that has ever been leveled against the inhabitants of planet earth. To make a children’s play-toy out of Noah’s ark is to rip the ark right out of its true, Biblical context. For unless this Noah’s ark play set included bloated corpses and terrified sinners clinging to the sides of the ark like barnacles as the waters rose to swallow them, then this toy is only telling half the story. At best this is a toy that’s in bad taste, and at worst it ranks right up there with a playmobile set commemorating the holocaust or a toy tsunami simulator. Not even Toys-R-Us would have the audacity to sell something like that.

Children and Noah’s ark came to mind because of today’s epistle reading. There St. Peter was writing to children—well, to children in the faith, that is—newborn babies who had just recently been born again in the waters of Holy Baptism. They were converts—mere infants in the faith, just beginning to learn the basic, elementary teachings of Christianity. And among the many things that Peter laid out for them in this letter, we learn today that Peter wanted to set these children straight concerning both Noah’s ark and the meaning of their baptism—two watery events with two wet messages.

Peter first uses Noah’s ark to teach these new Christians a thing or two about God’s patience. He points them to God’s patience in the days of Noah. Do you remember from Genesis just how bad things were? There it says, The Lord saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and that every intention of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually. And the Lord was sorry that he had made man on the earth, and it grieved him to his heart. It’s hard for us to imagine just how bad things must have been—to envision a time when humankind was engaged continuously, exclusively in wickedness and evil. The only exception was Noah, who found favor with God—not because of his perfect church attendance or his sin-free lifestyle—but through faith.

It was because of that faith that Noah built the ark at God’s command. And that ark is, first and foremost, a demonstration of God’s great patience. We don’t know exactly how long it took to build the ark. What we do know is that Noah had around 500 candles on his birthday cake when his three sons were born, and that he was six hundred years old when the flood finally came. It’s likely that for decades Noah was building the ark. And you don’t build an ark in your backyard privately. To build an ark is to make a public profession. As that ark was being built, it proclaimed a message of watery judgment to come—of the need to repent and turn. That ark was a sermon not of words, but of gopher wood. And as it came together, cubit after cubit, it called everyone who saw it to turn from their sin and flee to the grace of God—or face a terrible day of judgment.

Both baby Christians and veterans of the faith can learn from this that God is patient—that He desires not the death of sinners but that they turn from their sin and live—that He wants all to be saved and come to the knowledge of the truth. But the ark also teaches us that God says what He means, and He means what He says. His threats and His warnings should not be taken casually. Do not presume upon His patience. Do not mistake His patience for the permission to go on sinning casually and carelessly. Planned repentance is not repentance. The ark teaches us that there will come a day of reckoning—a day of colossal, cataclysmic, catastrophic reckoning. And know this: God’s wrath against sin in the flood—this watery judgment—is but a preview of the Final Judgment, when the earth and the heavens will be destroyed not by water, but by fire—and when all the unbelievers will be punished, while the believers will join Noah and all the righteous in their heavenly home.

But just as the flood reveals God’s wrath against sin, the ark also reveals God’s love for humanity. Noah’s ark is not only a story of judgment, but also of salvation—not only of Law, but also of Gospel. The ark, like the cross, shows just how much God loves His children and how deeply He desires to save them. This is the second main point Peter makes in today’s text: It was in the ark “in which a few, that is, eight persons were brought safely through water.” The ark proclaims—simultaneously—a tale of death and destruction, and of life and deliverance.

Several years ago my family attended a theatrical production of Noah’s Ark at the Sight and Sound Theater in Branson, Missouri. And it was quite a production. The closing scene of the first act was terrifying. On stage, inside the ark, were Noah and his family. And as soon as God closed the door of the ark, the sounds of rain and thunder and rushing waters were heard. And those sounds were quickly followed by the terrifying screams of those outside the ark, those being swept away, those who had rejected God’s gracious offer of deliverance. And then there was only darkness and silence. But as the second act opened, there was light and life all around. The entire theater had been transformed into the interior of the ark. Everywhere you looked were living creatures, great and small, bathed in light—a floating zoo delivered from destruction by a gracious and loving God.

Most importantly, there were eight people on board that ark: Noah and his wife, his three sons and their wives too. The same water that had drowned a sinful and evil world, that same water lifted up the ark to preserve faithful Noah and his family. The same water that killed and destroyed—that same water brought life and deliverance to eight people. And here’s the good news that Peter wanted to convey to his readers about the baptism they had recently undergone: Just as eight people were saved by water in the ark, “baptism, which corresponds to this, now saves you.”

Baptism now saves you. Peter writes that baptism saves you “through the resurrection of Jesus Christ, who has gone into heaven and is at the right hand of God.” Baptism now saves you because baptism now unites you with Jesus. All that Jesus accomplished in love for you—His suffering for your sins—His crucifixion and resurrection—your baptism applies that power to you personally. Your baptism cleanses you with Christ—His righteousness, His innocence, and His blessedness. Your baptism drowned and washed away all that is sinful and evil in you, while preserving you high and dry and safe and secure in the holy ark of the holy church—until that day when you reach the safe harbor of heaven. Your baptism placed you safely inside the ark with the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

Noah’s ark was pretty impressive, you have to admit. You can travel down to the Creation Museum in Kentucky to experience a real life replica of what the ark was like. How did eight people manage and feed and care for such a wide array of living creatures? But that ark was nothing compared to this ark. For this is Jesus’ ark—the place where the water of your baptism washes you clean and bears you up each day, living in the grace and forgiveness of God, confessing your sins and enjoying a good conscience. Here in Jesus’ Ark the Lord feeds and cares for a great multitude of people that cannot be numbered.

Noah’s ark is long gone. Lots of people have looked for it. Lots of people have claimed to have found what remains of it. And you smart-alecks from Wisconsin always like to tell people that “Noah’s ark” is located two hours west of here in the Dells. But don’t waste your time with Noah’s ark. Baptismal waters have given you a new birth into the ark of Jesus, which is the church of Jesus. It doesn’t take much imagination to sit where you are right now and to envision that you are sitting below deck in a great ark. You’re sitting in that part of the building we call the “nave,” which comes from the Latin word for “boat.” You are surrounded by death and destruction; but here in the ark of Jesus you are safe and secure. Because Jesus lives, you shall live also. Here you live on every word that proceeds from the mouth of the Lord, and here you dine on the bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood. Here Jesus gives you His resurrection life in the flood of water that flows from this font.

This ark of Jesus—the one, holy, Christian, and apostolic church—it will endure forever. The gates of hell will not prevail against it. What unites you with Noah, and with believers of every age, is faith in Jesus, the Son of God. He suffered once for sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, that He might bring you to God in this holy ark. Amen.

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

Comfort and Clarity

In Nomine Iesu
John 14:1-14
May 14, 2017
Easter 5A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Let not your hearts be troubled. There’s a lot going on in today’s holy gospel from John chapter 14. Deep theology.

Precious promises. Questions and answers. Comfort and clarity. But we dare not overlook that very first sentence from the lips of Jesus: Let not your hearts be troubled.

Who has a troubled heart? There are plenty of people here this morning with troubled hearts. If you’re not among them—if your heart is carefree—then count yourself fortunate and just wait your turn. Troubled hearts are a common malady among the followers of Jesus—among all of us who live in a world where sin and death loom so large. How many people do you know who are battling cancer right now? And how many of them are losing the battle? How many mothers do you know (on this Mothers’ Day) who are trying to hold together families that are bitterly divided or torn apart by conflict? How many “former” Christians do you know—baptized children of God who (for no particular reason) have wandered away from the faith, from the church, from the Savior? Having a troubled heart isn’t necessarily a sin. For the Scriptures tell us that even Jesus—at the death of his friend Lazarus—even Jesus was “greatly troubled” (Jn. 11:33).

Let not your hearts be troubled. When Jesus said those words, He wasn’t just tossing out some casual comfort for no particular reason. He wasn’t just telling the Twelve to cheer up and turn their frowns upside down. It was the Thursday night of holy week. Jesus would be a corpse on a cross in less than twenty-four hours. He had just predicted that one of the twelve was going to betray Him. Peter had just promised to lay down his life for Jesus (13:37); but Jesus had sharply corrected him: “Truly, truly, I say to you, the rooster will not crow till you have denied me three times.” That night was a night marked by darkness, denial and betrayal. That night would turn out to be a night when sin and death would be unleashed to do their worst. And into the deep darkness of that awful night, when terrible trouble was looming large, Jesus dared to say, “Let not your hearts be troubled.”

What the disciples needed at that moment was comfort; and Jesus did not fail to deliver. What Jesus proceeded to prescribe for their troubled hearts was faith: Believe in God; believe also in me. Jesus here equates Himself with God. He and the Father are one. Jesus needed to make that clear because His glory and His divinity would be horribly hidden in the hours just ahead. And so Jesus reminds them that there’s more to Him than meets the eye.

And then Jesus gives them something to look forward to: In my Father’s house are many rooms. . . I go to prepare a place for you. The old King James Version described it as a house “with many mansions.” The point here is not to imagine the largest mansion or the biggest castle. Rather, Jesus wants us to know, first of all, that there’s plenty of room in the heavenly dwelling He’s preparing for us. The Father’s house is no three-bedroom colonial. The Father’s house is designed to hold a multitude that cannot be numbered.

But even more importantly, the Father’s house—the place that Jesus prepares for us—is permanent. Last week in Bible class we discussed what it means that on earth we are exiles, aliens, and strangers. I mentioned how the address I now have I’ve had longer than any other address in my life. And many of you can say the same thing about your dwelling place. It’s home, yes; but it’s not forever. It’s not permanent. We are but strangers here; heaven is our home. The things that trouble your heart today and tomorrow are temporary. Jesus Christ, in love, has prepared something better for you. You have the comfort of this sweet sentence from the Savior: I will take you to myself.

But Thomas was still troubled. Thomas needed more than just comfort. Thomas needed clarity. “How can we know the way?” he asked. There’s a lot of ground to cover between where we are now and where we will be forever and ever in the Father’s house. Thomas needed details. He wanted the route laid out with certainty and clarity. He wanted to know exactly what to expect: “Lord, how can we know the way?” A lot of us would like that too. We would like to know ahead of time about all the twists and turns and detours that lie ahead. We’ll follow Jesus, for sure, but we would really like to have more information—for planning purposes.

Why do we need all of that? It’s simple: We don’t trust Him. We have more faith in our earthly house than we do in the Father’s house. The earthly house we can see. The Father’s house we see only by faith. And so we trust what we see and we doubt what we don’t see. But when you go through life trusting in what you see, investing in what you see, centering your life around what is visible; suddenly you’re no longer an exile. You’re no longer a stranger here. Suddenly, you’re at home here; while heaven sounds stranger and stranger.

In our kitchen we have what I scornfully refer to as the “junk” drawer. It’s a nice big drawer near the back door. We temporarily place things in that drawer and then promptly forget about them. I cleaned out the junk drawer a few months ago (it was like an archeological expedition digging down through layers of history) and do you know what was at the very bottom? Maps. Street maps of Milwaukee. Maps I had used years ago to find my way to members’ homes and hospitals and churches, back when we were new citizens of this city. I used to love a good map. I took pleasure in plotting my course, my exits, my turns. Planning the perfect route gave me a sense of clarity and confidence. Of course, maps are obsolete now. I miss maps.

Beloved in the Lord, there’s no map to show the way to the Father’s house. There’s no map that will give you all the details you crave about the twists and turns between here and there. Instead, Jesus gives us something better: “I am the way and the truth and the life,” He says. “No one comes to the Father except through me.” The way to the Father’s house—the way to that heavenly mansion—the way of deliverance from sin and death—is exclusively through Jesus. Salvation is found in no one else (Acts 4:12). That’s the kind of clarity we need. All are invited to the Father’s house. God desires the salvation of all people. But there’s only one way to get there. All paths do not lead to God. There are not a multitude of equally valid paths to salvation. It’s not like planning a trip to Mayfair Mall. There are many different routes you can take to get there.

But to get to the eternal house in heaven that Jesus has prepared for us, there are no alternate routes, no bypasses or detours. Only faith in Jesus Christ, the Son of God, will get you there. He alone is the way. No one comes to the Father except through Him. Jesus is the singular path to heaven. His crucifixion cross made the way for you. His sinless life as your substitute is what has bridged the gap between lost and dying sinners and the holy God of heaven and earth. And His resurrection from the dead is the proof. His Word is truth. The life He gives is eternal. In Him we have comfort. In Him we have clarity.

And yet, sometimes that comfort and clarity doesn’t seem like enough. That was Philip’s concern. For Philip spoke up after Thomas to say, “Lord, show us the Father and that will be enough for us.” Philip’s concern was having “enough.” Bear in mind, Philip had seen Jesus. Philip had seen the miracles of Jesus. Philip had faith in Jesus. But somehow, in Philip’s mind, that wasn’t enough. He needed more.

Do you ever feel like Philip? Do you ever find yourself praying, “Lord, I believe . . . but.” Troubled hearts always look for signs. Troubled hearts are always quick to prescribe a solution, a plan, a route of escape. But Jesus invites troubled hearts simply to believe in Him—and to leave the details to Him. He is the way. He is the truth. He is the life. He has the solution. He has the plan. He has a deliverance in store for you. Believe in Him. Trust Him. “Come to me,” He says, “all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” He may never show us all that we want to see. He may never reveal to us all that we’d like to know. But He invites us simply to believe; and in our believing, to realize that in having Jesus, we have enough. In fact, we have more than enough—more than we deserve—even more than we desire.

To troubled hearts Jesus gives comfort and Jesus gives clarity. You will find it here: in the preaching and proclamation of His Word. You will find it in the cleansing splash of your baptism into Christ. You will find it in the holy Supper of His body and His blood. This is the place where troubled hearts gather in the name of Jesus. Believe in Him. Cast your cares on Him. Let not your hearts be troubled. Let Jesus bear your sins away. For He can do it. He is the way, the truth, and the life. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Living the Abundant Life

In Nomine Iesu
Jn. 10:10; Acts 2:42
May 7, 2017
Easter 4A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

It’s the fourth Sunday of Easter, and around here that always means “Good Shepherd Sunday.” Jesus the Good Shepherd. Jesus the door of the sheep. Jesus who calls His sheep by name, and leads them and feeds them in green pastures beside quiet waters. The King of Love my Shepherd is. It’s all very comforting, isn’t it? Even for us city folks who don’t know much about sheep or shepherding.

Thankfully, for those of us who are sheep deprived, Jesus explains in one simple sentence what it means to have Him as our good shepherd: I came that they may have life and have it abundantly. Jesus comes to bring us life; and not just life, but “abundant” life. And since we are sitting squarely in the middle of the Easter season, it’s not difficult to figure out what this “abundant” life is. The abundant life is resurrection life—life that lasts forever—eternal life that comes as a gift to all those who believe in Jesus Christ. “Because I live,” Jesus says, “you shall live also.”

But the abundant life of our Good Shepherd isn’t only a gift for the future. It isn’t something we have to wait around for. It is already yours—a present possession. You see, the abundant life Jesus gives has nothing to do with an abundance of things or money or even blessings. The abundant life is the life lived in the presence of the Good Shepherd. The abundant life is the life that is served by the Savior with His good gifts. It means that Jesus is the heart and center of your life. Sounds good, doesn’t it? But what’s it look like? What does the abundant life of Jesus look like? How can you live your life in the presence of the Good Shepherd already today?

I don’t know whether it’s by design or by coincidence, but today’s reading from Acts chapter two shows us exactly what the abundant life looks like. That first reading today shows us what life was like in the church way back in the beginning—during the days right after Pentecost—back when everything was new and fresh, before problems and persecutions began. The first sentence of today’s first reading tells the whole story. That one verse, Acts 2:42, summarizes the abundant life enjoyed by those very first followers of Jesus in Jerusalem. Their number had swelled to over three thousand on the Day of Pentecost. They had heard the death and resurrection of Jesus proclaimed and preached by Peter. They had been baptized. And St. Luke summarizes the abundant life they enjoyed in this way: They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.

When St. Luke wrote that they “devoted themselves” to these things, the Holy Spirit inspired Him to choose a powerful verb to express what was happening. That they “devoted themselves” means that they were obstinately, passionately persisting in these things. They were into these things with all their heart and soul. These things were the center of life for the very first followers of Jesus. All of them—from the greatest to the least—all of them devoted themselves—to what?—to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.

First and foremost, they devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching—to doctrine. Today we hear complaints about how doctrine divides people—that we shouldn’t get too caught up in doctrinal details. Just make sure everyone believes in Jesus and call it a day! Not so for the first followers of Jesus! Doctrine didn’t divide them; it united them. What the apostles’ were preaching and teaching was the glue that held them all together. Remember how very different they were—how on the day of Pentecost people had gathered in Jerusalem from all over the world, featuring a diversity of cultures and classes and languages and customs. It wasn’t politics that united them. It wasn’t demographics that brought them together. It was the Law/Gospel preaching and teaching of the apostles. Doctrine didn’t divide them; it united them despite their differences and outward diversity.

That’s no less true right here among us at Our Savior. We are a diverse group—differing in politics and personality, in education and income levels, in age and experience, and temperament and tastes. But when it comes to what matters most—to the teaching God has given us through prophets and apostles, written in the words of our Bibles—there we do not merely agree to disagree. Instead, we live in a God-given unity—a blessed oneness based on the truth of God’s Word. That’s what holds this group together.

But this unity can only be maintained as we continue to devote ourselves to the Scriptures—only as we passionately persist in reading them, studying them, and teaching them to future generations. If we don’t do that, the abundant life we now enjoy will quickly become impoverished. If we don’t talk about God’s Word in our homes, if we consistently choose activities that lead us away from hearing God’s Word in worship, if parents don’t model for their children what it means to be a lifelong student of the Scriptures—well, then don’t be surprised when those children grow up to separate themselves from their Savior, and walk away from the abundant life He gives so freely.

But the abundant life of the first Christians didn’t center exclusively on doctrine; they also devoted themselves to “fellowship.” Now, Lutherans hear “fellowship” and they often think of coffee or potluck meals with lots of jello. Well, forget about that for a minute. The abundant life of Jesus has little to do with Jello. Instead, “fellowship” in Acts chapter 2 meant that they all shared in the same things. In fact, these very first Christians pooled together all their goods and money. They sold their belongings and gave the proceeds to those who were in need. Freely they received; freely they gave. This system of fellowship worked well when the church was but a few thousand people, living together in one place, at that time in history. It wouldn’t work so well today if we all liquidated our assets and pooled them all together. That’s not what this means for us.

But what does it mean? Why did the Holy Spirit go to the trouble of teaching us about their unique brand of fellowship and sharing and caring? If nothing else, it shows how those first believers were whole-heartedly committed to cultivating and sustaining their life together through acts of mercy and compassion. They weren’t afraid to take risks out of love for the body of Christ. Where there was a need—where there was a debt—where there was a problem—these saints didn’t just stand around with their hands in their pockets saying, “Well, that’s not my problem. Not my job. Above my paygrade.”

Beloved in the Lord, the fellowship we enjoy here at Our Savior isn’t that different. It means that there are no bystanders, no spectators, no second and third-stringers sitting on the bench. We’re all baptized; we’re all in this together. What must not escape our notice about the fellowship of those first believers is that their life together mattered more than everything else—more than team sports and hobbies, more than entertainment and social events. Fellowship mattered more. Those first Christians managed their lives in a way that visibly demonstrated their faith in Christ. It was the center of life. It was real. And they were unafraid to invest their money, their property, their time and sweat—and eventually their blood—into insuring the success of their life together.

Obviously, there are few churches today that reflect that intense level of commitment and fellowship. But that shouldn’t stop us from taking positive steps in the right direction. Consider these questions for yourself: Are you stepping up to be part of the solution, or are you sitting back waiting for someone else to take the lead and do the work (and take the blame if something goes wrong)? Are you committed to peace-making and problem-solving, or are you content only to point out the problems, to complain about the problems, and thereby perpetuate the problems? There’s a better way and—Christ be praised!—I see that better way finding expression here at Our Savior on a regular basis.

The abundant life for those first believers centered not only on the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, but also on the breaking of the bread and the prayers. For them, the “breaking of the bread and the prayers” went together. The breaking of the bread was a likely reference to the Lord’s Supper, Holy Communion. As often as they were gathering to hear the apostles’ teaching—as often as they shared together in fellowship—they also gathered to be fed with the body and blood of the Good Shepherd. This gift was also at the center of life. It nourished their life together. It brought them forgiveness and faith and equipped them to live lives of peace-making and reconciliation. They were passionately persisting in the Lord’s Supper. It, too, was the center of life.

And around this regular celebration of the Lord’s Supper came also “the prayers.” Note that St. Luke describes not just prayer, but “the prayers.” We today would call it “the liturgy.” When the first Christians gathered for worship it wasn’t just a free for all. There were set prayers, and hymns, and readings—just as there had been in the synagogues of the Old Testament. Private prayer was no doubt happening too. But “the prayers,” the liturgy spoken and sung in worship—it too was the very center of life.

They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. There in one simple sentence we have the abundant life. This is what the abundant life looks like today, among us. You have it here and now. It’s not an easy life, of course. It’s not a life that’s free from trouble or sorrow. It’s a life where wolves and thieves and robbers threaten to steal and kill and destroy. But Jesus has come to give you His abundant life. Abundant life begins by being served by Jesus, and continues as we serve others in the name of Jesus.

You have the abundant life because Jesus devoted Himself to you. Jesus has invested in your eternal good. It was an investment made not with gold or silver, but with His holy precious blood and His innocent suffering and death. He bore all our sins in His body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By His wounds you have been healed. That healing is distributed here in holy absolution, in His holy Word, and in His holy meal. This is your life—the abundant life to which you have been called by the Good Shepherd—the abundant life which has no end.

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

On the Road to Emmaus

In Nomine Iesu
St. Luke 24:13-35
April 30, 2017
Easter 3A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

It was a slow, seven-mile slog for two disappointed disciples. They were walking from Jerusalem to Emmaus. It was the afternoon of Easter Sunday. Cleopas and another disciple were heading home after the Passover weekend in Jerusalem. As they

walked, they talked. They discussed what had happened over the past several days concerning Jesus—the arrest, the trial, the crucifixion, the burial. There had also been a strange report from the women that morning that the tomb was open and empty—that there had been an angel or two. But these two men had not seen Jesus; and they didn’t expect to either.

These two disciples had likely staked their lives on this Jesus of Nazareth, just like so many others. They had believed that He was the One: “A prophet, powerful in word and deed before God and all the people.” He made the blind to see, the lame to walk. He raised the dead! They had hoped He was the Messiah, the one who would redeem Israel. But now their hopes had been shattered. Their faith had collapsed like a house of cards. Jesus was dead, and buried, and nowhere to be seen.

The road to Emmaus is filled with disappointment and disillusionment, grief and confusion, bewilderment and sadness. Have you ever been on the road to Emmaus? I suspect that you have. I suspect you know just how those two disciples felt: hopeless, disappointed, and faithless. Things haven’t turned out the way you expected in your life and you’re left to wonder why. You trusted Jesus—you believed in Him—you experienced His power. You staked your life on His life. But now He seems to have fled the scene without a trace. You feel betrayed, used, certainly sad. On the road to Emmaus nobody sees the Savior.

But like Thomas from last Sunday, these disciples needed to see Jesus. Unless they saw Him, they would not believe. Unless they saw Him, there would be no point in going on. Unless they saw Him, all they could do was walk the seven miles back to Emmaus with no hope, no joy, and no faith.

About that time a stranger caught up with them. It was Jesus; but their eyes were kept from recognizing Him. Note that passive verb: their eyes were kept from recognizing Him. It wasn’t because they were so distraught that they didn’t recognize Jesus. It wasn’t that the angle of the afternoon sun hid the Savior’s face or that Jesus had suddenly become a master of disguise. These two men were not permitted to recognize Jesus. His identity was intentionally, divinely concealed from them.

You have to wonder, “Why?” Was this just some cruel trick on the part of Jesus? Why play this little game with two distraught disciples? Why didn’t Jesus just show Himself to these two the way He did to the women and to the Ten, plus Thomas? The two disciples pour out their hearts about Jesus, to Jesus. Jesus patiently listens. He walks with them and talks with them. And then Jesus tells them what they need to hear: They were being “foolish” and “slow of heart.” Foolish as in unbelieving. Slow of heart as in hearts that were hardened to the Word. They knew what Jesus had said so many times about how He would be crucified and rise again on the third day—but they didn’t believe it. They didn’t trust that Jesus would be true to His Word.

That’s us too. We too can hear the good news of Jesus’ resurrection, but then carry on as though nothing of significance had happened. We can hear that sin and death are defeated and still go through our week with grim faces, worn and wearied by guilt, anxiety, and discouragement. We’re just as scared of living as we are of dying. Foolish, faithless, hardened hearts—so slow to believe. Even the strongest of Christians has had this trouble. I’m told that Martin Luther’s wife, Katie, once chiding him by saying, “To look at you you’d never know that Jesus rose from the dead.” You know how it is: You get caught up running on the treadmill of frustrations and failures and worries and the general stupidity of life . . . and you forget that Christ is risen.

The remedy we need is repentance—a repentance that changes slow, hardened hearts into hearts burning brightly with faith in the Risen Christ. That’s eventually what happened for those two disciples on the road to Emmaus. And they’re not so different from us. Because what caused their hearts to burn so brightly with faith and joy wasn’t that they saw Jesus risen from the dead. Note that! They didn’t recognize Jesus until He broke the bread and then immediately disappeared from their sight. They couldn’t see Jesus even when He was walking and talking with them. And this was the Lord’s doing—not their own nearsightedness. Jesus knew He was only going to be visibly present for forty more days. So He had to “wean” His followers from “seeing” Him with their eyes. He had to catechize them to hear His voice in the Word, and to recognize Him in the breaking of the bread.

Beloved in the Lord, this is where your road and the road to Emmaus intersect. We aren’t that different from Cleopas and the other guy. We’ve heard the news that Christ is risen. We’ve read the eyewitness accounts that Jesus is living. But Him we have not seen. Our eyes too are prevented from seeing Jesus. And yet, He is here—quite here, profoundly here, bodily here—here to make your heart and your life burn brightly with resurrection joy by the forgiveness of your sins. The Scriptures tell us plainly that Jesus is here where two or three are gathered in His name. The bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood bear witness to His real presence with us, in us, and for us.

Every Sunday is a “little Easter,” we say. Every Sunday is an Emmaus walk with Jesus—Jesus not seen but heard in the preaching and proclamation of His Word—Jesus not seen but tasted in the Communion meal. Word and Sacrament, we Lutherans say. It’s not a new or novel idea. It’s not something that Martin Luther thought up. It goes all the way back to Easter Sunday and the road to Emmaus.

Each week we walk into this room, sometimes riddled with guilt and our faces downcast and worn with worry. Oh, and if you’re not walking into this room each week then you’d better have a darn good excuse for standing-up the Savior, for refusing His company and His consolation in His Word and in His meal. Worship is not optional in the life of the Christian; it is needed and necessary for faith in Christ, for forgiveness of sins, and for holy living. This is where Jesus comes to join us and to reveal Himself to us. This in-between time—this time between Jesus’ resurrection and your resurrection—it’s not a time for seeing Jesus with our eyes. It is a time for hearing with our ears His Word of life, and receiving with our mouths His body and blood for the forgiveness of sins. Do you want Jesus to walk with you and talk with you and tell you that you are His own? Then you have come to the right place. Just follow the Road to Emmaus.

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