Who Do You Say I Am?

In Nomine Iesu
St. Matt. 16:13-20
August 27, 2017
Proper 16A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Who . . .is . . . Jesus? That’s the question of the day. But do we really need to be asking that question here? I mean, this is a Christian church after all—a congregation of the Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod. Christ crucified is literally the focal point of this

sacred space. And yet, that question, Who is Jesus? Who do you say that I am? it has a way of getting our attention. There’s a lot riding on how you answer that question. That question is deeply personal (not private, but personal).

It’s easier to report on what other people think of Jesus. When Jesus asked, Who do the people say the Son of Man is? the answers He got were varied and predictable. Some say John the Baptizer, back from the dead. Some say Elijah, who was supposed to appear before the coming of the Messiah. Others say Jeremiah or one of the prophets. In so many words, a great man among religious men. Just like today when people say something complimentary about Jesus without confessing the big thing: He’s a great moral teacher. He’s an example on how to care for the poor and sick. He’s a true friend in times of trouble. That’s all very nice. But it’s not nearly enough.

But who do you say that I am? Now Jesus gets at the heart of the matter. Never mind what the polls say, what about you guys? Simon Peter speaks up, as he always does. Good old Simon Peter. He’s like that one annoying kid in the classroom who always has his hand up in the air—who always thinks he knows the answer—to whom attention must be paid. I always imagine the other eleven disciples trying not to roll their eyes as Peter cleared his throat and began to speak: You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.

But instead of the usual correction or condemnation from Jesus, Peter for once is commended! “Blessed are you, Simon bar-Jonah.” Peter got it right. Jesus IS the Christ, the Messiah, the very fulfillment of all God’s promises to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, Moses, David and all the prophets—the Son of the living God. You couldn’t get a more correct, orthodox answer than that.

Blessed are you, Simon . . . but. You didn’t think this up on your own. This confession of yours came straight from the Father in heaven. So, no gold star for Peter. No merit badge or trophy. To confess that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God, is not something we can do by our own reason or strength or IQ or intelligence. No one can say “Jesus is Lord” except by the Holy Spirit. You, like Peter, can take no credit for confessing the divine truth about Jesus. All you can do is receive the blessing that comes from such a confession: Blessed are you!

Peter’s confession was rock solid. That’s why Jesus called him Petros, Peter, Rocky. Because on that rock-solid confession Jesus will build His church and the gates of hell will not prevail against it. This is important. Who builds the church? Jesus does! Who gives the church growth? Jesus does! And He does it all based on Peter’s rock-solid confession that Jesus is the Christ—not on the person of Peter. There’s nothing solid about the person of Peter at all. The church is not some personality cult of Peter or any other pastor. A church built on Peter would be on a slippery slope. The beauty of Peter’s confession is that he doesn’t point to himself, but to Jesus. And you can’t be more rock-solid than when you’re confessing a crucified and risen Christ. Even the gates of hell cannot compete with that!

This is the true, hidden strength of this (and every) congregation. Our strength lies not in the personality of our pastor, or in the beauty of our hymns, or in the simplicity of our sanctuary. Our strength is our foundation—the rock-solid confession that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God—a truth we quietly and calmly assert before the whole world every time we unite our voices in the Creeds of the church.

Did Peter fully realize what his words meant that day? No, not fully—not yet. As we’ll hear next Sunday, the same Peter who could confess the Christ with clarity in one breath, could become a spokesman for Satan in the very next breath. Peter envisioned a conquering Christ, not a suffering servant.

But Peter came to learn what we also have come to know: To confess Jesus as Christ and Son of God is to confess Him as crucified and risen from the dead. There is no other Jesus—no other way to be the Christ than by dying and rising. This is how death is defeated. This is how our sin is atoned for. This is how all things will be made new—by Jesus’ death on a cross for the sins of the world. Those who would flatter Jesus by saying all sorts of nice things about Him, but refuse His bloody death and reject His resurrection—they are on very shaky ground.

Peter’s confession of Jesus also shows you the importance of your own confession of Christ. What you believe with your heart, you confess with your lips. In just a few minutes we will receive two new members into our fellowship—and we will receive them, not because they are very nice people who can bring a lot of good things to our life together. No, we receive them based upon their confession of the faith—a confession built squarely on the rock-solid foundation that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God.

There’s really no middle ground where the Christ is concerned. Either He is Lord or He isn’t. Either He is the Messiah or He isn’t. Either He is the Son of God or He’s a lunatic. As C. S. Lewis famously wrote in Mere Christianity: Either this man was, and is, the Son of God; or else a madman or something worse. You can shut him up for a fool, you can spit at Him and kill Him as a demon; or you can fall at His feet and call Him Lord and God. But let us not come with any patronising nonsense about His being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to. (p.56)

And we can’t forget the keys. Jesus said, “I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.” What does this mean? Keys equal authority—the authority to open and shut, to bind and to loose. It’s a huge thing to have keys. When I worked as a security guard in college I was entrusted with keys to everything on campus—women’s residence halls, faculty offices. I could use the college president’s private bathroom at three o’clock in the morning if the notion struck me.

But imagine having the keys of heaven. Jesus hands off those keys to Peter, and to His whole church. You don’t have to hunt for the keys to the kingdom of heaven like you do for your car keys sometimes. No, the keys of the kingdom of heaven are at work right here where Jesus Christ is confessed—right here where sins are confessed and absolved—right here where we preach Christ crucified. “The office of the keys is that special authority which Christ has given to His church on earth to forgive the sins of repentant sinners, but to withhold forgiveness from the unrepentant as long as they do not repent.” These keys are at work for you. Jesus gave them so that you might know for certain that heaven is open to you.

Jesus then warned Peter and the rest not to tell anyone that He was the Christ. But don’t worry. He’s not talking to you here. You can tell anyone and everyone that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God. The disciples just had to wait until Jesus died and rose again. Then the world would have its rock solid proof—the hard evidence—that changes everything. Today it is our gift and our privilege to confess with Peter and with all the saints: Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God.

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

Man's Best Friend

In Nomine Iesu
St. Matthew 15:21-28
August 20, 2017
Proper 15A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

It’s not right to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs. That’s one of the first and foremost rules of dog

ownership. You don’t take food from the table—pricey food, carefully prepared for human consumption—and hand it off to your little puppy. It’s not that your little puppy wouldn’t like what it is you’re eating. And it’s not that his little digestive tract might react unfavorably to your rich fare. No, the problem is that dogs fed from the table come to expect it—maybe even demand it. Sit down, say grace, pass the potatoes . . . but then prepare for the whining, the whimpering, the begging, the big sad eyes, and the little paw tapping you on the thigh. No, Jesus has definitely made the right call here. It’s not right to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs.

Of course, when Jesus first said this concerning canines, there wasn’t a single furry four-legged friend in sight. There was begging, and there was whining, along with big, sad eyes—but all that came not from a dog, but from a pesky Canaanite woman. She just wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. No matter what the Savior did or didn’t say, she just kept coming back like a bulldog. She latched onto the Lord like a terrier latches onto a soup bone. She pursued Jesus with a dogged faith that just wouldn’t let go no matter what. And even more amazing, she was an outsider—a gentile dog—a non-Israelite. But that’s what this text is ultimately all about: God’s grace to all people in Jesus Christ, the outsiders becoming insiders, and God’s house being a house of prayer for all nations. Oh, and there’s also a little something about man’s best friend.

Jesus was doing what a healthy percentage of our members are doing right now—He was taking time off up north. But “up north” for Jesus meant gentile country. One of the locals—a woman, no less—approached Jesus. Right away, she’s got two strikes against her: a woman didn’t approach a man in public, and a Canaanite wouldn’t dare approach a Jew—let alone a Rabbi. But this woman had good cause for her carelessness. She was desperate. Her little girl was being terrorized by a demon. And she was powerless to stop it. No one could help. For some unknown reason, this woman clearly knew and believed that Jesus was her last, best, and only hope.

What do you say? What do you pray when Jesus is your last and only hope? What words are the right words when you’re rendered helpless while demons have their way with your daughter—when life caves in, and crisis comes, and there’s not a doggone thing you can do about it? This woman found the perfect words to pray in her terrible time of trial: Lord, have mercy. Kyrie Eleison. For as long as Christians have been gathering together for worship, Christians have been praying those words—Lord, have mercy. To our ears it might not sound like much of a prayer. But those words speak volumes. Those words perfectly express our helplessness and our total dependence on the mercy of the Lord.

But as you probably noticed, even the perfect prayer is sometimes met with silence from the Savior. Jesus gave the woman no response at all—did not answer her a word. Jesus may have kept quiet but His disciples sure didn’t. Send her away, Lord. She won’t shut up. She keeps following us and begging. Get rid of her! Sound familiar? It’s the voice of exclusion—of prejudice, hatred, suspicion toward the outsider—an instinctive aversion for the unclean, the unwashed, the unsaved. It had been drilled into the disciples’ heads since they were little boys: “Don’t go near those people—those Canaanites. Don’t talk with them. Don’t eat with them. And for heaven’s sake, don’t marry them.”

Finally, Jesus says something, but not what you might expect. He reminds the woman that He was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel—reminds her that she’s not one of those sheep—that she’s just a dirty Canaanite dog. It’s not right to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs, He tells her. It was an insult to her ethnicity. Generally speaking, dogs in those days were not the pampered pets of today, but garbage-eating scavengers on the streets—beasts that had no business in the kitchen or at the table with the children. “Yes, Lord,” she said, “but even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.”

Wow! Beloved in the Lord, this is what faith sounds like and looks like. She refuses to be refused. She prays without ceasing. She endures the silence and sternness of the Savior. For her, crumbs from the Savior’s table are a feast for her famished soul and she won’t be denied. Oh, she may be a dirty Canaanite dog, but she clings in faith to Jesus, believing that His mercy is big enough to embrace even the likes of her. O woman, great is your faith! Be it done for you as you desire. And her daughter was healed instantly.

Boom! It’s a nice story, don’t you think? It doesn’t start out that way, but it ends in a happy place. A little girl is healed. A woman of great faith is praised. Jesus extends the mercy of God to include those who had always been excluded before. It must have left the disciples scratching their heads—wondering what on earth Jesus was up to. How can an outsider have even greater faith than insiders like them?

You and I have walked in those same sandals. We’ve done what the disciples did. We too have judged the outsider. We’ve excluded those who make us uncomfortable. We think we have a flair for figuring out who’s in good with God and who isn’t. O, we say and pray that Jesus is the Savior of the whole wide world. But we act differently. By our actions we too often say that Jesus is the Savior of the smart and salvageable—that He’s the redeemer of religious folks like us—the Shepherd of the special—the Lord of the Lutherans (make that the Lord of the conservative Lutherans!) But today Jesus shows us that He really is the Savior of the whole world—including the parts of the world and the people of the world that we aren’t particularly fond of.

We need to see just how inclusive our God really is—see Him as the one who welcomes even dirty dogs right into the kitchen for a feast from His table. Because if we can’t see that—that the grace of Jesus Christ is all-inclusive and designed for everyone—then we run the risk of taking pride in ourselves—pride in our purity, pride in our religion, our doctrine, our liturgy or whatever other credentials we think make us special and smart and (in some tiny way) deserving of God’s mercy.

But God’s mercy is the very thing that no one deserves. We’re all like that poor Canaanite woman. We don’t have single bargaining chip that we can lay on the table. We’re not purebreds. We have no pedigree. We’re all just mangy mutts—sorry scavengers who can offer God nothing greater than a simple prayer: Lord, have mercy. Kyrie Eleison. Each Sunday when we come here, the Lord’s liturgy puts us in the doghouse, as we confess, “I, a poor, miserable sinner.” The Law of God declares that we’re all dirty dogs. There are no tricks we can perform, and there are no treats we can earn with our good behavior. In fact, where the law of God is concerned, we’re not just dirty dogs, we’re dead dogs, cut off from the Master’s table.

But take heart. For with the Lord Jesus, dogs get the crumbs that fall generously from the Master’s table. And those crumbs for us turn out to be rich fare indeed: Take, eat; this is my body 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. This is Jesus talking—the same Jesus who went to the dogs in His death on a hill outside Jerusalem. There on His crucifixion cross Jesus dealt with your sins and (yes) the sins of the whole wide world, once and for all. He was ostracized and crucified as an outsider; but the blood He shed that day is what makes all of us insiders—children of the heavenly Father, brothers and sisters in Christ. And three days later His resurrection brought life from the dead for all who follow Him in faith and hope.

It’s not right to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs. Because you know what will happen! Those dogs will keep coming back to the table—wagging their tails behind them—bellying up to the buffet—eager and excited to scarf down whatever the Master’s hands deliver in their direction. So picture yourself as one of those pooches. Place your paws on the path to the Master’s table. Come with the hope and expectation of a dog that gets fed right from the table. Whining and begging aren’t necessary. For the Lord is serving up something wonderful here at this table—the forgiveness of sins and life that lasts forever—and nothing would delight Him more than to share it with you. This is why! This is why the Son of Man . . . is man’s best friend.

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

Doubting Peter

In Nomine Iesu
St. Matthew 14:22-33
August 13, 2017
Proper 14A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

It was one small step for man; but one giant leap for mankind. When Peter stepped out of the boat and set foot on the surface of the Sea of Galilee, he was boldly going where no man had gone before. Peter did what no mortal had done before or since. Peter walked on the water.

But that excursion on the H2O was a demonstration of foolishness, not faith. The moral of this account isn’t that we should all be bold and courageous like Peter. And I, for one, am glad. I’m glad that when it was all said and done, Jesus didn’t say, “Job well done,

Peter.” I’m glad Jesus didn’t say, “Way to show off your bold and courageous leadership skills to the other disciples—way to take the initiative and step out of your comfort zone—way to set an example of outside-the-box (boat) thinking for my other followers to emulate.” No, Jesus didn’t commend Peter. He condemned Peter: O you of little faith, why did you doubt? It’s not bold Peter. It’s not faithful Peter. It’s doubting Peter.

Jesus is the one who set into motion all the remarkable events that transpired that night on the sea. Jesus is in control of everything. Jesus had been trying to get some solitude for the entire day. He wanted time to pray—that’s all. Instead, He ended up healing hundreds and feeding a multitude of thousands. Finally, at the end of that long day, Jesus started giving orders. He “compelled” His disciples to get into the boat and head to the other side of the lake without Him. Meanwhile, Jesus dismissed the crowds and sent them all home. Finally, Jesus was able to pray alone.

Meanwhile, the disciples were out on the lake rowing their boat. But what should have been a nice sunset cruise had quickly turned into a dark night of struggle. A strong headwind suddenly picked up. White caps and choppy seas made progress nearly impossible. They were getting nowhere. The harder they dug in the oars and pulled, the more they seemed stuck in the same place. Ever feel that way about your life as a follower of Jesus? You’re trying to do the right thing—trying to lead a holy life—trying to do the very things that Jesus has compelled you to do—but the harder you try, the less progress you make.

Fatigue and exhaustion began to set in. Hands began to blister. Midnight turned into 1AM, then 2AM, then it’s three o’clock in the morning—the fourth watch of the night—when suddenly a figure—a phantom!—an apparition!—appears on the surface of the water softly illuminated by the moonlight. Now, these men were rational and sane. But under the stress of the situation, they assumed the worst.

But what they got was the best: Take heart; it is I. Stop being afraid. It was Jesus, walking on the water. But even better, it was Jesus speaking on the water—Jesus and His Word. And this should have changed everything. When you’ve got Jesus and His Word, doubt gives way to faith, and fear gives way to hope. As we heard from Romans chapter ten this morning, faith comes by hearing. And what the disciples were hearing was the voice of Jesus: “Take heart; it is I.”

Jesus said, “It is I,” but Peter said, “IF it is you, Lord, command me to come to you on the water.” Jesus speaks. And Peter doubts. Those words from Jesus should have been enough. But Jesus is patient. Jesus gives Peter one more word: Come. Even in the original Greek it’s just one word spoken into the ears of Peter: Come. But this one word is no ordinary word. It’s a Word from the Word made flesh. It is a Word from Him who laid the foundation of the earth and prescribed the limits for the sea. Faith comes by hearing. Faith came to Peter because He heard this one Word from Jesus, “Come.” And Peter proceeded to walk on the water. Witness the power of the Word!

The Word of God is powerful and faith-creating and faith-enlivening. The Word creates something out of nothing. The Word equips us to do the very things that Jesus commands. Jesus says the word, “Come” to Peter, and this doubtful disciple defies all the laws of hydrology and buoyancy and physics and actually walks on top of the water just like Jesus! And he did this not by his own will-power—not by the power of positive thinking—but in the power of a single word that had proceeded from the mouth of Jesus: Come. Faith comes by hearing, and hearing through the Word of Christ.

Beloved in the Lord, we don’t give the Word of Christ nearly enough credit. We don’t hear it for what it is. The Word of God isn’t just a historical report which we believe to be accurate. It’s not just a text to be discussed over coffee like the latest volume from the book-of-the-month club. The Word of God is faith-creating. It is sin-forgiving. It gives eternal life. If we really believed that then there would be next to nothing that would keep us from hearing that Word of God preached and proclaimed right here every Lord’s Day. There would be standing room only here today. If we really believed that about the Word then we would be reading and studying the Word every day of the week. But we close our ears and we shut our eyes. Jesus comes to us in the Word saying, “Take heart; it is I. Stop being afraid.” But we prefer the futility of our own words and thoughts. We prefer our own efforts at rowing in the dark and getting nowhere. We simply don’t believe that faith comes by hearing. Like Peter, we have our doubts.

O you of little faith. Repent, and look to the object of your faith. You don’t just have faith. Faith always has an object. You have faith in something. You trust in something. Peter didn’t walk on the water solely by the power of his faith. He walked on the water by faith in the Word of Jesus. It was that word “Come” that kept him afloat. And only when Peter allowed that word to be drowned out by the noise of the wind and the waves did he start to sink.

See what happens when you turn down the volume on God’s Word? See what happens when you let other priorities stop and silence your hearing of God’s Word? See what happens when you stake your life—not on the Word of God—but on the word of man? You sink. You sink into death itself. Faith weakens. Faith withers. Faith dies. As a pastor I see it happening all the time. And there’s nothing more tragic. Families who take the summer off from worship and the Word. Baptized Christians who just walk away from Christ and His church and His Word. And behind all the excuses and all the rationales, they are slipping away from real life—sinking into death—separated from Christ.

Keep your ears and eyes tuned into Jesus. That’s where Peter’s ears and eyes needed to be—on Jesus, not on the wind and waves. Nothing but Jesus. The same goes for you. Train your attention on the world—on the culture—look inside yourself, and doubts will take over. Fear will grow. You’ll sink like stone. That’s why we’re here every Sunday to hear the Word—to receive the Supper. If you lose this—if you walk away from this—when you tune out Jesus’ Words and starve yourself of His holy Supper—you will sink and drown. You will drown in despair, in guilt, in fear. We drown in our skepticisms, our failings and weaknesses. We drown in sin and death.

It’s worth remembering that you already died in the water once before. Like Peter, you too had your moment in the water with Jesus—when you were baptized. You didn’t walk on the water of your baptism; but you did die and rise to new life in that water. You were born again in that water. You became a child of God in that water. Your sins were forgiven in that water. In that water all the blessings and benefits of Jesus’ death and resurrection were applied to you. In that water the Lord placed His Word in your ears and into your heart. In that water Jesus said, “Come to me, and follow me.” Everything changed for you in the water of Holy Baptism.

Baptism leads us to pray with Peter, “Lord, save me.” When Peter began to be overwhelmed by the wind and waves, he started to sink. He prayed the same prayer that each of us has at our disposal: Lord, save me. It’s a prayer of faith. At that moment, Jesus was all that Peter had. And Jesus was all that Peter needed to save him. Peter’s prayer is our prayer too. Lord, save me. When we can’t tread water any longer and we’re about to go under. Because we are baptized we can pray: Lord, save me. St. Matthew tells us that “immediately” Jesus reached out His hand and took hold of Peter. In that split second Peter is sinking and praying, while Jesus is grabbing a hold and lifting Peter. Whose grip matters more at that moment? In whose grip does our salvation rest?

Beloved in the Lord, those sure, strong, nail-scarred hands are no less holding onto you. When your sin is pulling your down into the depths—when you are drowning in a sin-filled mess of your own making, there is one person who will save you. When your faith is little, Jesus will save you. You can trust Him. Don’t trust Jesus because He walked on the water. Trust Him because He walked right out of His own tomb—because He has defeated death for you. Stop doubting and believe.

This account ends with worship—with all of Jesus’ followers gathered around Him in the boat. In this hour we join them. We gather in the presence of Jesus who comes to us in His Word, and in His body and blood. As you receive this meal today hear the Savior say to you: Take heart, it is I. Stop being afraid. To this we can only confess: Truly, you are the Son of God. Lord, save me.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

From Meager to Miraculous

In Nomine Iesu
St. Matthew 14:13-21
August 6, 2017
Proper 13A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Free food. Free food has a way of getting our attention. Especially if you’ve been to Miller Park this year, where a hotdog and a beer will run you about fifteen dollars, the idea of free food sounds especially appealing.

But free food is a myth. There’s no such thing as a free lunch. Someone always has to pay—somewhere, sometime, somehow—whether

it’s the father of the bride or the American tax payer. “Free food” is really a misnomer. Free food went out the door in Genesis chapter 3 and the fall into sin. Before that, food was indeed free—all the nuts and grains and fruits and veggies you could eat. But ever since then—in this fallen world we know so well—food is not free, but costly. Sweat and toil, thorns and thistles, dollars and cents—that’s what’s needed to put food on the table.

This is part of what makes the feeding of the five thousand so astonishing—free food, food in abundance, all you can eat and more—at no cost to you. But let’s take a moment to set the stage for this miracle: It was getting to be evening. Earlier in the day Jesus had been told about the execution of John the Baptizer. That solemn news had led Jesus to withdraw to the wilderness. But the crowds followed him. Five thousand men were there; but add in the women and children and you’ve got yourself a Whitefish Bay-sized crowd.

The problem was: no food. They were in the middle of nowhere, after all. The disciples were both concerned and probably tired. They proposed a sensible and logical solution to Jesus: Dismiss the crowds and send them into the nearby villages where they can buy food for themselves. The disciples knew that there was no such thing as a free lunch. Bread doesn’t just appear out of nowhere. In fact, you may recall how Jesus was tempted by Satan to turn stones into bread in the wilderness—at a time when Jesus was on a forty-day fast. But Jesus refused. That’s not the way Jesus does things.

“They need not go away,” Jesus told His disciples, “You give them something to eat.” They protested immediately that they had only five loaves of bread and two fish. Jesus must be joking. How can so little feed so many? But hear what Jesus says about that meager amount of bread and fish: He says, Bring them here to me. This is how Jesus operates. He receives our meager offering and does something miraculous with it.

This is a teaching moment, both for the disciples and for us. Jesus wants to work with what we have. Jesus wants to use us—our time, our talents, our treasure, our loaves and fish. Oh, He could have fed the crowd out of thin air. He could have raised His hands to heaven and conjured up a bounty of bread and a feast of fish—without involving the disciples and their meager, paltry provisions. Instead, Jesus received into His hands what His followers could scrounge up.

Jesus takes the five loaves and two fish. He raises His eyes to heaven from whence He came, where His Father is, and He thanks His Father for those loaves and fish. The eyes of all look to You, O Lord, and You give them their food at the proper time. You open Your hand and satisfy the desires of every living thing. Notice that even though the loaves and fish came from the disciples, Jesus thanks God, from whom all blessings flow. Then Jesus breaks the bread. He distributes the loaves and fish to the disciples, and His disciples distribute them to the people. And this distribution goes on and on and on.

Meager portions are miraculously multiplied. Jesus equipped His disciples to do the very thing that had minutes earlier seemed impossible. The disciples gave the people—all of them—something to eat—generous portions that fully satisfied every last man, woman, and child. In the hands of Jesus, what was very little—what was obviously insufficient—became more than enough. Paltry provisions became plentiful. Scarcity became abundance. The meager became miraculous. Who says there’s no such thing as a free lunch where Jesus is concerned?

Free food and drink are what the Lord seems to be talking about through the Prophet Isaiah this morning: Come, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and he who has no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. It sounds like the Lord announcing a really great deal for you. Free food and drink. Wine and milk without cost. Bread for nothing at all. Why, it sounds like if you play your cards right, your bread and fish will never run out, your wine and milk will overflow, not to mention your bank account and your stock portfolio. That’s where TV preachers like Joel Osteen would take a text like this—God as a vending machine dispensing favors to the favored, blessings to the blessed, prosperity to the prosperous.

But we need to hear a few more sentences from Isaiah: Listen diligently to me, and eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food. Incline your ear, and come to me; hear, that your soul may live. Listen diligently, incline your ear, and hear. This feast is one that you consume through your ears, not your mouth. This free feast is a feast of words—a Divine Service of Words—words received in the ears, but aimed at the heart. It’s good news of free forgiveness for all those who hunger and thirst for righteousness—all of it lovingly served up for us from the nail-scarred hands of our Savior.

By feeding the five thousand, Jesus wasn’t trying to launch a war on poverty or show us how to combat world hunger—or to reveal the hidden keys to a prosperous life of wealth and riches. But Jesus does want us to see that He comes to bring us something unimaginably wonderful. He’s bone of our bone and flesh of our flesh. And yet He comes as true God, bearing precious gifts that we neither desire nor deserve nor expect. But what is free for us was costly for Jesus. The forgiveness, life and salvation we enjoy as children of God came only at a great cost to Jesus. He laid down His life as our sacred substitute to satisfy our hunger and thirst for righteousness. Our greed, our selfishness, our lust to hoard and grab and accumulate all we can—Jesus carried these sins away on a Roman tool of torture, where He made Himself nothing and poured out His life blood for the forgiveness of your sins. Free forgiveness for us, but oh so costly to Jesus.

You can trust this Jesus. Even when you find yourself utterly alone in what seems like a desolate place—even when good news seems scarce and your own resources seem to be lacking. Jesus will provide. You can trust this Jesus when death draws near. If He could multiply morsels of bread and fish into feast for thousands, what can He do with our bodies—temples of the Holy Spirit, created by Him—and commended to Him until the day of resurrection?

You can trust this Jesus with your paltry possessions, with your measly monies, with your trivial talents. In faith we can place them joyfully into Jesus’ hands. We can trust that He will use the wealth we call our own to bless others in ways we could never do on our own. Every offering you give is kind of like those loaves and fishes placed into the hands of Jesus, where something miraculous happens. You can’t see it; you can only believe it. But unless you believe it—unless you believe that the offerings you give are given right into the Savior’s hands, you will never know what it means to be a joyful, thankful giver.

The disciples entrusted Jesus with the little bit they had—not as a scheme to enrich themselves—not as a strategy to enjoy the best life now—not even knowing what would happen next. But Jesus worked things in such a way that His followers were able to become generous givers—servants who could serve others with the abundance Jesus had placed into their hands. Jesus received their meager offering and then had them distribute to others the resulting abundance. The impossible became possible. What was out of the question one minute, was perfectly viable and doable in the next minute. That’s how it is for us—for us who have been baptized into Christ, for us who eat the bread that is His body and drink the wine that is His blood. We become His hands, His feet, His mouthpiece to a world that’s just starving for good news.

We have so much to learn and take to heart in the feeding of the five thousand. But an even greater miracle takes place here, now, for you. The feeding of the five thousand in the wilderness happened only once. But today and every Lord’s Day Jesus feeds millions, including you—serving up heaping helpings of good news from pulpit and altar. Without cost. All by His grace. Without even one of your works. Received simply by faith. Here He gives. Here you receive. Free for you. Costly for Him. And more than enough to satisfy.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.