An Eternal Gospel to Proclaim

In Nomine Iesu
Revelation 14:6-7
October 29, 2017
Reformation Sunday

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

This Sunday—this 500th anniversary of the Reformation—it reminds us of where we have been . . . AND it reminds us of where we are going. This day points us back in history . . . AND leads us into a promised future. It tells, ultimately, of what God Himself has done . . . AND it tells what God will do—for His whole church, for all who believe, and for you.

First, the history—the looking back at where we have been.

Five hundred years ago this Tuesday an obscure Augustinian monk did something that would forever change the course of history on this planet. Nobody realized it at the time—not even Martin Luther himself. He was a doctor of theology at the University of Wittenberg. And Doctor Luther had been doing something radical—something that practically no one—not even his fellow doctors of theology—had been doing. Martin Luther had been reading his Bible—studying the Word of God.

And the more Luther studied those words, the more troubled he became. Because what he was learning from the Scriptures about grace and the forgiveness of sins and righteousness before God—was completely contrary to what was actually happening around him in the church of his day. In the church of his day, grace and forgiveness and righteousness had to be earned by the sinner—or, worse—paid for by the sinner. What the Bible describes as a “gift” was being treated as a commodity that could be bought and sold with gold and silver. Well, Luther needed to talk about this. He wanted a thoughtful, scholarly debate. And so, he crafted 95 theses—95 propositions for discussion and debate—and posted them on the community bulletin board—the doors of Wittenberg’s biggest church—the castle church. (That was “social media” in the sixteenth century.) And the rest, as they say, is history.

I visited the Castle Church this past July. Today Martin Luther’s bones are buried in that church. His legacy is enshrined in stained glass and it sounds forth from the massive pipe organ. His 95 theses are engraved in bronze on the church doors. On the top of the massive steeple are engraved the words of Luther’s most famous hymn: Ein Feste Burg ist Unser Gott, A Mighty Fortress is our God. That church is everything you would expect . . . with one glaring exception.

Suspended from that high, gothic ceiling is the strange figure on the front of today’s bulletin. It’s new, from what I understand.

People my age and older have heard about the flying nun. But here, hanging just above the heads of the worshipers, is a flying monk. It’s not a bird and not a plane. It’s everyone’s favorite reformer flying through the air. It’s super Luther! Here in one of Christianity’s most historic structures is something so new and so novel that, quite honestly, it fits in with the gothic décor about as well as a flashing disco ball would fit in here at Our Savior. When I saw “Flying Luther” this past summer, I scratched my head and wondered, “What were those Wittenbergers thinking?”

Today’s first reading from Revelation provides a tantalizing clue: Then I saw another angel flying directly overhead, with an eternal gospel to proclaim to those who dwell on earth, to every nation and tribe and language and people. And he said with a loud voice, “Fear God and give Him glory, because the hour of His judgment has come, and worship Him who made heaven and earth. I would like to think that the flying Luther in the Castle Church is no superhero, but the angel of Revelation chapter 14—the angel with an eternal gospel to proclaim.

No, people don’t become angels in the narrow sense. People are people; and angels are angels. But the word “angel” in its broadest, most basic sense, means “messenger.” And who can deny that Martin Luther was a messenger from God? He was self-admittedly a sinner—a sack of maggots. He didn’t always get it right. But what he did get right—what he did proclaim with purity and precision—was the gospel—the unchanging, eternal gospel—that sinners who always fall short of the glory of God and who deserve nothing but death and hell—can become righteous before God only by God’s grace, only through faith, only for the sake of Jesus Christ. Sola gratia, Sola fide, Sola Christus.

God’s gift of salvation is found exclusively in Jesus Christ; but as the angel of Revelation 14 makes clear, that gift is offered and proclaimed in the most inclusive way possible—“to every nation and tribe and language and people.” There is no one so bad that they cannot be saved by Christ; and there is no one so good that they can be saved without Christ.

The angel of Revelation 14 sounds suspiciously like Luther. “Fear God,” says the angel. Luther took that simple phrase and multiplied it tenfold as he explained each one of the Commandments in his Catechism: We should fear and love God. To fear God means to take God seriously—including His threats, His warnings, and His Commandments. But in each of our lives there is a terrible famine. Not a famine for lack of food, but a famine of fear—a famine for fearing the Lord. Oh, we fear what our friends think of us. We fear what our neighbors and co-workers think of us. We fear being unpopular, being unloved, being wrong. We fear what we cannot control. But we do not fear the God who controls heaven and earth. Luther once confessed his sins for six hours straight; we would be hard-pressed to confess our sins for six minutes straight. Why? Because we do not fear God as we should.

But the angel’s message is not just one of Law, but of Gospel: Fear God and give him glory . . . and worship him. Give Him glory and worship Him. You give God glory when you confess your guilt and your sin. You give God glory when you admit to the famine of fear in your life, trusting and believing that He can do something about it. You worship Him by receiving His gifts—His absolution—the blood-bought forgiveness that Jesus Christ earned for you. He is bone of your bone and flesh of your flesh. Jesus suffered as you suffer. Jesus was tempted as you are tempted. Jesus mourned the death of loved ones as you mourn the death of loved ones. Only He has done something about it. And when you come here, believing His promises and receiving His gifts, that is the highest worship you can offer.

Jesus Christ was crucified as your sacred substitute, bearing all the sins that should rightly bar you from heaven. And on the third day Jesus Christ was raised from the dead, defeating the power of death over you and all creation. You will live forever. Your body is destined, not for destruction, but for resurrection. We call this good news the gospel. Martin Luther preached it. Your pastors proclaim it. It is the main message that every angel is given to proclaim. It’s there in the book of Genesis; and it’s there in the book of Revelation, as we now hear: Then I saw another angel flying directly overhead, with an eternal gospel to proclaim.

Think about it this way for a moment: God could just walk away. God could just give up. God could clam up, and corral His angels, and cause His messengers to go mute. He would be completely justified to disengage from a world that is increasingly intoxicated with the liquor of Satan’s lies. It would be completely understandable were God to abandon all those men and women who have abandoned Him and rejected Him and turned their backs on Him—and just say, “To hell with them.” There, but for the grace of God, go you.

But our God—He has an eternal gospel—good news that doesn’t quit—and that eternal gospel is to be proclaimed and preached until the Last Day. He will not stop speaking. He is still working to woo and win the lost. He still sends His messengers—His angels—His pastors to preach the good news, to wash away sin in Holy Baptism, to serve His holy supper to His holy people. He just can’t keep quiet because He has an eternal gospel to proclaim.

This day reminds us of where we have been—five hundred years’ worth of history. But it also reminds us of where we are going. We are going to heaven. We will see and hear the sights and sounds of Revelation 14—which is nothing less than a sneak peek into the glories of the life of the world to come. There you will see all the company of heaven, with angels and archangels flying overhead. You will be reunited with those you love who have died in the faith. You will be gathered around the throne of the Lord Jesus, singing the songs of heaven, with every tear wiped away from your eyes. A grand a glorious future awaits you—a future we can hardly begin to imagine.

Beloved in the Lord, this is why the Reformation matters. This is why we fear God, and give Him glory, and worship Him. This is why we give thanks to God for His angel, Martin, and the eternal gospel he proclaimed.

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

In Memoriam: Kay Williams

In Nomine Iesu
1 John 3:1-2
October 13, 2017
What Kind of Love

Dear family and friends of Kay Williams,
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ,

The apostle John invites us to see something amazing this morning: See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God. He wants us to look at the love of God. And that is what we are going to do, with His help.

Love is a tricky topic. Love is the most overused, least understood, word in the English language. We have all experienced love in one way or another—to one degree or another. We have witnessed love. We have felt love. We all aspire to love and to be loved.

But human love is always flawed and faulty. Human love always falls short. That’s because the love we receive and share is usually a merit-based love—at least to some degree. Consider the sentence which begins, “I love you because . . .” Think of all the ways that sentence can be completed. I love you because you are intelligent. I love you because you are attractive. I love you because you bring out the best in me—because you make me proud—because you make me happy. I love you because you are so good at so many things. Now, there’s nothing wrong with any of those sentiments. But please notice how this love between people is always based on some merit, some quality—some desirable, attractive attribute—some quid pro quo. I love you because . . .

But now, see what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are. See what kind of love the Father has given to Kay that she should be called a child of God. Now, to see the Father’s love for Kay, we have to go back to 1946. Kay was born that year on April 29th. But she was also born again that year, on June 16th, in the waters of Holy Baptism, poured out on her little head by the hand of her Uncle Harold. Before Kay even had the opportunity to do one good work—before she could smile or wave or crawl—the unmerited love of God claimed her and adopted her as a dear child of the Heavenly Father—a sister to the Savior. Her body became a temple of the Holy Spirit.

See what kind of love the Father has given to Kay! That baptism was more than just a quaint ritual or a merely symbolic act. That baptism was God’s love in action. As the Catechism reminds us, baptism gives forgiveness of sins, rescues from death and the devil, and gives eternal salvation to all who believe, as the words and promises of God declare.

In the years that followed 1946 there were constant challenges and struggles in Kay’s life. Her life did not go according to our plans. It didn’t proceed according to that template we call “normal.” No, Kay had needs that were unusual—special needs, we say these days. And there must have been many times along the way when those needs were so great that you could not meet them—times when you were overwhelmed and burdened—times when you despaired—times when you felt like a guilty failure because you could not do all that needed to be done—times when all you could pray was “Lord, have mercy.”

But today I want you to see what kind of love the Father has given to Kay—that dear child of God. He provided for her. He cared for her. He did what we were unable to do. He provided care-givers. He provided therapists. He led Kay to various centers of care where she was able to find satisfaction and contentment and a happy routine in an environment of acceptance. He provided doctors and specialists who could make Kay more comfortable. Do you see it? Do you see what kind of love the Father has given to Kay? It must have been scary and stressful for you to try to navigate all the unforeseen twists and turns of Kay’s life. But her heavenly Father saw them all. For Kay was His child. And there He was—all along the way these 71 years—guiding and leading and directing and providing for Kay. Looking back, we can see that much more clearly now.

See what kind of love the Father has given to us. Part of our heavenly Father’s love for you was bringing Kay into your lives. Yes, Kay was a gift from God for you. For in addition to God’s love, Kay also enjoyed the love of a mother and a father, a brother and a sister, and nephews and nieces and cousins and aunts and uncles. And Kay taught all of us a thing or two about God’s love. For Kay didn’t bring a lot to the table in our merit-based system of love. She was defined by her needs more than her accomplishments. For Kay there was no honor roll, no diploma, no standing ovations for outstanding achievement. Yet, you loved her. You didn’t love her because she merited it. You didn’t love her because. You just loved her. That love was a giving love, a sacrificial love—a selfless, serving kind of love. It was the love of God.

See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God. We can’t fully understand the Father’s love apart from Jesus, the Father’s Son. A few paragraphs later St. John lays it out plainly: By this we know love, that [Jesus Christ] laid down His life for us (3:16). And just a few paragraphs later, the apostle makes it plainer still: In this is love, not that we have loved God but that He loved us and sent His Son to be the propitiation for our sins (4:10). This is the kind of love the Father gives to you—undeserved, unmerited, and unearned. Jesus Christ bears away all your loveless thoughts, words and deeds on His crucifixion cross. He takes your punishment. He bears your shame. He endures your pain. And by His wounds we know love. And this is perfect love—real love—divine love—love that lasts forever.

This is the love that sought and found Kay. This is the love that surrounded her a week ago Wednesday when she peacefully departed this life to be with Jesus. That’s the final promise of our text this morning: Beloved, we are God’s children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when He appears we shall be like Him, because we shall see Him as He is. Kay is now with the Lord; and there she enjoys complete and total healing. Kay no longer has special needs. She no longer has regular needs. All that she could possibly need or desire or hope for has been given to her by her loving Savior. She sees Him as He is. And one day you will too. That’s His promise to all His children. See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God.

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

Remember Lot's Wife

In Nomine Iesu
Philippians 3:4b-14
October 8, 2017
Proper 22A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Do you remember Lot’s wife? You should. You’re supposed to. Jesus says exactly that in Luke 17: Remember Lot’s wife. But just in case you’ve forgotten Lot’s wife, let me remind you. Things didn’t end well for her. Lot and his family were citizens of Sodom. Sodom and Gomorrah were terrible twin cities. The wickedness of those cities was so great that the Lord decided to destroy them

both. Two angels told Lot not to linger—but to get out fast—and not to look back. But as fire and brimstone rained down from heaven—as Sodom and Gomorrah were being consumed by God’s righteous wrath—Lot’s wife—she looked back. And she became a pillar of salt. Remember Lot’s wife.

Why did she look back? Why did she disobey those clear instructions? As a little boy, this story always bothered me. I worried that I would have looked back too. Like most boys, I was very fascinated by fire and fireworks. Who could resist looking at such a fantastic display of fire and Sulphur? I hoped never to be in the same situation for fear that I, too, would look back.

But the older I get, the more I realize that I remembered Lot’s wife for the wrong reason. Her looking back had more to do with her heart than with her eyes. For even as the Lord was practically dragging her and her family to safety and deliverance and salvation, her heart ached for what she left behind. As citizens of Sodom, Lot’s family had enjoyed status and success, fame and fortune—a big house, lots of livestock, and acres and acres of lush green pasture. They had a good life in Sodom and Gomorrah—a life of achievements and accolades. And Lot’s wife couldn’t bear to leave it all behind—couldn’t bring herself to believe that the Lord would provide. Her faith was faulty. She loved her life and lost it. She turned back. She became a statue of sodium. And, so, we remember Lot’s wife.

We’re tempted to look back, too—to find our security in past success—to draw comfort from competitions we won. At some level, we love our trophies, our ribbons, our medals. They’re little symbols of our achievements and accomplishments. I know some pastors who have four or more framed diplomas hanging on their office wall. Do you really need to know that I earned a Bachelor of Arts degree in 1991 before you’ll receive pastoral care from me? Now, there’s nothing wrong with a case full of trophies and medals and diplomas. These things are part of our history. They show how God has gifted us in various ways.

But the problem is that our sinful nature always wants to translate our earthly success into heavenly merit. At some level, our plaques and awards make a pretty good case for why God should love us, accept us, and just be grateful that we’re on His team. This kind of thinking is nothing new. Meriting God’s grace was at the heart of the religious system under which Luther grew up—a system in which your religious resume—your assortment of good accomplishments—had to counterbalance your sins on God’s scale of justice.

In today’s epistle from Philippians three, the Apostle Paul engages in some serious boasting as he looked back over his life: If anyone else thinks he has reason for confidence in the flesh, I have more: circumcised on the eighth day, of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew of Hebrews; as to the law, a Pharisee; as to zeal, a persecutor of the church; as to righteousness under the law, blameless. Those are some serious credentials. An Israelite with the papers to prove it. The top of his class—listed on page one of Who’s Who Among the Jews. He would have gone far, except for a fateful encounter with the risen Christ on the road to Damascus—an encounter that changed everything for Saul (including his name).

Never again would Paul look back. Never again would Paul look back to keep score on his achievements or to beef up his religious resume. He writes, “Whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord.” Now, as he looked back at his past in Judaism, all he saw was loss, rubbish, garbage. All those trophies, those merit badges and medals? They’re worthless in comparison to knowing Christ and being found in Christ.

Those two words, “in Christ,” are the key to understanding Paul. To be “in Christ” is to be a new creation—the old has gone and the new has come. To be “in Christ” is to have a righteousness before God that is not your own. It’s not about your works, your merits and achievements. Before other people, yes, those things can have some importance. People can’t see your faith; they can only see your works. But before God there is only one thing that holds—only one way that a sinner can stand before God justified, and that’s through faith in Christ, to be found in Christ, to be clothed with the righteousness of Christ—to believe that His death atones for your sins.

Paul suffered for this faith. And yet he considered his own suffering to be a share in the sufferings of Christ. He considered it a privilege to suffer and become like Jesus in His death, so that He might be like Jesus in His resurrection. The goal for Paul—the finish line—the end of the race—was resurrection. Paul’s goal wasn’t a good life or even a good death, but resurrection from the dead. That is the Christian hope. That’s why Paul pressed on, forgetting what was behind and straining toward what was ahead. Like the marathon runners who ran through our neighborhood last Sunday, there was no looking back. There was only forward progress toward the finish line—which, for us, is the resurrection.

Now even if marathons aren’t your thing, your baptism entered you into the race of faith. You were clothed with Christ, born again of water and the Spirit. Now, no race is fun while you’re running it. It can be painful, exhausting, and demanding. Did you see any of the runners’ faces last Sunday? They didn’t look too joyful. They weren’t very relaxed. So, too, you and I shouldn’t expect the baptized life to be easy or pain-free—a series of open doors and easy paved roads. No, it’s all uphill—with the devil, the world and our own sinful nature actively working against us every mile. But for those who follow Jesus, the joy comes at the finish line, where all the pain pays off, where suffering gives way to eternal joys.

And as you are running this race of faith, remember Lot’s wife. Remember the Apostle Paul. Don’t look back. Runners with a habit of looking back will inevitably stumble and fall. Don’t look back on your past successes; and don’t look back on your past sins. Christ bore your burden of sin to death on His cross. He bears it all away so that you can run unencumbered and forgiven. A fifty pound bag of guilt and shame will get you nowhere fast. Christ bore that on the cross so that you don’t have to. He bears your sins away even today in His holy meal, where the bread is His body and the wine is His blood.

Remember Lot’s wife. Don’t look back. Forget what lies behind and press on toward what is ahead—the resurrection of the body and the life of the world to come. The only hardware that matters is a crown of righteousness. There’s one of those waiting for you at the finish line. You haven’t earned it. But it’s yours by grace, through faith, for the sake of Jesus’ own death and resurrection.

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

A Matter of Authority

In Nomine Iesu
St. Matthew 21:23-27
October 1, 2017
Proper 21A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
An intruder entered our house this past Monday morning—unwelcomed, uninvited, unannounced. It was our own fault, I suppose, for not locking the back door. I have to tell you, it was, frankly, a little bit scary. My wife was the one who discovered him as he was ripping insulation out of our walls. He seemed to have a bit of a personality disorder, the way he obsessed over our electrical wiring, dickered with our ductwork, and pondered our plumbing.

Well, long story short, it turns out that this intruder was the village building inspector, just doing his job—trying to find faults on a molecular level with our kitchen remodeling job. This man had the authority—authority to enter our house. He had the authority to stick his little flashlight into every crack, crevice, and floor joist in the parsonage. Now, if anybody else had walked into our kitchen on a Monday morning and started doing what he was doing, we would have called in a few squads of Whitefish Bay’s finest. But the village building inspector—he had full authority to do what he was doing.

“By what authority are you doing these things, and who gave you the authority?” That was the question that the Chief Priests and the elders posed to Jesus in this morning’s holy gospel. They were challenging His authority. Who did Jesus think He was? He had just ridden into Jerusalem like some kind of Messiah—with palm branches and “hosannas” lining His path. From there He had marched into the temple as if He owned the place—like some kind of religious building inspector, turning the tables of the money changers, putting pigeons to flight, and referring to the temple as “His” house (which was supposed to be a house of prayer). Where did Jesus get the authority to do these things?

As you’ve probably figured out by now, the word of the day is “authority.” We often confuse authority with power. You can exert your power—you can make a power play—even when you have no authority. But authority is always a matter of permission—permission granted by someone greater to say and do certain things. The President is authorized by the voters to act as the chief executive officer of the nation. Our judges are authorized to try cases.

My authority is indicated by the stole I wear. When I forgive sins in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, I do so in the stead, by the command, and under the authority of my Lord Jesus Christ. He has authorized me to absolve repentant sinners. He approves of it. He delights in it. He recognizes it. He stands behind it. He gives this special authority to forgive sins to the church; and when you called me to be your pastor, you authorized me to exercise that authority publicly on your behalf. Authority is a big deal.

And for some time now in Matthew’s gospel, the religious superstars of Jerusalem had noticed that their authority was slipping away. First it was John the Baptist who had drawn crowds of thousands, and had referred to the religious elites as a brood of vipers. And then, Jesus came along. He taught the people as one who had authority in Himself—who had no need to sprinkle His sermons with quotes from other rabbis. What’s more, Jesus demonstrated His authority—healing the sick, casting out demons, stilling storms, walking on water, raising the dead. Only someone authorized by God could do such things.

By the time Palm Sunday rolled around, there was no one in Jerusalem who hadn’t heard about the astounding authority of Jesus. Today’s challenge to Jesus’ authority happened during holy week—just days before Jesus would die on the cross and rise again. It was late in the season—almost time for the playoffs. Jesus’ authority had been on the table for nearly three years, going back to when He was baptized by John, and the Spirit descended, and the Father declared, “This is my beloved Son with whom I am well pleased.” Authority granted.

But the religious establishment would have none of it. As the authority of Jesus increased, their authority shriveled and shrank down to nothing. Their questioning of Jesus’ authority was a last ditch attempt to trap Him—to make Him stumble—to make Him say something that could and would be used against Him in a court of law. As usual, Jesus turned the tables on them, requiring them to give a “thumbs up” or a “thumbs down” on the baptizing John had done. It was a question they couldn’t and wouldn’t answer—and their authority sank to new levels of shrinkage.

There’s no middle ground where the authority of Jesus is concerned. Either He is the Son of God or He isn’t. Either His Word is the truth or it isn’t. Either all authority in heaven and earth has been given to Him or it hasn’t. And you would think that, among baptized believers, the authority of Jesus would not be up for debate. After all, we recognize His authority. We honor His authority—at least, when it suits us, and when it agrees with our savvy sensibilities.

The sad truth is that our sinful nature delights in chipping away at the authority of Jesus—carving out a few exceptions to the Law—looking for some loophole which will allow us to live as we please—to subtly shrink the authority of Jesus down to a more manageable size.

How easy it would be, for instance, to jump on the LGTBQ bandwagon—to align ourselves with celebrities and professional athletes—to have praises rain down upon us for re-defining marriage and human sexuality—to encourage people to choose their own sex regardless of the body God has given—to concede that the concept having both a mother and a father has gone the way of phone booths and dial-up modems.

Sex and marriage aren’t topics that appear in our text today. But sex and marriage—just like life and death—fall under the authority of Jesus. Homosexuality and transgenderism are two culturally approved ways to negate Jesus—to neutralize Jesus—to amputate His authority in your life. No human being has the authority to redefine marriage; because marriage rests on the authority of Jesus—who said, “for this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be united to his wife; and the two shall be one; and what God has joined together let not man separate.” No human being has the authority to do away with fathers and mothers—and, ultimately, the family. No human being has the authority to reject the body God has given—be that body male or female.

These things don’t represent a new kind of freedom, or even a loving approach to life. These things are an assault on the authority of Jesus—the author of life and the Savior of sinners. And when we begin to think that we know better than Him—or that we can just work our way through the faith “cafeteria style,” picking and choosing what we like and leaving behind what we don’t like, we are ultimately rejecting Jesus and rejecting His authority.

Beloved in the Lord, we need to repent. We need to turn back to Jesus and confess that all authority in heaven and earth has been given to Him (and not to us). We need to return to the font of Holy Baptism, where Jesus used His authority to wash us and cleanse us and claim us for Himself. We need to return to the regular hearing of God’s Words and promises; for Jesus says that those who hear the Word of God and keep it are blessed. We need to return to the Supper of Jesus’ body and blood, to find strength and forgiveness to live as lights in this dark world—to light the way for others who are lost and confused.

Life under the authority of Jesus is never easy. Doubts and temptations and fears will still find you. But you can know this for a certain fact: Jesus Christ died for you, rose for you, reigns for you over heaven and earth, and is working all things for your eternal good. Nothing in this life can separate you from the love of God in Christ Jesus. God has claimed you as His own in your Baptism. He has justified you in Jesus, His Son, whom He sent with divine authority to love you, to be your Savior, and to take away the sin of the world. He is authorized by His Father to save you; and He has done it.

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