The Covert Christ

In Nomine Iesu
St. Matthew 25:31-46
November 26, 2017
Last Sunday A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Well, we’ve finally made it to the grand finale—the Last Sunday of the Church Year. Next Sunday (should Jesus not return in the meantime) we’ll be lighting candle number one on the Advent wreath, the sure sign that a new church year has begun. So, in effect, today is something like the church’s version of New Year’s Eve. But unlike the parties and revelry that accompany the end of the calendar year, the end of the church year is an occasion for solemn sobriety.

And few sections of Scripture sober us up more quickly than the words of Jesus in today’s Holy Gospel. The account of the sheep and goats is not a parable in the usual sense. It’s really not an earthly story with a heavenly meaning. It’s a vision of the Last Day and the Final Judgment. [Christ] will come again to judge both the living and the dead. And today Jesus gives us the cold, hard facts about that judgment. But prepare to be surprised as we dive into these words for a deeper look. For these words tell us as much

about this day as they do about the Last Day.

When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on his glorious throne. Before him will be gathered all the nations, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. During the day, sheep and goats hang out together. During the day, sheep and goats are partners in the pasture. During the day, sheep and goats are treated the same. In fact, from a distance, looking out across the pasture, it’s kind of hard to distinguish between sheep and goats.

In the same way, it’s not always easy to distinguish between believers and unbelievers in the world today. Just to walk around Bayshore Town Center, you really can’t tell by looking who has faith in Christ and who doesn’t. Believers don’t get any preferential treatment in this world. If you’re coming to church because you believe it guarantees a certain degree of success in this world, or because it will give you a leg up on the competition, think again. Bad things happen to good people. Good things happen to bad people. But, some people believe in their hearts and confess with their lips, “Jesus Christ is Lord.” And that will make all the difference—the difference between heaven and hell—between eternal life and eternal punishment.

Only at the end of the day—only as night begins to fall—will a distinction be made between sheep and goats, between believers and unbelievers. Sheep to the right; goats to the left. And, for the love of God, please carefully note the terms of this separation: They are sorted on the basis of what they are, not what they have done. It’s not like a separation of those who only sinned a little and those who really sinned a lot. It is separating one thing from an altogether different thing—sheep and goat, believer and unbeliever. You will be judged not on the basis of what you did, but on the basis of who you are. It is by grace you have been saved, through faith. And this not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not by works so that no one can boast. The sheep are saved by grace, through faith in Jesus. The goats are condemned; because they lack faith in Jesus.

To the sheep the King will say, Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. The believers are blessed with a kingdom that was theirs from before time began. Before these sheep even had the chance to do one good deed (or one bad deed, for that matter), this kingdom had been prepared for them. And the sheep receive it, not as wages earned, but as an inheritance. You don’t earn an inheritance; you can only receive it as a gift from someone who died.

The timing of all this is terribly important. Notice that there’s been a sorting and a separation—a kingdom has been given and received—but still not yet a single word has been breathed about works. Their works didn’t save the sheep. The righteous didn’t earn their righteousness. But wow, were those sheep busy! I was hungry and you gave me food. I was thirsty and you gave me drink. I was a stranger and you welcomed me—naked and you clothed me. I was sick and you cared for me—in prison you came to visit me. Your good works don’t save you either. But do your good works matter? Will they be taken note of? Do they have eternal significance? Does what you do for the least and the lowly of this world matter at all? Let there be no mistake: the answer is yes, yes, and yes.

Why do your good works have such tremendous value? Here comes the surprise of all surprises. Notice how the sheep are puzzled after hearing about all the good works they did. But listen carefully. They don’t ask, “When did we do these things?” They knew they had done those things. But what they do ask is this: “Lord, when did we see You hungry? When did we see You thirsty, a stranger, sick or in prison?” And then comes one of the most amazing sentences the Savior ever spoke: “Truly I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.”

Who would have guessed it? Jesus has hidden Himself in the sick, the poor and needy. Christ has concealed Himself in the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger. In the one who is sick or in prison, there is the covert Christ. The Savior has secretly hidden Himself in those around you—in your family members, in your brothers and sisters in Christ—there is Jesus! And whatsoever you do for the least of these, you do for Jesus.

Beloved in the Lord, Jesus has let the cat out of the bag and things can never be the same again! This mysterious sentence changes everything! Luther hit the nail on the head when He preached on these words: Thus the world is full of God. In every yard, in every lane you may find Christ. . . . Do you wish to serve God? You have Him in your home, with your children. . . . Go and comfort your sad and sick neighbors. Help them with all your possessions, wisdom and skill (Day by Day, p.325). Why bother? Because there, in them, is the covert Christ.

Jesus is all around you—in the least and lowly—in your pew partners this morning; but do you see Him? Do you see the Jesus in me? Do you see the Jesus in your spouse? In your children? In your parents? Do you see the Jesus in the people of this Christian family? Do you see Jesus in the sick, the shut-ins, the mentally ill? Do you see that what you do for them you do for Jesus? The tiniest gestures of gentleness take on cosmic significance because the covert Christ says, “You have done it unto me.”

It sounds easy, right? But here’s the rub: It’s a lot easier to see the devil in those around us than it is to see the Jesus in them. Because the people around us, well, they aren’t perfect, like Jesus. They aren’t very Christ-like. You can look long and hard at some folks, and see no trace of the Savior. He’s really good at hiding Himself in some people. And quite frankly, when it comes to some of the people some of the time, we’d simply rather not see the Jesus in them—because then we can ignore them, tune them out, declare them to be somebody else's problem, or worse. But Jesus says, “I am there. Whatever you do for them—for the least—you do it to me.” Do you believe it? And if you do believe it, how will your life be any different between now and the day of judgment?

Beloved in the Lord, your ability to see the Jesus in me or in anyone else starts right here. It begins by seeing Jesus Himself. For you’ll never see Jesus in the least and the lowly until you first see Jesus Himself as the least of all. On the cross Jesus became the least of all to save us all. On the cross, bearing your sin, Jesus was literally hungry, thirsty, naked, sick, imprisoned, a stranger to this world—all so that He might save the world, including you. When you see a hurting person, think of Jesus who hurt on the cross. When you see a helpless person, think of Jesus who hung helpless on the cross. When you come across someone who is crushed by the burdens of this world, remember Jesus who was crushed for our iniquities—who died for our sin and rose again to give us victory.

It’s not always easy to see Jesus in our brothers and sisters; so thank God that when He looks at you, He sees Jesus—Jesus in you. It’s true. The all-seeing, all-knowing, un-fool-able God looks at you; and He chooses to see in you His own dear Son, Jesus the Christ. He looks at you and He sees a sheep of the Good Shepherd. After all, you’ve been baptized into Jesus. You’ve been clothed with the righteousness of Jesus. You’ve been nourished with the body and blood of Jesus. And this is why God sees Jesus in you. And this is why you can see the Jesus in those around you. Jesus says that when you serve them, you serve Him. Serve them not to earn the right to be a sheep of the Good Shepherd; serve them because YOU ARE A SHEEP of the Good Shepherd. A heavenly inheritance is waiting for you—waiting for you since before time began.

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

Remember to Remember

In Nomine Iesu
Deuteronomy 8:1-10
November 23, 2017
Thanksgiving Day

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

The Book of Deuteronomy is essentially one last, long sermon from the mouth of Moses. It is Moses’ swan song; for his departure was near. He was 120 years old. And for those final four decades he had been leading the children of Israel through the wilderness. This final “sermon” consists of thirty-some chapters, filled with law and gospel, threats and promises, history and prophecy.

If you’ve read much of Deuteronomy, you may have noted how it sometimes sounds redundant to modern readers. But what you have to remember is that, with the exception of Caleb and Joshua, that original generation of Israelites who had been delivered from slavery in Egypt—they were all gone. It was a new crew of Hebrews who were about to cross the Jordan and take possession of the Promised Land—with all of its bounty. They needed to hear the history. They needed to know what had come before. Going forward, they needed to remember to remember.

That’s what Moses reminded them in today’s text: Remember how the Lord your God led you all the way in the wilderness these forty years, to humble you and to test you in order to know what was in your heart, whether or not you would keep his commands. He humbled you, causing you to hunger and then feeding you with manna. . . . Know then in your heart that as a man disciplines his son, so the Lord your God disciplines you. Remember to remember.

Of course, remembering is risky business. It’s not for the faint of heart. Because right alongside all those rosy remembrances, there’s also a more harrowing history—a history of rebellion against God, of disregard for His commandments, of faithlessness in the face of trials and troubles. What, exactly, did Moses’ listeners have to remember? Well, there was the idolatry of the golden calf, grumbling about the manna, murmuring against Moses, fire and snakes and plagues as punishments from the Lord. We like to remember the good old days; but in, with and under those days . . . are deeds—deeds that are not so good—sins that stain our history.

Now, the challenge before us today is giving thanks, not remembering. This is Thanksgiving Day, not Remembrance Day. But Moses is teaching us that, in order to be thankful, we must first remember. And this remembering is not always pleasant. For we each have our own harrowing history. Not everyone here this morning has forty years in the wilderness to unpack; while others of us are well past that point. But if you’re going to be thankful—if you’re going to bless the Lord and praise the Lord—then you need to remember to remember.

Remember when you woke up face down in a sinful mess of your own making—when you put pleasure ahead of principle, and tested the boundaries to see just how far you could wander from home. Remember your faithless fear when you were flat on your back and the surgeon was sharpening his scalpel, and you were terrified. Remember the times you grumbled and mumbled against the Lord—when you cursed His holy name for taking away from you that which you loved—or for how He humbled you the hard way, in full view of everyone. Do you remember?

Because if you do remember that unholy history, then you cannot help but also see traces of grace in that history of horrors. For here you are on this Thanksgiving Day in the year of our Lord 2017. You are the living proof that our Lord does not treat us as our sins deserve. When you’ve been faithless, He’s been faithful. When you have fled from Him, He has not ceased to follow you all the days of your life. When you have not remembered—when you have forgotten the Lord in times of plenty and prosperity—He has not forgotten you.

There’s a tradition at some Thanksgiving tables where before the meal everybody has to tell something for which they are thankful. Now, there’s nothing wrong with that per se—nothing wrong with praising God for your Play Station or blessing Him for you BMW. But that’s an attitude of gratitude that just won’t last. It can’t. It’s based on what’s here today and gone tomorrow. Wouldn’t we be better served to go around the table and remember? How God helped us in our time of trouble? How He remembers no more the sins we can’t forget? How He used the surgeon and the pastor to bring health and healing for both body and soul? Such remembering gives us reasons for real, honest thanksgiving.

The Israelites had miracles to remember. When they looked back, they saw divine displays of supernatural power . . . and so do we. No, we haven’t walked through the Red Sea on dry ground; but we have been born again in the cleansing waters of Holy Baptism—named and claimed as God’s own children. That’s worth remembering. No, we haven’t been fed with manna from heaven; but we have been fed with the precious body and blood of our Lord in His Holy Supper, for the forgiveness of our sins. That’s worth remembering. No, we haven’t been rescued from a life of slavery under Pharaoh; but we have been rescued from the power sin, death and hell by Jesus Christ the Son of God, who loved you and who gave Himself for you—who bore your sins in His crucified body, and who gives you His own righteousness. That’s worth remembering. No, we haven’t been led each day by a pillar of cloud and each night by a pillar of fire; but the Risen Christ does come among us as we are gathered in His name to forgive us, renew us, and lead us (and love us). This is worth remembering. This is every reason for praise and thanksgiving.

Moses’s words about remembering the Lord came at a unique time in Israel’s history. It was the end of one era and the beginning of another. The wilderness was behind them and the Promised Land was before them. Even as they listened to old Moses, they were looking ahead in hope and anticipation: wheat and barley, figs and pomegranates, milk and honey. What God had promised so long ago was now becoming a reality.

That’s also where we find ourselves on this Thanksgiving Day. For as surely as Joshua led God’s people into the Land of Promise, so a new and better “Joshua” is leading us into the life of the world to come. Jesus is our Joshua. He has gone before us in a battle to the death, and has emerged triumphant and resurrected on the other side of the Jordan. Our thanks this day is not just based on remembering things that have already happened, but also on remembering things that will happen—things that Jesus promises for all who trust in Him: including the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting. We look back and see grace; we look ahead and see a sure and certain hope.

Have a happy Thanksgiving . . . and don’t forget to remember.

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

Talent on Loan from God

In Nomine Iesu
St. Matt. 25:14-30
November 19, 2017
Proper 28A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

If the parable of the talents teaches us anything, it teaches us that God is no communist. And He’s certainly no socialist. In this parable, God (the Master) sounds more like a free-market venture capitalist, who rewards entrepreneurial risk, and who has no problem showing to the door those who can’t seem to turn a profit.

The talents tell the whole story. A talent was a unit of money—a huge chunk of change that was worth at least a thousand days’ wages. Five talents were essentially 15 years’ wages for a common laborer. Even one talent was worth at least six figures by today’s standards. Our English word, “talent,” meaning “special aptitude or skill,” goes all the way back to this parable.

The Master entrusted this treasure trove of talents to three servants. Please note that the Master doesn’t give the same amount to each servant. One gets five. Another gets two. And the third gets one talent. That’s not fair, we say. But this master knows his

servants well. He doesn’t give them more or less than they can handle. He gives according to the ability of each servant. He puts into their hands what is exactly right for each.

Do you also trust this to be the case with you—with what you have in your life? Do you believe that your Lord and Master knows exactly what you can handle—and exactly what you can’t—and that He places into your hands exactly what is appropriate for you—no more and no less? Either way, keep listening.

After distributing his talents, the master in the parable goes on a long journey. Amazingly, he leaves no instructions on what to do with the talents—no rules, no quotas, no carefully crafted goals, guidelines, or expectations. He just hands over a big wad of cash and says, “Now you take that and do whatever you think is right.” This master refuses to micro-manage. He just turns his servants loose with his money and leaves town.

Can you handle a God like that—a God who doesn’t micromanage your life—who gives you an abundance of talent without any stipulations about exactly what to do and exactly when to do it? Can you fathom a God who hands off His treasure into the hands of fumbling, failure-prone sinners, and then disappears with a promise? Surely I am with you always to the very end of the age.

What would you do if you were one of those servants with all those talents entrusted to you? Drive directly down to Northwestern Mutual and demand a meeting with their best financial advisors? Invest it in the stock market? Start your own business? Buy property? It would probably greatly depend on just how you viewed your Master—the giver of the talents—right? If he were easy-going and forgiving, you might take a few chances and more risk. But if he were a tight-fisted, unforgiving, Ebenezer Scrooge, you might play it safe and be more conservative.

In the parable, the servant who was given five talents doubled his investment, as did the servant who was given two. But the third servant took an extremely conservative approach with his talent. He dug a hole and buried it.

After a long time, the master came back and settled accounts with his servants. It’s a preview of Judgement Day—the Last Day—when all accounts are settled for all eternity. The two who turned a profit are praised with a hearty “Well done,” and get to share in the joy of their Master. The third servant—with his single, shiny, unused talent—is condemned to the outer darkness where tears always flow and molars always grind. Make a profit or . . . you’re fired.

Now wait just a minute! This is starting to sound as if our salvation depends on our performance—as if works and profits and success are absolutely essential to avoid the outer darkness. Does this parable really teach that you’d better do all you can for God with the talents you’ve been given, and pray that you post a healthy profit at the close of the business day, or you’ll be joining that third servant (the conservative one) in the eternal unemployment line?

That third servant is actually the key to understanding the true meaning of the parable. Why didn’t he turn a profit? Why didn’t he do business or invest with his talent? It wasn’t his money. There were no rules or regulations on what to do with it. He had nothing to lose. So why didn’t he do anything? Why take that precious, shiny talent and bury it?

Well, why do we? Why do we refuse to step out of our comfort zones to use the talents God has given us? What keeps us from freely sharing our talents—from living large and living generously? In a word, it’s fear—fear of failure, fear of punishment, fear of loss, fear of the future, fear that others will disapprove of what we’re doing. Fear is the great paralyzer that prevents us from even getting off the starting line. Servant number three even admits it: he was afraid of his master, so he went and hid the talent in the ground.

That third servant is actually a picture of you and me beneath the Law of God. The Law is a harsh taskmaster. The Law of God demands perfection. And if you offend at just one point, you’re guilty and accountable for the whole thing. The Law demands obedience, but it can’t produce a single good work. It just produces fear and dread and terror as we look ahead to the day of judgment when all our works will be tested by fiery flames.

If you view God only through the lens of the Law—if your commandment keeping and your profit margins are the only way you can deal with Him—then you’ll wind up like servant number three: cornered and paralyzed by fear, terrified of making a mistake, stuck inside your sinful self.

Beloved in the Lord, listen carefully: Jesus has set you free from all that. What matters is not the abundance of your works, because they are not your works anyway. They are God’s works worked in you. How can you take credit for something that isn’t yours in the first place? What does matter—what matters more than anything—is trust—trust that Jesus Himself settled your account on the cross with His perfect life and death, so that you can venture it all in this world without fear of failure. What matters is simply faith toward God, along with fervent love toward one another.

And here’s the kicker: What was lacking in that third servant was not profit, but faith. He believed that his master was harsh, demanding, and cruel. And he got what he believed. Had he believed that his master was gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love—that so long as you transact with your talent and spread around your master’s good name all’s well—well, then that servant would have gone out and boldly done business as one who had nothing to lose.

You have nothing to lose. Salvation is yours. Eternal life is yours. The treasures of heaven are yours. The judgment ends in Jesus, and Jesus was judged in your place. Jesus came to earth to do business—to risk everything, to invest His very life and gamble everything to save the whole God-forsaking world, including you. Though Jesus was the good and faithful servant whose every deed was “well done,” He became for you the Suffering Servant, bearing the sins of our wickedness and slothfulness and faithlessness. Jesus became like faithless servant number three—was crucified and cast into the darkness of the tomb for us. In fact, when Jesus told this parable of the talents, His own execution for us was just days away.

Yes, our works do matter. Yes, it matters how we use and invest our talents on loan from God. Our works need to be cleaned up. The dross of our sin needs to be burned off. The greasy fingerprints of our old Adam need to be wiped off so that we can clearly see that what we have achieved has really been achieved by God Himself. Our works will be judged. But we will not be judged by our works, but simply by faith in Jesus—who loved you and gave Himself for you—who defeated death to remove the fear that keeps you paralyzed.

Your greatest “talent on loan from God” is the very gospel itself—the good news that God has reconciled the world to Himself in Jesus—that He doesn’t count our sins against us—that this life is just a shadow of the life of the world to come. That talent—the gospel—is placed into your hands to be shared and not hoarded—to be proclaimed and not kept private. You know something the world doesn’t know: God isn’t like Ebenezer Scrooge, miserly and vengefully firing those who fail to show a profit. You know that the Lord is good, that His mercy endures forever. He justifies the ungodly and forgives the sins of all who are penitent, for the sake of His dear Son. The world doesn’t know this or believe it. But you do. That’s your talent on loan from God. How will you invest it?

The question today is whether we will use our talent freely or fearfully—in faith or unfaith—trusting that God is good or fearing that He is harsh and cruel. Look to the cross of Jesus, and you will see the God you have. There you will find confidence, boldness, and freedom to use your talent on loan from God, and so enter into the eternal joy of Jesus.

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

Here Comes the Bridegroom

In Nomine Iesu
St. Matthew 25:1-13
November 12, 2017
Proper 27A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

The Parable of the Ten Virgins is filled with distracting details—things that just might make us miss the main point—if we don’t listen carefully to what our Lord is saying.

Take the term “virgin,” for instance. In our sex-saturated culture, virgins are seen as something peculiar. In a culture where sex is everything, virgins seem to be missing out. Virginity prompts sympathy and curiosity these days. But in the First Century, virginity corresponded to holiness and purity. Virginity was an honorable estate. The ten virgins in the parable are basically bridesmaids. And in

the parable these virgins represent you—members of the Church on earth.

Other people hear this parable and get distracted by the part where everyone gets drowsy and falls asleep—as though the point is to stay awake and alert at all times. But please note that nobody gets condemned in this parable for falling asleep. Sleep is good. Sleep is natural. People need sleep—even baptized children of God who are awaiting the Lord’s return. No one will be damned for their drowsiness.

Other people focus on the aspect of waiting in this parable. Weddings in Jesus’ day didn’t start promptly at 3PM. They started whenever the groom decided to show up. The groom could be early or he could be late. The bridesmaids had to be ready and waiting. I’ve often preached about how nobody likes to wait—how impatient we get. But the waiting here is more like eager anticipation. It’s like waiting for Christmas. It’s not a dull, dreadful, drudgery—but a hopeful expectation. That’s the waiting these bridesmaids are doing. That’s the waiting we Christians do—as we eagerly anticipate our Lord’s return and the day of resurrection.

Having addressed the distractions, let’s now focus what matters most in this parable. First of all, note that there’s a distinction between the bridesmaids. They may all have matching dresses; but there’s distinct difference between them: Five are wise. Five are foolish. Now, in the Scriptures, to be “wise” ultimately means to have faith—to believe. To be foolish means to be unbelieving—to have no faith. All ten bridesmaids took their lamps along to meet the bridegroom. The difference was that the foolish bridesmaids didn’t bring any oil for their lamps, while the wise brought along flasks of extra oil.

This oil is an important detail in the parable. Oil is energy. Oil is fuel. It’s what lamps in the first century ran on. And this oil corresponds to something in the Christian’s life. It corresponds to the fuel of faith—the life-giving sustenance that our Lord provides in His Word and Sacrament. What our Lord gives you here in the Divine Service is what keeps your faith burning strong.

But there’s a bit of irony in the parable where this oil is concerned: The foolish bridesmaids must have looked plenty smart and sophisticated with their cute little wedding lamps cradled in their perfectly manicured hands. Yeah, the foolish bridesmaids seemed confident and carefree. For them, this wedding was just another thing on their to-do list. Go to the mall, get your hair done, go to the movie, go to the wedding.

And as for those wise bridesmaids, well, what can you say? Those wise women must have looked rather foolish and unfashionable. They lacked a certain flair as they lugged around those extra flasks of oil for their lamps. What kind of an accessory is a big flask of extra oil? That’s silly! What were they thinking? They acted as if this wedding (and the arrival of the bridegroom) was the biggest thing—the thing that mattered most in the whole world. Not cool. Kind of nerdy.

Are you getting this? The wise bridesmaids—those with faith—appear to be dumb and foolish. That’s also how it is in the world today. Those who are wise—those who have faith in Jesus and eagerly anticipate His arrival—they appear to be the biggest fools of all. That’s us, wouldn’t you say? How foolish we appear as we gather here week after week, watching and waiting for Jesus! How foolish it seems to get up early on Sunday and hear God’s Word preached to you when you could just as easily do other things. How foolish to consume a bit of bread and wine, trusting it to be the body and blood of Jesus. How foolish to give away a big chunk of your hard-earned money to God when there are so many other things on which to spend it. How foolish to preach about sin and sacrifice when all people really want is to be entertained.

Nobody likes to look foolish. We all go to great lengths to avoid looking foolish. So do you know what we do? We put down the oil. We set aside the faith and forgiveness that keeps us going while we wait for Jesus. We forego the very fuel we need. We package up and put away the commands and promises of our God so that we can appear more fashionable—wiser and smarter to those around us.

When do you do it? When do you set aside the oil of faith? When do you hide that little gospel light of yours so that you can appear to be fashionable and sophisticated? For some of us it happens at work or at school. We leave the faith and forgiveness of Jesus at home so that we can blend right in at work and run right along with the herd of complainers, backbiters, bullies, and deadbeats. For some of us, it will happen this Thanksgiving or Christmas when we get together with extended family. We package up matters of faith and forgiveness, sin and grace—lock them up—so as not to make our unbelieving, unchurched family members uncomfortable. For others of us it happens at home. We can be loving and gracious and forgiving Christians to every soul on earth, except for the souls we live with—with siblings, with parents, with spouses. When we deal with them, the gloves come off and our faith is drained down to nothing. It happens all the time. It’s a crisis of conformity. We carefully cleanse ourselves of every last visible trace of faith so that we can be stealth Christians—indistinguishable from unbelievers—always aiming to walk like them and talk like them—to be fashionable and trendy and wise like them.

And pretty soon—we ARE them. And sooner still, we’ve completely lost sight of the fact that Jesus, the Bridegroom, is coming. And the faith and forgiveness we once carried close to our hearts is nowhere to be found. The lamp of faith has gone out. The party will start. The door will be shut. And those who wanted so badly to appear wise to the world will grieve to hear the Lord say: “I don’t know you.”

In the end, when the Bridegroom shows up, when the Lord Himself comes down from heaven, with a loud command and the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God—when that happens those who looked like fools in this world will turn out to be wise, while those who appeared to be so very wise in this world will turn out to be damned fools. This is why Jesus says, “Keep watch.” Jesus wants you, His church, to be expectant, watchful, ready for the trumpet call of God with a rich supply of the fuel of faith on hand at all times, so that your faith might burn brightly at all hours of the day and night.

Thankfully, your God isn’t stingy about supplying you with all the fuel your faith will ever need. All the forgiveness, life and salvation that Jesus hung on the cross to win for the world—He gives it all away in a multitude of ways—in baptism, in absolution, in the Lord’s Supper, in His Word as it’s preached and proclaimed. In these precious gifts (which appear so foolish) is more forgiveness and life and salvation than we can even imagine. There’s far more JESUS in the Word and Sacraments than we think we need—more than enough to keep our little gospel lights burning and shining until the Last Day. Only a fool would say, “No thanks. I can do without that. I’ve got better ways to spend my time.”

The wise bridesmaids didn’t care how foolish they appeared with their extra flasks of oil. No, they knew the One in whom they hoped and the One for whom they waited. They lived and slept in the confidence of their bridegroom’s coming. They knew He was coming; they just didn’t know when.

You too are waiting—for Jesus. You know Him. You believe Him. You don’t know when He’s coming. Your salvation depends entirely on Him. He is the One who was crucified for you—for your sins—who rose from the grave for you, who is today interceding for you at the Father’s right hand in glory. He is the One who baptized you, who forgives you, who feeds you with His body and blood, who gives you His Holy Spirit. You are precious to Him.

To be wise—to have faith—means that we’re living each day in the hope and expectation that Jesus is coming. And what others may think doesn’t matter. For at midnight, when we least expect it, the cry will go out: “Here is the Bridegroom! Come out to meet Him!” You can live and work and sleep and die in the glad confidence that Jesus will come in glory on the Last Day. And on that day those who are wise—those in whom the fire of faith is burning—they will shine like the stars forever and ever. Amen.

Little Church ~ Big Family

In Nomine Iesu
Revelation 7:9-17
November 5, 2017
All Saints’ Sunday

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Did you hear what I just called you? You might have missed it, since I call you the same thing every Sunday—before every sermon. I called you “brothers and sisters” in Christ. Now, to be brothers and sisters is to be family. And on this All Saints’ Sunday we are able to catch a glimpse of just how big and how diverse and how blessed this Christian family of ours really is. “See what kind of love the Father has given to us,” writes St. John, “that we should be called children of God! And so we are.”

Our family here at Our Savior is a relatively small family. As congregations go, our numbers are not impressive. But being small has its advantages. Everybody tends to know everybody, at least by sight if not by name. It’s easy to take attendance. And if you’d like to try something new (liking singing in the choir, or teaching arts and crafts at VBS, or attempting that new recipe for a Lenten supper) we will sign you up in a heartbeat! Small churches rock!

But sometimes a bigger church family would be better. Sometimes having just a few more bodies and a few more voices and a few more helping hands would be a great encouragement.

But All Saints’ Sunday reminds us that this family is not as small as it seems. What we learn about our Christian family today is similar to what I used to learn in the family gatherings of my youth. My immediate Henrichs relatives were a small group indeed. Not a clan or a tribe by any stretch of the imagination. I’m now down to three first cousins. But every so often in my childhood there would be a family reunion—at which all manner of Henrichses would seemingly emerge from the woodwork—people I had never met or seen or heard of

before—people to whom I was related. Suddenly, I felt strength in those numbers. My puny, little family had hope—a lively history and a promising future. My only question was, “Who are all these Henrichses; and where did they come from?”

That question is not unlike the question that will be asked at the end of time when all the children of God, from the greatest to the least, are gathered together around the throne of God: “Who are these, clothed in white robes, and where did they come from?” Today’s reading from Revelation chapter seven is a beautiful, hope-filled reminder that we are—each of us—on our way to a grand and glorious family reunion. And the sense of wonder and amazement that we sometimes feel at our earthly family reunions will pale in comparison when all the family of faith gathers around the throne of God in heaven.

St. John describes a great multitude that no one can count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and in front of the Lamb. They are wearing white robes and holding palm branches in their hands. And this family is not a quiet family, but in a loud voice this multitude declares, “Salvation belongs to our God, who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb.” Those in white robes are also joined by all the angels and archangels in worship of God, lifting their voices to proclaim, “Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever. Amen.” The Lamb who was slain has begun His reign. Alleleluia.

Beloved in the Lord, my brothers and my sisters, this is your family being described—your church. This is the family reunion to which you are being drawn—and in which you are already a participant every time you gather around this altar. Who is this host arrayed in white? “These are the ones,” John says, “coming out of the great tribulation; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. . . . They shall hunger no more, neither thirst anymore; the sun shall not strike them, nor any scorching heat. For the Lamb . . . will be their shepherd . . . and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”

It sounds too good to be true; but it is true and better than good. You might think of these words as a kind of family portrait. Most of you have probably had a family portrait taken at some point. The last time my little family posed in front of the camera, our clothing was carefully coordinated. Hair was parted perfectly. Smiling faces were huddled together as if all was perfectly blissful. A beautiful family portrait somehow manages to bring out the very best in us.

But I have to tell you, it’s almost too good to be true. It is true in that it is us; and we weren’t photo-shopped. But we don’t always look like that. Our hair is mostly messy and we’re probably better at snarling than we are at smiling. But a good family portrait brings out the best. And there’s no better family portrait than the one in which all of us are dressed in white robes, with palm branches in our hands, with eyes that weep no more, and voices that sing for joy. That’s the family portrait—that’s the family reunion—which is not too good to be true. It’s our family. It’s our reunion. And all this is thanks to our Savior, Jesus the Christ.

It’s Jesus who makes it possible for sinners like us to stand among the white-robed saints of God. The beatitudes that Jesus spoke in today’s holy gospel are first and foremost descriptions of Himself—the perfect life He lived as your substitute. We are anything but meek, merciful, pure-hearted peacemakers. Not by nature. Not in and of ourselves. Jesus alone is all of this. He embodies these beatitudes perfectly. Jesus is poor in spirit. Though He was rich, He became poor so that by His poverty you are rich. Jesus mourns. He weeps over our sin as He did over Jerusalem; and He weeps over our death as He did at the tomb of Lazarus. But by that mourning He brings us comfort and joy. Jesus hungers and thirsts for our righteousness, and out of His hunger you are fed. Jesus is merciful, pure-hearted, peace-making. He showed mercy by laying down His life for the sin of the world. He made peace by the blood He shed. He offered His pure and holy life as the sacrifice for your sins. He was persecuted, insulted, and falsely convicted. But by that conviction you have been acquitted, justified, declared righteous before God. On the cross Jesus hung bloody in nakedness and shame. But by that blood you have been washed. You have been cleansed. You have been forgiven.

In addition to those formal family portraits, most families also have photo albums filled with candid, casual snapshots which tell the family story in a more informal way. These candid snapshots capture us the way we really are at a given moment in time. Sometimes it’s not too pretty. This is also true for the family of God here and now. For us who walk as yet by faith, there is hunger and thirst and tears and the ongoing struggle with temptation and sin and death. The wages of sin is death, and there can be no denying that. Death is the consequence of sin. But today and every Sunday we celebrate the fact that Jesus has done something remarkable with death. He has taken this feared and dreaded enemy—this monster with an insatiable appetite—and He has made it into the gateway of eternal life with Him.

This is why it also says in Revelation, “Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on.” Yes, you heard correctly, “Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord.” The Lord Jesus has gone the way ahead of them. He Himself has gone to death and the grave, and those who follow Him, trusting Him in faith, are called “blessed” in their death. They are blessed because those who die in the Lord are with the Lord. There’s no waiting around at the pearly gates—no standing in line. There’s no joking around with St. Peter. There’s no soul sleep. No, when you close your eyes for the final time in this world you will immediately open them in paradise with Jesus. Blessed are those who die in the Lord.

Our numbers here today are small. It probably took our ushers a mere matter of minutes to total up the attendance here today. But let’s not forget the family portrait that tells the whole story for all the people of God on this day. That portrait depicts a great multitude that no one can count.

And you will be there, with all the family of God, dressed in white, standing shoulder to shoulder with the very people you see around you this morning—and with that multitude that no one can even begin to number—a multitude that now includes Bob Schulz, Beth Dittmar, and Kay Williams. Today we feebly struggle; they in glory shine. To say that you will be happy when you join them would be an understatement. “Blessed” would be more accurate. Blessed are you, my brothers and my sisters, dear family, fellow children of God, blessed are you in Jesus, now and forever. Amen.