Pruned for a Fruitful Purpose

In Nomine Jesu
St. John 15:1-8
April 29, 2018
Easter 5B

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

It’s so close you can almost taste it . . . or smell it. The growing season is about to begin! A cold, cruel, and snowy April has delayed our annual spring “greening.” We’ve been below normal for so long that we’ve forgotten what normal feels like. But in order to absorb what Jesus is teaching us this morning about vines and branches, I need you to imagine—to imagine a day in the not-too-distant future when lawn mowers are mowing—when blossoms are blooming—when the sweet smell of lilac is drifting through your backyard—and everything is green and growing. When that day finally arrives (and it will), remember this: Jesus is the vine; we are the branches who draw our life from Him.

In addition, Jesus tells us that His Father is the “vinedresser,” what we would call the “gardener.” He’s the guy with the dirt under his fingernails and the pruning clippers hanging on his belt. And what He does with those clippers is done with surgical precision. He cuts off every branch that doesn’t bear fruit; while every branch that does bear fruit He prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. He’s not clipping randomly or just hacking away. No, these are selective, strategic cuts, applied precisely just above a tender bud. He carefully distinguishes green wood from dead wood. And He has but one purpose: To make the branch (to make you!) even more fruitful. And fruit happens on new growth—on buds that have been spurred into action by carefully calculated pruning.

This imagery is all borrowed from the vineyard. (And it’s too bad we can’t all travel to Napa Valley to see this with our own eyes—and perhaps to sample a glass or two of the final product.) But understand this: the “fruit” Jesus has planned for His branches is something much greater than grapes. In Galatians Paul writes that the “fruit of the Spirit” looks like this: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. This is the fruit that Jesus wants hanging in abundance on every one of His branches, including you.

This fruit is not a “to do list.” Nor is it a list of rules, as in, “Thou shalt be joyful.” No, the fruit of the Spirit is simply what grows in—and flows from—a heart that trusts Jesus—a heart that clings to Jesus’ death and resurrection and believes His holy Word. We might say that fruit happens “automatically” when the branch is healthy and properly pruned. If the Vine is alive—and if the life of the Vine is flowing into the branch—then fruit happens. And it often happens in abundance.

Now, if anything impedes the flow of life from the vine to its branch—if the branch is severed from the vine—the branch will wither and die and will become fruitless dead wood, to be cut off, gathered up and burned. What could possibly sever us from our Savior? What could hinder the flow of His life into our lives? Our own sinful nature stands in the way. What Paul calls the “works of the flesh,” these are what stand in the way of God having His way with us: these works of the flesh include (but are not limited to) sex outside of marriage, adultery, immoral living, idolatry, anger, envy, divisions, drunkenness, and the like. These are the things Jesus died to take away from us. These are the things our baptism washed away. These dead works need to be cut out and pruned from our lives. We need to confess them and turn from them. If not, these sins will deaden you and sever you from your Savior.

This is where God comes along with His pruning tools. Pruning is painful. Pruning is not pretty. Sometimes, when life deals us a severe setback we wonder why. So, too, when our lives are touched by tragedy. Or when failure crowns our efforts instead of success, and our goals remain unmet. Or when sickness and suffering and pain seem to be our constant companion. In times like these we often wonder why—or “what did I do to deserve this?” or we think that God has abandoned us. But have you ever considered that you’re being pruned? Pruned, not punished—pruned by the Master Gardener so that your life can be more fruitful—bearing greater love, deeper joy, limitless patience, supreme kindness, goodness, gentleness, and self-control—far more than you could have produced otherwise?

Can you think of a time in your life when God was pruning you? Or have you seen it in the life of another Christian? Someone who’s basically a wallflower Christian, barely recognizable as a child of God, always busy, distracted and overwhelmed—that person suffers some great loss—loss of health, loss of family, loss of reputation, loss of their carefully crafted normalcy. And there’s tremendous grief and sorrow. But instead of shaking your fist at God or cutting Him off, you turn to Him in your misery. You embrace the loss and accept it. You turn to the Word. You confess your sins with increased attention and awareness. You receive the body and blood of Jesus with greater devotion—with greater hunger and thirst. And you find that the most difficult and painful times in your life can also be the most “fruitful.” God’s Word takes root in you. It grows and blossoms. And you suddenly know what it is to have peace—peace that passes understanding.

On your own—apart from Jesus—that will never happen. No amount of self-help and no amount of counseling can create in you a peaceful, fruitful life. For no branch can bear fruit by itself. It must be joined to the vine. Apart from the vine, it will wither, dry up, and die. “Apart from me,” Jesus says, “you can do nothing.” That’s the second point of our text, and it’s critically important: This is not about you, but about Christ at work in you—His life in your life—Jesus making you more and more fruitful.

Good fruit comes from Jesus. Peace, patience, love, gentleness—all of that—it all originates with Jesus. It comes out of His perfect, sinless life—out of His innocent suffering and death—out of the open, empty tomb of His resurrection. Good fruit comes from the life of Jesus flowing into each one of you. He’s the vine; we’re the branches. Abiding in Him, we gladly hear and learn His Word. We eat and drink His body and His blood. What happens here each Sunday morning—this is the stuff of “vine and branches.” Jesus the Vine is feeding and nourishing His branches to be fruitful.

But when we cut ourselves off from the Vine—when we despise preaching and His Word—why are we surprised when our faith falters? By the way, I recently learned that to “despise” something like God’s Word doesn’t mean to “hate” it. No, to despise preaching and the Word is simply to see it as something of little value—to view it as unimportant and unworthy of your time and attention. We despise the sacrament of His body and blood too, treating it as mere bread and wine. When we despise or refuse these precious gifts, why are we then surprised to feel dried up, withered, and fruitless? It’s all so unnecessary.

God has embraced you in the death of His Son, baptized you, forgiven your sins, welcomed you to the Holy Meal of His body and blood. He has grafted you to the True Vine, and He prunes you lovingly, carefully, strategically, to make you even more fruitful. Jesus is the Vine and He’s always there—always faithful, always forgiving, always urging and welcoming you: “Come unto me, all you who are weary. I am the vine. You are my branches. Come and have life to the full—life that lasts forever.”

Jesus wants you to be fruitful, to live large in His life, to live freely in His forgiveness. It is to His Father’s glory that you bear much fruit—that your life be filled with love and joy, peace and patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control—and that you be His disciple, trusting Him in life and in death. You are the branches. He is your Vine. In Him you are fruitful.

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

The Good Shepherd

In Nomine Iesu
St. John 10:11-18
April 22, 2018
Easter 4B

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

The gospel of John is famous for the “I AM” statements of Jesus: I am the bread of life. I am the light of the world. I am the door. I am the way, the truth, and the life. I am the vine. I am the resurrection and the life. Each of those sayings is packed with meaning. But none of them carries the kind of comfort we heard today from John chapter 10: I am the good shepherd. Without a doubt, that’s the kindest, gentlest, most intimate picture of Jesus that we are given.

Jesus clearly had Psalm 23 in mind when He said, “I am the good shepherd.” He wants to be known in shepherding terms. First

century shepherds basically lived with the flock—dwelt with the sheep, slept with the sheep. They were essentially one of the sheep. The sheep recognize the shepherd’s voice. He knows them each by name. He leads them and they follow him—because they trust him. The sheep will follow the shepherd even where their instincts tell them not to go—like through dark and dangerous valleys.

What a wonderful picture this is of the disciples’ relationship to Jesus. He is their good shepherd; they are the sheep of His pasture. Even if you know nothing at all about sheep and shepherding, it’s still a warm and comforting image. No wonder we have so many paintings of Jesus with sheep. Where would Sunday school lessons and bulletin covers be without Jesus the Good Shepherd?

But I’m sure you’ve sat through enough sermons on Good Shepherd Sunday to realize that being compared to sheep isn’t very flattering. You probably know that sheep can be stubborn, stupid, and mean. Some of you know that the softball team at Luther Memorial Chapel in Shorewood is known as the “Fighting Sheep.” It’s the perfect name for a church team; but it certainly doesn’t strike fear into the hearts of their opponents. Or consider how several years ago there was a big to-do about Wisconsin’s problem with feral cats—domestic cats gone wild that were threatening whole neighborhoods. But you’ll never hear about a feral sheep problem. There are no wild packs of sheep roaming anywhere. Why not? Because sheep are too helpless—too foolish—too prone to wander into trouble.

That itch to wander away from our Good Shepherd is something we inherited from our first parents. Adam and Eve wanted to be like God, and so do we. To them, the forbidden fruit looked desirable. For us, the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. This is why we get restless in church, spiritually bored. It takes surprisingly little to entice us to exit those well-worn paths that lead to eternal life.

I grew up in Kansas where, unlike most of our North Shore neighborhoods, livestock was a way of life for a good percentage of the population. In Kansas, herds of livestock were as common as coffee shops are in this neighborhood. But I’d have to say that cattle were definitely the livestock of choice in my boyhood home. Compared to sheep, cattle are relatively low maintenance. Put them in the pasture and they’re good to go. The bovine are fine . . .unless someone leaves a gate open. But sheep are a different story. They need to be supervised much more closely. That’s why there are shepherds; and that’s why a shepherd has to get down and dirty with those wooly mammals.

It’s for this reason that stinky shepherds were considered to be on the lower rungs of the social ladder. Not many young people aspired to be shepherds. Their sheep wandered all over the place, without regard for property lines and boundaries. And the shepherds were right there with them—trespassing all over the place. They weren’t exactly the sort that you would invite to your next dinner party. The shepherds were the first to worship Jesus in Bethlehem partly because they were the only ones outdoors that night, doing what they always did, keeping watch over their flocks.

Jesus the Good Shepherd contrasts Himself with the “hired hand.” The hired hand doesn’t really care about the sheep, and is quick to make an exit when danger draws near. Jesus was referring to the religious leaders of His day who simply beat people over the head with religious rules and regulations. They led people to believe that you could get in good with God by improving your spiritual performance. But sheep aren’t very good performers, are they? I’ve seen bears ride unicycles and tigers jump through rings of fire and dogs catch Frisbees in the air. But I’ve never seen a sheep perform even the simplest trick. You can coerce the sheep and make demands on the sheep all you want—and that’s what the religious leaders of Jesus’ day were doing.

But Jesus, the Good Shepherd—coercion is not His cup of tea. Making demands is not His modus operandi. His yoke is easy and His burden is light. In fact, Jesus lays down His life for the sheep. On the cross, Jesus laid down His perfect life for His sinful sheep. That means you are died for. Your sins are atoned for. Whoever would seek to pick apart your poor performance in this life is now answerable to Jesus, whose perfect life and sacrificial death now count for you. Though faith in Jesus you now have life to the full—abundant life—life that lasts forever and a promise that you will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

This self-sacrifice—this self-giving love—this grace is what sets Jesus apart in the world of religions. It’s what makes Him the GOOD Shepherd over against all the hired hands with their demands and expectations. Every religion has examples to follow. Every religion has promised pathways to enlightenment. But there’s only one Savior—one Good Shepherd who lays down His life for all—including those who were not following Him, for those who hated Him, and, yes, even for His enemies. Jesus is not one Savior among many saviors—nor is He one of many pathways to paradise. But we confess together with Peter in today’s first reading: There is salvation is no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved. Jesus, our Good Shepherd, is one of a kind.

That’s not an exclusive statement, for the invitation to salvation has gone out to the inclusive all. God wants all to be saved in Jesus. All are died for. The Lamb of God has died for the sins of the whole world—no exceptions, exclusions, or asterisks. In fact, Jesus spoke about “other sheep” in today’s text. He hinted that His flock was even bigger than His disciples in their narrow view of things could see or appreciate. When Jesus spoke of “other sheep” who were not of Israel’s fold, He was referring to the Gentiles, the non-Israelites, and, ultimately, to you and me. We are included in the one flock of the Good Shepherd.

“I know my own,” Jesus says. Again, that’s you He’s talking about. The Good Shepherd knows His sheep very well. He knows even the things we’d rather He didn’t know. But this is grace: the One who knows the shameful extent of your sin and the depth of your depravity—loves you—loves you despite it all—loves you to the extent that He laid down His life for you. In fact, “by this we know love, that [Jesus Christ] laid down His life for us” (1 John 3:16).

Your Good Shepherd knows you and loves you. He’s not interested in having you jump through rings of fire. But He does invite you to listen to His voice as it is preached and proclaimed here. He has cleansed you and claimed you in the waters of Holy Baptism. He does rejoice to prepare a table before you—the holy meal of His own body and blood. And He will one day lead you right through that place where none of us can travel alone—right through the valley of the shadow of death. You lack nothing. You shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

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

Touchable Jesus

In Nomine Iesu
St. Luke 24:36-49
April 15, 2018
Easter 3B

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

It’s been exactly two weeks since we began to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus. And in many of our homes, the feast is fading. Leftover ham and jellybeans have all but disappeared. The Easter lilies have lost their pungent luster. And only a few shelves at CVS still hold half-price chocolate bunnies and peeps. But here in the church, the celebration continues. Here in the church, every Sunday is a “little Easter,” a sacred day when the Risen Christ appears to us as the Scriptures are opened and the bread is broken.

All four of the gospels record the resurrection of Jesus. The final chapters of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John all deal with the hard evidence of the resurrection—each with its own unique accents: The open, empty tomb. The folded burial clothes. The Savior’s wounded hands and pierced side. The appearances to the eyewitnesses. The gospel writers are careful to lay out all of the evidence for you—and for the whole world—that this Jesus is the crucified and risen Messiah, the Savior of the world, the Son of God—and He is alive forevermore.

Today we hear from the pen of Saint Luke. And in Luke’s gospel, the fact of Jesus’ resurrection is almost always underscored by a meal. Jesus appeared to two disciples at Emmaus as the meal got underway. He had joined them earlier on the road, but they were prevented from recognizing Him. But they immediately recognized Him in the breaking of the bread at the dinner table. And those two Emmaus disciples immediately rushed back to Jerusalem to tell the other disciples what had happened.

Today’s gospel reading picks up as all the disciples are comparing notes on their Easter experiences when, suddenly, Jesus Himself appears in their midst. “Peace be to you” He says. Peace. You heard that same greeting last week in John’s Easter account. “Peace” is now the perfect, post-Easter greeting. It’s how you speak now that the resurrection has come to pass. Death is defeated. The grave can’t hold us. Sin is forgiven. Life is restored. “Peace be to you,” or, as we always say right before we receive Jesus’ body and blood, “The peace of the Lord be with you always. Amen.”

The disciples, of course, are startled and frightened, wondering whether they’re seeing a spirit or an apparition of some kind. But this is no illusion. Jesus sets them straight: “See my hands and my feet, that it is I myself.” Then He invites them, “Touch me, and see. For a spirit does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.” He’s right, of course. You can’t touch ghosts. Spirits don’t have

flesh and bones. But Jesus does. His resurrection was a bodily resurrection. It’s not just the spirit of Jesus floating around; it’s the glorified, resurrected human body of Jesus.

Then, just to drive the point home, Jesus asks if they’ve got anything to eat. And gosh, just like in Milwaukee, there’s apparently a fish fry going on. They offer Jesus a piece of that beer-battered cod and He eats it right in front of them. The point is not that fish fries now have religious significance. The point is that ghosts and spirits don’t eat. But people do—living, breathing people with flesh and bones and bodies—they eat. Even after His resurrection, Jesus is still true God and true man—still one of us, forever and ever. The resurrected Christ still has a real body—a touchable body—bone of our bone and flesh of our flesh.

This is how we know that our bodies, too, are destined for resurrection. Your body will be raised from the dead. You are more than a soul—more than just a spirit. The bodily resurrection of Jesus means that your body (even with all of its sins, and problems, and flaws) your body is valuable and important. Like the body of Jesus, your body will be raised to life everlasting—the mortal to immortality.

So start recognizing your body as a holy and valuable gift from God. Stop using it for sinful purposes—for immorality and idolatry. Stop seeing the body the way our culture sees the body—as only an instrument for pleasure and entertainment. The body has so little value in our culture. Witness the so-called “transgender” movement to reject the bodies God has created and given, in favor of a self-chosen gender—which always means terrible trauma for the body God has given. God creates us male OR female, and He knows what He’s doing. But we know better apparently. Or think of all the little bodies—the unborn bodies—subjected to trauma and death at the hands of abortionists, paid for with the very tax dollars that many of us are sending off this weekend. It is a silent, state-funded holocaust, right in our own backyards. Lord, have mercy. A body—a human body knit together by God—a body designed for resurrection—a body is a terrible thing to waste.

Today’s gospel not only highlights the body, but also the mind. A mind, too, is a terrible thing to waste. That’s why St. Luke tells us that Jesus opened the minds of His disciples to understand the Scriptures. Doesn’t that strike you a strange? They had witnessed the resurrection. They had been personally instructed by Jesus for three years. They knew their Bibles. And yet, even now, Jesus must open their minds. This tells us that you can know all the facts, but still not get it. You can know the Bible by heart and still not trust that it is for you. We are born closed-minded. Sin shuts our minds into a default mode in which we think we are the gods and that our words and our wishes carry the day. We closed-mindedly think that the world revolves around us and our feelings.

But a mind opened by Christ is freed from the tyranny of feelings and emotions. A mind opened by Jesus means that your mind is open to His promises, open to His forgiveness, open to believe the truth about the resurrection, about your own body, and about the life of the world to come. A mind opened by Jesus means that you understand your baptism as not just a splash of water, but a new birth as a child of God. A mind opened by Jesus understands the Lord’s Supper as so much more than mere bread and wine—but a resurrection appearance of Jesus—in which you can touch and taste and see that the Lord is good. With a mind opened by Jesus you understand that this life isn’t all there is—that Jesus Christ has destroyed death—that the grave is temporary—that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.

This is the bottom line today: Jesus Christ is risen from the dead. He was seen. He was heard. He was touched. He ate and drank. Best of all, He has opened your mind to believe all this. Our understanding isn’t yet perfect. Our fears haven’t completely disappeared. And that’s why we’re here, again today, on this Third Sunday of Easter, here where repentance and forgiveness of sins is proclaimed in the name of Jesus. Amen.

The peace of God which passes all human understanding keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.

Leaning Into the Promise--with Peter

In Nomine Iesu
St. Mark 16:1-8
April 1, 2018
Easter-B

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
Alleluia! Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Assume for a moment that your assignment is to paint a picture of Easter—to capture the significance of the resurrection on canvass. What would you paint in your picture? What would you want to include? An open, empty tomb with the stone rolled away? Perhaps an angel or two preaching to a small group of faithful women? Or what about the resurrected Christ Himself—radiant and victorious, with peace that passes understanding? Aspiring artists down through the centuries have taken approaches similar to these—sometimes with spectacular results.

But what if I told you that one of the best Easter paintings ever painted contains no Christ and no angel, no women and no garden, no tomb and no stone? Grab a copy of today’s bulletin and take a look at the cover. This work has a rather long title: The Disciples Peter and John Running to the Sepulcher on the Morning of the Resurrection. More often than not it’s just referred to by the shortened form, The Disciples. Now, some of you may have actually seen this painting on display. You won’t find it hanging in the Louvre or

the Met or the National Gallery. Instead, it hangs tucked away in Paris in an old railway station (the Musée d’Orsay, on the left bank of the Seine).

This painting hasn’t always been highly regarded. It was painted in 1898 by a Swiss artist named Eugene Burnand. He was something of an old-fashioned realist at a time when all the cool kids were embracing modernism. For this reason The Disciples didn’t make a big splash when it was first hung. The artist’s style was already considered passé by the 1890s.

But let’s take a closer look at this painting. The colors of the sky tell us that the first blush of dawn is just beginning to tint the clouds. The two disciples pictured are John and Peter. They are rushing to the tomb of Jesus, having just been told by Mary Magdalene that she and the other women found it empty—and that Christ has risen. Her words are ringing in their ears, but their faces and their bodies reveal that they aren’t sure they can believe her.

John is the younger one on the left. He wrings his hands together anxiously. His face looks more troubled than joyful. John has the distinction of being the only one of the twelve who was with Jesus when He died on the cross—the disciple whom Jesus loved—the disciple who took the blessed Mother of Jesus into his own home. John is clad a white garment, looking almost angelic.

But in the center of the painting is Peter—wearing a dark-colored robe, thick, heavy and oppressively mournful. If John was Jesus’ most faithful disciple, Peter was His most faithless. Peter was the only disciple who repeatedly, explicitly, verbally denied even knowing Jesus in His darkest hour. St. Mark’s account of Peter’s threefold denial of Christ is especially brutal and haunting. But this shouldn’t surprise us since Peter himself likely had a hand in shaping much of Mark’s gospel. Peter was never one to shy away from allowing others to see his terrible flaws, his awful judgment, and his soul-crushing sin. In fact, in Mark’s gospel, when Peter denies Jesus for the third time, we learn that he invoked a curse upon himself and he swore: I do not know the man. And with those words Peter placed himself squarely on the road to hell. Peter successfully separated himself from the Savior. And he broke down and wept.

Look at Peter’s face in the painting. How would you describe it? In this picture Peter looks terrified, yet hopeful—guilty, ashamed, and desperate. His eyes are wide open, ready to face what lies in his future. He’s not yet sure he can believe the report that Christ is risen. But he wants to. Oh, how he wants to believe it. With one hand Peter grasps at his heart, perhaps feeling around for the courage which had deserted him just nights earlier. What an amazing array of emotions the artist managed to capture in that one face.

And yet we don’t need to go to Paris to see a face like that firsthand. We just need to look in the mirror. For we are no less complex than Peter. We too are worn, wearied, and ashamed of our sin. We are at the same time disciples of Jesus, following Him in faith, while also bearing the burden of our brokenness, deeply aware and ashamed of all the ways we have denied Jesus—all the ways we have separated ourselves from our Savior—all the ways we have cursed and confessed together with Peter, I do not know the man.

And now on this Easter Sunday we once again find ourselves aligned with Peter—hearing the astounding good news that Christ is risen, leaning in to the promise of the resurrection, hoping against all hope that Christ is indeed risen from the dead, and that He loves us, and that He forgives us. Like Peter in the painting, all we have to go on is a promise—the promise of what is to come (which can’t yet be seen).

Last week I said that the gospel of Mark ends with a whimper, not with a bang. You certainly get a sense for that in the resurrection account you heard earlier—it’s a resurrection account in which Jesus Himself does not make an appearance. And it concludes with the women saying nothing—to nobody—because they were afraid. It’s not what you’d call a grand finale. There’s definitely good news here in Mark chapter 16; you just have to look for it a little harder than you do in Matthew, Luke, or John.

Go back to the painting on the bulletin cover for a moment. Take another look at Peter—how he touches his heart with his right hand. His left hand, strangely, has the index finger extended. It’s strange because his finger is extended, but he’s not really pointing at anything in particular. The two men aren’t looking where the finger is pointing. No, that extended finger simply seems to indicate that Peter is recalling something of singular importance. That finger indicates that something of profound significance was rattling around in Peter’s swirling mind.

You see, Peter himself had been singled out. And we know this only because of Mark chapter 16. In the report that filtered back from the tomb, the angel had said these words: “Go, tell his disciples and Peter that He is going before you to Galilee. There you will see him, just as He told you.” Tell his disciples—AND PETER! Let there be no doubt—Peter had been singled out . . . to be welcomed in. Peter who claimed not to know Jesus . . . was himself still known and still loved by Jesus. Peter the Denier—Faithless Peter—Proud Peter—Peter the supreme sinner—terrified, ashamed, and desperate Peter—the angel called him out by name to absolve him of his sin, to heal his brokenness, to vindicate his feeble faith, to give him hope and courage. The disciples AND PETER. Perhaps Peter’s extended finger is to emphasize and accentuate those two precious words hidden way down deep in the details of Easter. “And Peter.”

And this is the best of news—for all of us who follow in Peter’s footsteps. On Good Friday Christ died for our sins. And on the third day He rose from the dead. And this glorious work was for the salvation of the world. Jesus’ work is primarily one of addition, not subtraction. Jesus comes to seek and save and welcome sinners; not to cast them out—to add, not to subtract. Our faces may at times be grim with grief and shame. But when that happens, learn from Peter—learn from Peter to believe the impossible—to open your eyes in hope and faith and to just lean-in to the promises of our Savior.

Only Peter got a special invitation by name on that first Easter Sunday. Your “by name” invitation came a long time ago when the pastor called you by name and applied water in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Then and there you were joined to Jesus—numbered together with John and Peter—learning to trust Jesus Christ, the Savior of sinners. The glorious good news of the resurrection has gone out to the disciples and to Peter—to the most unlikely and undeserving of people: to Peter AND MICHAEL, AND ___________, AND ____________, AND ______________, AND _____________--and on and on and on. Jesus Christ is no longer dead. He lives and reigns to all eternity. And in Him you too will live and reign forever. Alleluia, Christ is risen . . .