Help My Unbelief

In Nomine Iesu
St. Mark 9:14-29
September 16, 2018
Proper 19B

Dear Saints of Our Savior,

Last week’s Holy Gospel was about the healing of a deaf man with a speech impediment. This week’s Holy Gospel is about the healing of a demon-possessed boy. Last week’s account was easy, fun, and filled with hope. But this week things are messy, scary and complicated. This week we’ve got demon possession and unbelief, an epic fail by the disciples, and a Jesus who seems to be packing some attitude.

It’s worth noting that this episode happens right after the Transfiguration of Jesus up on the mountain top. It’s when Jesus comes down the mountain with Peter, James, and John that they encounter a crowd of people arguing. At the center of it all is a father with a boy who is suffering terribly from demon-possession. The evil spirit afflicts the boy with seizures; and it makes frequent attempts to kill the boy by throwing him into fire or water. The man had brought his son to the nine disciples who were not up on the mountain; but they had struck out in their attempts to help. So that leaves us with a desperate man, his demonized son, nine disciples who look like losers, and a handful of scribes itching for an argument. What a mess!

And Jesus is none too happy about this mess: O faithless generation, how long am I to be with you? How long am I to bear with you? Jesus orders that the boy be brought to him. Immediately the boy has a convulsion and starts rolling on the ground. In desperation the father pleads, “If you can do anything, have compassion and help us.” But Jesus immediately snaps back, “If you can? All things are possible for one who believes.”

For the record, Jesus isn’t angry with the boy or his father. Jesus is angry at the devil and his demons and the chaos they cause. We aren’t told exactly how old the boy is; but it doesn’t matter because the devil is delighted to target even the youngest among us. He’s a shameless predator who delights in victimizing even children. And since the evil one delights in hurting and harming children, can there be any doubt about who is the driving force behind the abortion industry? Can there be any doubt about the origin of the compulsion of some priests and pastors and bishops to prey sexually upon little children and adolescents? Who else but the prince of darkness could orchestrate such evil acts? The boy in today’s text is just one casualty in a long line of little victims.

Help us . . . if you can, said the father. Jesus took issue with the words, “if you can.” All things are possible for the one who believes He responded. Jesus can do anything He wants because He’s God. That’s not the issue. The issue is whether Jesus is willing to help. The man should have said, “If you are willing, have compassion on us.” It’s just like whenever we pray Thy will be done in the Lord’s Prayer. We don’t know what God’s will is in each and every circumstance that comes our way. But it’s never a matter of whether Jesus can do something; but, rather, is He willing to do something. And having faith means that you are open to all the possibilities. Having faith means praying, “Thy will be done.”

This is why we can pray for miraculous healing on one hand, and go to the doctor and accept a terminal diagnosis, all at the same time. This is why we can pray for the repentance of those we know who are living outwardly sinful lives, while, at the same time, sadly acknowledging that they are presently on the path to hell. Nothing is impossible with God. All things are possible for one who believes. That certainly doesn’t mean that you get everything you want if you believe hard enough and pray for it in just the right way. It does mean that faith is always open to every possible outcome, because with God nothing is impossible.

This goes right to the heart of the matter for us, and for the father of the demon-possessed boy. “I believe,” he says, “help my unbelief.” This isn’t double talk. These aren’t weasel words or pious pretense. This is the naked truth: I believe; help my unbelief. You can’t say it any better than this. This is the real deal. He is simultaneously believer and unbeliever. And so are you. The truth be told, we are all a mixed bag of great faith and great unbelief. And when things get really messy and complicated and downright demonic, that’s when even the strongest faith begins to waiver, and doubts come home to roost, and we find ourselves wondering, “Is Jesus able to do anything to help me?”

Jesus rebuked the unclean spirit and the spirit obeyed—because demons have no choice but to obey the voice of the Lord. But hold your applause because Jesus isn’t quite done testing the father’s faith. In the seconds that followed the spirit’s departure, the boy appeared dead. He looked like a corpse. Maybe he was. Maybe everything had gone from bad to worse. This didn’t look good. First the disciples had failed this father, and now Jesus had failed, and, by all appearances, the boy was dead. In fact, that’s what the crowd had concluded. “He’s dead.” They all said so.

But Jesus wasn’t finished yet. And you have to wonder whether this isn’t intentional on the part of Jesus—whether he’s just pushing the father’s faith a little bit further the way a personal trainer makes you do five more push-ups. He hadn’t been sure that Jesus could get rid of the demon and now he’s forced to face his son’s apparent death. Could Jesus help him now? Would Jesus help him now? Will Jesus help you now—as things go from bad to worse, and with your sinful fingerprints smudged all over everything?

You’ve probably heard it said: Be careful what you pray for. Sure, you can pray for more patience if you want. But just remember, God often uses suffering and pain to create more patience. The boy’s father had prayed, “Help my unbelief.” And Jesus is doing precisely that—helping the man’s unbelief—answering his prayer—pushing the envelope, turning up the volume by allowing it to appear that the boy was dead.

It wasn’t long. Just a few seconds. A moment or two. The boy was momentarily motionless. But as He had done before, Jesus took the boy by the hand and lifted him up. “And,” St. Mark adds, “he arose.” He arose. (In Greek it’s anastay—the resurrection word.) It’s a little preview of the resurrection—corpses rising to new life—the mortal being clothed with immortality. And this little detail gives us every reason to trust Jesus—to believe that He will help.

For He truly died. As our sin-bearing substitute, He died like a common criminal, stretched out on a Roman tool of torture. Jesus goes into the darkness. He becomes sin for us. He takes on the demons. He dies. Jesus became a corpse on a cross. And on the third day He arose. Jesus lives. And in Jesus you also will rise and live forever. When it seems like your faith is faltering, remember the resurrection. For on that day death and sin will be undone; and all doubts will melt away.

But for now, today, Jesus is here to help you. Here He comes in the cleansing cadence of holy absolution and in the bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood. Of course, the Savior’s help may not be exactly what you were hoping for. It may not come according to your timetable. It may not materialize according to your design or plan. It may appear that things are going from bad to worse. And if you find that to be discouraging or troubling, then pray. Pray. Go to Jesus with your trouble. Lay it on the line: I believe; help my unbelief. The Lord will answer. He will help. Trust Him.

By the grace of God we believe. But as sinners/saints, there’s still that unbelieving heart of the Old Adam in us. We are each a strange mix of faith and unbelief, trust and doubt, confidence and fear—dying, yet we live forever and ever. Every day is a day for repentance—for turning from unbelief to faith—for remembering our baptism—every day until we finally die, and the hand of Jesus reaches down to raise us up to life. That is the good and gracious will of God. All things are possible for one who believes.

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

Be Opened!

In Nomine Iesu
St. Mark 7:31-37
September 9, 2018
Proper 18B

Dear Saints of Our Savior~

The miraculous healing in today’s Holy Gospel is, for me, one of the most meaningful and moving moments in our Lord’s entire ministry. It’s probably because there’s not a day that goes by when I don’t interact with someone whose hearing or speaking is impaired. In some instances the ears can hear and the lips can speak, but it’s the brain that impairs and impedes the communication process. The dyslexic, the autistic, the deaf, folks with dementia, stroke victims—all find themselves struggling with incoming or outgoing language.

And because of that struggle with language, these people, as a general rule, tend to be somewhat isolated—somewhat removed and remote from the people around them. That’s just how it is when you have trouble hearing and speaking.

But did you catch how the deaf man with a speech impediment came to be in the presence of Jesus? Some of the man’s friends believed enough about Jesus to bring their suffering friend to the Savior. These days we call that “evangelism” (bringing people to Jesus), and we tend to assign that kind of work to committees and boards and task forces. We talk a lot about evangelism, and how we should be doing more of it. But what it boils down to in the end is bringing the people you know (here) to Jesus so that He might bless them. It’s really that simple.

And then notice how Jesus took the man aside, away from the crowd. Jesus doesn’t want to make a big scene for the six o’clock news or generate selfies for social media. Jesus never sought celebrity. And He doesn’t use the misfortune of others to draw attention to Himself. Jesus was completely there for that man at that moment. He had the Savior’s undivided attention. When your ears are closed and your speech is garbled you can never be quite sure what’s going on. But that man at that moment knew that he mattered—knew that he was loved—knew that he was precious—to Jesus.

And what do you think of the Savior’s medical methods? Jesus put His fingers into the man’s ears. Then he spits and touches the man’s tongue. How would you like it if your physician did that to you? Spit that belongs to somebody else is generally regarded these days as gross—a bio-hazard. It always makes me feel kind of bad when I go to get my teeth cleaned and the hygienist walks into the room wearing a hazmat suit. I try not to take it personally. It’s not just me, right? But all those precautions are taken, essentially, for the sake of spit!

But for just a moment let’s put aside all our presuppositions about saliva and look at what’s going on here. Jesus is using a kind of sign language. He was communicating a message that couldn’t be missed, even by this disabled man—who missed so many important messages. As Jesus touched him—touched his ears and his tongue—and then as Jesus looked up to heaven, Jesus was essentially saying, “I know. I know. I understand your problem, brother. You’ve got ears that don’t hear and a tongue that doesn’t work and I’m going to do something about it. I’m lifting up my eyes to heaven ‘from whence cometh our help.’ That’s my Father’s home. But I’ve left that place to come here and to be with you and with all those who lives have been disordered by sin and death.”

Perhaps it was the thought of sin and death that caused Jesus to sigh. Literally, He “groaned.” Why would Jesus groan as He restored this man’s hearing and speech? St. Mark doesn’t tell us why. Perhaps it was because human sinfulness has no more effective means of expression than human ears and human tongues—our ears and our tongues. Ears that hear are a great gift from God. But what do we do? We who can hear close our ears to God’s Word and God’s will for our lives. His commandments routinely fall on our deaf ears. On the flip side, our ears work exceptionally well—our hearing is never so acute—as when we tune into gossip and slander and the voice of temptation. We use our ears to hear what we want to hear, while tuning out the needs of those closest to us, those whom God has given us to love.

And then there are tongues. Tongues that speak and sing and pray are a great gift from God. But we who can speak—we are experts at closing our mouths when it comes to prayer, praise, and thanksgiving. We by nature prefer to use our tongues for careless words of complaining, for harsh words of anger, for cutting words of gossip, inflicting more pain than any weapon ever could. Human tongues have the hardest time defending our neighbor, speaking well of him, and explaining his actions in the kindest way. And so I ask, with all the misuse and abuse carried out by our tongues and by our ears, is it any wonder that Jesus groaned?

But then comes the best part, when Jesus speaks His Word: “Ephphatha,” “Be opened!” Did the deaf man hear this word? Were these the first syllables to make their way into his newly opened ears? Or did he read the Savior’s lips and “see” the word as it was spoken? Who knows? What matters is that the Word of Jesus gets results. The Word of Jesus gets results in human ears and human hearts—even in ears that don’t hear and even in hearts that are hard and scarred by sin. That word, “ephphatha,” shows that Jesus can open whatever is closed, free whatever is bound, resurrect what is lifeless, dead and hopeless.

The people in that place were astonished beyond all measure, declaring of Jesus, “He has done all things well.” But the English word “well” doesn’t go far enough. This is the same word spoken by God back in Genesis chapter one as He surveyed all that He had created, and called it “very good.” It was beautiful, only to be decimated by sin and its wages. But in Jesus Christ God has come in human flesh to make all things new—to make deaf ears hear and cause mute tongues to sing for joy. Jesus has indeed done all things exceptionally well. His work is “very good,” beautiful and wonderful.

“Ephphatha. Be opened,” said the Savior. With that word Jesus said a mouthful. For Jesus came to do more than open the ears of one afflicted man. Jesus came to open the kingdom of heaven—and to do it for all believers—for sinners who could never make their way to heaven on their own. His Word alone would not be enough to open heaven for you. It would require His very life. The Savior who groaned as He healed one afflicted man, would groan again on a dark Friday afternoon, as He bore the curse of our sinful ears and sinful tongues. Nails and thorns and whips would apply the punishment to which He surrendered as your substitute. On that day He would be covered not only with blood, but with the spit of those who mocked Him. But from the cross of Christ on that dark day, one word still rings out: “Ephphatha, be opened.” The blood of Jesus still cries out on your behalf, “Let heaven be opened for every soul redeemed by Christ the crucified.” There at the cross God was reconciling the world to Himself in Christ, not counting your sins against you.

Today Jesus deals with you as He did the deaf and mute man. Here in the Divine Service Jesus takes you aside from the crowd. The forgiveness and faith He gives isn’t addressed “to whom it may concern,” but to you personally: “This is my body, given for you. This is my blood shed for you.” In Holy Baptism our Lord continues to carry out His grand openings. In that sacred splash, your ears were opened to hear of the Savior’ love, your tongue was loosened to sing His praises, your sins were washed away, your body became a temple of the Holy Spirit, and the gates of heaven were thrown wide open for you—as one redeemed by Christ the crucified.

We haven’t heard the last of this word, “ephphatha.” It echoes on until that glorious day when Christ shall call you from your grave. “Be opened,” He shall say again. And then, miracle of miracles, you and I will be gathered around the throne of God in robes washed white in the blood of the Lamb. And wonder of wonders, we poor sinners will hear Jesus declare that WE have done all things well—through faith in His perfect life and His blood-bought redemption. And then all of us, from the greatest to the least—those once called dyslexic, and autistic, and deaf and mute—all of them with all of us will join in singing the everlasting song, “Worthy is the Lamb who was slain.” He has indeed done all things well.

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

Soldiers of the Savior

In Nomine Iesu
Ephesians 6:10-20
September 2, 2018
Proper 17B

Dear saints of Our Savior~

If you’ve been paying attention for the past eight weeks, then you know that we’ve been reading our way through Paul’s letter to the Ephesians. Ephesians is a powerful book full of good news—that you were chosen in Christ before the foundation of the world to be adopted as God’s own child, that you have been saved by grace, through faith—and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast. Ephesians is a book that pulls no punches, reminding us that we are dead in sin—we are spiritual corpses—apart from Christ. Ephesians tells us how to live together in the unity of the Spirit, as children of the light, speaking the truth in love. All that, and so much more.

But now, today, we finally come to the word “finally.” We hear the final words from Paul to the congregation in Ephesus. This was a congregation dearly loved by Paul. Paul’s farewell to the elders from Ephesus in Acts 20 is profound and deeply moving. Decades later, in the book of Revelation, the church at Ephesus gets singled out as a doctrinally pure church whose love had grown cold. Loveless doctrinal purity is always a danger in the church. It’s a reminder that it’s possible to be right . . . but in all the wrong ways.

“Finally,” Paul concludes, “be strong in the Lord and in the strength of His might.” He doesn’t just say, “Be strong” or “Live strong.” Their own strength meant nothing. Your own strength means nothing. Be strong . . . in the Lord. Whatever the challenges you face, you don’t have to survive on your own strength. God’s power is made perfect in weakness—in the weakness of the cross and the

grave. Left to our own devices and ingenuity we’re doomed. It’s only in the strength of Jesus that we can “be strong,” and face our fears head on.

We need to be clothed, too—clothed as (of all things) soldiers of the Savior. When Paul wrote the letter to the Ephesians he was under arrest—under guard 24/7. It’s safe to conclude that there was an ever-present Roman soldier stationed nearby. Perhaps as Paul beheld that soldier’s uniform—through his Christ-centered vision—he saw you and me—baptized believers—dressed in the full armor of God, like soldiers of the Savior.

A soldier, first and foremost, needs to know and recognize the enemy. And so Paul makes that point clearly: “We do not wrestle,” he writes, “against flesh and blood, . . . but against the powers of this present darkness, and against the spiritual forces of evil. . .” Our fight is not against people—flesh and blood. Our enemies are not the atheists or the “freedom from religion” crowd or the Muslims or Planned Parenthood. Christ died for all people without exception. There is no one for whom Christ did not die. Our battle is ultimately with the powers of darkness, the devil and his demons. If you don’t know this—if you don’t know who the real enemy is—then you’re just a sitting duck—a big, fat target.

This is why you need the whole armor of God. We need all the protection we can get. I was sharing this passage about the armor of God with a member in the hospital last week. If you’ve ever been hospitalized, then you know about the standard-issue hospital gown. The typical hospital gown is designed to leave you as unsupported, exposed and as vulnerable as possible. Medical personnel need access to your body, and the hospital gown provides nearly unhindered access. What a privilege it was for me to remind this weak and vulnerable sister in Christ . . . that she was neither weak nor vulnerable—that she was strong in the Lord—that she was clothed in the full armor of God Himself.

Just what is this armor? As a soldier of the Savior, you’ve got the belt of truth around your waist. Truth may be in short supply these days, but truth is the foundation of our faith. God’s Word is truth. God’s people speak the truth . . . in love. You know and believe the truth—that your sins are forgiven in the death of Jesus, and you will live forever in His resurrection life. That’s the truth that enables you to stand your ground in this world of lies.

As a soldier of the Savior, you’ve got the breastplate of Jesus’ righteousness over your heart. It’s like a Kevlar, bullet-proof vest. In your baptism you were clothed with that righteousness of Christ. And listen carefully to what that means: Jesus kept the whole law as your substitute—every commandment. And that perfect life is now yours as a gift. He became your sin in death, so that in Him you might be the righteousness of God. That righteousness is your armor breastplate. No charge can stick to you. There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.

As a soldier of the Savior, your feet need to be ready to move. Soldiers don’t stand still; they march. Your shoes, Paul writes, are the gospel of peace. When we have good news we’re motivated to move; we want to tell others. The good news about Jesus was meant to be shared and spoken and preached and proclaimed and demonstrated in acts of mercy. In fact, the word “gospel” is a term that comes straight from the battlefield. When the fight was over and the battle won, they sent a runner to bring the good news—the gospel—back to the king. That’s how the marathon was invented. Some guy with a long Greek name ran 26.2 miles to tell the king the gospel, the good news of victory. And then he dropped dead. It’s not exactly a happy ending, but it does inspire thousands of people to go out and run marathons every year. (Runners are weird.)

Please note that this good news, Paul writes, is the gospel of peace. Soldiers of the Savior are not waging war (or jihad); we’re waging peace. There is now peace between God and man because of the God-Man who died and rose again. Our enemy is already defeated. The holy war was waged at Calvary, and was won when Jesus died. This morning’s opening hymn, “Onward Christian Soldiers,” is slightly off the mark. We’re not “marching as to war.” We’re on a peace march, telling the whole world that the fight is o’er, the battle won. Christ has conquered, and through faith in Him you have the victory.

Oh, and don’t forget your shield. Arrows hurt, especially the flaming kind. The Roman shield was made of leather and it could be soaked in water ahead of time to extinguish flaming arrows. Your shield is the shield of the faith. I say THE faith because I don’t merely mean the trust in your heart. I mean THE faith once delivered to the saints—the Christian faith—the doctrines and teachings of Christ. That’s what deflects the arrows of Satan.

That’s why Luther found such comfort in the Creed and had people pray the Creed, and why he himself always prayed it with the sick and troubled. When you are sick or weak or doubting, take up your shield, soaked in the water of your baptism, and confess those sturdy words that recall your baptism: “I believe in God the Father almighty.” Going into the world without the teachings and doctrines of THE faith is like going into battle without your shield. You don’t stand a chance. The same goes for the helmet of salvation upon your head.

And by all means, don’t forget your weapon—the soldier’s best friend. But because our battle is not against flesh and blood, our weapon is a spiritual one. The only weapon God puts in your hand is the sword of the Spirit, the Word of God. Nothing but the Word. That’s all we have to defend ourselves. That’s all we need. But a word to the wise: Be careful. Swords are dangerous. Make sure you know how to use your sword, the Word of God. Learn how to apply it and use it appropriately and draw from it life and salvation. How? Go to Sunday school. Attend Bible class. Dust off your small catechism.

Many years ago I was in a production of “Tom Jones,” and in one scene I and another fellow had a good, old-fashioned sword fight. That was one scene that required lots of practice and rehearsal. Forget the sequence of sword strikes, and you risk getting whacked or worse. The battles we wage with the Word of God aren’t pretend, but real. They have eternal consequences. The only way you’re going to get better at handling that sword is to study and apply your mind to the Word of God—and I’d be delighted to help you with that.

Well, there you have it, the whole armor of God—everything you need to withstand the powers of darkness. It’s not exactly the most fashionable and trendy clothing in this year’s fall collection, but only those wearing this attire will be left standing on the last day.

Paul’s final exhortation in Ephesians is that we pray—pray for each other. Pray for all the saints around the world, but especially those who are persecuted for Jesus’ sake. Use your Our Savior picture directory to pray for each person you see in that book. I wonder what might happen in a congregation that prayed intentionally for one another? And please pray for me, your pastor. Pray that I have the courage and the wisdom to apply God’s Word to the lives of those whom God has entrusted to my care.

Paul concludes his letter to the Ephesians on a note of peace and love, and I can’t improve upon his conclusion, so I’ll make it my own: “Peace be to you, and love with faith, from God the Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Grace be with all who love our Lord Jesus Christ with love incorruptible.”

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