Praying Shamelessly

Jesu Juva
St. Luke 11:1-13
July 28, 2019
Proper 12C

Dear Saints of Our Savior~

Prayer is the theme of the day. Abraham prayed for sinful Sodom and Gomorrah. Jesus taught His disciples to pray by giving them the very words and petitions they might use—what we call the “Lord’s Prayer.” And then Jesus told a simple parable on prayer—a parable

designed to encourage us to speak to the Father, with faith in the Son, in the power of the Holy Spirit.

But lurking behind whatever pious platitudes we might offer concerning prayer is this inconvenient truth: Prayer isn’t natural. Prayer is basic to the Christian life. Prayer is fundamental and foundational. Prayer is pleasing to God and beneficial for all His children. But prayer isn’t natural. Natural-born sinners simply don’t know how to pray. We can’t pray any more “naturally” than we can just naturally speak Portuguese.

We must be taught to pray. That was the conclusion reached by Jesus’ own disciples in today’s holy gospel. The human beings who were closest to Jesus—the men who listened to the Lord’s preaching and teaching on a daily basis—AND who overheard the Savior’s prayers just as often—they quickly recognized how little they knew about prayer—that praying properly was a mystery to them: Lord, teach us to pray as John taught his disciples. If prayer left Jesus’ own disciples scratching their heads, then how much more so must we admit that it doesn’t come naturally for us? We, too, must be taught to pray.

Prayer isn’t an exclusively Christian activity. Pagans and other religions have their so-called “prayers,” as well. Even though, in the end, prayers offered up apart from faith in Jesus are kind of like those North Korean missiles that get launched every so often, only to fall right back down to earth. And because so many people have hopped on the prayer bandwagon, it’s led to a lot of misinformation about prayer—that God hears and answers prayers based upon the level of sincerity or eloquence or emotion. But that’s not why God hears and answers prayer.

Jesus delivers a brief prayer parable to explain what is at the heart of prayer: “Which of you who has a friend,” Jesus asks, “will go to him at midnight and say to him, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves [of bread], for a friend of mine has just arrived, and I have nothing to set before him.’” Meanwhile, from the other side of the door he hears this: “Do not bother me; the door is now shut, and my children are with me in bed. I cannot get up and give you anything!”

Now, from what you’ve heard so far, which of these two neighbors is normal, and which one is nuts? Which man seems reasonable and rational, and which one is really pushing the limits on normal neighborly behavior? Now, maybe I’m just getting old, but I totally sympathize with the man who’s in bed at midnight (which is where you’re supposed to be at midnight). Who goes knocking on a neighbor’s door at midnight for three loaves of bread? In Whitefish Bay that kind of behavior leads to your invitation to the neighborhood block party getting “lost in the mail.”

But Whitefish Bay culture and the culture of the Middle East are very different. To Middle Eastern ears, the crazy scoundrel of the parable isn’t the midnight-knocker, but the lazy bread-hoarder. The rules of hospitality in that culture meant that you had to provide your guests with food and drink and shelter regardless of what time they arrived. They weren’t just your guests, but guests of the entire village—which is why it was a perfectly sane and rational thing to knock on a neighbor’s door at midnight. The bad guy in the parable is, unfortunately for me, the one who’s too lazy to get out of bed and share his bread.

In this parable it’s the one who is asking, seeking, and knocking who ends up being the “hero” of the story. And they key to this heroic quest for bread is found in one word: impudence. I tell you, though he will not get up and give him anything because he is his friend, yet because of his impudence he will rise and give him whatever he needs. What is impudence, you ask? The lexicon says: a lack of sensitivity to what is proper, carelessness about the good opinion of others, ignoring common convention, disregard for proper decorum, and shamelessness. Prayer is always an act of shamelessness.

And you can’t have shamelessness apart from faith. Faith and shamelessness go together. Faith and shamelessness find perfect expression in the prayers that you pray. It takes faith to believe, first of all, that there is a God on the receiving end of your prayers. And it also requires a rather high degree of shamelessness to assume that this God has time and energy to hear and respond to our little issues (like three loaves of bread at midnight).

This is such a peculiar parable! Jesus wants you to see yourself as the shameless neighbor who knocks at midnight. And Jesus depicts His Father as the grumpy old man who, at first, won’t get out of his warm bed to help a neighbor in need. I tell you, though he will not get up and give him anything because he is his friend, yet because of his impudence (shamelessness), he will rise and give him whatever he needs. God will give you whatever you need—not because He likes you as a friend—but because of the sheer shamelessness of your faith—faith that knocks at midnight, faith that cares not about the opinion of others, faith that lacks sensitivity to what is proper, faith that ignores common convention, faith that sets aside all decorum and protocol, faith that shamelessly goes to the Father, in the name of the Son, in the power of the Spirit.

But be warned: Satan will do all he can to stop it. The devil exploits every angle possible to silence your prayers and to destroy your faith. And one of his most effective techniques for silencing the prayers of sinners is to say, “Shame—shame on you. Who do you think you are? With a track record of transgressions like yours, you’d best keep quiet. Unfold your hands. Get up off your knees. Shut your mouth. Your requests don’t have a leg to stand on. You deserve nothing from God except silence. Don’t ask. Don’t seek. Don’t knock. Don’t waste your time,” declares the evil one.

When that voice threatens to shut you up, remember the man in this little prayer parable—the impudent man, the shameless man who would not be silent. For in Jesus Christ, you are that man. Jesus Christ has taken away your shame and guilt. Your sin and shame were heaped upon Jesus. For your sin and shame He was crucified, died, and was buried. And you were buried with Him, in baptism. And you who were dead in trespasses, God made alive together with Jesus. He has forgiven every trespass—cancelling the record of your debt. In baptism, you have been joined to Jesus. And, joined to Jesus, you can live and breathe in freedom and forgiveness—with no shame and no guilt. As it says in the Psalms: Those who look to him are radiant, their faces are never covered with shame.

You can shamelessly open your mouth every day and every hour in prayer. You can find mercy; just ask. You can find help; just seek. You can find peace; just knock. When it’s midnight and you’re not asleep because some grief or some burden has robbed you of peace, there’s a neighbor who will hear you and help you. Or when it’s noon and you are sinking beneath a load of stress at work or school, there’s a neighbor—there’s a friend—who will hear you and help you. And when the doctor’s news is dire and the test results are all bad—there’s a neighbor—a friend—who will hear you and help you. What a neighbor—what a friend—we have in Jesus. Every time we conclude our prayers “in Jesus’ name,” it’s like saying, “That Jesus, yeah, He’s a friend of mine. In fact, we’re family.” Go ahead and shamelessly drop His name in every prayer you offer.

So what are we waiting for? Let’s keep on asking, seeking, and knocking. Jesus Himself joins with you in your praying. With Jesus you never knock alone. In Jesus you can present your requests to God without shame or guilt. In Jesus you have a friend—all your sins and griefs to bear. What a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer.

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

One Necessary Thing

Jesu Juva
St. Luke 10:38-42
July 21, 2019
Proper 11C

Dear Saints of Our Savior~

A few days ago some folks in Fox Point had a very famous visitor. The president of the United States came calling—just up the road a bit. Now, typically, presidents go where the people are. Crowds and publicity are the name of the game. But crowds of people in Fox Point are kind of hard to come by. There’s the Fox Point pool and the Fox Point farmers’ market; but the president didn’t stop there. No, he went to somebody’s home—to a private residence.

Most of us can only imagine what it would be like to host the president of the United States in our homes. Think of the preparations, the parking, the catering, the decorating—not to mention the security and the invasion of privacy that such a visit would require. I can safely say that our family would not be up to the task of hosting such a VIP.

I suppose that when Mary and Martha hosted Jesus in their home, they had no idea that for the next two thousand years people would be reading about that visit—and preaching about that visit. The scene that unfolded in their living room would live on—in infamy—in places like, well, Fox Point—places that wouldn’t even appear on the map for centuries.

Mary and Martha were sisters; but, like a lot of sisters, they couldn’t have been more different. Martha was hard-working,

practical, task-oriented and, perhaps, just a little bit uptight. Mary was more of a free spirit—a “big picture” thinker with the ability to focus on the important things of life.

When Jesus rang the doorbell, the differences between the sisters were magnified. Martha was distracted by all the preparations. The original Greek text literally indicates that Martha was dragged around with much service. She lost control—what with all the pots to stir, sauces to make, salads to dress, wine to uncork, bread to warm. Her sister, Mary, meanwhile, just sat there, passively, at the Savior’s feet, listening to every Word that proceeded from the mouth of the Lord. His Word was a lamp to her feet and a light to her path. When Martha has her all-too-predictable meltdown, Jesus gently reminds the sisters that only “one thing is necessary,” and that Mary had made the better choice.

Now, right about here is where some less-experienced preachers would insert a paragraph telling you to be like Mary—and not to be like Martha. But I won’t make that mistake. After all, we need our share of Marthas, don’t we? If it weren’t for all the Marthas, then the work would never get done. We need more Marthas who aren’t afraid to roll up their sleeves and get their hands dirty. Sure, you could be like Mary. You could sit around and read the Bible and sing hymns and think pious thoughts all day. But someone has to take out the trash. Someone has to pay the bills, walk the dog, buy the groceries, and get the oil changed. Those works are important too. Those works, done in faith, are good works in God’s sight.

Every day you and I are called to do what Martha was doing—to serve others in the work of our God-given vocations and callings. We provide for others in the name of Jesus Christ. And that loving service—no matter how hum-drum, routine, and ordinary—is God-pleasing. So let’s set the record straight: It wasn’t Martha’s work or her serving that bothered Jesus. It was her attitude: Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things.

Couldn’t Jesus say the same thing to most of us here this morning? That we are anxious and troubled about a whole host of things? It’s what tends to happen when you—or someone you love—has a chronic illness, or when members of your own family just walk away from the Christian faith. It’s what happens when the church is shrinking and persecution is growing. It’s what happens when our homes become battlegrounds instead of peaceful places. It’s what happens as stressful days and stressful nights pile up, one after another. It’s true. Like Martha, we are anxious and troubled about many things.

And this is where Mary helps us. This is why Jesus points us to Mary. Mary shows us that, before we can faithfully serve others, we need to be served by Jesus with His Word and promises. Before we can do the cleaning and the washing, we need to be washed in Holy Baptism and cleansed with Holy Absolution. Before we can feed others, we need to be fed with our Lord’s most holy body and blood for the forgiveness of sins. Before we roll up our sleeves and get busy, we need to be still and listen to what God is telling us in His Holy Word. Just like Mary did.

When it comes to Martha, you should share her work ethic, but not her attitude. People with that attitude only tend to become more anxious and more troubled as time goes by. They revel in the role of the poor martyr who has to do it all without the help of anyone else. How different the day of Jesus’ visit would have been if Martha had simply asked her sister to set the table, instead of going to Jesus with her complaint. Did you notice that? Martha never asked for help. Rather than ask for what she needed, she opted for bitterness and recruited Jesus set her sister straight.

But Jesus didn’t come to play the referee . . . or the scorekeeper; He came to be our sacrifice for sin. Jesus came to pay the penalty for our bitterness and faithlessness, for our anxiety and worry and idolatry. That penalty was received by Jesus in the form of nails, thorns, whips—as He was fastened to a Roman tool of torture. No one else can do for you what He has done. That’s why His Word is the one thing we need above all else. That’s why you are here this morning. That’s why Mary planted herself at the Savior’s feet and listened, even as other tasks went undone. For Mary and for us the Word of Jesus is a lamp to our feet and a light to our path.

You are here this morning to do what Mary did—to receive. God Himself has gathered you here. Yes, you got up and drove here. But in reality the Holy Spirit has gathered you and drawn you to feet of Jesus—to be given to. To worship is to sit with Mary, to rest in Jesus, to let His Word have its way with you. Worship is not work, but rest. In worship we find rest from all the burdens that trouble us. Here we find rest in the forgiveness of our sins, in release from our guilt, in forgetting about the demands and expectations that others place upon us. Only God’s expectations really matter in the end; and Jesus Christ has met all of those expectations on your behalf in His perfect life, sacrificial death, and glorious resurrection.

Nowhere does Jesus promise that life won’t be chaotic and stressful—or that VIPs won’t be ringing your doorbell at some point. But in the midst of it all, Jesus does promise peace—peace for you in your troubled life. That peace was established at the cross—signed, sealed and delivered in the blood of Christ—peace that will one day be fully experienced in the life of the world to come. This is the place where that peace becomes your personal possession, in the preaching and proclamation of His Word and through the bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood. This is the place where you can sit at the Savior’s feet and receive the good portion which will not be taken away from you.

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

Neighborly Love

Jesu Juva
St. Luke 10:25-37
July 14, 2019
Proper 10C

Dear Saints of Our Savior~

Everyone knows the importance of being a good neighbor. And that’s especially true in neighborhoods like this one, where there’s just a narrow driveway that separates one house from the next. During the summertime when windows are open, it’s easy to overhear what’s going on next door—and just as easy to be overheard. During the wintertime, when you have to clear the snow from that long narrow driveway, it’s neighborly not to rev-up the snow blower too early in the morning, and equally important not to blow the snow onto your

neighbor’s house and windows. One positive aspect to living in such close quarters is that if you don’t like what’s on television at your house, you can just look out the window and watch whatever your neighbors are watching. They won’t mind. Whatever the season, neighbors need to be good neighbors in a neighborhood like this.

The parable of the Good Samaritan all hinges on the question, “Who is my neighbor?” And the Biblical definition of “neighbor” is much more inclusive than what we normally think of around here. Who is my neighbor? Just who is it that I’m supposed to love as much as I love myself? But just asking the question implies that there are some people who are not my neighbor. And if some people are not my neighbor, well, then, I can safely go through each day loving who I want to love, while simply bypassing those who don’t fit my limited, segregated, restricted definition of “neighbor.” You see, when we ask the question, “Who is my neighbor?” we’ve got all the veto power. We can define who our neighbors are just narrowly enough to make ourselves comfortable.

But Jesus turned that lawyerly question on its head in the parable of the Good Samaritan. A certain man was on his way down from Jerusalem to Jericho. And it was, in fact, a long way down to Jericho. The road down to Jericho twists and turns and drops nearly three thousand feet in elevation in just 17 miles. That road afforded bandits and robbers any number of good hiding spots from which to surprise their victims. The man in the parable was set upon by thugs—was stripped, beaten, robbed, and left half-dead.

Well, along came a priest—a card-carrying member of the clergy. And those listening to the parable must have heard this as the best of news. Admit it. If you were beaten up and laying half dead out here on Santa Monica Blvd., and I—your pastor—came walking along, you would view that as a positive development, right? It’s my job to be compassionate. But imagine if I crossed over to the other side of the road purposely to avoid you. That’s what the priest in the parable did. He may have wanted to help; there’s nothing that says he didn’t. But according to the Law of Moses, if that priest touched something dead then he himself would become unclean and unfit to carry out his priestly duties. He’d have a lengthy purification process to undergo, an expensive sacrifice to offer, and a lot of explaining to do.

Later a Levite came walking along. Levites were priestly assistants, kind of like elders or deacons. The same Law of Moses applied to him and, like the priest, he made a hasty detour to the other side of the road. Both men could argue that they had kept the law. Both men could justify their actions with a pious-sounding rationale. But . . . neither man loved his neighbor as himself.

Both the priest and the Levite made a conscious decision to look the other way. They made a detour so as not to see the half-dead man—so that they didn’t have to look at the poor guy. Because do you know what might have happened if they had stopped and looked at the beaten, bloody man? All of their excuses might have evaporated. You see, being a good neighbor necessarily involves looking—not looking the other way, but—seeing my neighbor’s suffering and misery. Only after we look can we love. Only after we open our eyes can we open our hands and hearts to do something about the suffering we see.

Beloved in the Lord, don’t look the other way. Don’t do the safe, convenient thing and look the other way when a neighbor is suffering. Open your eyes instead. On Judgment Day Jesus will say to those on His left, “It was me. I was the one that you met in the naked, the hungry, the sick, the imprisoned; and you did not help me.” The response of the accused is not surprising. Do you remember what they say? “Lord, when did we see You? When did we see you hungry, thirsty, naked or sick?” They didn’t see it because they didn’t want to see it—because they looked the other way—because they passed by on the other side.

Who is your neighbor? Who needs you to open your eyes and look? Who is it that you can see lying on the roadside of life, battered and beaten down, hurting and helpless? Is it a frail, elderly family member? A friend recently divorced? Someone who struggles with the stigma of mental illness? The poor widow who lives alone in your neighborhood? Parents of a special needs child? Someone you’re sharing a pew with this morning? All we have to do is open our eyes and look.

The lawyer’s question was the wrong question. Asking “Who is my neighbor?” allows us to go through life with blinders on—unburdened and uninterrupted—helping others when it suits our schedule and when we can get some recognition for our service. The far better question to ask is this: To whom am I a neighbor? Who’s right there lying in my path beaten and bruised? Who is it that needs my neighborly attention? Who is it that needs me to be a neighbor?

That was the approach taken by the Samaritan in the parable. The Jews despised their Samaritan neighbors. Samaritans were considered half-breeds and heretics. They were impure both in race and in religion. When Jesus’ listeners heard that a Samaritan was coming, they probably suspected that this thug would finish off what the robbers had left undone. But they couldn’t have been more wrong.

The compassion of the Samaritan ran so deep that he didn’t hesitate to stop, despite the danger. The Samaritan wasn’t a priest or a pastor of any sort—just an ordinary guy doing the right thing. He did not look the other way, but climbed right down into the ditch with the beaten, bloody man. He bandaged his wounds, put him on his donkey, took him to an inn and spent the night taking care of him. The next day he left two day's wages with the innkeeper and ran a tab for the rest of the expenses.

The Samaritan undoubtedly had people to see, places to go, appointments to keep. But when you’ve got your eyes of compassion open, you have to expect interruptions. You have to be ready to improvise. It’s Murphy’s Law that some poor, wounded, needy neighbor is bound to show up or call right about the time we’re running out the door—right about the time we’re sitting down for dinner—right about the time we’re settling in for a good night’s sleep—right when it seems that life can’t get any more hectic. There’s never, ever a convenient time to be a neighbor to someone in need. And most of the time we’re not—not very neighborly or compassionate.

But in Jesus you have a neighbor who’s even better than the good Samaritan. Jesus Christ, the Son of God, took on human flesh and became your neighbor. He has compassion on you and He has joined you and me in the ditch of death. God sent His Son to be our Good Samaritan neighbor. Jesus loved God and loved a world full of neighbors so purely and perfectly that no one is excluded. He binds up your wounds with the wounds He endured on the cross. He pours the healing balm of holy Baptism on you. He brings you here to His church, which is essentially a hospice for sinners justified by Jesus. He forgives your sins and pays your debt in full. He serves you the bread of His body and the wine of His blood for nourishment, strength, healing and forgiveness.

Then the day will come when these half-dead bodies of ours will die altogether. The people and places and noises of this life will be silenced. But right then—at that very moment—Jesus Christ will be your neighbor—the neighbor who will not forsake you—the neighbor who will never look the other way and who will not pass you by when you need Him most. Jesus has already faced that robber called death, so that He can walk with you through that last bitter stretch—to the life of the world to come.

Already here and now—today—when you’re suffering in a way that others don’t understand—when loneliness or anxiety or depression seems to have robbed your life of joy and meaning—there’s still One who is your neighbor, right by your side. Because on the cross Jesus suffered in the dark dungeon of ultimate loneliness. Already here and now—today—as you stand all alone, quivering under the awful guilt of your sins, which nobody else even suspects, which would cause your friends to desert you if they found out, here too Jesus is the neighbor who stands with you—who cleanses you with baptismal water, who forgives and forgets, who feeds you with the healing medicine of His body and blood.

The question is not, “Who is my neighbor?” The question is, “To whom am I a neighbor? Who needs me?” That’s the question for all of us who follow in the footsteps of the Good Samaritan. This is the Christian life—admittedly easier to preach about than to do, and never, ever done without the Lord’s help.

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

Harvest Time

Jesu Juva
St. Luke 10:1-20
July 7, 2019
Proper 9C

Dear Saints of Our Savior~

Right now in my home state of Kansas, it’s all about the harvest. There are places in central and western Kansas right now where golden fields of wheat stretch out as far as the eye can see—from one horizon to the other. Right now all the talk in all the corner cafes

is about bushels per acre and the price per bushel. It’s harvest time. Family and friends come home to help. Everything else is secondary—everything else can wait—while there are amber waves of grain just waiting for the harvest.

In today’s holy gospel Jesus was concerned about a different kind of harvest—a harvest not of grain—but of men and women who believe the good news that the kingdom of God has come near in the person of Jesus Christ. And still today in the church of Jesus Christ, it’s all about the harvest. Everything else is secondary compared to the life-changing, life-giving good news that Jesus Christ has come into the world to save sinners—that on the day of resurrection the earth will yield up her dead, some to everlasting life and others to everlasting punishment. The Lord Jesus is all about this harvest.

Perhaps what’s most surprising about this harvest is that Jesus enlists the help of others. Jesus authorizes and deputizes—Jesus calls and sends—men to help carry out this holy harvest. He enlists the labors of ordinary men. They have a hand (and a voice) in this harvest. Today’s Holy Gospel—the sending out of the seventy-two—serves as a model—a preview—of the calling and sending of men for the work of the holy ministry—for the work of the harvest which continues to this day.

Why seventy-two? Why not twelve or a hundred forty-four? This is probably a symbolic move by Jesus. Seventy-two was the total number of nations listed in Genesis after the flood. It’s a number that corresponds to all nations and all peoples. Jesus was on His way to Jerusalem to suffer and die, not just for one nation or for one people, but for the sins of the whole wide world. His ultimate aim is to make disciples of all nations, baptizing them and teaching them to observe all that He has commanded.

As Jesus surveyed the landscape into which He was sending the seventy-two, He saw what we cannot always see--what a lot of farmers in Kansas are seeing right now: a plentiful harvest, but a scarcity of workers. There’s not enough hours in the day—not enough manpower—to take the good news of the gospel to all the people and places where it needs to be heard. I’m always a little surprised at what Jesus says to do when the church’s harvest is too much to handle: Pray. Pray earnestly to the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into His harvest. Jesus’ grand plan to procure a harvest begins with prayer. Pray for more pastors. Pray for more missionaries. Or, for that matter, pray for someone specifically whom you know to be outside the church and without faith—that the Holy Spirit would make that outsider and insider, filled with faith and ready for the harvest. Most of you are not pastors or missionaries, but you can all pray. As we will sing in just a few minutes: With your prayers and with your bounties You can do what God commands; You can be like faithful Aaron, Holding up the prophet’s hands.

Now, as you pray for more pastors and missionaries, Jesus wants you to realize also the danger involved in this kingdom work. Jesus told the seventy-two, “Behold, I am sending you out as lambs among wolves.” The people Jesus calls and sends to labor on the harvest are lambs. Pastors, particularly, are lambs—lambs who serve in the stead and by the command of the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.

It sounds kind of nice to be compared to a lamb—until you realize that lambs among wolves are tasty treats and delicious appetizers. Jesus sends us out as wolf food—clergy-flavored kibble. Where two or three lambs are gathered together, there you have a smorgasbord for wolves. It’s a humbling reminder that kingdom work and the harvest of souls isn’t so much about victory and success, as it is about patience, and cross-bearing, and remembering that His grace is sufficient—that His power is made perfect in our weakness.

The message Jesus tells His workers to speak is simple: Peace be to this house. But this simple message means much more than just, “Have a nice day.” The peace proclaimed by those sent by the Lord is the peace of Jesus—peace that ultimately flows from the cross of Jesus. It’s a peace that surpasses our understanding. It’s the peace that comes from knowing the truth about ourselves . . . and better by far, the truth about Jesus. The truth about ourselves is grim. Our sin has earned death and condemnation for us. The evil things we aim to avoid are the very things we keep on doing; and the good we aim to achieve never quite gets done. But a gracious Lord has lifted us up. In Jesus Christ the kingdom of God has come near to you. In His crucified body your sins—all of them—have been dealt with and forgiven. Now nothing can separate you from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. You have the peace of knowing that your name is written in heaven.

There’s also a warning here for all of us. The peace of Jesus that flows from the cross is rejectable. Baptized Christians can reject the faith and walk away from it. Jesus singles out several cities for condemnation in today’s gospel. The warning for us is that the cities that had the most Jesus—the cities where Jesus carried out the bulk of His ministry—those cities received the greatest condemnation from Jesus. In other words, to whom much is given, much is also expected. That’s us! We are those to whom our gracious Lord has given much. And from us, much is expected.

Where can we turn for forgiveness? Where can we look for the faith and hope we lack? Where is a dependable source of strength for us? Jesus doesn’t leave us guessing. Jesus told the seventy-two: The one who hears you hears me. Jesus told the ones He sent out like lambs among wolves: The one who hears you hears me. If you’re searching for the voice of God in your dreams or in your feelings or in your intuition, you’re looking and listening in the wrong places. Listen instead to the ones Jesus sends. Listen to your pastors. Hear them; hear Jesus. When your pastors absolve your sins this is just as valid and certain . . . as if Christ our Lord dealt with us Himself. When your pastors proclaim that the bread is the body of Christ and the wine is the blood of Christ, hear those words with complete confidence. Hear them; hear Jesus. And in that holy hearing you are being ripened and prepared for the final harvest, and for the life of the world to come.

There’s a happy ending to the sending of the seventy-two. They returned from their mission with joy. Jesus had given them success. They found that in the name of Jesus, even the demons had to retreat. And Jesus declared that He saw Satan fall like lightning. At the sending of the seventy-two, Satan suffered a setback. He took a tumble. Satan is a threat, to be sure. But he’s losing. His time is short. He’s judged; the deed is done. Here through word and sacrament the kingdom of the Christ is advancing; the harvest is growing and ripening. But our greatest joy is that our names are written in heaven. This is why God sent His Son into the world—that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life. The harvest is coming. And everything else is secondary.

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