Reformation Day Every Day

Jesu Juva

St. John 8:31-36                                                            

 October 25, 2020

Reformation Sunday                                   

 Dear saints of our Savior~

          Back when I was a seminary student in St. Louis, I spent one summer working for the grounds crew.  If you’ve been there, you know that the seminary property is filled with beautifully maintained trees, shrubs and flower beds.  One day the supervisor sent a few of us out with chainsaws.  Our orders were to cut down some overgrown juniper bushes and trim off a few low-hanging tree branches.  One of my fellow students got a little carried away.  Apparently, the power of the chain saw went to his head because, by the time the lunch hour rolled around, this guy had practically deforested the entire campus.  Everywhere he looked, he saw something that needed cutting.  He just couldn’t stop.  To this day, the old timers still refer to it as “The Seminary Chain Saw Massacre.”

          I have no proof, but I suspect that the big statue of Martin Luther on the seminary campus just might have shed a few tears that day.  For the Reformation that Luther began 503 years ago this week was always intended to be limited, focused, and conservative—a reformation, not a revolution.  Luther wanted to conserve what was good in the church and to fix what was bad.  Luther was

working with a scalpel, not a chainsaw.  He didn’t want to slash and burn, but only to prune and trim away those teachings that were impure and un-Biblical.  He didn’t want to split the church or even start a “new” church.  He merely wanted to start a debate about reform.  So he printed up 95 theses, posted them on the doors of the castle church in Wittenberg, and so began what we now call “the Reformation.”

          And in many ways the Reformation continues to this day.  The church of Jesus Christ is always in need of reform.  In the church it’s never a “once and done” deal where we can finally sit back on our laurels and say, “All done.  Now we can just coast along until Judgment Day.”  Unfortunately, not so.  In the church there is always error, always drift, always a little undercurrent or wind that blows the church slightly off course.  Though with a scornful wonder The world sees her oppressed, By schisms rent asunder, By heresies distressed.

          And what’s true for the church is also true for each of the church’s members—for you and me.  Every baptized child of God is always in need of reformation.  Not a one of us can just coast our way into heaven.  You can’t put your faith life on automatic pilot.  There’s no “once saved always saved.”  There’s no “once confirmed always a Lutheran.”  Your baptism is not a magical ticket to heaven which allows you to live life by your own rules.  Your baptism is power—power for daily living in Christ and daily dying to sin and error.  Your baptism means that reformation day for you is every day.  Every day is a day of repentance.  Every day is a day of battle against the world, the devil, and your own sinful flesh.  For the Christian, every day is Reformation Day.

          In today’s Holy Gospel, many of the Jews had begun to believe in Jesus; but many of those who had believed were just as quickly turning away from Jesus.  They used to believe in Jesus; but not anymore.  God’s gift of faith in Christ can be lost.  Those who once confessed “Jesus is Lord,” can also turn their backs on Jesus and reject the gift of faith.  It wasn’t that God failed them.  It wasn’t that the preaching of Jesus lost its power and luster.  Instead, Jesus’ listeners stopped listening.  They refused.  They turned from the Word.  And without the Word of God, faith dies.

          There’s a warning here for us, to be sure.  Separate yourself from the preaching and proclamation of God’s Word, and you’ll starve yourself right out of the faith.  Let the dust start to collect on your Bible, and then watch your faith weaken, wither, and die.  The Word of God is what fuels the fire of faith.  Turn from the Word—stop listening to the Word—refuse to let the Word have its way with you—and the flame of faith burns out faster than that tiny, little candle inside your jack-o-lantern. 

          Of course, no child of God wakes up one morning and simply decides to disconnect from the Word.  It happens gradually, slowly, imperceptibly.  It may start with a Sunday morning sporting event.  It may start because of a conflict with another church member.  It may start with a move away from home to college.  It may start because of a pandemic.  People begin to wander away from God’s Word in these ways all the time; and with each step away from the Word, faith is further weakened and the distance from the Savior grows.

          Lest there be any doubt about this, Jesus makes this connection crystal clear:  If you abide in my Word,” He says, “you are truly my disciples.  Being a disciple of Jesus isn’t like being a member of a club or a union or a political party.  We can name and claim for ourselves nearly any affiliation we want.  We can call ourselves Christians or even Lutherans.  But to be a disciple—to be a disciple of Jesus is to abide in the Word of Jesus—that is, to be connected to Jesus by holding His Word sacred and gladly hearing and learning it, and allowing those words to have their way with you.  Faith that’s cut off from the Word is like a severed vine.  It will produce no fruit, and will eventually wither and die.

          But for those disciples who abide in the Word of Jesus, there is a wonderful promise:  You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.  Contrary to what you hear these days, there is such a thing as truth—absolute truth that holds true and applies to all people.  There is truth and there is error.  There is right and there is wrong.  There is good and there is evil.  And it is God who determines which is which. 

          The truth is a good thing, but sometimes painful.  The truth that Jesus preached is that we are all sinners.  And by “sinners” Jesus didn’t mean that we occasionally do bad things or say bad words.  It goes much deeper.  Jesus declared that we are all slaves to sin.  The good things that we want to do we cannot do.  And the bad things we hope to avoid doing—well, those are the very things we end up doing.  We are born into this world as slaves—captive to sin and death.  Worst of all, we can’t change that.  We’re stuck.  And sadly, we need a lot more than just a little reforming.  Some nipping and tucking and pruning and trimming and sculpting isn’t enough to free us from our slavery to sin.

          But Jesus says, If the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.  Only the Son can free slaves like us.  And so God sent His Son, Jesus, into this world full of slaves.  The Son stood shoulder-to-shoulder with slaves like us.  The Son of God paid the price to make you free—not with gold or silver, but with His holy, precious blood and His innocent suffering and death.  On Good Friday, the Son of God became the slave of all.  He did this so that slaves like us might become sons—sons and daughters of God.  And if the Son of God sets you free, then you are free indeed—forgiven indeed.

          That freedom is what Martin Luther discovered when He looked at the cross of Jesus and, for the first time in his life, saw mercy and love and undeserved kindness.  Luther re-discovered the blessed exchange—the sweet swap—which is the beating heart of the faith we confess.  Jesus takes our sin and, in exchange, gives us His righteousness as a free gift through faith in Him.  He who knew no sin became sin for us, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God.

          You need to remember this on those days when you feel like a slave to sin.  That’s no longer who you are!  You need to remember this when you’ve lived more like the devil’s child than like a child of God.  That’s not who you are!  When you are weak, His grace is strong.  When you are tempted, He will provide a way out.  When your sin and guilt threaten to crush you, He can carry it all away in the cleansing words of absolution. 

          Abide in the Word, and you have life and forgiveness.  Abide in the Word, and you are a disciple of Jesus.  Abide in the Word, and you are free indeed.  This is the honest-to-God truth.  The death and resurrection of Jesus means that you are free—free from the condemnation of your sin, free from the pain of the past, and free from worry about tomorrow.  In Jesus, every day is a new day of reformation—a day to begin anew in the love and life of our Savior. 

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

 

Seeking Saving, Sending

 

Jesu Juva

St. Luke 10:1-9                                                                 

October 18, 2020

St. Luke, Evangelist                

 Dear saints of our Savior~

          A quick check of the calendar reveals that Christmas is only about two months away.  If you’re one of those people who just can’t wait to unpack your Nativity scene with the holy family, the shepherds, the stable, and the angel—or if you find it heartwarming to hear a group of little children singing, “Away in a manger,”—or if you yourself become a vocal virtuoso while singing Gloria in Excelsis Deo or Hark! The herald angels sing—then let’s join the holy Church throughout the world today in giving thanks to God for the man who made all that possible: Saint Luke, the Evangelist.

          The Holy Spirit inspired Saint Luke to write one third of the entire New Testament, including his detailed account of the Nativity of our Lord.  It is

exclusively in the Gospel according to St. Luke that we hear angels singing, “Glory to God in the highest and peace on earth good will to men.”  It’s only from Luke’s pen that we know about the shepherds, the manger, the inn, and that Quirinius was governor of Syria when Jesus was born.  Luke alone gives us Mary’s Magnificat and Simeon’s Song about departing in peace.  Christmas would be quite different—in fact, the entire Christian faith would be poor and impoverished—without the “good news” written down by the historian—the physician—the disciple—the author—the Evangelist named Luke.

          If you study up on Luke’s gospel, you’ll discover a consensus concerning the gospel’s main theme.  That theme was spoken by Jesus at the home of Zacchaeus the tax collector:  The Son of Man came to seek and to save what was lost” (Luke 19:10).  Seeking and saving the lost—that’s the beating heart of the good news according to St. Luke.  Luke makes clear that’s why Jesus was born in Bethlehem—that’s why angels sang at His birth.  That’s why Jesus was crucified, died and was buried—why He rose again on the third day—why He ascended to the Father’s right hand.  Jesus came to seek and to save sinners.

          That seeking and saving continue today.  You and I are proof of it.  For wherever there are sinners—wherever there are sheep without a shepherd—wherever there are prodigal sons and daughters—there you can be sure that Jesus is seeking, Jesus is saving.

          But today’s Holy Gospel reminds us that, before there can be a seeking and saving, there has got to be a sending.  Sinners aren’t able to stumble and grope their way to God by their own reason or strength.  Someone has to be sent to them.  There must be a sending of men to preach and proclaim the good news about Jesus.  All Scripture is breathed-out by God and is useful.  But all Scripture must also be preached and applied to the hearts of men and women everywhere.  This is why the Savior who seeks and saves the lost is also in the sending business—sending pastors and preachers to proclaim:  The kingdom of God has come near to you.

          About this time every year I remember how the Lord sent me—how He sent me to you, here at Our Savior.  For it was right around Columbus Day that I accepted the call and came here to visit with my family for the first time.  Fall colors were blazing.  Leaves were falling like big, colorful snowflakes as we walked down the block to Richards school to get our kindergartener and our 1^st grader enrolled.  It was exciting and scary and overwhelming.  But in, with, and under all that, the Lord Jesus was sending—sending me to you, so that His work of seeking and saving the lost might continue in this place.

          When Jesus sent out the seventy-two, He told them, “I am sending you out as lambs in the midst of wolves.  You have to wonder what the seventy-two thought when they heard that.  Note the danger.  For we all know what can happen to lambs among wolves.  And Jesus sends them out practically empty-handed—no moneybag, no knapsack, no sandals, no wolf repellent, nothing.  Like lambs among wolves—like kibble for carnivores.

          But because the wolves will be watching those sent by the Lord, He sends them out two by two.  There’s some safety and security in numbers.  That’s why you shouldn’t be a solitary Christian.  Never separate yourself from the Communion of saints.  Believers who think they can get by on their own—privately, apart from the church—are like a lone lamb.  That’s what the wolves look for.  You don’t have to watch too many nature shows to know what the outcome will be for the defenseless, solitary, little lamb.  That’s why in His sending of the seventy-two, Jesus sends them in a fellowship, a team, a communion with one another.  That’s why He’s called you into this congregation.

          St. Luke tells us that when Jesus was born, the angels sang about peace—peace on earth, good will to men.  That’s also the message Jesus gave to the seventy-two to proclaim:  Whatever house you enter, first say, “Peace be to this house.”  These sent-ones are ambassadors of the Prince of Peace.  This is so much more than just a fond wish or a sappy Hallmark greeting.  This peace comes from the cross of the Crucified One, a peace the world cannot give—resurrection peace—a peace that surpasses our understanding. 

          You yourself have received that peace.  You are receiving that peace today as the one God has sent to serve you places God’s Word in your ears and places the body and blood of God’s Son on your lips, saying:  The peace of the Lord be with you always.  The peace you receive here is the peace of sin forgiven and heaven opened.  With the peace of Christ reigning in your heart, you (like Paul) can fight the good fight.  You can finish the race.  You can keep the faith and claim the crown that awaits all who trust in God’s beloved Son.

          Jesus told the seventy-two He sent to say these nine words:  The Kingdom of God has come near to you.  That sentence probably summarizes every sermon I and my fellow “sent ones” have ever preached.  The kingdom of God has come near to you in God’s Son, Jesus Christ—in the words of His promises, in the splash of His baptism, in His holy absolution, and in His precious body and blood.  That’s how God’s kingdom comes to you.

          And take note of this too:  God’s kingdom comes.  We don’t build the kingdom of God.  We don’t make it succeed or fail.  We proclaim it.  We preach the kingdom and God Himself gets the results.  We proclaim, but God builds.  The kingdom of God is not built on our efforts but on God’s efforts, not on our works, but on Christ’s works, not with our blood, sweat, and tears, but with Jesus’ blood, sweat, and tears.  He does the work.  Those He sends announce, “It is finished.” And you—you simply believe it.  The Lord Jesus has sought you and saved you.  And He has sent me to tell you that good news.

          The Lord Jesus has not specifically called and sent you to preach the gospel.  But He has called and sent you to do other important work.  You have your own callings, your own vocations as parent or grandparent, son or daughter, citizen, neighbor, worker, or friend.  These callings also require risk and sacrifice.  You may sometimes feel like a lamb among wolves.  And sometimes we’d rather not do what God has sent us to do.  But know this:  Wherever Jesus sends you, there He will bless you.

          That’s how it was for Saint Luke.  Luke wasn’t a preacher like Paul.  He was a historian and a physician.  As Paul’s execution drew near, Luke was there, attending him.  Luke was by his side as a physician of body and soul.  The Lord used Luke in mighty ways that have enriched our lives and strengthened our faith.  Because of Luke, you know for sure:  The kingdom of God has come near to you.

 

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

Do not be Anxious

 

Jesu Juva

Philippians 4:4-13                                                            

October 11, 2020

Proper 23A                         

 Dear saints of our Savior~

          It is the unwanted intruder that never takes a day off.  This unwelcome intruder not only sabotages our daily work, but it also hinders God’s work in us.  This intruder exerts such a powerful force in our lives that we have lots of different names for it:  anxiety, apprehension, angst and worry. On our worst days—and even on our best days!—it’s always there—an unwanted, unwelcome intruder.

          The fourth and final chapter of Philippians was written to set you free from worry—to help you show your anxiety the exit.  The trouble is . . . we’ve learned to tolerate the tyranny of anxiety.  We’ve accepted that worry will be with us always, to the very end of the age.  It’s as if we don’t know how to live without worry right by our side. 

          But this only means that the message of Philippians chapter four is even more meaningful and relevant than ever.  Never has the need been greater to hear these words anew:   Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say:  Rejoice!  Let your reasonableness be known to everyone.  The Lord is at hand.  Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God.  And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. 

          At the heart of this passage is the little phrase: “Do not be anxious about anything.”  With our lips we say, “this is the Word of the Lord;” but in our heart of hearts we say, “Yeah, right.”  Paul might just as well have said, “Don’t sleep” or “Don’t eat.”  Because anxiety seems as natural as sleeping or eating.  And there’s no shortage of very valid reasons to worry.  It is 2020, after all. Paul may have had nothing but joy and peace in his life, but we’ve got trouble with a capital “T.”  We’ve got panic over the pandemic, concern about riots and the upcoming election, not to mention the usual array of health worries, family worries, and money worries.  We’ve got all the excuses we need to feed the monster called anxiety.

          But here’s where it pays off to attend Bible study—to know something of the back story of what was going on when the Holy Spirit caused Paul to write, “Do not be anxious about anything.”  Paul wasn’t relaxing on some beach in Mediterranean.  He wasn’t up north, enjoying the fall colors.  Paul was in prison, not knowing whether he would be released or executed.  And that’s not the half of it.  He had been betrayed by his own countrymen (Acts 24:13).  At one point he was nearly murdered by 40 men who had taken a vow not to eat or drink until he was dead (Acts 23:31).  He was shipwrecked, beaten, and placed under house arrest.  Paul—so filled with joy and free from anxiety—he had trouble and danger on every side—more trouble than you or I can even begin to imagine.  So we should really sit up and take notice when this man of God says, “Do not be anxious about anything.”

          The bad news about our anxiety is that it’s not merely a bad habit; it’s a kind of idolatry.  We worry and fret because, at some level, we think it will help.  It gives us a sense of control.  Our anxiety becomes like a false god to whom we turn at every time of trouble.  It’s a first commandment problem.  We don’t trust in God above all things.  Instead, we think that our worry will come through for us—even though we know that’s not true.  Does anxiety put bread on the table?  Not a crumb.  Does worry pay the mortgage?  Not a dime.  Does fretfulness add a single hour to your life?  No, but it makes the hours you do have absolutely miserable.

          Beloved in the Lord, there’s a better way.  For every child of God redeemed by Christ the crucified there is a remedy for anxiety.  “Do not be anxious about anything,” writes Paul, “but in everything, by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God.”   You don’t have to hold on to your worry.  You can hand it over to the Lord in prayer.  You can let Him handle the trouble.  St. Peter put it even more succinctly:  “Cast all your anxiety on Him, because He cares for you.”  That’s what prayer is.  It’s facing your worst fears, naming them and confessing them (your anxieties and all your worry), and then handing them off to Jesus—letting them go—trusting Him to work all things for your eternal good—asking that His good and gracious will be done on earth as it is in heaven.

          You can trust this Jesus—this Jesus who made Himself nothing, taking the very nature of a slave, being made in human likeness, who humbled Himself and became obedient to death—even death on a cross.  He died to take away sins—including the sin of failing to trust in Him above all things.  But even more than that, Jesus died to give you freedom—freedom from the tyranny of anxiety.  You don’t have to live with that.  The nail-scarred hands of Jesus are just waiting to carry your worry away.

          We believe in the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting.  In your future is that feast of salvation about which Isaiah prophesied in today’s OT reading—a feast of rich food, the best of meats and the finest of wines.  Death has been swallowed up in victory.  According to Jesus, your heavenly homecoming will be like a wedding feast thrown by a king.  In Holy Baptism you were given an invitation.  It’s all been prepared for you by grace.  Your goodness doesn’t get you in.  Your badness doesn’t keep you out.  It’s all grace!  All that matters is the king’s invitation and the garments of righteousness that He has placed upon you.  Heaven is a party—a feast that has no end.

          Now, if God has gone to all that trouble for you—if, through His Son He has spared nothing to save you and serve you as a guest at His feast for all eternity—don’t you think He can handle whatever tops the list of your troubles today?  Don’t you think He can bear away your angst and replace it with joy and peace?  Don’t you think He can wipe away your worry and give you the gift of contentment in any and all circumstances?  You, like Paul, can do all things through Christ who gives you strength.

          Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God.  And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.  Let Jesus bear your anxiety away—hand it over in prayer—and receive the peace that passes understanding.  That peace will guard your heart and mind, Paul writes. 

          It sounds strange to think of “peace” as something that guards you.  But the city of Philippi housed a large garrison of Roman soldiers.  It was a military town.  The Philippians would have understood.  God’s peace, like a garrison of soldiers, will guard your heart and mind from the tyranny of anxiety.  God’s peace will guard the door of your heart against that unwelcome intruder who wants to poison your joy.

          Joy and peace—these are fruits of the Spirit.  They don’t come naturally; they are fruits of faith, gifts from God to you—leading you to live lives free from worry.  For you, to live is Christ and to die is gain.  He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion.  The mind of Christ is in you.  Rejoice in the Lord always. 

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