Be Faithful unto Death

 

Jesu Juva

Revelation 2:8-11                                                           

February 24, 2021

Lent 1 Midweek                             

 Dear saints of our Savior~

          The words of the Bible were given to us at particular times and places, and in particular cultures.  As I often remind you in Bible class, there is a context in which God’s Words were first given, first received, written down, and preached.  Our understanding of God’s Word is always enriched and deepened when we know that context—the situation—in which God first gave His words.

          Nowhere, perhaps, does the context add more than in the letter Jesus wrote to the church in Smyrna.  Each of these seven letters from the Lord begins with the words:  To the angel.  Tonight you heard: To the angel of the church in Smyrna.  On Ash Wednesday I suggested the possible interpretation that each congregation, including this congregation, has its own special angel.  But another possibility is that the word “angel” actually means “pastor.”  “Angel,” as you probably know, means “messenger.”  In the rich and symbolic language of Revelation, it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to think of the pastors of these churches as being angels—messengers of God.

          The angel of the church at Smyrna—the pastor there—was a man named Polycarp.  Polycarp was likely born in the year 70 AD. What we know for sure is that he died on February 23^rd in the year 155.  He died 1,866 years ago yesterday.  Polycarp had been a disciple of the Apostle John.  But allow me to tell you a little bit more about this pastor with the funny-sounding name.

          He was the bishop of Smyrna, a city in Asia Minor where Christians were despised.  In Smyrna they mocked Christians by calling them “atheists.”  They were called “atheists” because they refused to worship idols, because they refused to worship the Emperor, and because the object of their faith was apparently just a mere man, named Jesus. 

          On February 23, 155, a bloodthirsty crowd at Smyrna had just cheered and jeered as a group of Christians was thrown to the lions.  Hungry for more blood and gore, the crowd demanded that a search be made for Polycarp, the pastor of the Christians—the angel of the church at Smyrna.  Polycarp, you should know, was 86 years old—a very, very old man by the standards of the second century.  When the police arrived to arrest Polycarp, he ordered that food and drink should be served to them.  He asked if they would allow him an hour in which to pray.  And his request was granted.

          When later that night Polycarp was finally dragged before the judge and before the bloodthirsty mob, he was informed that it would be very easy for him to avoid being burned alive.  All he needed to do was say a few words: “Caesar is Lord,” and, “Cursed be Christ.”  Those words, together with just a pinch of incense offered to a statue of Caesar, would spare Polycarp’s life and everything would be fine.

          The old pastor responded calmly and gently:  Eighty-six years I have served Christ, and He never did me any wrong.  How can I blaspheme my King who saved me?  You threaten me with fire that burns for an hour and in a little while is quenched; for you know not of the fire of judgment to come, and the fire of the eternal punishment, reserved for the ungodly.  Why do you delay?  Do you what you will.  And within but a matter of minutes the angry mob ignited hungry flames to burn an old man to death.  Within but a matter of minutes, Polycarp was with the Lord Jesus, the King who saved him, in paradise.

          What could have given Polycarp such faithfulness under fire?  What could have prompted such fearlessness in the face of an agonizing death?  Perhaps it was a letter—the very letter that Polycarp and his church had received from Jesus.  We heard that letter minutes ago:  These are the words of Him who is the First and the Last, who died and came to life again.  I know. . . I know your afflictions and your persecutions.  I know your poverty.  I know the slander spoken against you.  I know the devil will test you and imprison you.  I know you will suffer . . . Be faithful unto death, and I will give you the crown of life.

          The account of Polycarp’s martyrdom is very moving, but at the same time, so shaming.  For how can we hear of his faithfulness without recognizing our own faithlessness and unworthiness?  Under far less pressure than he—in peaceful times of plenty—we have all failed to be faithful.  Polycarp’s situation was rather black and white—clear cut.  Confess the Christ or curse Him.  The temptations to our faith are often less clear and shaded with gray.  What will you do when your faith in Christ singles you out for scorn, ridicule, job loss, or worse?  Will you confess Jesus Christ as your Lord—your Savior?  And do you live out that confession already today in such a way that other people know that Jesus is your King who saved you?  On April 15^th we all render to Caesar what is Caesar’s.  But on what day do we ever truly render to God what is God’s?  Our thanks, our praise, our prayers, our offerings, our very lives as living sacrifices.  The terrible truth is that we often live our lives as if Caesar were our only king; while concerning Jesus, our words and actions seem to suggest that we don’t know the man.  In the life and death of Polycarp there is reason enough for each of us to repent.

          But tonight you need to hear more than that.  Hear what Jesus wrote to the angel of the church in Smyrna:  I know.  In all your trials and temptations—in all your tears—in all the mess that is your life—the Lord Jesus says to you what He wrote to the persecuted saints of Smyrna:  I know.  Now, when the Lord Jesus says “I know,” He means more than just the knowing of facts and information.  He knows and feels your plight.  He knows what you must face.  He knows the enemies and the demons that battle against you.  He knows your doubt and despair.  He knows it all, just as if it were happening to Him.  Because, in truth, it has—it has all happened to Him, as your sacred substitute.

          Because Jesus’ cross was the instrument of your deliverance and salvation, it means that the crosses in your life can also be instruments of deliverance.  The very worst that gets thrown at you in this life, Jesus uses it to bless you, to test you, to cleanse and purify you, to teach you to rely on Him and Him alone.  He is the King of Kings who controls all things in heaven and on earth.  He wrote to the church at Smyrna about suffering tribulation for “ten days.”  That didn’t necessarily mean a literal ten days; but it did mean a specific span of time—a set time, a limited time, a short time specified by Him.  God is faithful, and He will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it and be saved (1 Cor. 10:13), just like Polycarp, the angel of the church in Smyrna.

          The one who is First and Last—the one who died and came to life again for you—He says, “I know.”  But that’s not all.  He also says, “I will give.  I will give you the crown of life.”  How can you be sure?  Because the giving of that crown is based on His faithfulness, His forgiveness, His love, His death, His resurrection.  And nothing is more sure or certain than that.  Whether it’s 86 years that you have lived in and with Christ, or some shorter span of time that He has allotted for you, the Lord is faithful.  He knows.  He will give.  In Him we have confidence even unto death.  And whether that death be the “little death” of cancer or stroke or Covid, or the “big” death—the “second death” of eternal fire—Jesus promises this:  it will not hurt you.  His grace is sufficient.  His power is made perfect in our weakness.

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

The Lord will Provide

Jesu Juva

Genesis 22:1-18                                                            

February 21, 2021

Lent 1B                               

 Dear saints of our Savior~

     Today we learn why Abraham is regarded as a man of great faith. 

Way back when the Lord first called Abraham, God stripped him of his past.  Back when Abraham worshipped the moon and the stars—back when Abraham was living far away in Mesopotamia—back when Abraham was just “Abram,” God spoke: Leave.  Leave your country. Leave your people. Leave your father’s household and go to the land I will show you. And at the age of 75, Abraham left it all behind.  His identity, his security, his status—everything he had worked so hard to achieve.  Abraham just let go of everything and placed himself in the hands of the living God.  Stripped of his past, the only thing Abraham had was a future—a future shaped by the promises of God.

But in today’s reading, that future—and those promises—were in peril.  At least thirty years had gone by since God called Abraham to leave his settled life and go to Canaan.  When Abraham was one hundred years old, God kept His promise and gave Abraham and Sarah a son—Isaac.  Isaac was the son on whom all the promises of God hinged—the son by whom Abraham’s descendants would become as numerous as the stars in the sky—the son through whom God would one day cause His Son to be born.  Isaac was the fulfillment of decades of dreams and hours of prayers.  He was Abraham’s one slender thread of a future.  But now God was asking Abraham to cut that slender thread:  Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains of which I shall tell you.

This was a test.  This was only a test.  But what a test it was.  God wasn’t tempting Abraham to sin.  God is not in the tempting business.  God doesn’t dangle sin in front of our eyes and then dare us to disobey.  That’s the work of the devil, the world, and our own sinful flesh.  But God most certainly does test us.  He was testing Abraham—taking his faith and refining it through fire to make it better, stronger, and purer.  God doesn’t break faith; He builds it.  And this is why God tested Abraham.

But that doesn’t necessarily make any of this easier to swallow.  This is a difficult passage.  It raises all sorts of difficult questions—questions for which only God knows the answers.  To be sure, you will never be tested by God in the way that Abraham was tested.  The lesson to be learned here is not that God might one day ask you to do a terrible thing, and then stop you right at the last minute.  No, we take these words of God just like all the rest.  As Paul wrote to the Romans, “whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, that through endurance and through the encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope” (Rom. 15:4).  The ultimate purpose of these words is to give you hope.  May God grant it.

There’s so much that’s so remarkable in this narrative.  After God tells Abraham to sacrifice Isaac, notice that Abraham doesn’t argue—doesn’t utter a word asking God to reconsider.  This from the same Abraham who pleaded relentlessly for God to spare Sodom and Gomorrah for the sake of a few righteous people.  And what’s more, Abraham sets off with Isaac very early on the very next morning.  No attempts to delay or detour or drag his feet.  As they approach the place of sacrifice, Isaac is called on to carry the wood—the same wood that would be used in the sacrifice of his life.  It reminds me of how Isaac’s most famous Descendant (Jesus) would also one day carry the wood of His sacrifice on the way to Golgotha.

But at the heart of this narrative is a question and its answer.  The question comes from Isaac:  Father, we’ve got the wood.  We’ve got the fire.  We’ve got the knife.  But father, where’s the lamb?  Where’s the lamb of sacrifice?  It was a logical question.  And it must have been a heart-crushing question for Abraham.  Abraham’s answer was a faith-filled answer.  And it still echoes today in your heart during every terrible test that comes your way:  The Lord will provide.  Faithful father Abraham spoke what he believed: The Lord will provide the lamb for a burnt offering, my son.  Only it hadn’t been provided yet, and wouldn’t be provided until

the last possible moment.  Only after the boy was bound and the knife was raised did the angel of the Lord call out to Abraham, and put an end to that terrible test.  But there would be a sacrifice—a substitute sacrifice.  The Lord did indeed provide the animal for sacrifice—instead of Isaac.  One life in place of another life. 

Abraham believed that the Lord would provide . . . and the Lord provided . . . and Abraham called the name of that place “The Lord will provide.”  And if you really want to connect the gospel dots this day, then consider this:  The place where all of this happened—the place where God provided a substitute sacrifice for Isaac was the same place where two thousand years later your substitute sacrifice—Jesus the Christ—was crucified.  Abraham called the place “The Lord will provide,” and at that same terrible place the Lord provided for you—provided His own dear Son as the Lamb of sacrifice for your salvation.  The region of Moriah would one day be developed as the city of Jerusalem.  And right outside those city gates on a dark day the Lord provided His Son in your place.  And that was no test.

In the midst of his terrible test, Abraham believed that the Lord would provide.  Do you believe it?  When your faith is tested, do you believe the Lord will provide?  When you’re caught between a rock and a hard place—when your faith is under fire—can you calmly confess with faithful Abraham, “The Lord will provide?”  When the money’s all gone, when the doctor’s prognosis is all bad, when friends and family turn against you and you seem all alone, do you believe that the Lord will provide?  Or do you give up, give in, and conclude that God is against you?

Or what about when the “test” is of your own making—a perfect storm that you have created by your own sinful actions?  What about when your faith is faltering beneath the weight of your own shame and regret over the bad that you’ve done, and over the good that you’ve failed to do?  What about when your greatest need is absolution?  Do you dare to believe that then—under those sinful circumstances—that the Lord will provide for you?

Beloved in the Lord, God Himself has indeed provided the Lamb for sacrifice, and it turns out to be His own beloved Son.  Where is the Lamb?  God Himself has provided the Lamb—conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died and was buried.  The terrible test that Abraham faced—the possible sacrifice of his one and only son—was but a preview of the terrible sacrifice which God would require of Himself.  Isaac was spared; Jesus was sacrificed.  The Lord will provide.  In Romans chapter eight Paul spells it out for us:  “He who did not spare His own Son but gave Him up for us all, how will He not also graciously give us all things?”  If God was willing to sacrifice His one and only Son for you, how can you not believe with all your heart that the Lord will provide—come hell or high water?

And don’t think for a minute that God being omnipotent and omniscient was somehow impervious to the pain of seeing His beloved Son suffer and die.  Don’t dare assume that God the Father was immune to the loss of His Son.  His loss was more than any father.  His grief was greater than any parent who has ever lost a child.  For God is love.  And the more you love someone, the more you are vulnerable to pain.  The more deeply you feel it.  Therefore, the God who is love must have known the deepest pain—a Father’s pain—on Good Friday.

He knows your pain too.  He knows what you need, and He will provide.  Jesus is the guarantee of that.  When you are tempted and need a way out, the Lord will provide.  When you are covered in the filth of your own sin, the Lord will provide cleansing and forgiveness.   When you feel like giving up and giving in to the weight of despair, the Lord will provide hope and a future.  When earthly life is ending and death draws near, again, the Lord will provide.  The Lord will provide life that lasts forever and resurrection glory.  That’s where the tests of today are taking you.  The difficulties God allows into your life are shaping you and strengthening you for an eternity of fellowship with all the saints including Abraham and Isaac, and unending joy in the presence of Jesus, the Lamb of God.  In Him, today and always, the Lord will provide.

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

 

Ash Wednesday: Repent and Remember

 

Jesu Juva

Revelation 2:1-7                                                            

 February 17, 2021

Ash Wednesday                     

 Dear saints of our Savior~

          It’s the end of the book.  It’s God’s great conclusion to the greatest story ever told.  It’s the grand finale of God’s holy, inspired, written Word.  But if you’ve dared to dabble in the book of Revelation, then you know that it often raises more questions than it answers.  Revelation is arguably the most mysterious, most inaccessible book in the New Testament.  The numbers and the symbols alone can confound even the best students of the Bible.

          But near the beginning of the book, in chapters two and three, you will find something not so mysterious:  Seven letters written to seven churches of the ancient world.  Now, these seven letters are from the Lord Jesus Himself.  Imagine that!  Imagine if our little congregation were to receive a letter from the Lord.  What would He tell us?  How would He correct us?  How would He comfort us?  What we’ll come to see throughout these forty days is that these seven ancient letters from the Lord—they are alive and brimming with meaning even for our little church, especially in these gray and latter days.

          Has it ever occurred to you that this little church, dedicated to our Savior, has its own special angel assigned to it?  We know that angels, archangels, and all the company of heaven join with us right here in our worship of the Holy Trinity.  But it wasn’t until I started reading someone else’s mail—these seven letters from Revelation—that the thought of an angel assigned to our congregation occurred to me.  You see, each one of these letters has a similar salutation:  to the angel.  Tonight we heard:  To the angel of the church in Ephesus.  Next Wednesday it will be:  To the angel of the church in Smyrna, and so on.

          Would it really be that surprising if we did have an angel assigned to us?  After all, we are loved by the Lord.  He lavishes His church on earth with nothing but the best care and the best gifts.  In tonight’s letter to the church at Ephesus, Jesus describes the seven angels as stars—stars He is holding in His right hand.  And the seven churches are called golden lampstands.  Each church—each congregation—each fellowship of believers is precious like gold.  Notice, too, that Jesus “walks among” the golden lampstands—walks among His congregations—actively, intimately involved in each church.  Angel or no angel, of this we can be sure:  What happens in this church and in the lives of her members is of exceedingly great importance to the Lord of the church.

          Among the congregations of the First Century, the church at Ephesus was number one.  Ephesus was the chief city of the Roman province of Asia.  But to truly understand this letter and the six others, you need to know that Christianity was an illegal religion.  Under Emperor Domitian, horrific acts of persecution were being carried out against Christian churches.  It was six years ago this week that 21 Coptic Christians were beheaded by ISIS on a Libyan beach.  That kind of thing was commonly happening under Emperor Domitian.

          But even under the intense pressure of persecution, the church at Ephesus had thrived.  Jesus commends them for their good works, their toil, and their patient endurance.  At a time when it would have been easy to tolerate false and wicked teachings—when it would have been so tempting to “go along to get along,” the saints at Ephesus remained steadfast.  They did not grow weary or weak, but stood strong on the gospel of their crucified and risen Lord.

          Jesus also praised them for their . . . well, their hatred:  You hate the works of the Nicolaitans, which I also hate.  Now, the Nicolaitans prove that there’s nothing new under the sun.  They were advocates of sexual immorality.  They lived for lust and licentiousness.  They pandered to sexual perversions of every kind—doing untold harm to marriages, to families, to women and to children.  The church at Ephesus “hated” the works of the Nicolaitans—hated their lies and the harm they caused—and were commended for it by the Lord.  Now, love is the greatest Christian virtue; but, note carefully, it is not wrong to hate what is evil.

          But even to this exemplary church at Ephesus, Jesus dictated a crushing dose of law:  But I have this against you, that you have abandoned the love you had at first.  Remember therefore from where you have fallen; repent, and do the works you did at first.  The church at Ephesus had forsaken their first love.  That strong love of Jesus which reached out and claimed them from the cross—that love which had showed itself in drops of blood and a crown of thorns—the Ephesians had fumbled it, forgotten it, forsaken it.  That perfect love which came from the Christ and which they themselves had reflected to others—it had somehow faded away.

          A Christian lacking in the love of Christ is like a fish out of water.  This love is our life.  We cannot do without it.  If we are not receiving that love and reflecting that love toward friend and foe alike, then we have abandoned what is critical and crucial for life.  We may have zeal.  We may have the best intentions and plans.  We may have clearly defined doctrine powerfully proclaimed.  We may have beautiful music and a balanced budget, but without that love—without the love of Jesus at the center of everything—we are nothing.  Without the love of Christ defining our days and reaching into every relationship, we are just making noise in a world already filled with sound and fury.

          What can we do if we have lost this love?  Jesus doesn’t tell us to try harder—doesn’t tell us to get out there and be more loving like He is.  He simply says,

“Repent.”  Confess your lack of love and turn to Him for absolution.  Confess your cold and loveless heart; and let Him create in you a clean heart.  He—and He alone—will renew a right spirit within you.  He will wash you and make you whiter than the snow that has drifted deeply just beyond these walls.  Return to the Lord, your God, for He is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love.  To repent is to let the awesome love of Jesus have its way with you.

          Repent . . . and remember, Jesus says.  Remember your first love.  Remember the Savior who loved you first.  Recall that love.  Relive that love.  Ponder the Passion during these forty days—how your sin was laid upon God’s Lamb, who willingly carried it to His crucifixion cross.  Meditate on the mystery of how His body and blood are given here for you, for your forgiveness, in His Holy Supper.  Behold the blessings of your baptism by which your sins have been forgiven, you have been rescued from death and the devil, and you have been given eternal salvation, as the words and promises of God declare.

          Repent and remember.  Return to the Lord your God.  Love as you are loved.  This is what Lent is all about.  The Lord’s last word in His letter to Ephesus is the promise of paradise.  That’s where you’re headed, by the grace of God in Jesus Christ.  The final sentence of His first letter concludes:  To the one who conquers I will grant to eat of the tree of life, which is in the paradise of God.  God grant that one day we will all be there, with Jesus, in paradise.  Amen.

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