Whoever Would Be Great

 

Jesu Juva

St. Mark 10:35-45                                                               

Lent 5B

March 21, 2021                                                             

 Dear saints of our Savior,

          You’ve got to give James and John credit—at least for their boldness.  Perhaps they were listening closely when Jesus preached that sermon about “ask and you shall receive.”  Because these two brothers were asking and expecting to receive in a big way.  “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.”  No hem-hawing around.  Not a touch of humility or even a “thy will be done” thrown in to sound pious and religious.  No, they got right to the point:  “Grant us to sit, one at your right and the other at your left in your glory.”

          It’s easy for us to wag our fingers at these two brothers and their display of naked ambition.  A power play like that usually goes on behind closed doors, but these two sounded bold and brazen, proud and puffed up.  But notice whose fingers are wagging in this story.  Notice who gets angry and indignant.  It’s not Jesus.  He has some important words of correction to say, all right; but the only angry, wagging fingers are those of the other ten disciples.  They’re the ones who feel ambushed, who probably coveted the top spots for themselves, but didn’t have the moxie to actually request what they too were dreaming of.

          James and John were among those who were first called by our Lord.  Along with Peter, James and John comprised the inner circle—the elite corps of disciples.  They were there on the mountain of Transfiguration.  They were there when Jesus prayed in Gethsemane.  These brothers had a nickname; they were called “sons of thunder.”  They once suggested that Jesus should rain down fire and brimstone on some Samaritans who turned a cold shoulder to Jesus.  Impetuous, bold, rough around the edges, politically incorrect—no seminary would have ever accepted these two.  But Jesus called them and used them to build His church.

          The prize that James and John were shooting for came at a high price.  Jesus told them they didn’t know what they were asking for:  Are you able to drink the cup that I drink?  We know the cup He was talking about.  It’s the same cup Jesus would mention again on the night when He was betrayed, as He prayed in the garden:  Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me.  Yet, not as I will, but as you will (Matt. 26:39).  Jesus was talking about His death, of course.  But the cup Jesus would drink on Good Friday also contained wrath—the wrath of God the Father against the sins of all humanity.  And Jesus would drink it to the dregs.

          James and John were aiming for greatness in the kingdom of God.  But they didn’t know what they were asking.  They didn’t know what they were saying when they proclaimed that they too could drink the cup that Jesus would drink.  Nor did they realize that in the end—in a most unexpected way—they would drink of that cup.  For both of these brothers would one day be given the cup of martyrdom to drink.  They would follow Jesus in the way of death.  And James was actually the first of the Twelve to give up His life as a witness to Him who gave His life as a ransom for many.  James was the first to go (Acts 12:2).  He was number one—the first of the Twelve to die a martyr’s death and receive the crown of eternal life.  Just goes to show, be careful what you ask for.

          Jesus teaches us today that greatness in the kingdom of God is not a bad thing, but a good thing.  Greatness is good!  But it’s a very different kind of greatness from what we see in the world around us.  In the kingdom of Jesus, you will never be great because you’re a master of the power play.  You will never achieve greatness based upon how many people you can push around and step on.  You will never achieve greatness based upon how many people you can make bend over in obedience as you claw your way to the top of the pile.  The top of the pile is not where Jesus does His thing.  You’ll always find Jesus at the bottom of the pile, together with all the stepped-on sinners.

          In fact, remember how James and John wanted to be next to Jesus in His glory—on His right and on His left?  Well, when was Jesus in His glory?  When was He most glorious?  And just who was on His right and on His left at that

moment?  Jesus Himself described His most glorious moment as His death by crucifixion.  On His right and on His left were two robbers.  “He was numbered with the transgressors.”  That hill called Calvary was His throne room.  His crown was of thorns, and His throne was a cross.  His greatest triumph was in His death.

          The Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give His life as a ransom for many.  That’s the way of greatness for us.  The way of greatness is to be served by Jesus—for His bloody death to count as the payment for your sins.  The way of greatness is to receive the gifts that Jesus serves up right here in the Divine Service every Lord’s Day.  Your God doesn’t help those who help themselves.  He doesn’t reward naked ambition and power plays.  He helps those who cannot help themselves—poor, miserable sinners who daily sin much and surely deserve nothing but punishment.

          Those who have been served by Jesus—those who have been forgiven and fed by the Lord of life—they are equipped to achieve greatness with Jesus.  Whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be slave of all.  What does that mean?  It means that the path to greatness is the path of service.  It’s not about other people serving you; it’s about you serving others.  And in serving others, you are ultimately, really serving Jesus Himself.

          If you want to achieve greatness in the kingdom of Jesus, then do the work of your vocations.  Whatever it is that God has called you to do—whatever roles He has placed upon you—be it parent, spouse, citizen, neighbor, friend, student, employee—do it to the best of your ability for the sake of Him who died and rose again.  Whatever you do in faith, according to your vocation, is a good work—a grand and glorious work—in the eyes of God.  At home this means doing laundry, washing dishes, washing windows, cooking supper.  In the family it means loving and sacrificing for your spouse, honoring your parents, raising children in the Word of God.  In the neighborhood it means paying your taxes, voting, and helping others in need.  When you do this—when you have been served by Jesus to serve others in Jesus’ name—then you are achieving greatness Jesus-style.

          Jesus Christ comes here today to serve you.  He gives you a baptism with which to be baptized, and in that baptism He works forgiveness of sins, rescues from death and the devil, and gives eternal salvation.  He places a cup to your lips and invites you to drink of the blood given and shed for you—the sweet wine of His forgiveness—the cup of blessing which we bless.  He has given His life as a ransom for you, so that you are now His own.  Whether you are bold and impetuous like James and John, or meek and bashful—it doesn’t matter who you are, but whose you are.  And you are His beloved child.  You are served and you are loved by Jesus the Christ. 

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

Snake on a Stick

 

Jesu Juva

Numbers 21:4-9                                                                

March 14, 2021

Lent 4B                                                                     

 Dear saints of our Savior ~

          Snakes have a way of getting our undivided attention. One summer day as a little boy, I was walking with my dad and my uncles through some pastureland on my grandmother’s farm. As they were clearing away some brush beneath a barbed wire fence, one of my uncles shouted something.  I didn’t hear what he said, but I had never seen a group of grown men move to so fast.  The word I hadn’t quite heard was “rattlesnake.”  One of my uncles had heard the rattle.  And our path through the pasture was quickly re-routed.  If one, single, solitary snake can command that much attention; imagine the possibilities for an entire plague of snakes.

          The Israelites didn’t have to imagine it.  Fiery serpents—venomous snakes—were on the loose in the camp.  It was a snake pandemic—a slithering brood of venomous vipers—hiding in dark corners of the tent, in the bedding, in the latrine.  Wherever you would least like to encounter an aggressive, poisonous snake—that’s precisely where the children of Israel were encountering them.  People were dying of snakebite left and right.  And no St. Patrick—no pied-piper—could get rid of these snakes because the Lord Himself had sent them.

          The snakes were God’s judgment upon the people—a grumbling, faithless, unthankful group.  They despised the manna that God provided six days a week.  They despised the water that God caused to flow from a rock.  They despised the freedom from slavery that God had secured through the Red Sea waters.  They despised the grace of God and the gifts of God.  So God sent snakes, lots of snakes (like something out of “Indiana Jones”).

          It didn’t take long before the terrified people came crawling to Moses with a confession on their lips:  “We have sinned,” they said, “for we have spoken against the Lord and against you.”  Confessing your sin is always a good place to start.  Tell the truth.  Admit it.  Stop making excuses.  Stop blaming others.  Then they asked Moses to intercede:  “Pray to the Lord, that He take away the serpents from us.”  And Moses prayed for the people.

          But the Lord didn’t give the people exactly what they wanted.  The Lord didn’t “take away” the snakes.  Their venom-filled fangs continued snapping at every ankle that happened along.  Instead, the Lord provided a cure—an anti-venom.  People who handle poisonous snakes for a living never do their work unless a supply of anti-venom is on hand, just in case.  But the anti-venom the Lord gave to the Israelites was far different from the injectable remedies we’re familiar with today.  Instead, Moses was to make a bronze serpent and set it on a pole, “and everyone who sees it, when he is bitten, will live.” 

          That bronze “snake on a stick” was a kind of sacrament.  It was a visible element, instituted by God, which brought forgiveness and life to everyone who looked at it.  Everyone who looked at the bronze serpent on the pole would live, and not die.  How can a bronze serpent do such great things?  It wasn’t the bronze serpent that did them, but the Word of God in and with the bronze serpent that did them.

          So what exactly does this mean for us, as we sit comfortably in what we hope is a snake-free sanctuary this morning?  Well, hopefully it leads us to confess all those times when we have been thankless—when we have grumbled against the Lord—when we have despised the grace of God and the gifts of God.  But, strangely enough, I think this account also makes us think about evangelism in a whole new light. I think this account convicts us—convicts us of complacency when it comes to connecting people with Jesus Christ.

          Imagine that you were an Israelite.  Your best friend, your relative, your co-worker is lying on the ground in agony, just bitten by one of those fiery serpents.  Death was perhaps only minutes away.  What would you do?  Wouldn’t you do whatever it took to get that dying person to lift up his eyes, look at the snake on the stick, and live?  Or what if you yourself had been bitten—and survived—because you did that very thing?  You looked at the bronze serpent and you lived.  Don’t you suppose you would be eagerly, actively helping and encouraging and inviting your fellow snakebite victims to do the same thing?  Wouldn’t you be urging them with intensity to listen, look, and live?  You wouldn’t take “no” for an answer!

          Beloved in the Lord, how many friends, relatives and co-workers do you know who are on the road to hell?  As for you, you hear and believe the Word of God.  You look to the cross of Christ in faith.  You will live forever.  Christ be praised!  But how many unbelievers do you know?  How many do you share your life with who do not hear the Word, or look to the cross, who will one day die eternally?  Have you broached the subject of the Savior with them?  Have you ever invited one of those people to join you right here sometime—to listen, look and live?

          We have a million good excuses for not doing so:  It would be socially awkward.  I might come off sounding judgmental. It might expose me to ridicule.  I don’t want to impose my private beliefs on anyone else.  Really?!  When the Israelites were dropping dead from snakebite, and there was a surefire way to save them, I don’t think anyone was concerned about being socially awkward or imposing their beliefs on others.

          In fact, grab a copy of the bulletin and take another look at the artwork on the cover.  It’s not a perfect reproduction, but you get the idea.  Look at the people on the right.  Some of them are covered with snakes.  And those same snake-covered people have their eyes firmly focused on the bronze snake on the pole. 

Can you imagine how hard that would be?  To have a venomous snake crawling up your pant leg or wrapped around your arm and to NOT look at the snake—to take your eyes OFF the attacking reptile to look squarely at something else in the distance?  You wouldn’t do it.  You couldn’t do it.  Not unless someone helped you.  Not unless someone who loves you would tell you to lift up your eyes, and look and live. 

          And those people are also pictured on the cover—the ones who are inviting, pointing, and directing the dying to the snake on a stick—those who aren’t afraid to direct others to the gift of life.  And if you and I aren’t willing to be those kinds of people—if we are unwilling to point our neighbors to Christ—to invite them to church—or (worse) if we just don’t care about them—then we have to ask why.  How can we care so little?   How can we be so loveless?

          God is just the opposite:  God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life.  For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.

          All of humanity is snake-bitten—you and I included.  It’s been that way since Adam and Eve listened to the serpent back in Genesis 3.  We were born with the venom of sin coursing through our veins.  But God has provided the cure—a cure that looks a lot like the disease:  His Son on the cross, bearing our sin, dying and damned in our place—stricken, smitten and afflicted—as our sacred substitute—just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness.

          That is how God loves this snake-bitten world.  He doesn’t love it in a general kind of way.  He loves the world in a very specific way:  He gave His Son, Jesus Christ.  The Father didn’t send His Son to condemn the world, but to be condemned for the world.  His condemnation is your acquittal.  His guilt is your innocence.  His death means life for you.  He came to be lifted up on the cross and to draw all people to Himself.  Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in Him may have eternal life.

          Jesus is the antidote—the anti-venom for the sin of the world.  And do you know how anti-venom is produced?  Small amounts of a snake’s venom are injected into a horse or goat.  Then, as the animal builds up immunity to the venom, its antibodies are collected.  In other words, the anti-venom—the cure—comes from one who has survived the poison.  Beloved in the Lord, Jesus has survived the poison.  Jesus took the sting of sin and death.  He suffered, died and was buried.  But on the third day He rose again from the dead.  He survived the poison.  He Himself is the cure you need.

          And this is the place where we give it away for free.  This is the place where all you need do is listen, look and live.  The anti-venom is right here in the water of baptism.  Right here in the forgiveness of sins.  Right here in the body and the blood of Jesus.  The invitations you extend for others to join you here may fall on deaf ears.  You might invite dozens before even one joins you to listen and look and live.  But the results of our inviting are in God’s hands.  He sent His Son to save the world.  So look to the Son and live.  Point others to Him that they—like you—may be saved by grace, through faith, for Jesus’ sake. 

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

Destroy This Temple

Jesu Juva

St. John 2:13-22                                                                    

March 7, 2021

Lent 3B                                                        

 Dear saints of our Savior ~

          What’s gotten into Jesus?  I mean, how often do we see the Savior with a whip of cords in his hand, driving both man and beast from the temple, overturning tables and scattering coins and currency helter-skelter?  As unusual as this behavior is, it fits right in with all riots and demonstrations we’ve seen in this past year.  Is this “social justice Jesus?”  He even makes a veiled threat about “destroying” the temple—the most sacrosanct structure on the face of the earth.  Is Jesus inciting a rebellion?  Hardly.  The way of Jesus is never the way of riots or rebellion.  Jesus was never rebellious; but zealous?  Yes, indeed.  His disciples remembered that it was written, “Zeal for your house will consume me.”

          It’s that house—the house of God—the Temple in Jerusalem—that holds the key to understanding the Savior’s unusual exuberance.  The Passover of the Jews was at hand, after all, and that meant that the temple was doing a brisk business.  Pilgrims from all over the world were arriving in town.  The moneychangers and the sellers of sacrificial animals were actually providing a needed and necessary service. So why did Jesus get so worked up about this?  Why does He say, “Get these things out of here; do not make my Father’s house a house of trade?”

          The other gospel writers (Matthew, Mark, and Luke) might give us a clue.  For when they write about this event (assuming Jesus only cleansed the temple once) they record Jesus saying that His Father’s house had been turned into a “den of robbers.”  We know what robbers are; but what is a robbers’ “den?”  The robbers’ den is not the place where the crime is committed.  The robbers’ den is where the robbers hide out once they have fled the scene of the crime.  The robbers’ den is their “safe house,” their hideout.  The robbers’ den is where the bad guys go to put distance between themselves and the long arm of the law.

          It was actually the prophet Jeremiah centuries earlier who first accused God’s people of turning the temple into a robbers’ den (Jer. 7:11).  That’s because the people were living lives of crime.  They were routinely breaking and ignoring God’s Law as summarized in the Ten Commandments.  And when they did bother to show up at the temple, it was all for show.  It was just an exercise in hypocrisy.  They didn’t go to the temple to confess their crimes and seek God’s pardon.  They viewed the temple as a kind of good luck charm.  The temple meant that God was dwelling with them—that God was on their side—that they had a get-out-of-jail-free card.  It gave them a false sense of security and complacency.  They thought they could continue their comfortable lives of crime and sin, go through the motions at the temple and say a few prayers, and then go right back to their sinful living.

          Are you following me so far?  Jesus called the temple a “den of robbers.”  And a den of robbers is where the bad guys go to hide out and feel safe—even as they plot and plan and scheme for future crimes and victims.  The temple had become a magical good luck charm, which had nothing to do with sin or faith or forgiveness.  The temple had simply become a safe house for unrepentant sinners.  And Jesus says—emphatically—“This cannot be.”  Nothing fires up the zeal of Jesus more than when people misuse God’s gifts, including the temple.

          It’s all a good reminder—and a fair warning—for us who gather regularly in this temple.  Our doors, of course, are wide open to criminals of every stripe.  Sinners are welcome here.  Murderers, adulterers, robbers, liars, the greedy—those are the kinds of folks who regularly occupy the pews in this place.  But this place can never serve as a sinners’ “den.”  This temple can never be merely a hideout for the guilty—a religious oasis between crime sprees where you can toss some coins and currency in the offering plate and say a few prayers and then head off to find your next victim.  That’s using the temple as a talisman—the church as a good luck charm. 

          And that, dear hearers of the Word, is faithless religion—fake religion, phony religion, pseudo-spirituality.  And nothing makes Jesus angrier.  Sinners are welcome here, it’s true; but what sinners are welcome to do here is to confess their sins—to give them up and hand them over—to plead guilty as charged—and to look in faith to the only man who can take our sins and crimes and bear them all away.  There’s nothing fake or phony about that.  That’s faith.  That’s repentance.  That’s what this temple is for.  That’s why you are here.

          Jesus drove out all those sacrificial animals because He Himself would be the ultimate sacrifice—the once and for all atoning sacrifice for sin.  He’s the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.  And in today’s Holy Gospel God’s Lamb had come to His temple.  And God’s Lamb brooks no competition.  He turns the tables on the whole religious system of Israel.  The blood of goats and bulls and pigeons cannot cleanse from sin; but the blood of this Lamb does just that.  Jesus wanted to make clear that the time of sacrifice was coming to an end.  He was about to put the whole system out of business, when the Lamb of God would land on a cross for the life of the world—once and for all.

          “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up,” Jesus said.  Those who heard Jesus thought He was referring to the building—to Herod’s temple which had taken forty-six years to build.  What Jesus said made no sense.  Unless “he was speaking about the temple of his body.”  The temple, which was God’s dwelling place on earth—God’s presence among His people—that temple was soon to be vacant, empty—a temple without a divine tenant.  Jesus was shifting attention away from the building to His own body.  He, Jesus, is God in the flesh—God dwelling among His people, the place where heaven and earth intersect, where divinity and humanity are united, where God and man are reconciled.  That happens not through a building but through a body—the body of Jesus.

          Most religions have temples—buildings in which men try to reach God.  But only Christianity has a temple that is a human body—God reaching down to us—God with us.  Only Christianity claims a temple not made with human hands, but a human man who is the Son of God, who took on our humanity, that He might die in our place, rise from the dead on the third day, and give us eternal life in His name.  All religions have their temples.  Only Christianity has a temple built of human flesh and bone—the temple of Jesus’ body—through which God forgives us and loves us.

          So where do you go with your sins?  Where do you go when you’ve been crushed by the unbearable weight of God’s commandments?  Where do you go when your crimes catch up with you?  You go where Christ is—where His Word is preached and proclaimed, where the supper of His body and blood is served.  And there you will find the church—the body of Christ.  The church, properly speaking, is not a building, but a gathering—a gathering of sinners in the presence of Jesus.  It’s not a place to pretend to be good, but a place to confess our bad and receive all the good Jesus earned for us, when He died for all.

          Way back in the first centuries of Christianity, when the church was just starting out, if you were to go to Ephesus or Antioch or Corinth and ask where the church was, you wouldn’t be directed to a building.  Instead, you would be directed to a meeting place and a meeting time.  Go to such and such a house at sunset or sunrise, or whenever it was.  There you would find the church, the body of Christ, the temple of the living God—a temple not of bricks and mortar—but a place where two or three were gathered in the name of Jesus.

          History is probably going to repeat itself.  The day is probably going to come when nice church buildings like this one will no longer be possible—when taxation or persecution or some other threat we can’t yet see will make it necessary to abandon our buildings and to meet in less conspicuous places.  I’ll miss the sound of the pipe organ and the beauty of the stained glass.  But no matter where we end up, we will still have all that matters:  Jesus and His Word, His body and His blood, His holy baptism, and the Keys of the Kingdom.  Jesus will continue build His church and the gates of hell will not prevail against it.

          If you’re struggling to make sense of all this—if you lack understanding—that’s okay.  Jesus’ own disciples didn’t understand any of this until after Jesus was raised from the dead.  The temple of Jesus’ body was destroyed on Good Friday.  And “Christ crucified” is what we preach.  But after three days Jesus rose from the dead, never to die again.  Your body too is a temple—a temple of the Holy Spirit who is in you.  Your body will also be destroyed in death.  But like the body of Jesus, your body will be raised and resurrected on the day of Jesus’ return—glorious and immortal—designed to live in fellowship forever with Jesus. 

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