Monday, April 26, 2021

A Magnificent Metaphor

 

Jesu Juva

Psalm 23                                                                               

April 25, 2021

Easter 4B                                                       

Dear saints of our Savior~

          Whatever you may think of the 23rd Psalm, you can’t ignore it.  It forces you to sit up and take notice.  It demands your full attention.  The imagery of the poetry is both comforting and terrifying.  You’ve got peaceful, pastured sheep beside still and placid waters.  But it also presents a picture of the valley of the shadow of death—a dark and scary place through which we must all one day walk.

          But in the 23rd Psalm it is the metaphor that matters most.  And it is a magnificent metaphor.  I think I finally mastered metaphors in Miss Capell’s eighth-grade English class.  Like most English teachers, Miss Capell was a bit of a stickler.  From her I learned that a metaphor is a figure of speech in which a word that literally designates one thing is used to designate another, suggesting a likeness or analogy between them.  In Psalm 23 the very first sentence gives you the metaphor:  The Lord is my shepherd.  There is an analogy—a correspondence—between the Lord and a shepherd.  There are some surprising similarities between stinky shepherds and the Lord God Almighty.  This is what we mean by “metaphor.”

          Now, metaphors are a dime a dozen in the Psalms.  After all, the Psalms are poetry; and metaphors are a poet’s best friend.  And if you were to start reading at Psalm 1 and work your way toward Psalm 23, you would encounter lots of metaphors along the way:  The Lord is my King.  The Lord is my Shield.  The Lord is my Judge, my stronghold, my deliverer, my rock, my fortress, my horn of salvation.  Multiple metaphors, all meaningful, but all somewhat impersonal, inanimate, and distant.

          But then comes the magnificent metaphor of Psalm 23:  The Lord is my shepherd.  My shepherd.  And shepherds always do their work up close and personal with the sheep.  Shepherds are in short supply here on the North Shore, but in Bible times shepherds lived with their sheep, slept with their sheep, ate with their sheep, guided, protected, and rescued their sheep.  Sheep could dwell secure because their shepherd was right there—watching out for them, watching over them, scanning the horizon for threats and predators.

          The image isn’t perhaps as meaningful to us because both shepherds and sheep are in short supply around these parts.  Aside from the zoo, do you think there’s a single, solitary sheep in all of Milwaukee County?  Perhaps for us it might help to think about the relationship you have with your family pet.  The walking, the petting, the feeding, the bathing, the terrifying visits to the vet’s office.  For a lot of us, that’s about as close as we’ll ever come to shepherding.

          In today’s holy gospel Jesus claims this metaphor for Himself; and makes it even more meaningful.  I am the good shepherd, He declares.  Jesus very helpfully distinguishes between shepherds and hired hands.  There’s a big difference.  Hired hands run off at the first sign of danger.  For the hired hand, the sheep are just a job and a paycheck.  But the shepherd lives for the sheep.  They are his own, like a family.  He defends them.  He calls each one by name, (just as we do with our dogs and cats), and they hear His voice and follow only that voice and no one else’s.  That’s what Jesus is for us—the good shepherd who laid down His life to save us.

          To say that Jesus is our good shepherd is also to say that we are the people of His pasture and the sheep of His hand.  And when the Bible says that we are sheep, well, that’s not such a magnificent metaphor.  It’s accurate, to be sure, but not very flattering.  Sheep aren’t very smart (they can’t do any tricks like my Labradoodle can).  Sheep aren’t very strong.  Left to their own devices—given freedom and independence—they will likely end up dead.  Just in time for good shepherd Sunday, you may have seen that little video clip making its way through social media right now.  A sheep has gotten stuck in a narrow trench in the ground.  And it’s really wedged in there.  Finally, with great effort, the shepherd manages to pull that sheep out of the trench.  And that sheep bounces off down the road in glorious freedom, only to dive right back down into the same trench about ten yards ahead.  And so it is for all of us.  All we like sheep have gone astray.

          All these wandering sheep are a heartbreaking reality for me and my fellow pastors.  Pastor is the Latin word for shepherd, by the way.  So when it comes to wandering sheep I can speak from firsthand experience.  At every single meeting I have with the board of elders, a portion of the agenda is always devoted to sheep from this flock who are wandering and straying.  It’s a perennial problem that will never be solved.  It’s just our sinful, sheep-like nature.  We prefer rugged individualism when it comes to our religion.  Who needs a pastor?  Who needs a congregation?  Who wants to stand shoulder to shoulder with all those smelly sheep every Sunday?  Especially when you can just download all the religion you need from the internet, and you don’t even have to change out of your jammies?

          Left to our own devices, we’d be dead sheep, devoured by the wolves. Had the Son of God not joined the flock by becoming man, we would be doomed by our sin and death. But this is what makes today’s metaphor so magnificent:  the Good Shepherd became one of us. The Word became flesh and dwelt among us, the way a shepherd dwells among his flock. God didn’t sit there on a throne in heaven somewhere saying, “They sure look lost; I hope they find me.” The Good Shepherd joined the flock. He didn’t leave the shepherding of His people to hired hands. He Himself came to seek and save the lost, to gather the scattered, to be the good shepherd who lays down His life for the sheep.

          In His death on the cross, He did just that. He laid down His life for a world of lost sheep. Lifted up on the cross, He drew all to Himself, gathering a sinful, damned humanity in the embrace of a loving shepherd/Savior who is willing to suffer and die to save the lost.

          You are sheep of the crucified and risen Good Shepherd. He pastures you in the green pastures of His Word; He leads you to the quiet waters of Baptism; He restores your soul, raising you from death to life in Him. He guides you in the paths of righteousness, the way of repentance, daily dying and rising, for His name’s sake. Even though you walk every day through the dark valley called the “Shadow of Death,” where the grave looms large, yet you fear no evil. Good Shepherd Jesus has gone ahead of you through suffering and death to resurrection and glory. Your Shepherd lives and in Him you live too. The grave couldn’t hold Him, and it can’t hold you either.

          He is with you, comforting you with His Word and presence. He prepares a table for you, the meal of His sacrifice, His own Body and Blood which He offered up once for all to pay for your sins.  He gives it to you now as food and drink on the banquet table of His altar. Nothing can harm you in His presence. “There is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.”

          At the end of this day, and at the end of all your days, you can say with David, “surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life.” Like a couple of sheep dogs nipping at your heels, our Lord’s goodness and mercy pursue you each and every day of your life, reminding you that the Lord is your Shepherd and you are His sheep. And at the end of it all, there is a sure and certain promise for you and for every sheep of the Good Shepherd: You will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

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

Friday, April 2, 2021

Is it I?

 Jesu Juva

St. Mark 14:12-26                                                                   

April 1, 2021

Holy Thursday B                            

 Dear saints of our Savior~

          The question before us on this holy night is short and simple, but, oh, so critical:  Is it I? 

          It was time for the Passover meal and Jesus had left nothing to chance.  Every detail of that night had been carefully planned and scripted.  Every word that Jesus spoke that night was clear, specific, and deliberate.  This night was no time to improvise.  Jesus was in complete control. 

          As the meal got underway, and as their fellowship found expression in that ancient entrée, Jesus dropped a bombshell that would fray and fracture that fellowship:  Truly, I say to you, one of you will betray me, one who is eating with me.  One of the Twelve—one whom Jesus had called to follow Him—one whom Jesus had taught and blessed and loved—one who ate and drank and laughed with Jesus—one who had witnessed the wonders He had worked—such a one would betray Jesus.

          This new prediction must have devastated the disciples.  One of you will betray me.  There had been previous predictions concerning His Passion.  At least three times Jesus had told them plainly that He would be handed over, condemned to death, crucified, and after three days rise again.  He had singled out the scribes and the chief priests; He had alluded to the role the Romans would play.  But now—now Jesus had revealed to them the most terrible truth of all:  One of you will betray me.

          St. Mark tells us that the disciples were immediately overcome by sorrow and grief.  They were completely shattered.  And one by one—one after another—each disciple asked:  Is it I?  Is it I?  Is it I?. . .  Notice, there’s no bluster or bravado here on the part of the disciples.  No one gets indignant.  No one objects.  No one says, “That just can’t be true, Jesus!”  But cut to the heart, filled with sorrow, each man considers the possibility.  Each man asks:  Is it I?

          Why did Jesus tell them?  Why did Jesus tell them at the table—moments before He would transform that Passover meal into something totally new—why does He say:  One of you will betray me?  Surely, He’s not just showing off His divine omniscience one last time.  Perhaps it was one last, loving chance for Judas to come clean and fall on his knees in repentance, declaring, “It is I.  I am the one.  God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”  But instead, “The Son of Man goes at it is written of Him,” and woe descends upon His betrayer.

          No one is mentioned by name in tonight’s text—no one except Jesus.  It’s all Jesus.  Judas isn’t named.  Peter isn’t named.  In Saint Mark’s telling of the Lord’s Supper, not one of the disciples is mentioned by name.  By omitting the names, Mark tells it in such a way that we are drawn into the drama. We are there.  We take our place at the table with Jesus, and we hear the terrible truth of our Lord’s betrayal, and our hearts are broken, and we take our turn to ask with all the rest:  Is it I? 

          Is it I?  It could be.  It has been.  For far less than thirty pieces of silver have we set off on the sinful path of self-destruction.  For nothing more than a sly, Satanic promise (“You shall be like God”) have we turned our backs on the Son of Man.  For nothing more than cheap thrills have we closed our ears to His Word and hardened our hearts to His love.  So why did Jesus say it:  One of you will betray me?  Perhaps He says it as much for us as for the Twelve—for all of us who dare to gather with Jesus for the sacred meal of His body and His blood—that we might first consider our unworthiness—that we might discern the depth of our depravity and our drive for self-destruction—that we each might say with sorrow:  It is I.

          But we can’t stop there.  For when we are at our worst, Jesus is most gracious.  When we are most selfish, He is most giving.  As He prepares to be destroyed in our place, He begins to undo the destruction of our sin.  And He does it all ON THIS NIGHT.  ON THE NIGHT WHEN HE WAS BETRAYED.  Each celebration of His Holy Supper commences with that mysterious phrase:  Our Lord Jesus Christ, on the night when He was betrayed. . . .  On the night when His friend betrayed Him—on the night when Peter denied Him three times—on the night when His disciples snoozed as Jesus agonized in the garden—on the night when every last one of His feckless, faithless followers fled away into the darkness—on that night—on this night—Jesus took bread and wine and gave us a gift of love that will last until He comes again.  May we ever pause to ponder and wonder at these words of amazing grace:  On the night when He was betrayed.

          Then and there, our Lord took bread, and when He had given thanks, He broke it and gave it to the disciples and said:  Take, eat; this is my body, which is given for you.  Then He took the cup and gave it to them, saying, Drink of it all of you; this cup is the new testament in my blood, which is shed for you for the forgiveness of sins.  This do as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.  Nothing left to chance.  Every detail planned and scripted.  Every word clear, specific, and deliberate.  Jesus is in complete control—both then and there . . . and also here and now. 

          The Son of Man goes just as it is written of him.  By Friday afternoon He is a corpse on a cross.  He dies the death for sin that was ours to die.  He does it in our

place.  Our sin has been answered for and can condemn us no more.  We are forgiven.  Jesus has done it all for you . . . and still more.  For in His Holy Supper—in the New Covenant of His body and His blood—He draws you into fellowship with Himself.  He gives you all that He achieved with His body and blood—by giving you His body to eat and His blood to drink.  What He won for us on the cross, He gives away here tonight in this sacred Supper.

          Jesus tells us the truth of our sin.  He strips away our pride.  He destroys our self-confidence.  He causes each of us to ask:  Is it I?  But He does it all to teach us that our deliverance from sin and death does not—could not!—depend on us, but on Him.  All we can do is confess the mess and bemoan the betrayals we have instigated—and then listen to His Words and His promises, and receive what He gives.  For no part of your self-destruction is beyond the reach of Jesus’ forgiveness and healing.  He remembers your sins no more.  Nothing can separate you from Him.  He invites you to His altar, as His family, for a share in His fellowship that even death and hell cannot destroy.

          And so I ask you:  Who?  Who could ever be worthy of such a tremendous gift of grace?  It is I!  It is you!  Who could ever be forgiven so much?  It is I!  It is you!  Who could ever be loved so much?  It is I!  It is you!

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