Reclaiming the Lord's Rainbow

 

Jesu Juva

Genesis 9:8-17                                                                       

 July 25, 2021

Proper 12B                   

 Dear saints of our Savior~

          Is there anything more ubiquitous than the rainbow?  Rainbows are everywhere: websites, billboards, and banners—churches, schools and synagogues—yard signs, t-shirts, and lapel pins.  Of course, most of these rainbows are symbolic.  They have nothing to do with light refracted by precipitation in the atmosphere.  Instead, the rainbow has been transposed into a symbol—a symbol of human pride.  Beneath this rainbow God’s laws no longer apply.  This rainbow reflects not light, but darkness. This rainbow asserts that we know better than God when it comes to marriage and sex.  But this rainbow is not God’s rainbow.    

          Today we get a timely reminder that God Himself is the giver of the rainbow.  He’s the rainbow Creator.  His promises and His purposes are all that matter when it comes to the rainbow.  Today we have an opportunity to reclaim the Lord’s rainbow—the real rainbow—and to remember why it is a source of hope for all people.

          So let me introduce you to Noah.  Now, it might seem that Noah needs no introduction.  Noah, his ark, and the flood form one of those rare Biblical accounts that are well known even outside the church.  But did you know that when Noah was born, his father thought that his baby boy was the Messiah?  The name “Noah” means “comfort.”  Noah’s proud papa said, “Out of the ground that the Lord has cursed this one shall give us comfort from our work and from the toil of our hands” (Gen. 5:29).  Although he made what Luther calls a “pious mistake,” Noah’s daddy wasn’t too far off target:  his son would indeed point ahead with clarity and comfort to the life and ministry of the Messiah.

          Noah grew up in a corrupt world filled with violence (6:11).  But Noah was different.  Noah found favor in the eyes of the Lord.  Noah was a righteous man, blameless in his generation.  Noah walked with God (6:8-9).  A lot of children’s Bible story books put it this way:  “People everywhere were very bad, but Noah was very good.”  That’s not quite right, however.  Noah was good, but not because he wasn’t bad.  Noah was good because Noah had faith in God—faith that God would one day send His Son, born of a woman, to save us from our sins.

          Noah had six hundred candles on his birthday cake when he became captain of the ark.  Of course, when Noah and his family entered the ark —eight people in all—their neighbors thought they were rightwing religious nuts—crazy conspiracy theorists.  But after the Lord shut the door of the ark, those same neighbors were clinging like barnacles to the sides of the ark, as the waters soon swept them away.  The outside of the ark was transformed into a watery graveyard.  There all those who had not found favor in the eyes of the Lord—all those without faith in God’s promises—died.  Everything—everyone—all flesh—died.  Whatever disaster footage you’ve seen of earthquakes or tsunamis—no matter how many corpses you’ve seen stacked like firewood—this old world has never known a disaster like the great flood.

          But inside the ark there were eight people—eight people delivered from a watery grave.  They (and the animals) survived because God was with them.  And finally, after about a year, there was a freshly picked olive branch in the beak of Noah’s dove.  Although Noah wasn’t the Messiah and didn’t live up to his father’s expectations, yet he did indeed foreshadow God’s Son, Jesus.  Because just like Noah, Jesus also built an ark—an ark we call the “church”—an ark to save His family—a family of which you are a member. 

          The church of Jesus, like Noah’s ark, isn’t filled with “good” people.  No, this ark is filled with sinners who need saving.  And if nothing else, the account of the flood and the ark is an object lesson on just how much God hates sin.  God is patient and slow to anger, it’s true.  But His threats are not empty words.  God means what He says and says what He means. 

          God hates sin; but we, on the other hand, are pretty cavalier about it.  Often there is little to distinguish those of us inside this ark from those who are outside this ark.  And that’s a shame.  There is a flood that threatens us—a flood not of water, but a flood of evil and immorality and unbelief that threatens to sweep us away for good.  And far too often we’re okay with dangling our toes into that deadly torrent—toes then feet, feet then ankles, ankles then knees.  If you saw footage of the flash flooding in western Germany last week, view that and every flood as a reminder to repent before it’s too late.

          Confess your sin and take your place here, in the ark of the baptized.  On Good Friday Jesus stepped in and took the place of all the “bad” people—people like you.  There the bad person you are, Christ became.  The wrath you deserve, Christ endured.  All your badness was swallowed up by the good Son of God.  This Jesus—now raised from the dead—joins us here in this ark whenever two or three are gathered in His name, bringing forgiveness for our sins, deliverance from death.  “Take heart,” He says, “it is I.  Do not be afraid.”

          And that brings us back to the rainbow.  The message of the rainbow to Noah and his family was also, “Do not be afraid.”  At least three times in today’s reading from Genesis chapter 9 the Lord says, “never again.”  Never again shall there be a flood to destroy all flesh.  Luther suggests that this repetition was for Noah’s sake, because he was so traumatized by the flood.  And so God said, over and over, “Never again.” 

          Do you remember the flash flood that happened here eleven years ago last week?  If you were here, you remember it.  Seven inches or so in one afternoon.  Basements and businesses were flooded out, but no one died.  It was nothing like Noah experienced.  But if you were affected, you had trauma.  You panicked for weeks after that every time thunder rumbled in the distance.  Why? You were afraid it could happen again. 

          But what if God had said, “Never again?”  And what if God had given a sign to back up those words?  What comfort would have been yours?!  Noah got those words together with the sign of the rainbow.  It was God’s unmistakable, unbreakable covenant that He would never again wipe out all life with flood waters. 

          The Lord didn’t promise that there would be no more storms or no more floods.  Wind and waves will continue to threaten.  There will be loss, there will be hardship, sickness and sorrow.  But that’s also the beauty of the rainbow!  The rainbow only appears when there is a storm.  No rain, no rainbow.  When things seem most threatening, as lightning crashes, then and there God gives the sign of the rainbow.  And God Himself sees the rainbow.  It’s as much a sign for Him as it is for you.  When the storms of life threaten you, the rainbow reminds you that nothing can separate you from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.  He will never forget about you.

          It brings to mind one early morning several years ago when I took the photo on the cover of today’s bulletin.  It wasn’t a terrible storm; and you’ve certainly

seen rainbows more majestic than that one.  But the focal point of that photo isn’t just the rainbow, but also the cross that was mounted on the peak of our roof.  The rainbow and the cross go together.  The rainbow and the cross tell the whole story on this Sunday.  The rainbow is a sign that God restrains His wrath against sinners—that He is, first and foremost, a God of mercy, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.  He does not punish us as our sins deserve.  But the cross reminds us that Jesus—He was punished as our sins deserve.  All the righteous wrath of God that we deserve was heaped upon Jesus when He suffered as our sacred substitute.  The rainbow declares that God holds back and shows restraint; but at the cross God held nothing back—not the thorns, not the nails, not the spit-filled rage from the lips of bad people—bad people who were yet loved by a good God.

          And so, the cry goes out:  All aboard!  Take your seat here in the ark of the church.  For here the Lord Jesus gives signs surpassing the rainbow—sacraments so that we might always taste and see that the Lord is good—that our sins have been forgiven—and that we will be raised from death like Jesus.  One day this old world will come to a screeching halt.  The pride of scoffing sinners will be silenced.  The world will not die a soggy death, for God has promised never again.  But the world will be destroyed by fire.  But in the ark of the church you are safe.  You are fireproof.  Soaked in baptismal water, you are safe.  Beneath the rainbow, joined by Jesus, you will be saved. 

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

One Body, Undivided

Jesu Juva

Ephesians 2:11-22                                                                

July 18, 2021

Proper 11B                         

Dear saints of our Savior,

          It’s our second Sunday listening to the book of Ephesians.  Last week, in chapter one, we heard about what it means to be “in Christ.”  St. Paul used that phrase, “in Christ,” at least ten times, to show us where the action is.  It’s not in you; it’s not in me; it’s in Christ.  In Christ we are blessed.  In Christ we are chosen.  In Christ we are predestined for adoption.  In Christ we are loved and redeemed by His blood.  In Christ we have an inheritance guaranteed by the Holy Spirit.

          Today we get part two, chapter two, of what it means to be “in Christ.”  Today we learn that in Christ we are united, not separated.  In Christ we are fellow citizens, not aliens.  In Christ we are one household, one people, one family, one holy temple in Christ. 

          What does this oneness look like?  Well, it looks something like the south side of this building.  I’ve pictured it for you on the bulletin cover.  There you can

see that this temple—this building—is comprised of many individual stones.  And while these stones are similar, they are not identical:  they are different sizes of varying colors and textures.  Not only that, each stone is supported by the stones beneath it.  And each stone also supports the stones above it.  By itself—separated—each individual stone can’t do anything except perhaps serve as a fancy paper weight on your desk.  But being joined together, and built together, these stones comprise a beautiful, magnificent structure—a holy temple. 

          This is a picture of the unity we enjoy “in Christ.”  This is a picture of the church of Jesus Christ, made up of people of different nations, different languages and skin colors, each person supported by all the others, each person supporting all the others, each person built up on the foundation of the prophets and apostles, with Christ Jesus Himself being the cornerstone.  In Christ we are one body, undivided.

          But it hasn’t always been this way.  In the Old Testament there was separation and alienation between Israel and the nations, between God’s chosen people and all the other people, between the circumcised and the uncircumcised, between Jew and Gentile.  Israel was different.  Israel was set apart.  The descendants of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob were plucked out of obscurity by the Lord for a holy purpose—to bear the promised Messiah to all the nations of the world. 

          To Israel God gave His Law—dietary laws, Sabbath laws, laws for feasts and festivals.  Those laws walled off Israel from every other nation on earth.  If you were an Israelite you were different, set apart.  From early on you would have learned not to associate with the “unclean,” the goyim, the uncircumcised.  You didn’t eat at their tables.  You didn’t play in their houses.  You certainly didn’t marry their daughters.  You were to be set apart, separated, and segregated.  That’s how it was under the Old Testament.

          In our world today we have separation and segregation of a different kind.  We have dividing walls of hostility between nations and races and neighbors.  Sin ultimately causes the walls of separation to go up.  Our sin separates us from God and sets us against one another.  Our sin divides; it does not unify.  Sin alienates us—splits us up into tribes according to skin color, politics, and of course, religion.  It was because of human sin and division that God put up His own wall—carved out His own pathetic people, Israel, with a covenant, and set them apart for one holy purpose—to bring forth the Christ at just the right time.

          So while it’s true that Jesus was a Jew; it’s also true that in Jesus those walls of division came tumbling down.  We see it all over the gospels.  Jesus didn’t limit His ministry to Israelite territory, but He also left footprints in Samaritan soil and on Gentile pathways.  Jesus proclaimed the peace of God to those who were near (His fellow Jews); and He preached peace to those who were far off (the Gentiles).  He didn’t reject the Samaritan woman at the well.  He responded to cries for mercy from a Canaanite woman.  He touched the lives of Roman soldiers and centurions, tax collectors and prostitutes.  Jesus ate and drank with both “sinners” and Bible scholars.  He embraced the outsiders; and He warned the insiders that salvation depended on faith, not on ancestry, race, or tribe.

          In Jesus Christ the walls of division came tumbling down.  Those walls began to crack at the sound of His preaching.  But they were completely demolished when the earth quaked when He died on the cross.  At that precise moment, the curtain in the temple—the dividing wall between holy and unholy—was torn in two from top to bottom.  Jesus once foretold of His crucifixion this way:  But I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself (Jn. 12:32).  And before His Ascension, He told the Apostles to make disciples of all nations, baptizing them and teaching them.  All people—all nations.  Jesus has united all people by shedding His blood for all people.  He has made peace, reconciling the whole world to His Father, and reconciling us to each other in His crucified body.  His blood brings peace.  His wounds bring healing.  His death brings forgiveness for every sin.  In Jesus all people are loved, all are died for—all lives possess dignity, worth, and value.

          So where is the unity and peace of Christ these days?  Why is there so little reconciliation and so much division?  The simple answer is that sinners love their walls.  Sinners love separation and division.  Where those walls have been knocked down, we often try to build them back up again.  It happened already in the early church.  Where God in Christ tore down the wall between circumcised and uncircumcised, there were those in the church who tried to put that wall right back up again. 

          Our own nation was founded on the proposition that “all men are created equal,” that all people are equal under the law.  We’ve come a long way and broken down lots of walls along the way.  But the wall-builders are at it again—seeking to divide and alienate people according to the color of their skin—seeking to define you solely by the color of your skin as either an oppressor or a victim—a racist or an anti-racist.  But any theory of race that magnifies divisions between the races—any race theory which offers no peace, no unity, and no forgiveness—has no place within the church of God.  For we know the truth:  We are all descendants of one man, Adam.  And we are all redeemed and reconciled by the blood of one man, Jesus Christ—our Savior.  For He Himself is our peace.  In Him we are one body, undivided.

          There is one Lord, one faith, one Baptism, one God and Father of us all, one Savior—the Lord Jesus Christ.  There is one Spirit, the Lord and Giver of life.  Once we were all outsiders, gentiles.  We come from different nationalities, languages and cultures.  But for all those who are “in Christ,” we have a baptismal passport.  And that baptismal passport identifies us as citizens of heaven.  You are I are fellow citizens with the saints.  We are members of the family of God.  Our faith rests on the firm foundation that God Himself has laid down for us:  the Old Testament prophets, the New Testament apostles, Jesus Christ being the cornerstone—the key piece that joins together the old and the new into one body, undivided—a holy nation, a royal priesthood. 

          And this wonderful unity is all ours “in Christ.”  “In Christ” means you didn’t do it.  You’re no master of race relations.  But Jesus is.  He did the hard work of ending hostility, by subjecting Himself to the hostility of death—even death on a cross.  And that death brings peace, unity, and forgiveness of sins.  Don’t go along with this world’s idolatrous individualism, its never-ending narcissism, its ongoing obsession over all the things that divide and separate us.  But do rejoice and show forth the unity that God creates through the waters of Holy Baptism—unity that transcends all nations, races, and tribes.  We are one people, one family, one temple, united in the death and resurrection of Jesus the Christ.  We are one body, undivided.

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

 

The Perils of Preaching

 

Jesu Juva

St. Mark 6:14-29                                                                     

July 11, 2021

Proper 10B                             

 Dear saints of our Savior~

          American culture was once defined by freedom of speech.  You had the legal right to express your opinions—the constitutional right to speak your mind.  You had the right to argue, to oppose, to criticize, to offend, to articulate, and pontificate.  But now we live in a different culture—a culture some have described as “cancel culture.”  Now, if you say the wrong thing, or express the wrong opinion, or offend the elite and powerful—now you get canceled, censored, banned, de-platformed, demonetized, and kicked off the internet.  If the people at the top decide that your opinions are disinformation or misinformation or don’t comply with their community standards—well, then, you get canceled. 

          But it turns out that “cancel culture” is as old as the Bible.  Cancel culture is as old as the Old Testament.  And not surprisingly, the people most often banned in the Bible were prophets and preachers—men whose words were the very words of the Lord.  The prophet Amos got canceled.  Why?  What was the charge?  Famous Amos predicted the downfall of Israel and the death of Israel’s king.  But Amos’s critics claimed that was “fake news,” which their fact-checkers had determined to be false.  “The land is not able to bear all his words,” they claimed.  For speaking the Lord’s truth, Amos was censored.  Amos was canceled.

          But few prophets were canceled in more spectacular fashion than St. John the Baptist.  John was the last of the Lord’s prophets who fully and freely exercised his freedom of speech.  He was the voice of one crying out in the wilderness, calling sinners to repentance that they might escape the wrath to be revealed at the coming of the Lord.  And one of the sinners John called to repentance just happened to be the most powerful man in Judea—King Herod.  And when you call out the king—when you criticize the king (or the first lady)—there’s a good chance you get yourself canceled.

          Politicians behave badly, as a general rule, and Herod was no exception.  He had taken his brother’s wife, Herodias, for himself.  Of course, it often takes two to tango; and Herodias likely saw this exchange of husbands as a pathway to more power for herself.  John had the temerity to tell Herod that shacking up with his brother’s wife was sinful.  It was contrary to God’s holy law.  It was wrong on every level.  Plenty of other people probably thought the whole situation stunk to high heaven too, but had the good sense to keep their mouths shut.  Not John.  John had all the tact of a porcupine.  He was the Lord’s bull in the world’s china shop.

          Now, interestingly enough, it seems that King Herod took John’s criticisms in stride.  But hell had no fury like the “new” Mrs. Herod.  Herodias held a grudge against John and wanted him dead.  It seems she didn’t appreciate John preaching publicly about her sin.  Still today, nothing gets people madder—nothing gets people more furious—nothing incites a riotous mob more quickly than to scrutinize and criticize their sinful behavior.

          It’s true; we always want to justify our sin.  We’re all guilty of that.  From adultery to idolatry to pornography, we have no trouble coming up with plenty of good excuses.  All of us can lay out a reasonable rationale for why our sin isn’t really sin at all.  But when someone like John comes along, points a finger at us, and says, “Repent,” well, nothing makes our molars grind more furiously.  Nothing stirs up resentment and hatred in our hearts more quickly than when someone dares to unmask our hypocrisy and point out our sin.  Together with Herodias, we join in the refrain of revenge: “Heads will roll!”

          Confronting unrepentant sinners is actually part of a pastor’s job.  Not only do pastors preach and teach and encourage and comfort and exhort.  They also rebuke and correct those who have gone astray, in the hope that it leads to repentance and restoration.  As you might imagine, this is the part of the job that most pastors enjoy the least.  What would you do if one of your pastors confronted you about some unrepentant sin in your life?  Would you listen and take his concerns to heart?  Or, would you be more inclined to ask for his head on a silver platter?  (Maybe I should ask for a show of hands here. . .)

          One interesting fact about the placement of John’s martyrdom in Mark’s gospel: Today’s account gets sandwiched by St. Mark.  He records it right after Jesus sends out the Twelve two-by-two to preach repentance; and it comes right

before the return of the Twelve from their preaching assignment.  It’s kind of hard to miss that St. Mark wants preachers—those who are called and sent by Jesus—to sit up and take notice of what happened to John.  Preachers need to be faithful to death—like John was.  Preachers need to treasure the truth of God more than they treasure the approval of their hearers, more than they treasure their paychecks and pensions.  Preachers need to preach the truth in love and to avoid preaching only what itching ears want to hear.  God, be merciful to me, a sinner.

          Of course, the law and gospel God gives us today isn’t only for preachers in the pulpit—but also for people in the pews—baptized believers—people predestined for adoption into the glorious grace of God in Christ.  (That’s you!)  Don’t you be like Salome, Herodias’s dancing daughter, whose birthday party striptease was a dishonorable use of the body God had given her.  Christian women are always clothed with modesty and with good works.  Don’t be like Herodias, her mother, nursing grudges, hateful thoughts and vengeance against those who do not deserve your wrath.  Be kind, tenderhearted, and forgiving.  Do not be like Herod and fear looking bad in front of your friends more than you fear the Word of God and the wrath of God.

          If John were among us this morning, I suspect he would point his prophetic finger at the crucifix behind me, and reprise the best line he was ever given to say:  Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.  That Lamb is Jesus.  And one strange thing about the martyrdom of John in Mark’s gospel is that Jesus doesn’t react to it.  Jesus offers no comment—no eulogy—on John’s devastating death. 

          Maybe that’s because Jesus had His own devastating death awaiting Him in Jerusalem.  Jesus had a date with cancel culture.  Jesus had a sacrifice to make that would deal once and for all with the sins of the whole world, including the sins of corrupt kings in their adulterous bedrooms.  God doesn’t deal with the sin of the world by instituting a program of moral improvement, or by recruiting an army of social justice warriors.  No, God deals with human sin—our sin—by sending His Son into our flesh—to put sin to death, in His flesh, on the cross.

          That is the way it is with Jesus.  That’s how His kingdom comes.  Earthly kingdoms are about power—about whether power is held by the people or by the powerful few.  The kings of this world just cancel their critics or lop off their heads.  But God’s kingdom is about the mercy of a King who dies for the people—a King who dies for all the people, including His worst critics.  It’s about the kindness of a King whose glorious grace embraces the worst of the worst, the lost and the lowly, who redeems us by the blood He sheds, and who forgives our every trespass against Him.  John had to decrease.  Jesus had to increase.  John had to get out of the way for Jesus to be the way, the truth and the life.  John was safe in death because Jesus was going the way of the cross to rescue him—and the whole world.

          We would do well to live like John, and even to die like John.  Let cancel culture do its worst.  Our citizenship is in heaven.  And we eagerly await the return of our Savior from there.  We should, as God gives us the ability, speak out and stand up for what is right:  defending natural marriage, protecting the unborn, affirming the distinctive goodness and beauty of human life, created in the image of God, as either male or female. 

          But don’t forget:  John was not a culture warrior.  John was a witness for Jesus.  John served best when He pointed to the Savior and said:  Behold the Lamb.  There, in Jesus, is God’s answer to cancel culture.  There is God’s solution to the world’s problems and to your own sin and death.  The one thing needful has been done.  Christ has died.  Christ is risen.  It is finished.  In Him we die; and in Him we live forever.

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