Answer to Prayer

 Jesu Juva

Numbers 11                                                                 

 September 26, 2021

Proper 21B                                         

 Dear saints of our Savior~

          Do the prayers we pray have an expiration date?  Is there a statute of limitations?  Are prayers you prayed last month—or last year—still sounding before our Father in heaven?  Are those petitions—offered in faith—still resounding in the heart of God?  Is it possible that God answers even ancient prayers—prayers long ago prayed and long ago forgotten by us?  Could a prayer offered for you long ago by a parent or grandparent or sponsor still be guiding the steps and decisions you are making today?  Could your life today be impacted, shaped and directed by prayers that were offered up to God long, long ago?

          In today’s OT reading we have just such a prayer—a prayer that God is answering here and now to bless you.  You probably missed it.  It is admittedly difficult to hear that prayer because, as you listen to Numbers chapter 11, the things that really jump out are the grumblings.  Now, grumblings can sound a lot like prayers.  And sometimes our prayers do include complaints.  However, grumblings are not prayers.  Grumblings are not spoken to God.  Grumblings are spoken to the world—to anyone who will listen.

          The grumbling in Numbers 11 started like this:  The tribes of Israel were encamped in the wilderness.  At the center of the camp was the tabernacle, the tent of meeting, the place where God dwelled among His people.  That tabernacle was like the hub of a wheel, and spread out around it were tents as far as the eye could see.  The grumble began perhaps when one man stepped out of his tent early one morning.  He looks around; and he sees what’s wrong.  He used to love to get up in the morning—to go outside and see manna covering the ground as far as the eye could see—precious, mysterious food from God.  The name “manna” literally meant “What is it?”  The very name of this food expressed wonder and amazement.  It reminded you that it was a gift from the hand of God—that this was the bread of angels.

          Who knew you could get so sick of the bread of angels?  Baked, battered, boiled, pickled or fried—it didn’t matter.  Just the sight of that manna now made him sick.  Manna yesterday, manna today, manna tomorrow for years on end.  So, rather than gather up that gift of God, the man let out a beautiful grumble.  He let loose his longing to go back to Egypt.  Oh, he conveniently forgot about the hardships and the slavery—conveniently forgot about Pharaoh’s plan to murder every newborn baby boy in the Nile River.  All he could recall was the food they had in Egypt—a veritable smorgasbord of meat and fish and cucumbers and melons and leeks and onions and garlic.  And his mouth watered, and his neighbors’ mouths watered, and in no time that one grumble had spread throughout the entire camp.  That grumble—that awful, beautiful grumble had a terrible and powerful effect.

          All of us know the power of a good grumble, don’t we?  Like when you’re driving home from church, after you’ve had your sins forgiven and you’ve been fed and nourished with the precious, priceless body and blood of Jesus, and the Word of God is still ringing in your ears . . . and you let loose with a good grumble about how the sanctuary was too warm (or too cold), or how the choir sounded flat, or how the organ was too loud, or how the sermon just didn’t seem particularly relevant.  And suddenly the precious, powerful gifts God gives in this place fade away—just disappear—erased by the power of a good grumble.

          Or it’s like in marriage, when you are sacrificing of yourself for the sake of your spouse.  And that sacrificial love for your spouse is Christ-like.  It is holy.  It makes the angels in heaven rejoice because that’s the hard work husbands and wives are called to do.  But in your frustration, you let loose with a good grumble about how unthankful and unappreciative your spouse is—about how you are taken for granted day in and day out.  And suddenly—suddenly—the gift of God that is your spouse is despised, and what God has joined together you have torn asunder by the power of a good grumble.

          The grumbling of the Israelites drove Moses to his knees.  Moses took all those grumbles and gave them to God—made them into a prayer.  Only it’s not a prayer for wisdom or strength or faith.  Moses prays that God would annihilate him!  Because Moses was sick of these people!  Moses takes it all and throws it up to God.  Now the Lord has a leader who doesn’t want to lead, and a people who don’t want to follow.  The people are looking at the past in a way that takes away the gift of the present.  Moses is looking at the present in a way that takes away the gift of the future.

          But the Lord also looked ahead to the future—and in the future God would indeed orchestrate the death of the Leader of His people—the Good Shepherd of His sheep.  The punishment His grumbling people deserved would be heaped up upon the One God had sent to save them—Jesus, who came to save His people from their sins.  The Lord showed His mercy on that day of grumbling. 

          The mercy of God was actually hidden right there in their midst—behind the curtain in the Holy of Holies in the tabernacle.  God must have longed to pull back that curtain and dwell among His people in the flesh—to gather them as a mother hen gathers her chicks beneath her wings.  But when that time had fully come—when the Word became flesh and dwelt among us in the person of Jesus the Christ—God’s grumbling people grabbed Him and grasped Him and nailed Him to the cross.  Jesus was beaten and battered and crucified—and this was the beautiful, loving plan of God—to offer His life for you.  This is the merciful heart of God—that He does not punish us as our grumbling hearts deserve.  He does not count our sins against us for Jesus’ sake.

          It was because of that mercy that God answered Moses’ prayer in an unexpected, undeserved fashion.  Instead of gathering manna, the Lord told Moses to gather men—seventy men of the elders of the people.  And the Lord Himself came down in the cloud and took some of the Spirit that was on Moses and put that same Spirit on the seventy elders.  And they all began to prophesy.  And that Spirit was so strong and so powerful that even two men who were way out on the far edges of the camp—Eldad and Medad—even they began to prophesy.  Joshua came running to Moses to make them stop.  But Moses responded with a prayer—a prayer which doesn’t sound like much more than a footnote to the whole episode.  Moses prayed: Would that all the Lord’s people were prophets, that the Lord would put His Spirit on them all!

          That’s the ancient prayer I want you to hear today:  Would that all the Lord’s people were prophets, that the Lord would put His Spirit on them all!  That prayer went unanswered for centuries.  It sat in God’s “inbox” year after year.  But God began to answer it when He raised Jesus Christ from the dead and lifted Him up in glory to be seated at His Right Hand in the heavenly realms, and then sent His Holy Spirit into this world to call and gather for Himself a holy people, filled with His Spirit—each one a little temple of the Holy Spirit.  Each one called, gathered, enlightened, and sanctified.  Each one connected to Jesus Christ in the one, true faith.  Each one forgiven.  Each one destined for resurrection.  All because the Lord has put His Spirit in us—the very thing Moses prayed for all those centuries ago.

          Would that all the Lord’s people were prophets, that the Lord would put His Spirit on them all.  That ancient prayer of Moses is still being answered today.  Right here where the Word of God is preached and proclaimed, the Lord puts His Holy Spirit on you—drawing you closer in faith.  Right here at the rail, where the Lord’s body and blood are given to eat and drink, the Lord puts His Holy Spirit on you—richly forgiving all of your sins.  And these wonderful things happen not just here, but all around the world—among even the “Eldads and Medads” who are far away—in ways we aren’t even aware of.  Moses’ ancient prayer is being answered still today.

          God’s answers still shape our life together.  Living together as brothers and sisters in Christ is not as easy as it sounds.  What’s easy is grumbling.  But that grumbling takes away God’s gift of the present.  So when you feel the urge to get a good grumble going, rethink that plan and redirect your thoughts.  Ask the Lord for what you need.  Pray.  Because the Lord will hear; and the Lord will answer according to His grace and mercy—be it today, tomorrow, or on the Day of His return. 

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

The Beauty of Humility

Jesu Juva

James 3:13-4:10                                                           

September 19, 2021

Proper 20B                            

 Dear saints of our Savior~

          If you’ve been paying attention then you know that we’ve been reading from the book of James for the past few weeks.  And to be honest, James is the kind of book that stands up and demands your attention.  James is not easily ignored.  James is kind of like that elderly relative who has some very strong opinions—who isn’t in the least bit shy about speaking his mind at every family gathering.

          I mean no disrespect for Saint James.  He gives us God’s own truth, inspired by the Holy Spirit.  He tells us what we need to hear from the mouth of the Lord—even those things that we might rather not hear.  It’s James who tells us that faith without works is dead.  It’s James who tells us that if you keep the whole law of God, but stumble at just one point, you’re guilty of breaking all of it—every commandment.  It’s James who tells us how dangerous and poisonous the tongue can be—and how no human being can truly tame the tongue.

          As you might expect, today’s epistle from James pulls no punches.  Buckle your seat belts.  His main theme is drawn from what sounds like an innocuous, little proverb:  God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble.  No big surprise there.  The Bible is full of statements like that.  Countless Bible stories highlight either the peril of pride, or the beauty of humility.  Who can forget the pride of Peter; or the humility of Mary, the mother of our Lord?

          As James surveyed the scene among the believers of his day, he was

dismayed at what he saw:  bitter jealousy, selfish ambition, and boasting.  It was every man for himself, each person propelled by sinful passions and desires.  I’d like to say that pastors are immune to things like pride and jealousy; but last week I sat through eight hours of meetings with fellow pastors.  One of those pastors, I’m convinced, has a perfect ministry.  To hear him tell it, he’s got no problems, no struggles, just a constant influx of new members and an ever-increasing stream of big donations.  Even though I know that’s just pride talking; I still have to remind myself not to be jealous of him.

          Pride is one of the famous seven deadening sins; but we rarely give it much thought, I’m afraid.  What about you?  Is pride a problem for you?  If you were to make a list of besetting sins—sins that do a good job of tripping you up and entangling you—would pride be on your list?  As in the case of my fellow pastors, it’s always easier to spot the pride in someone else.  We’re more inclined to see ourselves as humble and gracious.  Or perhaps your thoughts about pride can be summed up in this brief, little poem.  The poem is entitled, “Dilemma.”

I want to be famous

so I can be humble

about being famous.

What good is my humility

when I’m stuck in this obscurity?

And while we all may know what it’s like to be stuck in obscurity, even obscurity is no remedy for pride.

          So let me take a lesson from James and state a few inconvenient truths about pride.  Pride in its most deadly form is not what you think it is.  Pride is not trash-talking, smack-talking, jaw-boning, braggadocio.  Most of us learned not to indulge in that kind of thing by the time we were confirmed.  (Although, whenever the Packers play the Bears all bets are off.)  No, the real problem with pride—pride in its most dangerous form—is not running around and saying, “Look at me.  I’m better than you.”  Beloved in the Lord, pride is saying “no” to God.

          Pride is saying “no” to God—reducing Him, shrinking Him down to size, confining God only to the cracks and crevices of our lives.  On Sunday mornings we pray, praise, and give thanks.  On Sunday mornings we let God be God.  But what happens on Monday and Tuesday and the rest of the week?  We bow our heads and bend our knees on Sunday mornings; but the rest of the week, we stand up and proudly declare our independence from God and His commands.

          There’s a blatant and obvious example of this in our culture today.  If pride is saying “no” to God, then could there be a better example than the LGBTQ movement—those who literally rally beneath the “pride” banner?  Pride is their creed.  They are experts at saying “no” to God:  No to God’s divine design for sex within marriage, No to God’s natural design for marriage between man and woman, No to God’s gift of family, No to God’s creation of the body as either male or female. 

          We’re different though, right?  We know God’s Word.  We know God’s will.  And we’ve been humbled by His holy will.  Yet we still say “no” to God.  God says, “Be kind and tenderhearted, forgiving one another as God in Christ forgave you,” but we say “no.”  We say “no” as we nurse our grudges and look for ways to repay evil with evil.  God says, “Flee from sexual immorality,” but we say “no.”  We say “no” as we consume a steady diet of sexual immorality in our entertainment choices, becoming more and more desensitized to it.  God says defend your neighbor, speak well of him, and explain everything in the kindest way, but we say “no.”  We say “no” every time we go along with the gossip, and leave the lies unchallenged, and allow the slander to spread.

          We know God’s will and God’s Word and still—still!—we say no.  Who do we think we are?  Our first parents said “no” to God; and their pride landed us all in a world of hurt that will eventually deposit us six feet under.  God opposes the proud.  You can say “no” to God; but you do so at your own peril.

          God opposes the proud—and that includes us all.  God opposes the proud; but God—this God—is also love.  This God desires not the death of the proud, but the repentance of the proud.  His desire for them is forgiveness and life.  God set Himself in opposition to your pride in a strange and unexpected way.  God opposed your sinful pride by assigning it to His one and only Son.  Jesus carried your pride in His body.  Your unforgiving heart, your immorality, your slander and gossip were all assigned and imputed to the Son of God.  And on Good Friday God the Father opposed His Son—opposed Him with the wrath and fury that our sin deserves.  The God who opposes the proud opposed His own beloved Son—so that He might save the proud through the humility of His beloved Son.  In Jesus the problem of your pride has found a solution.  The problem of your sin has been met with God’s forgiveness.  The problem of your death has been undone by the Lord of Life.

          If pride is saying “no” to God, then we all stand guilty and condemned.  But Jesus Christ—and He alone—has said “Yes” to God.  Jesus humbled Himself and said “yes.”  “Yes” to your deliverance from sin, death, and the grave.  Jesus said “yes” to the suffering and spit—to the nails and thorns—to the cross and tomb.  Jesus said “Yes.”  And His “yes” counts for you through faith.  Because of that “yes,” there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.

          If pride is saying “no” to God, then humility is saying “yes.”  Humility and pride are opposites.  And the beauty of humility is something to behold.  And we can behold it best in Jesus.  Humility is praying “thy will (not mine) be done,” and that’s precisely what Jesus prayed on the night He was betrayed.  This Jesus emptied Himself and humbled Himself by saying “yes” to the point of death, even death on a cross.

          God opposes the proud, but [He] gives grace to the humble.  This God is in the business of giving grace.  That’s what He delights to do.  He gives grace to you.  For in you God sees not your pride, but sees His Son, Jesus.  God opposed your pride in Jesus.  God punished your pride in Jesus.  And in Jesus you have been given forgiveness and grace.  Through faith in Jesus, His humility is in you.  Grace is yours.  Forgiveness is yours.  God is for you, not against you.

          And with God’s help you can say “yes” to God.  You can say “amen” to His Word.  “Amen” to His promises.  “Amen” to His will for your life—even when that will of His is shaped in the form of a cross.  As you receive the body and blood of Jesus today—as the Word of God has its way with you today—the God of Sunday becomes the God of Monday too.  Saying “yes” to God means that you begin to decrease; and Jesus begins to increase.  No longer can He be confined to the corners and crevices of your life.  He has been exalted to the highest place; at the name of Jesus every knee will one day bow.  On the cross we see the beauty of His humility.  And in that beauty the problem of our pride has met its match.

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

 

Help My Unbelief!

Jesu Juva

St. Mark 9:14-29                                                         

 September 12, 2021

Proper 19B                         

 Dear saints of our Savior~

          It may be the sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost, but for all intents and purposes it’s “Christian Education Sunday,” the day when we rally our resources, and resume the time-tested traditions of Sunday school and Bible classes.  It’s the children who are most excited about this; and rightly so.  For them today means new classes, new teachers, new Bible stories and new hymns to learn—with a potluck meal to top it all off.

          This day makes me think of Jesus and the little children.  It’s not hard to picture the Savior with the children of our congregation—with their smiling faces and the joy they have in Jesus.  It’s no wonder Jesus said that the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.  We have a painting of Jesus and the little children that hangs in the church library.  It’s vintage 1970 with Jesus and the children sitting in a dewy meadow, full of wildflowers, with hills in the background which are alive (no doubt) with the sound of music.  That’s one way of picturing it.

          But then there’s also Jesus and the little boy in today’s Holy Gospel.  Quite a different picture.  This poor boy isn’t skipping through any dewy meadows.  He’s demonized.  An unclean spirit has taken control of the child.  It makes the boy mute.  It causes seizures in which he foams at the mouth, grinds his teeth, and becomes rigid.  And for the love of God, keep the kid away from fire and water because it loves to throw the boy in—in order to kill him.

          See what Satan does.  See how he sets his sights on all people of all ages—children included.  He is a shameless predator who delights in victimizing even children.  This is serious, scary stuff.  If, in fact, the kingdom of God belongs to such as these, then “these” little ones have targets on their backs.  And since the evil one delights in hurting and harming little ones, can there be any doubt about who is really driving the abortion industry? Can there be any doubt about who is really behind the push to prevent the unborn from taking their first breath?  As we heard from Ephesians a few weeks ago, “Our battle is not against flesh and blood.”  Our battle is not against Planned Parenthood or politicians who bow the knee to the abortion industry.  Our battle ultimately is not against them—not against flesh and blood—but “against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places,” against Satan and the evil angels. 

          Of course, whenever the devil attacks children, he gets the parents, as well.  Imagine the life of the demonized boy’s father.  For years, this unclean spirit had been harassing, attacking, and trying to kill his son.  How could you as a father even fall asleep at night?  There is no worse feeling for a father than the feeling of helplessness—being unable to protect and help the child that God has given you! 

          This father is desperately trying to help his boy.  He even brings the boy to the disciples of Jesus—and Jesus’ disciples had failed—failed to cast out the demon.  What must that have done to the father’s faith?  You better believe that he’s prayed and prayed.  He’s done everything—doctors, drugs, therapies, rabbis, healers.  And now there’s little left in his heart but doubt and despair.  He tells Jesus, “If you can do anything, have compassion on us and help us.”  “IF you can.”  There it is—that doubt planted and cultivated by the evil one.  Jesus calls him on it:  What do you mean IF?  All things are possible for one who believes.

          All things are possible for one who believes.  That statement really brings us to the heart of the matter.  This isn’t so much a story about a nasty demon, or even the miraculous power of Jesus, as it is about what happens to our faith when our “religion” doesn’t seem to work.  What happens to our faith when something tragic pushes you to the crossroads of doubt and despair?  It doesn’t have to be demon possession.  Substitute whatever suits you:  the accident that ruined your life, the cancer that killed the child, the marriage that unraveled, the friend who betrayed you, the child or grandchild who abandoned the faith.  Whatever it is, it seems like your religion is powerless to fix it.  Things aren’t working like they’re supposed to!  Like the father of the demonized boy, you did the very thing you should do.  You brought your problems to church; and the church couldn’t fix them.  You prayed for healing; and new complications developed.  You prayed for patience; and got more suffering.  You know how it is; I know you do.

          At this point, what a lot of people do is trade in your “god” for another model.  You swap your religion (or at least change churches) until you find something that works.  We Americans are particularly prone to the “whatever works must be true” way of looking at things.  We’re pragmatic.  We admire efficiency—whatever it takes to get the job done.  But when it comes to faith, the whole “go with whatever works” mentality is a deeply flawed strategy.  And it’s got the devil’s fingerprints all over it.

          If you equate what’s right and true with what works, then what happens when it stops working?  What happens when the disciples can’t cast out the demon?  What happens when you take your troubles to church and lay them at the feet of Jesus and things only get worse?  Well, you’ve got a handy excuse to move on—to chase after what works.  OR . . . you can stick with Jesus and see how He blesses us in the long run through our suffering—how He carries us through every trial and tragedy—how His grace is always sufficient, how His power is made perfect in our weakness.  Jesus does His best work in our lives precisely when nothing is working right—when nothing makes sense—when nothing is proceeding according to plan.

          The best thing we can do is learn to pray like that desperate father:  Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.  That’s not double-talk; that’s honesty.  That man didn’t try to hide his weakness.  He didn’t try to appear more polished and pious than he was.  He wasn’t afraid to be real.  I believe; help my unbelief.  That’s actually a

very Lutheran way of explaining who we are.  And who are we?  Saint and sinner, at the same time.  A believer and an unbeliever.  That’s you; that’s me.  And that reality shapes our prayers:  I believe; help my unbelief.  Lord, teach me to trust You when You appear weak.  Teach me to trust your Word when it seems powerless.  Teach me to lean on Your promises instead of my own reason and strength.

          You can pray with that kind of honesty because Jesus is here for you—for the helpless, the weak, the scared, and even the demonized.  It doesn’t matter whether you’re an “innocent” victim like the little boy with the unclean spirit, or whether you’ve made your bed of shame and now you have to lay in it.  All things are possible for Jesus—and for the one who believes in Jesus!  All things are possible . . . including the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting. 

          How can I be so sure?  How can you be confident that Jesus will help you?  Beloved in the Lord, Jesus has a history of helping.  He has a track record of deliverance—a record written in blood.  His crucifixion and resurrection—His dying and rising—are the indisputable proof that with God all things are possible—that He is always, ready, willing and able to help those who wait for Him in faith.  You can trust this Jesus.

          In fact, today’s gospel reading points us directly to Jesus’ death and resurrection.   For when Jesus finally got around to exorcising the demon, it appeared that things had gone from bad to worse.  It looked like the boy was dead.  He looked like a corpse and most of the crowd quickly concluded, “He is dead.”  (And, for all we know, maybe he was dead.)  But Jesus took the boy by the hand and lifted him up, and he arose.  He arose.  (In Greek, anes’tay—the resurrection word) It’s a little preview of the resurrection—corpses rising to new life. 

          This little detail is why we can trust Jesus.  For He truly died.  As our sin-bearing substitute, He died like a common criminal.  He became a corpse on a cross.  And on the third day He rose again.  Jesus lives.  And in Jesus you also will live.  When it seems like your religion isn’t working—that your faith is failing—remember the resurrection.  For on that day death and sin will be undone.  Everything will work again.  Everything will work perfectly—including you.

          But for now, today, Jesus is here to help you.  Now, the Savior’s help may not be exactly what you were hoping for.  It may not come according to your timetable.  It may not materialize according to your exact design and plan.  And if you find that to be discouraging or troubling, then pray.  Pray.  Go to Jesus with your trouble.  Lay it on the line:  Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.  He will answer.  He will help.  Trust Him.  Believe His promises.

          His nail-scarred hands declare that your sins, no matter what they are, cannot separate you from God.  Jesus has done away with them as surely as He dispatched the demon in today’s reading.  That means that your troubles, your weakness, your sorrows, your demons—they have only a short season to live.  They will not last.  They do not reign; Jesus reigns!  And He is Our Savior.  Nothing is impossible with Him. 

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