Not a Spectator Sport

Jesu Juva

St. Luke 19:1-10                                                               

October 30, 2022

Reformation Sunday                     

 Dear saints of our Savior~

          Next Sunday our Sunday school children will be singing right here during the Divine Service.  Whenever I think about the value of teaching hymns to little children, I’m reminded of Zacchaeus.  Fifty years ago, as a little boy, I learned a song about Zacchaeus in Sunday school.  I was still too young to read or write; but I was not too young to sing.  And that song is still with me all these years later:  Zacchaeus was a wee, little man—a wee, little man was he.  He climbed up in a sycamore tree for the Lord he wanted to see.  And as the Savior passed that way he looked up in the tree.  And he said, “Zacchaeus, you come down, for I’m going to your house today . . .”

          As I got a little older—and as I got a lot taller—it seemed that I had less in common with “wee, little” Zacchaeus.  But now, as an older man, I know that Zacchaeus wasn’t defined by his diminutive stature.  No, the life of Zacchaeus is defined by the grace of God in Jesus Christ, and by the repentance that flowed from that grace.  And it just so happens, that grace and repentance are the main themes of this Reformation Sunday. 

          Zacchaeus was a tax collector; and there was perhaps no better place to be a tax collector than in Jericho.  Jericho was (and is) the oldest city in the world.  It was a prime spot for collecting customs, levies, surcharges, fees, tariffs and all other manner of taxes on goods and produce being shipped east and west.  Mind you, Zacchaeus was a chief tax collector.  That probably meant that Zacchaeus’ line of work wasn’t all that different from the typical mafia crime boss of today.  Graft and corruption, kick-backs, money laundering, bribes, extortion—it was all in a day’s work when you worked as the chief tax collector in Jericho.

          Then, one day the word on the streets of Jericho was that Jesus of Nazareth was coming to town.  What Zacchaeus had heard about Jesus we don’t know, but it was evidently enough to trigger his curiosity.  So Zacchaeus set out that day to be a spectator.  He simply sought to catch a glimpse of the Savior as he passed that way.  But being small of stature, he would have to perch himself above the crowd in the branches of a sycamore tree.  From there he could take it all in as a spectator.  But as the Savior passed that way He looked up in the tree—looked up at one little fan sitting in the stands.  And Jesus did what every spectator in Wisconsin dreams about—did what can almost be described as a “Lambeau Leap,” only better! 

          Imagine it!  Jesus hurtles a verbal volley directly up at Zacchaeus—draws him down—calls him out—from his safe and secure perch above the fray—announces that He MUST go to the house of Zacchaeus immediately.  St. Luke tells us that Zacchaeus came down immediately and welcomed Jesus gladly into his home. 

          And as a result of this surprise visit, Zacchaeus—greedy Zacchaeus, organized crime boss Zacchaeus, unclean, sinful Zacchaeus—he is made a new man, transformed by the amazing grace of God.  He repents of his crimes, renounces his shameful ways, and promises restitution to those he has wronged above and beyond what the Law of God required.  And Jesus gets the last word, declaring Zacchaeus to be a “son of Abraham,” saved by grace through faith alone.

          Zacchaeus teaches us that Christianity is not a spectator sport.  Zacchaeus would have been content to be just a spectator that day—perhaps to see Jesus from afar, perhaps to overhear a parable, or possibly even witness a miracle.  But at the end of the day, Zacchaeus the spectator would have returned to being Zacchaeus the tax collector on the road to hell.  And nothing would have changed.  Filthy rich Zacchaeus would have continued living in spiritual poverty.

          Every Sunday the Savior passes right this way, here among us; and every Sunday we are tempted to see ourselves simply as spectators.  We love being spectators.  We pay good money to be spectators of sports and the arts in all kinds of beautiful venues.  But this space is no place for spectators.  What do I mean?  Well, spectators come here hoping to glean a little good news, to be inspired, to hear beautiful music, to connect with friends—but with no serious thought about what needs to change in their lives—maintaining a safe distance from that.

          It would have been unthinkable that Jesus should personally visit the home of Zacchaeus, only for Zacchaeus to go right back to his life of crime afterward.  There was a part of Zacchaeus that needed to be changed—that needed reformation.  More accurately, there was a part of Zacchaeus that needed to be put to death.  He was a lover of money who lined his pockets with all his ill-gotten gain.  That pocket-lining could no longer continue.  It had to be stopped.  It had to be put to death.

          Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a Lutheran pastor executed by the Nazis, put it more succinctly than I ever could.  Bonhoeffer famously wrote, “When Christ calls a man He bids him to come and die.”  That striking sentence sounds a lot like the very first of those 95 Theses that Martin Luther nailed to the Castle Church doors at Wittenberg.  Luther wrote, “When our Lord and Master, Jesus Christ, said ‘Repent’, He called for the entire life of believers to be one of repentance.”  The grace of God leads to this repentance.  The grace of God leads us to put to death in us whatever will not conform to the Lordship of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. 

          The account of Zacchaeus leaves us with but two choices—you can go on being a spectator, enjoying your carefully crafted complacency, living at ease with the normalcy of your sin—OR you can welcome the presence and power of Jesus into your life and radically reform your life through repentance.  What is there in your life that needs to die?  Where does your Old Adam express himself best?  Is it your constant need to be in control and be the boss?  Is it the simmering anger that boils over far too often?  Is it your love of money that causes you to be stingy and tight fisted—even toward God?  What needs to die in you?  Your gift for gossip?  Your refusal to flee from sexual immorality?

          Saying goodbye to the comfort of old sinful ways is never easy, but your help comes from the Lord—an ever present help in time of trouble.  You can’t do it alone.  Zacchaeus couldn’t do it alone.  It takes the power and presence of Jesus to

root out the rot for a meaningful reformation of life.  You see, the parts of your life that need to be put to death have already been died for by Jesus.  As we heard today in Romans 3, “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus.”  The blood that Jesus shed on the cross—that blood means that your scarlet sins can be made snow-white.  In Jesus you are forgiven.  In Jesus you are a son of Abraham.  In Jesus you are justified.

          Today what happened to Zacchaeus can happen to you.  You may have come here today simply out of habit, to be a spectator.  But your motive doesn’t matter now.  What matters is that Jesus Himself is passing this way.  Think of your padded pew as being a big branch of a sycamore tree.  And here and now today, Jesus does a Lambeau leap into your life.  He engages the spectators, drawing us in, connecting His life to our lives.  In the waters of your baptism.  In the comforting cadence of Holy Absolution.  In the preaching and proclamation of His Word.  In the bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood—Jesus Christ is here FOR YOU.  You are not just one of the crowd—not just a spectator in the nosebleed seats.  You have a one-on-one encounter today with Jesus the Christ.  He comes to our house today.  He transforms sleepy spectators into saints who lead holy lives of service.  He seeks out sinners.  He eats with sinners.  He forgives sinners.  The sinners gathered in this house will one day be welcomed into His heavenly house.

          Don’t think you can have this forgiveness without repentance.  You can’t.  Don’t think you have this grace while remaining a mere coffee-sipping, donut-munching spectator of the Christian faith.  You can’t.  Don’t think that Jesus’ forgiveness is permission to go on living the same old sinful patterns.  It doesn’t work that way.  “When Christ calls a man He bids him come and die.”  The Christian life is one of repentance and cross-bearing.  Just ask Zacchaeus.  His net worth dropped like a rock after his encounter with Jesus.

          His net worth dropped, but His Grinch-like heart grew three sizes that day.  He was “a wee, little man,” but Jesus made Zacchaeus a giant in the faith.  He went looking for Jesus, but Jesus found him and called him and loved him and saved him.  And today, He is doing the same for you.  Happy Reformation Day.  Amen.    

 

No Introduction Necessary

 

Jesu Juva

Psalm 46                                                                           

October 26, 2022

Reformationtide

 Dear saints of our Savior~

          The Reformation came late to Leipzig.  The Reformation had spread like wildfire throughout the German territories in the years that followed Luther’s posting of the 95 theses in 1517.  And yet over two decades would go by before the Reformation was embraced in Leipzig—just forty-some miles from Wittenberg—due to a stubborn Roman Catholic royal family.

          But in 1539 a change in Leipzig’s leadership meant that Luther himself could come for a visit on the Day of Pentecost.  Leipzigers filled the St. Thomas church to capacity to hear Luther preach the pure Gospel of Jesus Christ.  So hungry were the people of Leipzig for the pure Word of God that they broke out the church windows and raised ladders so that the thousands gathered outside the church could hear the words of Luther’s sermon.  And the rest, they say, is history, as Leipzig became a part of what we tourists now call “Lutherland.”

          Leipzig was practically a “Lutheran Utopia” when Johann Sebastian Bach lived and worked there, two centuries later.  In 1739, the 200^th Anniversary of the

Reformation in Leipzig had been marked with celebration and song—pomp, pageantry, and reverent thanksgiving to God.  Some of Bach’s most deeply theological compositions were created around this anniversary—including the one we will hear tonight.

          It was in 1740—the very next year—when Bach (now in his mid-50s) decided to create a new opening chorus for a cantata he had first composed decades earlier.  The entire cantata was built around the most famous of Martin Luther’s Reformation Hymns:  A Mighty Fortress Is Our God, or, in German:  Ein Feste Burg ist unser Gott.  It wouldn’t be stretching the truth by much to say that every Lutheran in Leipzig knew every word of A Mighty Fortress by heart.  It had been, after all, the battle hymn of the Reformation—a hymn by which Lutherans had lived, fought, and died for 200 years.

          Luther’s hymn is based on Psalm 46 which we sang earlier.  Both Psalm and hymn remind us that the battle is ongoing—that the church of Jesus Christ is under constant attack.  We have an enemy—the Old Evil Foe—who never gives up or gives in or surrenders.  The Psalm speaks of raging nations, tottering kingdoms, broken bows, shattered spears, and chariots burning with fire.  But the Lord—He is our refuge and strength—our defense and offense—our trusty shield and weapon.  He helps us free from every need—whether we are advancing or retreating.  The Lord of hosts is with us.

          But do you really need me to tell you this?  Do you not sense and see that you are under attack?  Do you not feel the poison sting of Satan’s arrows and temptations being flung your way day and night?  The old evil Foe has been carpet bombing your position since the day you were baptized.  He’s been advancing against you like Hitler’s Stormtroopers marching through Poland.  He now means deadly woe.  He means to destroy your faith in Jesus—to weaken it, starve it, and lay siege to it. 

          Are you ready to fight back?  Are you ready to rumble?  Are you ready to take up God’s good gifts and Spirit—to sacrifice goods, fame, child, and wife—to maintain your hold on the faith once delivered to the saints? 

          By nature we would rather retreat—and not fight.  By nature we are all quitters in the fight of the faith.  Surrendering without a fight is what we do best.  When it comes to this spiritual war, our slogan is:  War, what is it good for?  Absolutely nothing.  It’s easier to keep you head down, go along with the crowd, shirk your duty, dessert your post.  It’s easier to pretend that there isn’t any war going on—that you’re not in Satan’s crosshairs.  A lot of Christians, it seems to me, are like Neville Chamberlain returning from Munich in 1939, claiming to have found “peace in our time.”  In reality, we are only appeasing the enemy—giving up and giving in to his plans for world domination.

          To save you from this fate, God Himself speaks in Psalm 46:  Be still, and know that I am God.  To save you from this fate, God Himself was exalted among the nations—was exalted in the earth—was exalted on a cross for your forgiveness.  All the weaponry of this sinful world was arrayed against Jesus.  Jesus was subjected to this world’s finest tool of torture:  nails and spear, whips and thorns—all these He endured for you, to save you.  The seeming defeat of Good Friday was eclipsed by resurrection victory three days later.  Christ is risen.  He is living.  Jesus lives; the victory’s won!  The war has been won; though our battles continue.

          Think for a moment about those brave men who stormed the beaches of Normandy on D-Day, 1944.  The only thing those men knew as they crawled ashore and scaled those well-fortified cliffs was that the chance of survival was not good.  They didn’t know if they would succeed or fail—whether they would lose the battle and lose the war, or whether they would win the battle and win the war.  We know.  We know they won—and by their sacrifice our entire nation was victorious.  But what if they had known that going in?  What if they had a way of foreseeing how it would all turn out?  That victory was a certainty—just over the horizon?  Had they know that, isn’t it possible they would have fought harder and braver?  Wouldn’t they have been bolstered in the fight—made more confident and more courageous knowing that victory was a certainty?

          Beloved in the Lord, your victory is a certainty.  For the Lord of Hosts is with us.  The God of Jacob is our fortress.  In Jesus you are justified.  In Jesus your sins are forgiven.  In Jesus death is defeated and you will live forever!  Your battles against sin and temptation are not pointless and uncertain.  For your destiny is victory in Jesus Christ our Lord.

          To encourage you to take up the fight, and not grow weary, Johann Sebastian Bach composed the magnificent chorus you are about to hear.  A mighty fortress is our God; Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott.  And part of the surprise here is that there’s no instrumental introduction—no setting the musical stage.  Bach begins by just launching the tenors into the fray of this fugue:  (sing) Ein Fe---ste Burg ist unser Gott.  And right behind those tenors come wave after wave of reinforcements:  then come the altos and then come the sopranos and then come the basses—and then you and me—and all who have fought the good fight of the faith.  This is our fight.  This is our victory in Jesus.  And it needs no introduction.

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

The Two Religions

Jesu Juva

St. Luke 18:9-17                                                               

October 23, 2022

Proper 25C                                            

 Dear saints of our Savior~

          There are certainly a lot of religions in the world.  There seems to be no end of options, choices, and flavors.  Traditionally, historically, you’ve got your big three:  Christianity, Judaism, and Islam.  Expand the circle just a bit and you can add Hinduism, Buddhism, and Sikhism.  Moving on from there, the possibilities are limitless:  Baha’i and Taoism, Mormonism and Paganism, Shinto and Scientology.  Getting a handle on all the world’s religions can be kind of a daunting task.

          So let’s simplify.  If you struggle to differentiate dozens and dozens of religions, then let’s limit ourselves to two.  Because when you get right down to it, there are only two religions in the whole wide world.  Let’s call these two religions the religion of the Law and the religion of the Gospel.  In the religion of the Law, you work your way up to God.  In the religion of the Gospel, God comes down to you.  In the religion of the Law, you must earn God’s favor; in the religion of the Gospel, God’s favor is an unearned gift.  Under the religion of the Law, you justify yourself; in the religion of the Gospel God Himself justifies you and shares with you His holiness.

          When it comes to world religions, there are really only two.  Under the religion of the Law, your salvation is up to you—your works, your fasting, your prayers, your piety.  And you’d better get it all right.  Last week I got in on part of my 35^th high school class reunion.  And I was reminded of a classmate whose last name was “Goodenough,” Mark Goodenough, spelled just like it sounds.  And whenever Mark Goodenough stepped out of line, our 5^th grade teacher would inevitably say, “Goodenough, not good enough.”  And that’s the ultimate verdict for every person trapped in the religion of the Law:  not good enough.  Try harder.  Do better.

          The religion of the gospel is totally different.  Under the Gospel, you approach God not by works, but by faith in Jesus—not on the basis of what you have done, but on the basis of what Jesus has done—and not with commandment keeping, but with promise believing.  Under the gospel you don’t aspire to be “good enough,” but to be made righteous through faith in the Son of God.  From a simple standpoint, those are the world’s two religions:  the religion of the Law and the religion of the Gospel—also known as the Christian faith.

          Now, in case you’re still confused, we have the simple parable Jesus told in this morning’s Holy Gospel.  It’s a tale of two religions.  It concerns two men—a

Pharisee and a tax collector—who went up to the temple to pray.  Now, on the surface, both men worshiped the same God in the very same temple.  They are seemingly adherents of the very same religion.  But all is not as it seems.  In fact, their religions are very different.

          The danger with this simple parable is that we oversimplify it—that the Pharisee and the tax collector become one-dimensional stereotypes—that this is a black-and-white portrayal that requires almost no thought whatsoever to interpret.  Tax collector good:  Be like the tax collector.  Pharisee bad:  Don’t be the Pharisee.  But until you can see some of yourself in both men, I don’t think you’ve let these words of God have their way with you.  So let’s dig a bit deeper.

          Both men went up to the temple to pray.  Both men sought out God’s fellowship and favor.  And for that, they both went to the right place.  Both recognized and revered God’s holy presence in His temple.  They didn’t go looking for God in other places.  Regardless of how full their calendars may have been—or how many activities they had going on—both men sought the Lord in His temple.  It was a priority.  We each have priorities too—priorities that often lead us to this temple, and other priorities that sometimes keep us away from this temple.

          The Pharisee can be easily faulted for his pride.  He’s proud that he’s not like “other men,” and he’s proud of his fasting and tithing.  But also consider this:  the Pharisee was a devout and conservative man.  He was respected and admired in the community for his good works.  He worked hard to do the works God required.  He was pious and disciplined.  In fact, he was so pious and disciplined that he fasted twice a week—went without food—deprived himself—denied himself the pleasure of mouthwatering meals.  When was the last time you fasted—or, at least, denied yourself something out of devotion to your Savior?

          The Pharisee also tithed.  That means he returned to God a tenth of all his income—more than that, he gave the Lord a tenth of everything he took in, right down to the herbs and the produce that grew in his garden.  Now these days, under the New Testament, we’re quick to point out that God doesn’t require us to tithe.  That was just an Old Testament requirement.  But if that was God’s standard for the people of the Old Covenant, how much more reason do we have to give to God generously and sacrificially—we who have seen and experienced the fullness of God’s love and mercy in the person of His Son, Jesus Christ, who loved us and gave Himself for us?  Despite his faults, the Pharisee took his religion seriously.  He had the receipts to show for it.  Do we? 

          Now, the tax collector also had receipts—lots of them.  Other people’s money was his business.  Money was his idol.  Because Jesus went out of His way to associate with tax collectors, we sometimes subconsciously place a halo above their heads.  In reality, nothing could be further from the truth.  Tax collectors were awful—rogue rebels with unlimited potential to hurt you.  Imagine that the US economy collapsed; and that the USA became a wholly-owned subsidiary of China.  And then imagine that your neighbor went to work for our new Chinese overlords—a man who collaborated with the enemy—who regularly stopped by your house to carefully audit your finances—a man who, all by himself, could single-handedly serve as your prosecutor, judge, and jury.  Think of someone like that when you think “tax collector.”

          Both men were sinners.  Both were broken in different ways.  We are like them.  Each of us is part Pharisee, part tax collector.  Each of us is eager, like the Pharisee, to compare ourselves to others.  And like the tax collector, there’s very little we wouldn’t do to boost our financial situation.

          What makes these two men different is their religion.  And this difference is everything.  The tax collector stood alone at the temple.  He couldn’t even lift up His eyes.  He could only beat his breast and pray, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”  In the Pharisee’s prayer, he didn’t ask God for a single thing.  The tax collector in his prayer asked for nothing but mercy.  The Pharisee came with his impressive record of good works.  The tax collector came with his sin.  The Pharisee offered God a tenth of everything; the tax collector offered God his entire, sinful, broken life:  God, be merciful to me, a sinner.

          Jesus tells us that this man—the tax collector—went home justified—declared righteous.  This man, who was despised by everyone, was loved by God.  The Pharisee who was admired by everyone—well, he had no need of God; and God, therefore, had no need of him.  The tax collector had the right religion—the only right religion on God’s green earth.  The tax collector worshiped God in the way of the Gospel—through faith in God’s goodness and mercy.  And God justified him.

          If you attempt to worship God according to the religion of the Law, you will be humbled.  If you attempt to earn His favor by your commandment keeping, your good works, your witnessing and your offerings, you will not be justified, but condemned.  If you attempt to use the Law as your ladder to heaven, it will not end well.

          But here’s the best of news:  If you are humbled under the law—if you accept the law’s verdict that you are a sinner deserving of punishment, you will be exalted.  You will be raised up like the tax collector who went home justified.  God justifies the ungodly, not the already godly.  He forgives sinners, not saints.  He acquits the guilty, not the guiltless.  Don’t hide your sins.  Don’t look down on others.  Don’t make excuses for what you’ve done.  Instead, confess your sins.  Own them; they’re yours.  And only Jesus Christ, your Savior, can bear them all away.  Only His blood cries out for your eternal pardon.

          Today’s gospel reading concludes with babies.  People were bringing even infants to Jesus that He might touch them.  What did those crying, squirming, diapered infants have to offer Jesus?  They had nothing to offer.  They could only receive.  They are utterly “giveable to.”  And this is why we baptize infants—why infant baptism has been going on from the get-go.  The baptism of an infant is the perfect picture of our salvation—the perfect illustration of how one is joined to the religion of the Gospel:  the child does nothing; the Lord does it all.

          You have also been baptized into the religion of the Gospel.  Your worship is like that of the tax collector who came empty handed, seeking only God’s mercy.  You are like one of those tiny infants in the arms of Jesus—receiving the kingdom of God just like a little child.  And in this religion of the Gospel, you, today, get to go home justified in Jesus.

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