Paschal Peace

 

Jesu Juva

St. John 20:19-31                                                              

April 16, 2023

Easter 2A                                                                    

Dear saints of our Savior~

          Alleluia!  Christ is risen!  He is risen indeed!  Alleluia!

          It’s good, right, and salutary that we continue to greet one another with those words today.  After all, it’s still the Easter season—it’s the second Sunday of Easter.  Easter—part two.  Easter—the sequel.  The paschal candle remains lit.  Every Sunday—every first day of the week, including this day—is an Easter celebration.  And last but not least, today’s Holy Gospel takes us right back to last Sunday—right back to the very first Easter.

          My love for history leads me to engage in a little thought exercise now and then.  And the exercise goes something like this:  If given the ability to travel back through time to be present to witness one particular event in human history, what would you choose?  Would you want to witness something Martin Luther did, perhaps—see him nailing those 95 theses to the doors of the castle church?  See him stand before the Emperor, confessing, “Here I stand.  I can do no other?” 

          Or perhaps you would go back even further—to the time of Christ.  Would you go back to the first Christmas—to see the shepherds and hear the angels sing “Gloria in Excelsis Deo?”  Or would you opt for a front row seat as Jesus raised a widow’s only son from the dead—or would you plant yourself outside the tomb of Lazarus, to witness Jesus raising his dearest friend from death?  It would be nearly impossible—wouldn’t it?—to pick just one time-travel destination.

          This little thought exercise came to mind as I was studying today’s holy gospel reading.  What would it have been like to be with the disciples on that first Easter evening—to be cowering hopelessly behind locked doors—filled with fear?  St. John doesn’t tell us exactly who was there; although we know that Judas was dead and gone, and Thomas was famously absent.

          What we know for sure is that there were ten wounded men gathered behind locked doors—ten terrorized, traumatized men—men wounded by what they had witnessed on Friday, when they saw the Lord they loved brutalized and tortured and executed.  Or did they see it?  Some of them didn’t.  Most of them, in fact, didn’t see it.  And this is also is why they were so deeply wounded as the darkness gathered that evening.  They were wounded with shame and sorrow for what they had done—for their sin!—for how they had abandoned Jesus and denied even knowing Him.  The Shepherd was struck; and the sheep had scattered.  As disciples, they were all faithless failures.  They had treated their Lord with contempt and cowardice.  They had sought their own personal safety and they had forgotten the promises of their Savior.  Ten wounded men.

          But then Jesus came and stood among them.  Had there been a knock at the door?  Had someone accidentally left the door unlocked?  Did He come in through the window?  No.  Jesus simply came and stood among them and said to them:  Peace be with you. He could have reprimanded them—scolded them—rebuked them for their lack of faith.  But fresh from the grave and risen from the dead, Jesus said:  Peace be with you.  Those were the words; but those words weren’t all.  Along with those words, Jesus showed them the wounds—His wounds.  To these ten wounded men Jesus showed His wounds.  He showed them His hands and His side. 

          At that moment, those ten wounded men were healed.  By the words and by the wounds of Jesus, those men were healed, forgiven, restored.  They were filled with Paschal peace.  With the risen Lord standing before them in the flesh, they knew that His teaching was the truth.  They knew they could believe and trust completely in everything Jesus had taught them.  He had promised that He would rise from the dead; and now the risen Savior stood before their very eyes, living and breathing.  If Jesus got that right, then on what point could He possibly be wrong?

          Oh, that we were there!  Oh, that we were there in that room at that moment to see those ten wounded men transformed from trauma to triumph—from fearful to faithful—from cowardice to confidence.  If only we could know the paschal peace that comes from the wounds and the words of Jesus!  If only we could have the certainty that they had—to be made fearless by forgiveness—to be transformed by the paschal peace of the Prince of Peace.  Of course, we can’t do that.  We can’t go there.  Time travel is impossible for us.

          But not for Jesus.  With Jesus all things are possible, are they not?  Could not the risen Christ who comes among His people behind locked doors—also come among His people within these doors and these walls and these windows?  He can; and He does.  This sacred space is where wounded sinners gather weekly.  This is the place where the risen Christ comes with His Words and His wounds, bringing paschal peace and Easter joy.

          Beloved in the Lord, behold I tell you a mystery:  the resurrection appearances of Jesus continue today among us, at this altar.  Here the risen Christ comes among us in His body and blood.  No, there is no knock at the door.  Jesus in His glory is not bound by time or space or by the boundaries that confine us.  He comes to heal your wounds by the power of His wounds.  He comes to place His words of forgiveness in your ears.  He comes to fill your heart with peace.

          This is what our liturgy teaches us in that sacred exchange we call the Pax Domini—the peace of the Lord.  After the pastor consecrates the elements, he takes the bread that is the body of Christ—he takes the wine which is the blood of Christ.  He elevates that heavenly food and drink, and he says:  Peace be with you.  [Sing:] The peace of the Lord be with you always.  And right there you—you gathered here—you have the essence of Easter—Jesus Christ, risen from the dead, bringing you the peace and forgiveness of sins He earned for you by His suffering and death.  If you want peace—if you need peace—you can’t go to the cross and get it.  Your time machine can’t take you there.  But Jesus—He can bring it to you here and now.  Here Jesus comes with His words and His wounds to bring you peace that passes understanding.

          This is why you should never miss church.  This is why you should never pass on the opportunity to receive the risen Lord when He comes among us.  But don’t take my word for it.  Look at what happened to Thomas.  He wasn’t there.  Thomas missed it all.  For Thomas there were no words and no wounds, no peace and no joy, no Jesus and no faith.  We call him “doubting” Thomas; but his problem wasn’t doubt; it was unbelief!  Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails, and place my finger into the mark of the nails, and place my hand into his side, I will never believe.  Thomas was the man who missed Easter; and the results of that absence were terrible and toxic.  That first Easter Sunday ends on an ominous note.

          This is why we need Easter part two—Easter, the Sequel—the Second Sunday of Easter.  For one week later, the Risen Christ returns for the sake of Thomas, who was dear to Jesus, and loved by Jesus, and precious to Jesus—just like you are.  Put your finger here, and see my hands; and put out your hand, and place it in my side.  Do not disbelieve, but believe.  Thomas could only conclude that this was the real deal—the genuine Jesus.  No ghost.  No apparition.  Flesh and bone, body and blood.  My Lord and my God! 

          And those wounds were the clincher—the glorious proof of His love and sacrifice for you, still visible in His resurrected body.  By those wounds we are all healed.  Those wounds forever mark Jesus as the Lamb who was slain.  Jesus didn’t take Thomas back through time to rescue him from sin and unbelief.  Jesus went to where Thomas was—with His words and His Wounds.  And He does the same for you.  His wounded hands and side for Thomas; His holy body and blood in the Lord’s Supper for us—same thing—same, blessed, sacred thing. 

          And then comes a blessing from our Lord—a blessing not for Thomas, but for all of us:  Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.  Blessed are you on this second Sunday of Easter, that you believe Christ is risen from the dead.  You trust that although your sins are as scarlet, yet Jesus makes them whiter than springtime snow in April.  No, we don’t get to see like Thomas saw.  But blessed are you who have not seen and yet believe.  Blessed are you; for you will see soon enough.  The peace of the Lord be with you always.

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

Easter Surprise

Jesu Juva

Matt. 28/Col. 3                                                                    

April 9, 2023

The Resurrection of Our Lord-A                    

 Dear saints of our Savior~

          Alleluia!  Christ is risen!  He is risen indeed!  Alleluia!

          One of the most surprising things about the Easter gospel is just how surprised all of His followers were when Jesus actually rose from the dead.  The women are surprised to find an open, empty tomb with an angel sitting on the stone.  The disciples too are surprised and initially don’t believe the news.

          It’s not as if Jesus hadn’t told them.  It’s not as though they hadn’t witnessed Jesus’ power over death on multiple occasions—most recently at the nearby tomb of Lazarus.  It’s not as though Jesus hadn’t promised on multiple occasions that He would indeed rise on the third day.  Even the enemies of Jesus knew this.  Even the Chief Priests and Pharisees remembered and recalled how Jesus had predicted, “After three days I will rise” (Matt. 27:63).  That’s the whole reason Jesus’ tomb was guarded like Fort Knox. 

          But nobody among Jesus’ followers even bothers to mention the fact—or remember the fact—or recall the fact—or even entertain the notion that Jesus had specifically promised that on the third day He would rise.  Even the women (who were among our Lord’s most faithful and devout followers) the women were going to the tomb to finish a hasty burial—not to look for the risen Christ.  When the angel told them, “He is not here, for He has risen as He said,” they were shocked beyond measure—dumbfounded, flabbergasted.  And, when they actually encountered the Risen Lord in the flesh, bulging eyes and dropping jaws are what Jesus would have seen at first—followed by bending knees and joyful tears.  It was the most wonderful surprise in the history of the world—but it shouldn’t have been a surprise.

          “What was their problem?” you might be tempted to ask.  Because it’s awfully easy for us to sit here this morning, belching after a bountiful Easter breakfast, picking jellybeans out of our teeth, to conclude that we wouldn’t have been surprised.  No, if we had been there, we would have been taking careful notes when Jesus predicted His resurrection.  We would have set a Google reminder for three days—for very early on the first day of the week—marked our calendars for the first Sunday after the first full moon, after the spring equinox—so that we could have been right there, ready and waiting, when our Lord took His first steps out of the tomb—ready to exclaim, “He is risen indeed, alleluia!”

          But if our faith is so strong—if we are so immune to surprises because we hang on every word that proceeds from the mouth of the Lord—then why are we so surprised by other things—on every other day of the year? 

          Why are we so surprised by our sufferings?  Especially when God tells us that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope? (Rom. 5:3-5)  Why aren’t we rejoicing in our sufferings (instead of being surprised by them)?  Why are we so surprised by distress and tribulation?  After all, Jesus clearly stated, “In this world you will have tribulation; but take heart, for I have overcome the world” (Jn. 16:33).  Why are we so shocked and surprised by our own weakness and frailty?  Especially when Jesus has promised, “My power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor. 12:9).  Why are we so surprised and dumbfounded by death?  Especially when Jesus has stated unequivocally, for the record:  “I am the resurrection and the life” (Jn. 11).

          Death has a way of doing that—of deafening our ears to the powerful promises of Jesus.  And the death of Jesus Himself had been so traumatic—so gruesome—so horrific—that it had almost obliterated our Lord’s promise:  “After three days I will rise.”

          And so, as the women scurried to the cemetery that morning, they were no different than us.  We’ve all been there.  We all know how devastating it is to walk among tombstones with tears in our eyes.  We have all acutely felt the pain of parting with those we love.  That pain is a reminder that death is the enemy—the last enemy to be destroyed.  The wages of sin is death.  Those words promise a terrible payday which none of us can avoid for long.

          But surprise, surprise, surprise:  Christ is risen.  If Christ isn’t raised, then you and I and the whole world are still stuck in our sins, condemned to eternal death.  Our future is just a grave from which there is no return, no resurrection, no hope.  If Christ isn’t raised from the dead then our faith is empty—without content.  We believe in the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting, in that order.  We confess it as our creed.  But if Christ isn’t raised, then there is no resurrection of the body, and no life everlasting.  You’d be better off to go on an Easter egg hunt this morning.

          But Jesus Christ is risen from the dead.  That’s the bright and glorious news first delivered by an angel:  “Do not be afraid, for I know you seek Jesus who was crucified.  He is not here, for He has risen, as He said.  Come, see the place where He lay.”  The tomb was only temporary.  The grave could not contain Him.  Jesus is the resurrection and the life.

          But the risen Lord is, at the same time, the crucified Lord.  He was crucified for our sins and raised for our justification before God.  His cross is the atonement for our sins.  Every sin of every sinner is answered for on the cross.  We stand justified before God because Jesus stands risen from the dead—those two facts go together.  At the cross, your debt was paid; and at the resurrection, the dividends are dished out in full.

          Now here’s a genuine Easter surprise for you:  You have been raised with Christ.  Yes, you.  Baptized into His death and life, you have been raised with Christ.  This is what we heard plain as day from Colossians chapter three this morning.  You have died; and . . . you have been raised with Christ.  His resurrection is yours, now, already, through faith in Him.  Though you still live in the flesh which is destined to die; yet in Christ you live.  All that is Christ’s is yours.  His death, His life, His glory—all these are yours in Him.

          So this new reality—this Easter reality—calls for a new way of thinking.  Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth.  Seek the things that are above.  Set your sights on Easter.  Look up.  Lift up your hearts.  This doesn’t mean that we walk around with our heads in the clouds, humming Gregorian chants, and disengaging from life in this world.  Right here on earth we’ve got vocations and responsibilities and jobs and families and communities and a congregation.  Right here and now there’s work to do—but we do that work as those redeemed by Christ the crucified.  We do that work as Easter people.  We live as those who are in the world, but not of the world. 

          This world doesn’t define you; Christ defines you.  The world doesn’t tell us who we are; Christ does.  The world doesn’t give us life; Christ does.  His resurrection is the “north star” by which we navigate our way through this world.  And as we walk this way by faith, we are unsurprised by suffering—unsurprised by trouble—unsurprised by tribulation, and by our own weakness and death.  For we know the truth of Easter:  Your life is hidden with Christ in God.  When Christ who is your life appears, then you also will appear with Him in glory.

          With your mind set on things above, it means that you are not pulled into a vortex of despair and doubt by what you see and hear in this world every day—wars and rumors of wars, the demise of our culture, the despair of our politics, the doom of a collapsing economy, rampant violence, and impending, widespread persecution.  Do not be surprised.  Do not be afraid.  Christ is risen.  The resurrection of Jesus not only means that you don’t have to be afraid to die—you don’t have to be afraid to live.  Your life is hidden with Christ.

          He is not here—that is, not in the tomb.  But HE IS HERE, present among us—in His Word, His Baptism, His body and blood.  Here you will find Him—crucified, risen, reigning, ruling all things for you, for your life, your forgiveness, your salvation.  Every Sunday is Easter.  Every Lord’s Day is a resurrection celebration.

          Easter means that we know how the story ends.  No surprises.  No fear.  Only the joy of Jesus and the confidence that Christ is risen indeed.

Alleluia!  Christ is risen!  He is risen indeed.  Alleluia.

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

Yes

Jesu Juva

St. John 19:30                                                                    

 April 7, 2023

Good Friday                                                          

Dear saints of our Savior~

          This . . . means “yes.”  And this . . . means “no.”  A nod of the head . . . means “yes.”  A shake of the head . . . means “no.”  Was there ever a time when we didn’t recognize and understand that simple, non-verbal bit of communication?  It almost seems innate—like we were born knowing that this . . . means yes; and this . . . means no.  It’s the universal language of humanity.  Go to North Korea, go to New Guinea, go to Nigeria, go to Israel, go to Germany:  It matters not.  This . . . means yes; and this . . . means no.

          In the beginning, God said, “Yes.”  Yes, let there be light!  Yes, let there be living creatures!  Yes, let us make man in our image!  And at the end of six days the Lord surveyed all that He had made; and was absolutely delighted to proclaim that, “Yes, it was all very good indeed.”  And the crowning achievement of His very good creation was the man and the woman—our first parents.  And to them the Lord said, Yes, be fruitful and multiply.  Yes, fill the earth and subdue it.  Yes, have dominion over all the earth.

          There was only one exception—one rule—one thing not allowed:  But of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die.  Regarding that one, single, solitary tree, God said . . . no, you shall not eat of it.  Adam and Eve worshipped the Lord by holding that command sacred.  Every time they steered clear of those branches and that fruit—every time they gave a wide berth the bark of that one tree—they remembered God’s Word.  They held it sacred.  They honored the Lord.  That was their worship.  That was how they feared and revered God, loved and trusted Him above all things.  Steering clear of that tree was how Adam and Eve confessed their faith—it was how they said . . . yes—yes to the Lord and to all His wonderful gifts.

          You know where this sermon is headed next, don’t you?  Yes . . . you do.  For what came next was the “no” heard round the world.  Our first parents said no to the gracious God who created them.  What God said to do they did not do.  What God said to avoid they did not avoid.  They said no to God and said yes—SAID YESSSSSSSSS—to the serpent.  And from that moment on, everything changed.  “Sin came into the world through one man, and death through sin, and so death spread to all men because all sinned” (Rom. 6:12).  From that moment began a precipitous fall for all of us—a sinful, downward spiral that will eventually, inevitably deposit each one of us six feet under.  Remember that you are dust; and to dust you shall return.

          Don’t be too hard on Adam and Eve.  After all, it’s true what they say:  The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.  From them you have inherited a lasting legacy of sin—a nasty knack for saying no to the God who created you, redeemed you, and sanctified you.  You who know better—you who have the Law of God written on your heart and in the pages of your Bible and preached from this pulpit—how many times in your life have you insolently shaken your sinful head at the God who saved you and loved you and gave Himself for you and said . . . . No.  NO!

          He says, “Have no other gods.  Love Me, fear Me, trust Me.”  And what do we say?  “NO.  I love myself.  I trust my idols.  I’ll put my own pleasure first.”

          He says, “Do not misuse my name.  But pray, praise, and give thanks.”  And what do we say?  “NO,” as we curse and swear our way through yet another day without uttering a single syllable of prayer or praise.”

          He says, “Remember the Sabbath Day.  Don’t despise preaching, but keep my Word sacred and gladly hear and learn it.”  And what do we say? . . . No, I have more important things to do.  I have games to play and money to make and so many other priorities.

          The commandments keep coming—each one given to us with love and for our own well-being:  Honor your parents and other authorities.  “No,” we say.  Do not murder; help and support your neighbor in every physical need.  “No,” we say.  Do not commit adultery-NO.  Do not steal-NO.  Don’t lie, don’t gossip, don’t covet—No, No, No!  Forgive as you’ve been forgiven.  Honor your spouse.  Love your enemies.  Flee from sexual immorality. . . . You don’t have to say the word to mean it.  The Lord sees.  The Lord knows.  The Lord hears that sad and silent syllable you send His way every day: No.

          If we say we have no sin we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us.  But if we confess our sins, God, who is faithful and just, will forgive our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.

          Is that true?  Will God forgive all our sins?  Will He truly cleanse us from all unrighteousness?  What do you believe?  Yes . . . or  . . . no?  Think carefully.  For on your answer hinges heaven or hell.

          Let me take you to the dark and terrifying place where heaven and hell truly hung in the balance.  It is nearly three o’clock in the afternoon, but it is

dark as night and deep as death.  God’s own dear Son, our Savior Jesus Christ, is naked and bleeding, crowned with thorns, impaled by sharp spikes of steel.  The skin of His back is shredded.  Each breath is a struggle.  He hangs there in your place, enduring what you deserve, absorbing what you had coming.  He is stricken, smitten, and afflicted by God.  All of your insolent rebellion—the audacity of your daily insurrections against His tender love and mercy—it all presses down on Jesus with the weight of all the stars, moons and planets.  The inscription above Him says, “Jesus of Nazareth.”  But you should see your name inscribed there.  For the crimes for which He is executed are your crimes, your sins.  That is why He came.  He will save His people from their sins.  He will forgive them.  He will cleanse them from all unrighteousness.

          Do you believe it?  Listen.  Listen to His last words:  It is finished.  Famous last words, they are.  Without those words, we might be left to wonder, “Is my debt completely paid—in full?  Can my guilt by taken away?  Can my sin be atoned for?  Can I stand before God—claiming not my own merit, but only the saving merit of my Savior, Jesus Christ?  With those final words of Jesus, you have your answer.  You have clarity and comfort.  You have confidence and peace before God.  It is finished!  All that would condemn you before our God and Father has been answered for by the bloody death of your brother, Jesus.  With His stripes we are healed.  The Lord has laid on Him the iniquity of us all.

          Our Lord spoke seven times from the cross.  In tonight’s reading you heard our Lord say, “Woman, behold your son,” and “Behold your mother.”  We heard His parched lips declare, “I thirst.”  And we heard His final word:  It is finished.  But was that His final word?  . . . . No.  No, there’s more.  Listen.  Listen to what St. John tells us:  [Jesus] said, “It is finished,” and He bowed His head and gave up His spirit.”  John says, “He bowed . . . His head.”  That does not mean that His sacred head simply slumped forward at the moment of death.  No, this is one, final word.  This is one final, unspoken, non-verbal sign for us.  The same Lord Jesus who “lay down His sweet head” in the hay of the manger—the same Savior who “had no place to lay His head” in life—in His final word He nods that sacred head so wounded.  Remember, this . . . means “yes.”

          Are you forgiven?  Are you loved by God?  Are all your sins atoned for?  Are you cleansed of every last sin and stain?  Will you live with Jesus forever?  Do the gates of heaven stand open for you?  Can it be?  Jesus, in His final, unspoken word answers unmistakably:  “He bowed His head.”  And this . . . this . . . means “yes.”

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