Justified in Jesus

Jesu Juva

Romans 3:19-28                                                     

October 29, 2023

Reformation Sunday           

 Dear saints of our Savior~

        On October 31^st, 1517, Martin Luther made the six minute walk from his cloister in Wittenberg to the doors of the Castle Church.  This Augustinian monk—this Professor of the Old Testament—was just shy of his 34^th birthday.  Martin Luther wanted to talk.  He wanted to know why the teaching of his church didn’t square with what he had learned from Holy Scripture.  He wanted to know why—if the pope had the power to spring souls from purgatory—he didn’t just do it out of the kindness of his heart.  He wanted to know how a piece of paper—an indulgence letter—could take away God’s punishment, as though God were a crooked jailer who could be bought off with a bribe.  Martin Luther wanted to know what all this had to do with Jesus who hung dead on a cross for the sin of the world.

        It could be said that Luther began the Reformation with repentance.  For the very first of those 95 theses wasn’t a jab at the pope, but a timeless call for repentance:  When our Lord and Master Jesus Christ said, “Repent” (Matt. 4:17), he willed the entire life of believers to be one of repentance.  When you cut away the clutter and distill down the politics, it’s clear:  The Reformation began with repentance, not rebellion. 

        Of course, repentance is a red-flag—an indicator that something isn’t right—that there’s a problem—that something needs to change.  And if you’re thinking that the Pope was the problem or the catholic church was the problem or purgatory was the problem, well, think again. This isn’t a day for catholic-bashing, or some kind of Protestant Pride Parade.  No, the Reformation is about repentance.  Repentance means there’s a problem.  And that problem isn’t so much with Rome as it is with you and me.

        The Apostle Paul neatly sketches out the problem in Romans chapter 3:  For there is no distinction:  for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified  by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus.  Faith alone justifies the sinner before God.  Not your works, but Christ’s work.  Not your righteousness, but Christ’s righteousness.  Not your blood, sweat, or tears, but Jesus’ blood, shed once for all on the cross (and now distributed from this altar).  If you don’t get this right, then you’ll get nothing right.  If you don’t get this right, then Christianity becomes just another world religion.

        Every other religion out there is a religion of works.  It’s all up to you—your works, your rule-keeping, your zeal.  But we confess with St. Paul that good works and commandment-keeping are not anyone’s stairway to heaven.  The Law of God may be good and wise, but it’s not your friend.  The Law can save no one.  It’s there to silence all religious boasting.  The Law is there to shut every mouth and empty every hand—to sweep away every religious credential and leave you on your knees with nothing to say in your defense except: God, be merciful to me, a sinner.

        Many of you have undergone an MRI at some point.  MRI’s are wonderful diagnostic tools.  They see what the human eye can’t see.  They reveal the root of the problem—and the results are sometimes shocking:  Here’s where the tumor is tangled up.  Here’s where the cartilage should be.  Here’s why you’re in such bad shape.

        The Law of God is our spiritual MRI, peering deeply into the heart of all that we think, and do, and say.  The Law sees what we can’t see.  It gets past all the symptoms to reveal the root of the problem: a heart that doesn’t fear God, or love Him, or trust Him.  The Law reveals a heart that’s defective—a heart that covets, lusts, envies, hates, murders, fornicates, lies, steals and slanders.  Martin Luther caught a glimpse of that diagnosis and it terrified him.  It was like reading an MRI that showed a body riddled with cancer.  God’s Law shows a body of death riddled with sin.

        So what do you do?  As a monk, Luther was accustomed to going to confession on a daily basis—sometimes multiple times in a single day—running back to confess one more sinful thought, word, or deed.  It got so bad that his father confessor, Johann von Staupitz, finally told Luther to stop looking at his sin . . . and start looking to Christ.  And, in a sense, the reformation for Luther began right there.  He began to behold Jesus—not as a judge, but as his Savior—not holding the scales of justice to measure your sins against your good works, but holding the scars that saved you, the wounds that rescued you, the death He died to free you.  If the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.

        This is what makes Christianity different—distinct from a world of religions.  No one else has this—that you, a convicted sinner, guilty as guilty can be, can stand before God and be declared innocent by the blood of Another who died for you.  Christ became sin for us to free us from our sin.  Christ went to death for us to free us from death.  He became what you are (a sinner) so that you might become what He is (holy).  Jesus takes our sin and gives us His righteousness.  Luther called it a “blessed exchange.”  It’s not a deal.  It’s not a negotiation.  It’s not God doing His part so you can get busy doing your part.  We hold that one is justified by faith apart from works of the law.  To have faith in Christ is to trust that the deed of our salvation is done—that the transaction is complete—that all bets are off.  “It is finished.”  Jesus said so.

        To the unbelieving ear this sounds outrageous, scandalous, and just plain crazy.  It’s certainly no way to run a religion.  How do you expect people to do good works if they aren’t necessary to be saved?  Aren’t we supposed to do our part?  Doesn’t God help those who help themselves?  Don’t my prayers and my offerings and my volunteer hours do something to get me in good with God?  Nope.  All fall short.  AND all are justified by His grace as a gift . . . through faith in Jesus Christ.

        If you feel like you need something to do—well, here’s a suggestion: Repent.  Come before the God who loves you with your hands empty and your heart broken—and admit the worst about yourself.  And thank God that Jesus Christ has given you His best.  He has set you free for a whole life of good works—good works not for God, but for your neighbor.  God doesn’t need them; your neighbor does.

        Why does all this matter?  Well, next Sunday is All Saints’ Sunday.  We will remember with thanksgiving all those from our fellowship who during the past year departed this life to be with Christ.  This was no achievement on their part.  Jesus did the achieving; they (the saints) did the receiving.  They were justified by grace, for Christ’s sake, through faith.  And so are you.  And that makes all the difference.  And if I have the privilege to be at your deathbed in the years ahead, I don’t plan to say, “He was a good man,” or “She lived a good life.”  None of us has lived a good life.  All fall short.  But we are indeed justified freely through faith in Jesus.  He did not fall short.  He accomplished it all at His cross; that He might give it all to us:  the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting.

        And that’s the good news that never gets old.  That’s the good news that brings us peace and joy even 506 years after the Reformation began. That’s what keeps us going for this year, and for all the years until our Lord comes again in glory.  I’ll see you there. 

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