The Marvel of This Night

 Jesu Juva

St. Luke 2:1-20                                                      

December 24, 2023

Christmas Eve                                 

Dear saints of our Savior,

        What day is it?  It’s Sunday, right?  You knew that, didn’t you?  A recently recurring question at our house has been, “What day is it anyway?”  (If not for leading a service this morning at 9:00, I would have no idea about the day of the week.)  As daily routines give way to traditions and celebrations of Christmas, it’s easy to lose your bearings—to lose track of time itself. 

        It’s Sunday night; but it’s not just a Sunday night.  It’s more.  In fact, you can be forgiven if the day of the week suddenly seems irrelevant.  Because God has taken this night and made it so much more.  God has taken this night and transformed it.  This night envelopes all other nights and days, months and years.  Behold the marvel of this night.

        This night has eternal significance because this is the night when Jesus was born—when God became man, when the Creator became a creature, and the Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us.  And please, please forget everything you’ve been led to believe about the date of Christmas—that the first Christians decided to hijack a holiday for pagans and repurpose it as a birthday party for Baby Jesus.  Nope.  There’s every reason to believe that Jesus Christ was born on this December night.  We can’t be dogmatic about it because the Bible doesn’t specify the exact night of Jesus’ birth.  But haven’t you always known that this night is timeless—a night when all creation pauses to praise the Lord and ponder the marvel of this night?

        It’s Sunday night; but it’s so much more.  God takes this night and transforms it.  God takes this night and makes it more.  God takes the fields of Bethlehem and transforms that landscape into a concert hall for choirs of angels.  He takes a manger—a feeding trough for livestock—and He makes it a throne fit for King.  He takes simple shepherds and makes them evangelists—heralds of good news—making known far and wide all that they had seen and heard.  That’s the marvel of this night.  God takes it and makes it more.  Heaven hallows earth—with peace . . . and good will toward men.

        That’s us.  Men and women—human creatures made in the image of God.  Through the marvel of this night—through the birth of Jesus in human flesh—God takes us and makes us more.  It turns out that God becoming man is a huge upgrade for us men and women.  In Jesus, divinity is joined to humanity; and, suddenly, all of humanity gets a big promotion.  To paraphrase Neil Armstrong, the birth of God’s Son in human flesh is one small step for God (He can do anything), but one giant leap for mankind.  Through this holy Child of Bethlehem, God takes you and makes you more—gives you dignity you don’t deserve—takes you and transforms your life into a wonderful life—something of eternal significance.

        Unto you is born this night . . . a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.  The One who makes this night a marvel is called a Savior.  Saviors save.  And you can’t fully comprehend the marvel of this night unless you see how desperately you need a Savior.  For your whole life long, God has been busy at work for you—taking to make more, transforming the ordinary stuff of life into blessings beyond compare:  He takes ordinary water and makes it more—makes it a baptism—a new birth of faith and forgiveness.  He takes ordinary bread and wine and makes it more—a feast of forgiveness in His true body and blood.  He takes ordinary men like me and makes us more—gives us the privilege of preaching glad tidings of great joy year after year—a message that would make angels envious, if that were possible.  From this night forth, God fills our lives with faith and hope and love.

        And yet, we need a Savior.  We are those “who by sin have grieved [God’s] heart of love.”  We take the marvel of this night—the marvel of what God gives us—and we box it up in the basement for the rest of the year—along with all the other stuff of Christmas.  God gives us so much; and we despise it.  He gives us a wonderful life; and we complain about it.  He places people in our pathway who need us—provides ample targets for our love and service—and we cross over to the other side.  He creates and equips us for glorious good works; but we can’t drag ourselves off the sofa; we can’t take our eyes off the screen.  He makes us to be the light of the world; but our dim and darkling lives daily fail even to shine or shimmer. We crave pleasures of our own choosing.  We covet what our neighbors have.  We do not come with haste to this place, where Jesus is always mangered for us.  And all this sin is simply symptomatic of how much we love ourselves and how little we treasure God’s gifts.  God gives us so much and we despise it.

        And yet, here you are, partaking in the marvel of this night, laying claim to your Savior.  The marvel of this night is not the manger.  The marvel of this night is not the virgin birth.  It’s not even a sky filled with angels making music better than Bach.  The marvel of this night is:  unto you—unto you is born this day a Savior.  Saviors save.  And this diapered deity delights to save you from your sin.  He died a horrible death—to give you a wonderful life—a wonderful life that lasts forever.

        Yours is a wonderful life because Jesus has taken it and made it more—He’s transformed it with His forgiveness—renovated it with His righteousness—and filled it with peace that passes understanding.  Your life is a wonderful life—not because it’s free from sorrow and suffering and sadness.  Mary certainly failed to circumvent suffering on this holy night, bringing her little Son into the world in a dark, chilly, smelly, unsanitary space—without one drop of warm water.  Jesus shares in your sorrow and suffering.  He redeems it and repurposes it in ways that are mysterious and marvelous.  In Holy Baptism He takes your life and makes it more—takes your life and joins it to His own.  That’s the marvel of this night.  Christ is born for you!  Unto you, this day. . . 

        At Christmas we preachers often say that God has entered into time.  The eternal Word—without beginning or end—stepped into our world of clocks and calendars—did it on December 25^th of that specific year when a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed.  God has entered time to rescue us from the ravages of time—to liberate us from time’s tyranny.  God has entered time to draw us out of time, and into eternity with Him. 

        One day we each will permanently, finally leave clock and calendar behind, when we make that last giant leap from earth to heaven.  Christmas Eve gives us a taste of that timelessness—a teasing taste of what Jesus has prepared for us.  On this night all it takes is one Christmas carol, or the smell of a spruce tree, the taste of cinnamon or sugar, a flickering flame of candlelight and the warmth of melting wax—and we, we leave time behind.  We are transported to another time and place—looking ahead to another shore and a greater light. 

What day IS it?

This is the day the Lord has made.

Let us rejoice and be glad in it. 

A Plan and a Promise

 Jesu Juva

St. Luke 1:26-38                                        

December 24, 2023

Advent 4B                                   

 Dear saints of our Savior~

        Before there’s a birth, there has to be a conception.  And for those of us who believe that life begins at conception, this is kind of important.  This morning we pause to ponder the pregnancy—to consider the conception of the Christ.  Because if we really want to be accurate, then we need to confess that the Word did not become flesh on December 25^th in Bethlehem.  No, the Word became flesh—God became man—nine months before that, in Nazareth.

        Actually, there are two pregnancies connected to this reading.  The text begins with the phrase, “in the sixth month.”  The “sixth month” here doesn’t refer to June; it refers to an old woman named Elizabeth who is already “six months” along in her pregnancy when her younger cousin Mary receives this strange news from the angel.  Today’s holy gospel connects a pregnant virgin (Mary) with a pregnant senior citizen (Elizabeth).  The entire episode is nicely summed up by the angel Gabriel who says, “Nothing will be impossible with God.”

        When God speaks His Word, that Word makes things happen.  He created the heavens and the earth with His Word—spoke the universe into being.  An old woman and her husband, childless throughout their married life, conceive a child in their old age simply because God says so.  And a young girl in Nazareth—probably only in her teens—is busy addressing her wedding invitations when she’s greeted by an angel who says, “Guess what?  You will give birth to the Son of God.” 

        Of course, this raises a question:  How will this be, since I am a virgin?  The virgin birth is a real stumbling block for some people.  Everyone knows that to conceive a child, somebody has to be the father.  We know who Jesus’ mother is.  We confess in the creed that Jesus was “born of the virgin Mary.”  But as for His father, there we have to believe as did Mary.  We trust that the Holy Spirit came upon her, that the power of Most High overshadowed her, and that her wonderful child is the Son of God.  Elizabeth conceives in her seniority; Mary conceives in her virginity; nothing will be impossible with God.

        Today’s Holy Gospel tells us of that precise moment in history when God’s love could wait no longer—when not another day would pass before God’s great plan to save you began to take shape as a microscopically small embryo in the womb of the Blessed Virgin Mary.  Because we are sinful from birth—sinful from the time our mothers conceived us—it was necessary for the Savior to take your place beginning there—in the womb of His virgin mother.  Your redemption was finished, fulfilled and completed at the cross, but it began in earnest when Jesus was conceived by the Holy Spirit.

        In your own mind, how do you picture this scene between Gabriel and Mary?   I particularly like the painting by Van Eyck on the front of the bulletin.  I like the rich, colorful vestments worn by Gabriel.  Gabriel is a great warrior angel—a 5-star general of the heavenly host.  But in this painting Gabriel doesn’t look much like a warrior.  Instead, there’s golden smile on the angel’s face—a radiant smile that seems to say, “I’ve been waiting so very long for the high and holy privilege of bringing this good news to you, Mary—the best news since the dawn of time.”

        But what matters most here is not what the angel wore or what the angel looked like, but what the angel said.  Everything here hinges on God’s Word proclaimed by His messenger.  And God’s Word addresses Mary in a very particular way:  Greetings, O favored one.  Mary had been shown favor.  But a better translation might be that Mary had “been shown grace—had been given grace.”  God’s undeserved grace had been at work in Mary’s life long before the Gabriel popped in.  Mary had found favor with God—not because she was sinless, she wasn’t—but because God had given her His grace as a gift.  (Which, by the way, is just what God has done in you, and that’s why God has found favor with you!)

        Miracles abound in this text.  I’ve already mentioned the virgin birth.  That’s a big miracle.  Another miracle here is that God should become man—the incarnation.  Another high voltage miracle.  But let me tell you the biggest miracle of all in this episode:  Mary believed what the angel said.  After the angel spelled out the who, what, where, and when, Mary said, “I am the Lord’s servant.  Let it be to me according to your word.”  That sounds a little convoluted in English, but, in effect, what she said was “Yes.”  Or if you prefer, “Amen.”  “So shall it be.”  It’s unthinkable that Mary would have said no.  But her “yes” is incredibly important—the biggest miracle of all.

        Mary believed everything the angel said. How much she really understood is debatable.  Whether she fully comprehended all the theological implications of that moment is doubtful.  St. Luke reports that Mary was “greatly troubled” when Gabriel appeared, and she was probably greatly troubled after the angel left.  Mary had no way of knowing what would transpire in the next thirty-three years.  But she had faith in what God told her.  She believed that God was with her.  She said, “Amen.”

        Can you also say “amen” with Mary?  For your God comes to you today—this day—with a plan and a promise for you.  From a human perspective that plan and that promise might not always seem attractive.  God’s plans for you aren’t always neat and tidy and without complications.  (His plan for Mary certainly wasn’t.)  In fact, God’s plan for you might sometimes leave you “greatly troubled.” 

        God’s plan for you sometimes means that your plans and schemes might just come crashing down on you when you least expect them to.  God’s plan often means doing what you’d least like to do—shouldering the cross like Jesus, submitting to others, confessing your sins, forgiving your enemies, loving others who aren’t particularly lovable, being faithful to God in Word and deed.  As this year nears its end, can you—will you—say “yes” to God’s plan for your life, trusting that the Lord is with you, come hell or high water?

        But remember, God comes to you today not only with a plan, but also with a promise.  That promise is the same one given to Mary:  The Lord is with you.  Beloved in the Lord, no matter how often you have sinfully said “no” to God’s clear Word—no matter how many times you’ve pursued your plans instead of God’s plans for you—God has called me to bring you good news.  I’m no angel Gabriel but it makes me incredibly glad to remind you:  The Lord is with YOU!  True God, begotten of the Father from eternity and true man born of the virgin Mary—He is your Lord and He is with you!  The Jesus in whom God was reconciling sinners to Himself—the Jesus who spread out His arms of love on a crucifixion cross—the Jesus who bounded out of the grave very early on the first day of the week—the Jesus whose kingdom will have no end—THIS Jesus, the Son of Mary, is with you.  He is for you, and not against you.

        In your baptism the Holy Spirit has come upon you.  God has been at work in you with His grace for a long time now.  And this is why you—like Mary—have found favor with God.  In Jesus your sins are forgiven.  When it comes to His grace, you’re full of it.  And this amazing grace which so far has carried you through many dangers, toils and snares also enables you to say what Mary said—to say “yes” to God’s plan—to say “amen” to all His promises in your life.

        Like Mary, you may not understand exactly where God is leading you, or why.  You may not perfectly comprehend all the theological implications of this moment.  You may leave here today feeling more troubled than when you arrived.  But that’s okay.  The Lord is with you.  He has a plan for you—a plan to give you peace and life that lasts forever.  Nothing is impossible for Him.  To that we can all say together with the mother of God, “yes,” “let it be to me according to your word.”  “Amen.”

Not-So-Great Expectations

 

Jesu Juva

St. John 20:24-29                                            

December 20, 2023

St. Thomas, Apostle (observed)

 Dear saints of our Savior~

        Well, we’ve almost made it.  You may have noticed in recent months that the daylight has been dwindling—daily diminishing.  The days have been getting shorter and the nights have been getting longer.  Tomorrow will officially be the darkest day of the year—the winter solstice.

        But long ago and far away, someone took the winter solstice and re-purposed it.  Someone circled the 21^st of December and said, “On this darkest of days we will remember St. Thomas.”  And so we are (one day early).  It feels strange to remember St. Thomas (Doubting Thomas) in the final few days of Advent.  Thomas left his lasting mark on the Church post-Easter, not pre-Christmas.  We always hear about Thomas the Sunday after Easter.  Talking about Thomas tonight—well, that’s a little bit like singing Christmas carols to celebrate the summer solstice.  But Thomas has much to teach us no matter the degree of darkness or daylight. 

        Have you ever wondered why Thomas doubted?  When the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord,” why didn’t Thomas take them at their word?  Why did he dig in his heels, demanding to see and examine the marks of the nails and spear in the flesh of Jesus?  Surely Thomas knew that the other disciples wouldn’t fabricate a story about Jesus rising from the dead and then lie to him about it.  It’s not as if Thomas hadn’t seen Jesus defying the laws of physics firsthand—miraculously multiplying loaves and fishes, walking on water, healing the sick, and raising the dead.  Thomas had heard Jesus predict both His death and His resurrection on more than one occasion.  So, why—why did Thomas say, “I will never believe?”  Why, suddenly, become a skeptic right when the good news is starting to pour in?

        Well, maybe it was just too good to be true.  Christ is risen?  Death is destroyed?  Free forgiveness?  Eternal life for all who believe?  Yeah, that would be great . . . but, you don’t dare believe that.  It’s just too good to be true.  At some level Thomas likely wanted it to be true—wanted to believe what he was hearing from the other disciples who had seen the Lord.  But Thomas didn’t want to be disappointed.  He didn’t want to get his hopes up, only to have those hopes dashed.  Maybe Thomas was one of those people who always expect the worst, so that when the worst happens you’ll be prepared for it—and then you’ll have the pleasure of telling everyone else, “See, I was right!  Told ya.”

        Hoping for the best—while expecting the worst—those are really two sides of the same coin.  It’s actually how most of us live each day—if we dare to admit it.  I think this is the case with a lot of the angry, atheist voices we hear so frequently at this time of year—people whose purpose in life is to prove Christianity wrong and to show the Bible to be a book of lies and myths.  The volume of these voices gets turned up every December—skeptics desperately trying to skewer every aspect of the nativity.  Why are they so angry and loud?  Don’t they want a Savior?  Don’t they want a God who loves them and comforts them?  Don’t they want the antidote to death?  Of course, they do.  But that’s just too good to be true.  And so they say together with St. Thomas, “I will never believe.”

        Our pessimism and skepticism—our doubts and our fears—the Lord doesn’t want those things shaping your outlook on life.  Whether you are hoping for the best or preparing for the worst, you have made yourself the center of the universe.  Will you be happy, or will you be disappointed?  Will you enjoy the best-case scenario, or the worst-case scenario?  Aiming for pleasure while preparing for pain—either way, it’s all about you.  Your ultimate concern . . . is you!  Whether you are expecting to be miserable this Christmas, or whether you are expecting nothing but Toblerone and candy canes, all of those expectations center in you—whether bracing for the worst or hoping for the best.  That is the definition of “self-centeredness.”  And self-centeredness is the very life of sin that you have been called to leave behind. 

        St. Thomas teaches us a better way—teaches us to find the center—not in ourselves, but in Jesus.  Jesus has a soft spot for skeptics.  Jesus takes pity on pessimists.  He doesn’t leave us to selfishly wallow in our doubts and fears.  Jesus came back one week later—came back purely for the sake of Thomas:  Put your finger here, and see my hands; and put out your hand, and place it in my side.  Do not disbelieve, but believe.  Jesus came to rescue Thomas from his not-so-great expectations—to show him that the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting isn’t too good to be true.          Because Christ is risen, you don’t have to go through life expecting and fearing the worst.  Because your life now centers in Jesus.  It’s not all about you; it’s all about Jesus.  You’re not the center of the universe; He is.  He is the Sun around which your life is in eternal orbit.  He is a sun that never sets.  He is the light no darkness can overcome.  He has taken from you your very worst—all the damning selfishness that darkens your days; and He gives to you His very best—His full forgiveness, His perfect righteousness, light and life that lasts forever. 

        He died to earn it all for you; and He lives to give it all to you.  His giving and your receiving happens right here.  This is the place where doubt and skepticism give way to faith and confidence and the thrill of hope.  The picture on tonight’s bulletin isn’t for the faint of heart—a skeptical Thomas probing at the wounded side of Jesus.  Those dear tokens of His passion Still His dazzling body bears. Thomas needed to know that this was really Jesus—that Jesus was risen and living, ordering our days and our deeds in His peace.  You need to know that too.  And that’s why the risen Christ comes here, for your sake:  “This is my body,” He says, “given for you.  This cup is the new testament in my blood, shed for you.”

        Here you get what Thomas got.  And like Thomas, you no longer have to go through life hoping for the best while preparing for the worst.  The good things that come your way are blessings that come from Christ.   And even the less-than-good things don’t change the fact that He is your Lord and your God. Once Thomas found his center—his sun—in Jesus, he was never the same again.  Eventually, he moved to India, bearing witness to the risen Christ until he himself was martyred by a spear in his own side.  Like the Christmas shepherds, we gather around Christ in the flesh and then go out telling others what we have seen and heard—like Thomas.

        I hope you enjoy those 30 seconds of extra daylight coming your way on Friday (break out the sunscreen!).  Let it remind you of how Jesus delivered Thomas from the darkness of his doubts and gave him the light of life instead.  He does the same for you—and He delights to do it for even the most passionate pessimist.  Of that you can be sure, certain and supremely confident.  

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

A Witness to the Light

 

Jesu Juva

St. John 1:6-8, 19-28                                             

December 17, 2023

Advent 3B                             

Dear saints of our Savior~

          There was a man sent from God, whose name was John.  That’s a rather simple introduction for a fairly complex man.  For there’s no one else in the Bible quite like John the Baptizer.  He’s one of a kind.  He comes “from God.”  And he comes “as a witness—a witness to the light.” 

          In theory we understand what it means to be a witness—to testify—to promise to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.  But in the original language of the New Testament, the word for “witness” is marturia—from which we get the English word martyr.  A martyr bears witness not only in the courtroom—not only in life, but also in death.  And that’s what John did.  He bore witness to Jesus, the light of the world.  John was like the moon; and Jesus the sun.  All John could do was bear witness about the light; he himself was not the light.

          What makes John’s witness so wonderful—the magnificence of this martyr—is that he never claimed the spotlight for himself.  When a delegation of stuffed shirts from the corporate office in Jerusalem made their way into the wilderness to launch an investigation concerning John, John would have none of it.  To say he stymied their investigation would be putting it mildly. 

          The bureaucrats from Jerusalem demanded to know, “Who are you?”  Or, perhaps we might paraphrase that question:  Who do you think you are?  Just think of how John could have used that opening to boost his own star power—to take his ministry to the next level.  This was John’s chance for greatness.  But all John could manage to say was, “This is who I am not.  I am not the Christ.  I am not Elijah.  I am not the Prophet like Moses. 

          John divulges no details about his divine destiny—says nothing about his parents, Zechariah and Elizabeth—of how he was conceived when they were senior citizens—of how the archangel Gabriel appeared to his dad and rendered him speechless for nine months.  John refuses to tell his story.  All he can manage to say about himself is to quote from the prophet Isaiah:  I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness, “Make straight the way of the Lord.”

          Today John teaches us what it means to be a witness for Jesus—a witness to the light.  A witness tells of what he saw and heard.  He doesn’t talk about himself.  If you are called to be a courtroom witness, you aren’t called to talk about yourself, but about the facts.  Feelings don’t count.  John didn’t seek the spotlight or to be centerstage.  He didn’t give a honey-coated grasshopper whether people even knew his name.  All he wanted to do was point his finger at Jesus and say, “There He is—the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.”  Jesus had to increase; John had to decrease.

          John is the professor and we are all his students in a class called “Witnessing 101.”  John teaches that what matters is the message, not the messengers.  We live in an age when personality matters most—where people just want to share their journey, their truth, their perspective, and their feelings.  It’s easy for us witness-wannabes to fall into that same quicksand.  Let me give you my story—my testimony.  Let me tell you about my journey with Jesus.  But Professor John shows us that there’s a slight but significant difference between telling people about my faith in Jesus, and telling people about Jesus.

          John teaches us that to be a witness for Jesus is simply to talk about Jesus with our mouths and point to Him with our fingers.  There’s nothing wrong with telling people what Jesus means to you—or telling them about what a great church we have here.  But better than talking about our church, or how religious we are—better by far is to tell them about Jesus Christ.

          Tell them how Jesus kept the whole law of God perfectly and how His perfect and sinless record counts for all who believe.  Tell them that Jesus’ death on the cross was for their sins—and that even their most despicable words and deeds have been paid for by the blood of the Lamb.  Tell them that this life isn’t all there is—that Jesus’ resurrection is the irrevocable promise that those who trust in Him will not perish, but have eternal life with Jesus.  Tell them—bear witness—about the Light of this dark world.

          This is what we in the church are called to do.  Not just “we” collectively, as a group, but also “we” individually—you!  Like John, you are a witness to the light of the world.  Your voice can be a witness in today’s wilderness of sin and death.  Your finger can point others to Jesus:  There’s the one for you.  In Him is hope.  In Him is your forgiveness, life, and salvation.

          Your homework assignment for these final days of the year is to think and pray about who needs your witness.  Who do you know who needs to be nudged and budged in the Savior’s direction?  Who can you direct to Jesus?  Our congregation has been selected to be part of a new, intentional way of witnessing.  We are going to be the Guinea pigs.  We’ve been given 100 copies of Luther’s Small Catechism, not to keep, but to give away—to use this rich resource  to bear witness about the light—to provide an answer for the hope that we have—so that others might come to share our hope and the faith we confess.  More details will be coming your way in 2024.  But for now be thinking—be praying.  Which co-worker, which neighbor, which classmate, which friend or family member has God placed in your path, who could benefit from your wonderful witness and your clear confession concerning Jesus the Christ?

          “There is Jesus!” That’s our witness!  There He is in the waters of Holy Baptism.  There is Jesus speaking through the mouth of your preacher, declaring that you are absolved, forgiven, and free.  There is Jesus in the bread and wine of His Holy Supper. 

          When we join with John in pointing people to Jesus, then, together with John, we decrease.  We decrease and Jesus increases.  And that’s the way it should be.  John’s greatness was Jesus.  And Jesus is our greatness too.  We too are not worthy to stoop down and untie His sandal straps; and yet Jesus stooped down low to save us.  Jesus stooped down into our death, like a sacrificial lamb—bearing your sins away and cleansing you with His blood.  He died a horrific death so that you might know life that lasts forever.  And today! He comes to bind up the brokenhearted, to comfort all who mourn, to set free all those held captive by the power of sin and death.

          Joy is always the theme for this third Sunday of Advent.  That’s why the pink candle was lit this morning.  Today’s epistle from 1 Thessalonians set the table for us:  Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances.  In Jesus there is always joy.  Let your life and your witness center on Him.  For it’s all—always—about Jesus.  He’s the one.  Jesus is coming soon.

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