Answers in Romans

 

Jesu Juva

Romans 5:1-11                                            

February 25, 2024

Lent 2B                                    

 Dear saints of our Savior~

        We often view the Bible as a book of answers.  But there are plenty of questions too.  In the book of Romans, for instance, nearly one of every three sentences is a question.  And some of these questions are very well known:  Shall we go on sinning so that grace may increase?  Do you not know that all of us who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into His death?  If God is for us, who can be against us?  Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?

        Now, today’s reading from Romans five contains no questions; but it does answer a few unspoken questions.  And that first unspoken question is this:  Now what?  For four chapters Paul has been laying out the most important doctrines of the Christian faith—that all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God and are justified freely by grace through Jesus Christ—and that this Jesus was delivered up to death for our trespasses and was raised to life for our justification.  Okay.  Got it.  Amen.  This I believe.  I’m a sinner justified by grace, for Christ’s sake, through faith.  But Now what?  Romans chapter five has the answer!

        Therefore, since we HAVE BEEN justified by faith, we [NOW] have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.  Through him we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand.  In other words, we are standing surrounded by grace.  That grace governs everything.  We live and work and play in a safe and secure “bubble” of God’s grace.  The undeserved love of God follows us and surrounds us at all times.  And that grace relationship is terribly important.  It means that if you get tripped-up and do something bad—something completely out of character for one who is justified in Jesus—it means that your relationship with Jesus is still intact.  Grace still surrounds you.  Your sin doesn’t automatically disqualify you.  Repentance is the route for you.

Here’s a practical example of why this is so important:  Let’s say as you leave here today with your sins forgiven and your faith fed and nourished, you have a sinful thought.  And seconds later, you are run down by an out-of-control car, and you die.  Your final conscious thought was a sinful thought and then you died.  Can that sin be forgiven?  Yes, if you are standing surrounded by God’s grace.  Can you go to heaven?  Yes, because you are in a grace relationship with the Lord.  Even the most terrible and untimely tragedy cannot undo what God in Christ has done for you.

Speaking of tragedy, today’s reading gives us another answer—an answer to this unspoken question:  What about when suffering comes our way?  Doesn’t suffering call into question the peace and grace in which we stand?  To be justified by faith is fabulous.  To have peace with God is wonderful.  To be surrounded by grace is great!  But what about suffering? 

Romans chapter five has an answer to that question:  We rejoice in our sufferings.  Few sentences of Scripture sound stranger than that one.  We rejoice in our sufferings.  This doesn’t mean that we’re delighted to suffer or happy to suffer.  It means, first of all, that we can face suffering with the confidence that our sufferings do not separate us from the love of God.  We can have joy in suffering because we have joy in Jesus, who suffered everything to save us.

We who have been justified in Jesus—we see suffering differently.  In this world, suffering is usually regarded as a sign of failure.  Even behind the question, “What did I do to deserve this?” lies the unspoken assumption, “Well, I must have done something to deserve this.”  Garrison Keillor writes about a time when the Norwegian flu was running wild through Lake Wobegon.  The Norwegian flu, he explains, manifests all the same physical symptoms as the regular flu.  But what makes the Norwegian flu different is that you’re also filled with guilt and shame for allowing yourself to get sick.  And heaven forbid you are the first one in your family to come down with the Norwegian flu—and you then infect the rest of the family.  There’s no forgiveness for that.  Expect no compassion.  (I speak from experience.) 

But those who are in Christ Jesus—we see suffering differently because we know.  We know that the God who offered up His only Son for us is in charge of all history.  He’s in charge of our sufferings too—and He works for our good in them!  We know that God is at work in, with and under our suffering.  We know, Paul writes, “that suffering is not pointless; suffering produces endurance.”  Every athlete knows this.  Every runner knows that suffering produces endurance.  No pain, no gain.  Only when we are challenged do we learn to go farther and faster. 

And what’s true for runners is also true for you:  Suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character.  To have “character” as a Christian means that you’re no longer a rookie, easily flustered and insecure about every stumble.  To have character means you are able to take things in stride, marching confidently toward the finish line and the crown of glory.  And “character produces hope,” and “hope” in the New Testament is not wishful thinking, but confident expectation.  Don’t curse the suffering in your life; but rejoice in it.  With every step of suffering, the light ahead grows brighter and more glorious.

How is this possible?  How is it possible for Christian couch potatoes like us to run that marathon from shame and suffering all the way to certain hope and joyful expectation?  How is this possible?  Romans five has the answer!  Guiding and leading your every step is “the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.”  It’s the same Spirit who has made your body His temple.  It’s this Spirit who shepherds our suffering into endurance, and our endurance into character, and our character into confident hope and expectation.

The Holy Spirit does all this by flooding our hearts with love—with the love of God.  And know this about the Holy Spirit:  The Spirit works with facts, not feelings.  The Holy Spirit fills our hearts with the love of God by pointing to the fact of the cross, the fact of the crucifixion, the fact of the resurrection.  This is how we know what love is:  Jesus Christ laid down His life for us!  That fact changes everything.  That fact means that you know you are loved, even while you suffer—especially while you suffer.  The fact of Jesus’ dying and rising completely redefines what love really is.

Human beings may think we know what love is.  And in the accounts of history you will find instances of sacrificial love—someone giving up a seat on a lifeboat for another—a soldier falling on a grenade to spare the lives of his comrades.  Paul in these verses makes you wonder, who would you die for?  For how many people would you make the supreme sacrifice of love?  If a gunman stormed our sanctuary this morning and started shooting, for whom would you take a bullet?  Who do you love that much? 

I saw a movie several years ago about a family of four vacationing at a ski resort in the Italian Alps.  One day as they ate their lunch in an outdoor dining area, something triggered an avalanche on a mountain high above them.  At first, people are intrigued by the avalanche and start taking pictures.  But as the avalanche grew in size and roared closer and closer to the dining area, people began to panic and scream.  And just as it appeared that they were all going to be buried alive, at the very last second, the avalanche resolved.  Aside from a few minutes of white, snowy fog, no one is hurt and the shaken diners resume eating lunch.  But at that moment when it seemed like death was imminent, the husband and father of the family, rather than try to protect and save his wife and children, screamed and ran away.  He abandoned his family to save himself.  And that one loveless act changed everything for that family.  It was a failure of fatherly love—a failure of marital love. 

Our days are filled with love failures—loveless acts, loveless words, loveless thoughts.  We know the kind of love we want to receive; we know the kind of love we ought to give.  But it never quite happens.  Human love inevitably—always—fails.

But in Christ, love gets redefined.  In Christ, love exceeds all expectation—beyond anything we have ever known or imagined.  While we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly.  For one will scarcely die for a righteous person—though perhaps for a good person one would dare even to die—but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.  While we were weak—while we were ungodly—while we were sinners—while we were God’s enemies—Christ died for us.  He loved us and gave Himself for us.  And if that’s how God treats His enemies, then what can we expect who have now been justified by faith, who now enjoy peace with God through the cleansing blood of Jesus?  Jesus Christ dared to die for you . . . and nothing can ever be the same again.

Now What?  Where do we go from here?  Now, with this love, we can rejoice in our sufferings and face each new day with a sure and certain hope.  Now, we who are weakened with temptation and who struggle with sin—we come here so that the Holy Spirit can fill our hearts full to the brim with the love of God in Christ.  Now, we can face the facts of our sin, and find joy in the fact of God’s selfless love for sinners.  Now What?  Now we can deny ourselves, take up our cross, and follow Jesus, our Savior. 

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

A Time to Pray

Jesu Juva

Psalm 130                                                    

February 21, 2024

Midweek Lent 1           

 Dear saints of our Savior~

        Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord!  The “depths” are a terrible place to be.  The depths are a place of fear and floundering, despair and dismay.  In the depths suffering is acute.  What’s more, there’s no getting out of the depths by your own willpower, strength, or determination.  Self-help is of no help when you are in the depths.

        We’ve all been there.  And that’s part of what makes Psalm 130 one of the most profound and practical Psalms we have.  It teaches us what to do in the depths.  For the child of God, the deepest depths are primarily a place of prayer.  That’s what you do in the depths—you pray.  For the Christian, times of suffering are times of prayer.  Sometimes, in the deepest depths, all you can do is pray.

        You’ve probably heard it said that the Psalms are the hymnal of the Old Testament.  Every Psalm is a hymn; and every hymn is a prayer.  And tonight’s Psalm teaches some very valuable things about prayer.  This Psalm is a primer on prayer.  And there’s something very interesting about Psalm 130 when you hear it as a prayer.  Every prayer has an “ask,” a request, a bid for the Lord to do something—to act.  But the sufferer who wrote this Psalm has only one simple request.

        O Lord, hear my voice!  Let your ears be attentive to my pleas for mercy.  This sufferer simply wants to be heard.  That’s all.  Just hear my cry for mercy.  It’s the same way we often pray in the Divine Service:  Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.  Suffering is a time to pray; and the prayers of the sufferer can be simple.

        O Lord, hear my voice.  That’s the big “ask” of this prayer numbered 130.  Being trapped down deep in the depths, you might expect a whole laundry list of requests to make their way upward—an action plan, a sequence of strategic steps for the Lord to undertake, a specific prescription for the Lord’s power to be applied, a divine to-do list.  But no.  O Lord, hear my voice.  Hear my cry for mercy.

        There’s no talk in this Psalm about being a “prayer warrior,” no hint of how an army of “prayer warriors” can crash the gates of heaven with such an impressive show of spiritual force that the Lord has no choice but to give into our specific, detailed demands.  Being in the depths is no place to be making demands.  The depths are a place of suffering, where simple requests suffice.

        Simple requests suffice because the Lord hears—He always hears the requests of His suffering children.  It’s not as though you’re the lead defense attorney needing to argue and prove your case before a skeptical jury or judge.  The Lord knows your needs.  He hears your voice.  The Lord loves you with an everlasting love.  His grace is sufficient.

        Of course, it could be otherwise.  There’s a hypothetical “if” in this Psalm which, if true, would mean that our prayers wouldn’t have a leg to stand on.  If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities, O Lord, who could stand?  What does it mean to “mark iniquities?”  To answer that question let me take you back to 1977 and Mrs. Shafer’s second grade class.  There one week a certain second-grader known as “Mike H.” assumed his assigned duty as the classroom monitor.  If the classroom monitor spotted you talking when you weren’t supposed to talk, he wrote your name on the board and you lost precious recess time.  Nobody carried out the job of classroom monitor more zealously than Mike H.  He showed no mercy to those who engaged in unauthorized talking.  An entire section of the chalkboard was filled with the names of the guilty.  Mike H. even wrote his own name on the board.  And when it came time for recess, well, Mrs. Shafer’s entire second-grade class was sidelined.

        That’s what it means to “mark iniquities—to keep a record of sins—to let nothing slide.”  If God kept score on our sins—if He recorded them and wrote them down—detailed accounts of every sin—an inventory of iniquity—a comprehensive catalog of every crime we’ve ever committed against God’s holy Law—who then could stand?  Who could pray with any hope of being heard?  No one.

        But with you there is forgiveness, that you may be feared.  With our God there is forgiveness—forgiveness for every sin.  And that perfect forgiveness allows all our prayers and petitions to be received and heard by our heavenly Father.  Our prayers are never prayed in vain. 

        But where did all the iniquity go?  What happened to our sin?  Have our crimes simply been overlooked?  No, our crimes against God’s commands have been charged to our sacred substitute.  The inventory of our iniquity has been imputed to Jesus.  He Himself bears the awful punishment for our sins.  Rather than have all of humanity sidelined and excluded from salvation—one human—one perfect, sinless man would become the Savior of all men.

        This is why our Savior suffered.  And this is why we gather together during these forty days of Lent:  We see our Savior suffer in the darkest depths of woe.  But in the darkest depths of suffering, Jesus shows us what to do in the depths.  And what do you do in the depths?  What do you do when self-help is no help?  You pray. 

        Jesus prays a prayer both profound and practical—simple and sublime.  Abba, Father, . . . remove this cup from me.  Yet not what I will, but what you will.  Not my will—but Thy will be done.  That’s the “big ask” from Jesus on the night when He was betrayed.  And the Father’s will was done indeed:  Jesus was not spared from suffering; but by His suffering you have been saved.  By His suffering and death you know that with our God there is forgiveness.  There is help in every time of trouble.  There is peace that passes understanding.  There is grace and mercy.  And, as one redeemed by Christ the crucified, God hears your voice.  He knows your suffering.

        And so, we pray.  And as we pray, we wait.  More than watchmen for the morning.  We hate to wait.  We want results and relief yesterday.  But for the Lord we wait in hope.  The morning always comes.  Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning (Ps. 30:5).  The deepest depths cannot hold you for long.  In Jesus, even the grave has lost its grip on you.  The depths are a difficult place to be, but in the depths you are never alone.  For our Savior is no stranger to suffering.

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

 

The Devil Down the Mountain

 

Jesu Juva

St. Mark 9:14-29                                         

February 18, 2024                                           

 APOR Opening Service

 

Dear saints of our Savior,

Friends of A Place of Refuge,

        Last Sunday—one week ago—we celebrated the Transfiguration of our Lord.  And it was glorious.  Jesus on the mountaintop, shining in splendor.  God of God, Light of Light, very God of very God.  Jesus shining brighter and purer than all the angels in the sky.  Jesus engaged in conversation with Moses and Elijah—who had been dead and gone for centuries, but are alive and well with Jesus.  And all of this blazing glory was a tantalizing taste of our future—your future—in Jesus—a preview of the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come.  That was last Sunday . . . up on the mountain.

        But today—just a few moments ago—you heard what happened as soon as Jesus came down the mountain.  And it was so much more than a change in elevation.  It was a downward plunge from intense glory to intense suffering—a steep descent from bright light into demonic darkness.  Jesus moved decisively to do battle with the devil down the mountain.

        There was a commotion involving the scribes, the crowds, and the other disciples.  At the center of the commotion is a father and his son.  Jesus quickly learns that the boy is unwell.  But more than unwell, he is 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 the demon loves to throw the boy in—in order to kill the boy.  This is the devil down the mountain.

        See what the devil 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.  He targets and preys upon the most helpless, most vulnerable little lives. 

        And since the devil delights in hurting and harming little ones—children—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?  Our battle is not against flesh and blood.  Our battle is not against Planned Parenthood or politicians or activist judges who bow the knee to the abortion industry.  Our battle is not against flesh and blood but against the spiritual forces of evil . . .  Together with Jesus, we are called to do battle with the devil down the mountain.

        Of course, whenever the devil attacks children, he gets the parents, too.  Imagine the life of the demonized boy’s father—this dad who pours out his heart to Jesus.  For years, this unclean spirit had been harassing, attacking, and trying to kill his son.  How could you as a father even sleep at night?  There’s no worse feeling for a father than the feeling of helplessness—of 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 Jesus’ disciples—and the disciples 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 tried 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 seed of doubt sown 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.  It’s about what happens to our faith when our “religion” doesn’t seem to work.  What happens to our faith when something tragic pushes you into the crossroads of doubt and despair?

        And what’s more tragic than the proliferation of abortion?  What’s more tragic than the growth of death—and the demise of the unborn?  Roe vs. Wade gets overturned by the Supreme Court.  Alleluia! Thanks be to God!  But what happens?  The devil furiously fights back.  At the ballot box and in the courtroom and at the White House and through the media the murder of children is championed.  Death is celebrated.  Demons twitch their tails with glee.  And we who love life are left to stumble around here in the valley of the shadow of death—fighting off doubt and despair.  We’re like the disciples who couldn’t cast out the demon.  We’re like that father whose faith was withered down to a faintly burning wick.  What do you do when you’ve prayed and prayed to the Lord of Life and things only seem to get worse and worse?

        Well, you can chase some other strategy or you can place your faith in some other politician who seems to say the right things.  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 or his despair.  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.  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?  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 and despair creeps in and it seems like the devil is winning—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.  We celebrate and thank God for thirty years of pro-life action and advocacy at A Place of Refuge.  Mothers have been supported and cared for.  Babies have been born; and babies have been born again in the waters of Holy Baptism.  Love and mercy and compassion and truth have found a home on West Hampton Avenue.  But . . . it hasn’t always gone as planned.  Challenges, difficulties, messy complications and dire disappointments.  That’s often how it goes when you’re fighting the devil down the mountain.  And when this work becomes 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.  Fear not.

        His nail-scarred hands declare that your sins, no matter what they are, cannot separate you from the love of 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—the Lord of Life.  Nothing is impossible with Him. 

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