Something Terrible & Wonderful

Jesu Juva

Revelation 12:7-12                                   

September 29, 2024

St. Michael & All Angels

 Dear saints of our Savior~

        A few years ago you sent me on sabbatical to Germany.  There I quickly learned that to journey through Germany is to be confronted by things both terrible and wonderful.  At first the cobblestone sidewalks seem quaint.  But then you notice how some of the little stones are inscribed with names—marking an address where German Jews were arrested in the dead of night, never to return home again.  Look closely at the monuments and you’ll see how bullet holes still scar those structures from when the Russians arrived in 1945 to exact vengeance.  A sign next to a nondescript parking lot tells that beneath your feet was Hitler’s bunker, a little suburb of hell which housed demonic evil.  It’s terrible—terrible tokens of evil.

        But right next to the terrible . . . is the wonderful:  the ruins of the Berlin wall, relegated to the ash heap of history, cathedrals with spires that stretch into the heavens, museums housing the finest artworks ever created.  It’s wonderful and beautiful and inspiring.

        My little pilgrimage through things both terrible and wonderful—this vision of violence and beauty—it changed me.  It reconfigured my view of the world as I continue down the path of my earthly pilgrimage.

        This Sunday—on which we give thanks for St. Michael and all the angels of God—is like a journey through Germany.  All the Scripture readings direct our attention to things both terrible and wonderful—on a cosmic scale.  The reading from Revelation 12 in particular gives us a vision of heavenly violence—of terrible trauma—of a war in heaven.  St. Michael and the angels fight against the dragon who is called the devil and Satan—the deceiver of the whole world.  We’re familiar with war on earth.  We see the images from Ukraine and Israel.  But war in heaven is unimaginable—angels and demons—a dragon and a Lamb—terror and violence on a cosmic scale, where victory comes only by blood—the blood of the Lamb.  However you picture it, it is both terrible and wonderful.  And this vision changes us as it leads us to ponder things unseen.

        Terrible things and wonderful things are so tightly intertwined in today’s readings that it can be tough to decipher.  Michael gets the victory, and Satan is evicted from heaven.  Jesus said: I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven.  That’s wonderful!  But without missing a beat, Revelation gives a warning of woe for those of us who dwell on earth.  Why?  Because the devil has come down to us in great wrath and rage.  And that’s terrible and terrifying.

        What the devil does best is deceive and accuse.  And we are the targets of his deceptions and accusations.  His ultimate goal is to extinguish your faith in the Lord Jesus Christ—to pull you away from your Savior by any means necessary.  He deceives and he accuses.  Some of us he draws into despair—convincing us that we are truly worthless and unforgivable—that the weight of our sins will rightly drag us down to hell.  But others of us he pulls into pride—causing us to look with contempt on others and how bad they are, while engaging in smug self-satisfaction at how righteous and respectable we are.  Worst of all, many of Satan’s accusations are dead-on accurate!  He’s not just making stuff up about us.  He’s a liar; but he can also leverage the truth to attack us:  Fickle faithlessness, greed, idolatry, adultery, drunkenness, theft.  You know which of those accusations might rightly stick to you.  Give the devil his due; even a stopped clock shows the true time twice a day. Do not be deceived.  This is our sin; and it is terrible.

        But this day holds before our eyes something supremely wonderful and mysterious.  This day declares that you are victorious in Jesus.  Even Saint Michael—that great warrior angel—even Michael is a participant in the victory of Jesus.  Think about how strange this account is in Revelation 12.  Michael and the holy angels fight a war against the devil; and that devil is evicted from heaven.  The devil gets his butt kicked.  This is wonderful, but weird.  If I were writing this story—even though my name is Michael—it wouldn’t be Michael who demotes and defeats the devil.  It would be Jesus!  Right?  Shouldn’t it be the Christ who conquers?

        But it’s Michael.  And it is Michael for this reason:  Because Michael participates in the victory of Christ.  How do I know?  Because right there in Revelation 12, when Michael casts Satan out, the heavens break into song.  Only they don’t sing about Michael, but about the Christ—about His rule, His authority, His salvation, His power, and His blood—blood that cleanses sinners, blood that silences every ugly accusation, and blood that conquers all the powers of evil.  The victory comes through Jesus.  The devil’s demise is our Lord’s doing.  Michael shows this.  Michael demonstrates this.  The Lord Jesus enables all who trust in Him—including you—to participate in His victory.

        And this ought to encourage you as you press on in your earthly pilgrimage through things terrible and wonderful.  See the wonder of God’s love for you in the terror of our Lord’s crucifixion.  See how He suffered so that you might conquer—in Him!  See how the blood that seeped from His terrible wounds has so wonderfully cleansed you of all the sin that would condemn you.  We witness His terrible death; and we watch with wonder His glorious resurrection.

        War arose in heaven.  This is true.  But you are not collateral damage in this war.  You have not been abandoned to stagger and stumble through a never-ending no-man’s land.  God has chosen you—drafted you in the waters of holy Baptism to participate in His victory over Satan.  This is why the baptized always renounce the devil and all his works and all his ways.  I do renounce them!  Because they are being born again into the victory of Jesus!

        Those little babies at the baptismal font are the perfect illustration.  There’s no way a little infant could ever defeat the devil.  There’s no way someone so helpless could ever secure salvation.  And that’s the point.  All of us—from the littlest infant to mighty St. Michael—we fight and we conquer by the strength of our Savior, who loved us and gave Himself for us.  In Him we are more than conquerors.

        I don’t know all the terrible battles you are fighting today—or what, exactly, Satan is hurling in your direction.  But let me tell you something wonderful.  We are on our way!  We are pressing on in a pilgrimage from earth to heaven.  And once in a while on this long journey God pulls back the curtain to show us things terrible—and things too wonderful for words—to stiffen our spines and speed our steps and strengthen our faith as we spy the golden horizon ahead.  We are on our way to Jesus, walking with angels, and archangels, and all the company of heaven.

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

 

Last of All

Jesu Juva

St. Mark 9:30-37                                            

 September 22, 2024

Proper 20B                        

 Dear Saints of Our Savior,

        The ministry of Jesus had been successful beyond belief.  His popularity and His approval numbers were off the chart.  “He has done all things well,” the crowds exclaimed with applause.  The deaf hear.  The mute speak.  The lame walk.  Lepers are cleansed.  Demons are cast out.  The dead are raised to life.  Peter, James and John had just seen Jesus transfigured on the mountain top, shining brighter than the sun.  Jesus was a winner.

        But as today’s Holy Gospel picks up, Jesus sounds a distinctly different note.  Jesus began teaching about the cross:  The Son of Man is going to be delivered into the hands of men, and they will kill him.  And when he is killed, after three days he will rise.  Jesus couldn’t have said it more clearly than that.  He spoke simply and plainly.  No mysterious metaphors.  No puzzling parables.  Jesus would be killed; and Jesus would rise.

        Despite the Savior’s simplicity of speech, the disciples didn’t understand.  What’s more, they were afraid to ask for clarification.  Who can blame them, really?  Put yourself in their sandals.  These twelve men were “all in.”  They had left everything to follow Jesus.  They had visions of victory and greatness.  All this talk about death and resurrection must have sounded like crazy talk—irrational.  Not the kind of talk one would expect from a respectable Messiah who should be assembling an army to fight a holy war in Jerusalem.  To the disciples, it seemed safer to pretend that they hadn’t heard a word of what Jesus had said.

        So the twelve quickly found something else to talk about on their walk back to Galilee.  But rather than discuss the warm weather or the Brewers clinching a playoff spot, the twelve began to argue about who was the greatest.  Who was the top dog?  If something bad did happen to Jesus, who would succeed Him as number one?  Would it be Peter?  A natural choice.  Or did those “Sons of Thunder,” James and John, team up to take down the competition?

        However it actually played out, this was not the disciples’ finest hour.  Jesus had just uncorked the greatest prophesy of His ministry.  He had just told them in simple sentences how He would save His people from their sins—that He would be killed and rise again.  And instead of pondering this or asking about it or confessing their fears, they began to argue over which one of them was the greatest.

        This is another great example of the brutal honesty and accuracy of the Scriptures.  This account hasn’t been whitewashed and edited to put a positive spin on things.  Instead, St. Mark admits that at this crucial point, all the disciples completely missed the point and were selfishly thinking of their own greatness.

        Things haven’t changed in the church that much over the years.  The same Old Adam that drove the debate among the disciples is alive and well in each of us.  That old Adam in you wants to be the winner—not the chief of sinners, but just the chief—the boss—period.  We’re all afflicted with that same drive for power—to be in control, to be the top dog, to get everyone else to follow our orders and do it our way.  And this disorder is more than just excessive ambition.  Ambition is just setting goals and striving to attain them.  Perhaps we could all use a little more ambition.  But what’s going on in today’s text is something different.  This is selfishly stepping on the backs of others to fight your way to the top of the pile.

        That’s not the way of Jesus.  St. James in today’s epistle reminds us that the proper stance before God is always one of repentant humility.  God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble.  The posture of faith before God should never be one of pride or boastfulness or arrogance.  Rather, the way of faith is rooted in humility, repentance, and gratitude for God’s mercy.  Humble yourselves before the Lord, and He will exalt you.

        Jesus takes the twelve to task.  He turns their ideas about greatness upside down.  “Do you want to be great?” Jesus asks, “Then go to the back of the line and become the servant of all.”  That’s greatness in the way of Jesus—the first becoming last.  That’s how Jesus lived; that’s how Jesus died.  He left His privileged position at the right hand of the Father to live among us, and to make Himself a slave.  He left the boardroom of the Holy Trinity to join us in the cubicle of our humanity.  He became a king whose crown was of thorns and whose throne was a cross.

        Right about then, Jesus introduced an object lesson.  Ever the master Teacher, Jesus grabbed a living, breathing example of greatness:  a little child.  In those days little children were not the big winners they are today.  Back then they didn’t glamorize and idolize children and childhood the way we do.  In fact, children were considered little losers—nothing but a drain on the family assets.  Children were pretty worthless until they could work and start to earn their keep.

        But Jesus chose a child—a little child—a child small enough to be picked up and held in Jesus’ arms—to teach us what it means to be great.  He said: Whoever receives one such child in my name receives me, and whoever receives me, receives not me but him who sent me.  Now, I’ll be perfectly honest with you.  I don’t know precisely what it means to receive a little child in Jesus’ name.  But I think we can make some safe assumptions about this.

        To welcome a child in Jesus’ name must surely mean that we allow children to be born—that we do not abort babies—but we welcome them into the human community, and receive them as gifts from God, no matter how inconvenient it might be.  To welcome a little child in Jesus’ name must also surely mean that we bring them with haste to the waters of Holy Baptism to be born again in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.  To welcome a little child in Jesus’ name must also mean that we welcome little ones here in the Divine Service.  Every parent knows that managing children in church can be a challenge.  I’m here to tell you, it’s worth the trouble.  It’s worth the hassle and inconvenience.  For here your children are welcomed and received by the Lord Jesus Christ.

        Perhaps Jesus is trying to teach us to embrace the hassle and to accept the inconvenience.  That’s always how it is when you deal with little children.  It requires you to lower yourself—to humble yourself—to bend down low to an entirely different level.  When I walk my dogs around the neighborhood it’s not too unusual to be approached by little children asking if they can pet the dogs.  This halts my progress.  It often requires me to kneel down and facilitate an interaction between the little ones and the labradoodles.  Now this is hardly a great sacrifice on my part.  But it does require that I set aside my agenda, and my idea of a successful and speedy walk, for the sake of some little children I don’t even know.

        Greatness in the kingdom of Jesus requires that we always set aside our own drive for greatness and look instead to Jesus.  Jesus is the one who came not to be the first, but to be the last of all.  Jesus is the one who came not to be served, but to serve, and to give His life as a ransom for many.  Jesus became the servant of all, who suffered for the salvation of all, and who rose again from the dead to open the kingdom of heaven for all believers—including you.

        The disciples had it all wrong.  Faith never asks, “Who is the greatest?”  Faith looks to Jesus on the cross, suffering as our substitute beneath the wrath of God, and says, “There.  That’s greatness.  That’s what it means to be great.”  And through that cross we view the world in a whole new way.  We understand greatness in a whole new way.  We see greatness where the world would never, ever look to find it:  in the least and the lowly, in the little ones and in the children.  And as we welcome them in Jesus’ name, we welcome Jesus Himself.

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

 

Help My Unbelief

Jesu Juva

St. Mark 9:14-29                                      

 September 15, 2024

Proper 19B

 Dear saints of our Savior~

        At first glance, today’s Holy Gospel would seem to be mainly about demon possession and exorcism.  Those topics probably weren’t at the forefront of your mind as you came here today.  But if you’ll hang with me, I think you’ll start to see that there’s something more here—something that each one of us can take away from this text. 

At the center of the action is a boy with a troubling demon that causes epileptic-type seizures.  This demon even attempts to throw the boy into fire and water to kill him.  Can you imagine the fear that must have gripped his father?  Satan has set his sights on people of all ages, children included.  He is a shameless predator who delights in victimizing even children.  This is serious, scary stuff.  And what makes it even more frightening is that the disciples weren’t able to deal with this demon on their own, but Jesus needed to be directly involved.

All this happened right after the Transfiguration.  Jesus was coming down the mountain with Peter, James and John, following His moment of glory with Moses and Elijah.  But when they met up with the other nine disciples, what they encountered was chaos.  People were arguing and yelling.  The crowd was irate because nine of Jesus’ disciples had failed—failed to cast out the demon that was tormenting a little boy.  And there are few things more upsetting than having to watch a child suffer.  For His part, Jesus is also packing an attitude.  Apparently what got Jesus worked up was the unbelief that He encountered.  O faithless generation, how long do I have to put up with you? 

Perhaps most skeptical of all is the boy’s father. He isn’t sure that Jesus is up to the task.  And who can blame him?  So far every remedy, every healer, every prayer and every penny had failed to save his son.  Why would this attempt be any different?  He tells Jesus: If you can do anything, have compassion on us and help us.  IF you can.  There it is—the doubt, the unbelief, the skepticism.  But Jesus throws a flag on the play.  What do you mean IF? All things are possible for one who believes.

That brings us to the heart of the matter.  This isn’t so much a story about a nasty evil spirit, as it is about what happens to our faith when our “religion” doesn’t seem to work.  If it helps, you can take the demon out of this story and substitute some other terrible reality that’s more personal to you.  And you still end up at the same crossroads of faith and doubt:  the incurable cancer, the accident that turned your life upside down, the trusted friend who turned on you, the marriage that imploded, the child who has abandoned the faith. 

Like the father of the demonized boy, you did the very thing you should do.  You brought your problems to the church, but the church couldn’t fix them.  You prayed for healing; but things only got worse.  You prayed for a better job; and you lost the job you had.  You know how it is.  I know you do.

The temptation at that point is to trade in your God for another model—to swap your religion (or at least change churches) until you find one that works.  Americans are particularly prone to the “whatever works must be true” way of looking at things.  We’re pragmatic people.  We admire efficiency—whatever it takes to get the job done.  But I’m here to tell you that, when it comes to faith, the whole “go with whatever works” mentality is a deeply flawed strategy.  In fact, it’s one of the devil’s best temptations. 

If you equate what’s right and true with what works, then what happens when it stops working?  What happens when the disciples can’t cast out the demon?  What happens when you take your troubles to church, and lay them at the feet of Jesus, and things only get worse?  Well, you’ve got a handy excuse to move on—to chase after what works.  We become so concerned about the here and now that we fail to see how God blesses us in the long run through our suffering—how His grace is sufficient, how His power is made perfect in our weakness.  Jesus does His best work in our lives precisely when our lives aren’t “working” according to plan.

In your time of trouble, when you’re tempted to chase after “what works,” learn to pray like the father in today’s text:  Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.  That’s not double-talk; that’s honesty.  That man didn’t try to hide his weakness.  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?  We are 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 trust Your promises over and above 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.  It doesn’t matter whether you’re just an “innocent” victim like the little boy with the unclean spirit, or whether you’ve made your bed of shame and now you have to lay in it.  All things are possible for Jesus—and for the one who believes in Jesus! 

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.  

In fact, today’s text takes us directly to Jesus’ own death and resurrection.   For when Jesus finally got around to exorcising the demon, it looked like 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 maybe he was.)  But Jesus took the boy by the hand and lifted him up, and he arose.  He arose.  It’s a preview of the resurrection—corpses rising to new life.  This 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 arose.  Jesus lives.  And in Jesus you also will live.  When it seems like your religion isn’t working—that your faith isn’t working, remember the resurrection.  For on that day death and sin will be undone.  Your faith will be vindicated in victory!

Already 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 design and plan.  And if you find that to be 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.  Whether it “works” or not, trust the promises of Jesus.

His nail-scarred hands declare that your sins, no matter what they are, cannot separate you from 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 but a short season to live.  They will not last.  They do not reign; Jesus reigns!  And He is our Savior. 

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