The Church Rendered Red

Jesu Juva

St. Matthew 11:12-19                                   

October 27, 2024

Reformation Sunday         

 Dear saints of our Savior~

        I grew up in the Bible belt where Lutheran churches were few and far between.  Baptist churches were a dime a dozen; but we Lutherans were a rare and exotic breed in those parts.  One year, my little flock of Lutherans decided to paint the exterior of the church.  And they chose to go with a radically different color—a color that would stand out—a color that would set apart the Lutheran church from every other church in town.  They painted the church red—and by red I mean Wisconsin dairy barn red—Badger red.

        It was a bold choice—admittedly, a little strange to look at.  But from a theological standpoint, they nailed it!  Red is the perfect color for any church.  Red gets it right where the church is concerned.  This is why on the last Sunday of October, as we celebrate the Reformation of the Church, the color of the day is red. 

        Why red, you ask?  Why does the church look so appropriate in red?  Well, it’s not because red stands out so much, or because red complements the fall foliage outside.  No, red is right for Reformation—and red is right for other days when we remember the church and her apostles, prophets and martyrs—because red is the color of blood.  Red is a reminder of the violence the church has suffered—and still suffers around the world.  Red is a reminder that the church of Jesus Christ has always been—and will always be until the Last Day—a target for violence.

        I know, I know, when you think of church, violence is the last thing to cross your mind.  Church is a place of peace that passes understanding.  But when you take a look at the long history of the church, starting with Cain and Abel all the way to John the Baptist—and if you look at the lives of Paul and Peter and the other Apostles—what you DO NOT see is peace and security and good times.

        Prophets, apostles, martyrs, reformers—as these men preached down through the centuries, the kingdom of heaven suffered violence and the violent took it by force.  That’s the unusual phrase Jesus uses in today’s Holy Gospel.  It means that violence and persecution are the church’s constant companions.  The church does indeed have the peace of Christ—which it offers and proclaims and bestows (and you know that peace); but that peace is NOT necessarily the absence of violence. 

        Behind the church a trail of blood always trickles.  She is whipped by the world when she refuses to yield to the demands of contemporary culture.  Wolves in sheep’s clothing rip and render her flesh.  Persecution is nothing new.  Let the color red remind you that life in the church militant is not about stained glass and padded pews and pipe organs.  Let the red you see be a warning:  the Christian church is—and has always been—a target for violence.

        The church suffers this violence not because she is violent—the church is made up of holy people who are filled with love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness, and self-control.  But the church suffers violence because of her Husband—because of her Bridegroom—because of her Lord, Jesus Christ.  As the world has hated Him, so it hates His bride, for we bear His name. 

        His truth we dare to declare day after day, year after year.  John the Baptist preached it.  Luther preached it.  And on what Sunday do you not hear it preached?—that your sins are forgiven in the blood of Jesus Christ—that the gates of heaven stand open for you by grace, for Christ’s sake, through faith?  All the prophets prophesied this.  All the apostles taught this and preached it.  All the martyrs went to their deaths in the sure and certain confession that all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, but are justified freely, by grace, as a gift, by the blood of the Lamb who takes away the sin of the world.  He is true God and true man.  He has defeated death and now reigns at the Father’s right hand so that one day you—you will stand before Him in resurrection glory.

        But before glory comes suffering—and quite possibly violence.  Martin Luther is on a very short list—a list of faithful preachers who proclaimed the truth in the face of the lie—and lived to tell about it.  Remember, Luther was a marked man—a fugitive—for much of his life.  Luther thankfully had a few friends in high places. That meant he could bear witness not just in death, but in his life and preaching.  Luther was an exception.  For as Jesus reminds us, “The kingdom of heaven suffers violence . . . and the violent take it by force.”

        Let the blood-red paraments today remind you of all that you have been given—how when you hunger and thirst for righteousness—how when you are burdened by sin and grief—you can freely come here to receive the life-giving gifts of Jesus, our Savior. 

        But would you still come here if protestors were gathered along the front sidewalk, shouting and jeering because of what we teach about marriage—the lifelong union of one man and one woman?  Would you still come if someone from the government was here taking attendance, checking IDs, jotting down license plate numbers?  Would you still come if we lost our non-profit status—if we were persecuted with fines and financial penalties, and had to give up this beautiful building and worship some place not so nice—perhaps in a big red barn?  What do you treasure more, the gospel of our Savior, or your own comfort—your own status—your own security?

        The Lord Jesus gives us so much whenever we gather in His name . . . but we treasure it so little.  We’re not that different from the generation of Jesus’ day.  Jesus compared them to picky little children.  They didn’t like John the Baptist because he was too strict and too conservative; but neither did they like Jesus because He was too loose and too liberal, a friend of tax collectors and sinners.  That generation could find fault with anyone and anything.  And so can we.  It’s so easy to criticize the church—to point out her flaws and failings.  It’s so easy to be complacent.  It’s so easy to point out the problems in the church rather than be part of the solutions to those problems. 

        It’s a good thing the church has a Savior who has made all of your problems His own.  It’s a good thing the church has a Savior who has taken your sins and made them all His own.  It’s a good thing that you have a Savior who is never complacent, but always active, serving you with His gifts.

        If the red you see today is a reminder of blood, let it also remind you of the Savior’s blood shed for you.  For you were redeemed, not with gold or silver, but with His holy, precious blood and His innocent suffering and death that you may be His own.  All the violence that could ever befall you is just a fraction of the violence that rained down upon Jesus on Good Friday.  All your bad Jesus bears away; and all His good He freely gives to you.  That good comes to you in the splash of your baptism, in the comforting cadence of Holy Absolution, in the bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood, in the preaching and proclamation of His Word. These things are gifts.  These are treasures.  These are for you.

        The color red tells the whole story on Reformation Sunday.  This world is a violent place for Christ and for His Christians.  But through faith in Him, we have access to a better world—to the life of the world to come.  That’s where we are headed.  And the promise of that world is what sustains us in times of trial and persecution.  For there we will see our Savior face to face. 

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