From Meager to Miraculous

In Nomine Iesu
St. Matthew 14:13-21
July 31, 2011
Pentecost 7—Proper 13A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

“The devil is in the details,” someone has said; but I beg to differ. At least where God’s Word is concerned, there’s good news in the details—abundant good news, overflowing good news, with at least a dozen basketfuls leftover. You know the account of Jesus feeding the five thousand. It’s recorded in all four gospels. It’s also the perfect place to go digging in the details for some genuine, 24-karat good news.

Let’s start with some detailed numbers: five loaves and two fish. We are told exactly what kind of food and what quantity of food was on hand in that desolate place where a crowd of thousands had managed to track Jesus down. Five loaves and two fish. Those details really aren’t necessary. It’s not something we absolutely need to know to appreciate the miracle that Jesus performs. I’m always a little surprised that the evangelists thought it so important to tell us that there were precisely five loaves and two fish.

In fact, it’s even more surprising when you stop and consider that Jesus didn’t need them. Jesus didn’t need any loaves or any fish. Jesus could have miraculously fed that hungry crowd out of thin air. Simply by saying the word or snapping His fingers or blinking His eyes or raising His hands to heaven Jesus could have conjured up a bounty of bread and a feast of fish. After all, as the Son of God, Jesus was there way back at creation fashioning all the fishes in the sea and giving all the grains that go into making bread. No, Jesus needed neither five loaves nor two fish to fashion a feast in the wilderness.

Yet those details are right there ready to jump off the pages of our Bibles: five loaves and two fish—unexpected, unnecessary, uncalled-for details. I think we need to dig a little deeper into those details. I think the Holy Spirit is calling attention to those loaves and those fish. I think there’s good news in those loaves and fish.

It was getting to be evening. The day had begun when Jesus was told about the execution of John the Baptizer, His cousin. That solemn news led Jesus to withdraw to a quiet, remote place of solitude. But the crowds followed Him. And when Jesus saw the crowds He was filled with compassion and healed their sick. Five thousand men were there; but add in the women and children and you’ve got yourself a Whitefish Bay-sized crowd. The disciples were tired and they dropped a not-so-subtle hint that Jesus should send the crowd home for supper and call it a day. But Jesus wasn’t ready to call it a day: “You give them something to eat,” He told His disciples.

The disciples protested with the facts—with hard numbers. You can’t argue with hard numbers. Five loaves and two fish were all they had. It wasn’t enough. But follow those two fish. Look at those loaves and watch what happens. Jesus said, “Bring them here to me.” And the disciples did just that. They took their meager, paltry provisions and placed them into the hands of Jesus. Exactly five loaves and two fish were placed into the Savior’s hands.

And you know what happened next. Those meager portions were miraculously multiplied. Jesus then equipped His disciples to do the very thing that had seemed impossible only seconds earlier. The disciples gave the people—all of them—something to eat—generous portions that fully satisfied every last man, woman and child. In the hands of Jesus what was very little—what was obviously insufficient—became more than enough. Paltry provisions became plentiful. Scarcity became abundance. The meager became miraculous.

This isn’t just a nice story about Jesus feeding a crowd of hungry people. Nor is it some kind of a lesson for us to go out and feed the hungry. No, these details declare that in Jesus Christ the meager becomes miraculous. These details delineate what happens when we take our paltry possessions and our measly monies and our trivial talents and—in faith—place them joyfully into the hands of Jesus.

That scene from the seashore in today’s Holy Gospel gets repeated every time the offering plate passes your pew. There is an unseen reality going on every time you place a gift in the offering. If you want, you can think of your offerings as loaves and fish. Now, from an earthly standpoint, those loaves and fish will be used in a multitude of ways. One of every five loaves and fish given here at Our Savior gets sent straight out the door for mission work in Milwaukee and around the world. Other loaves and fish are used here—for utilities, for salaries, for office equipment and the like. That’s what you see; but here’s what you don’t see: every offering you give is just like loaves and fishes placed directly into the hands of Jesus, where something truly miraculous happens. You can’t see it; you can only believe it. But unless you believe it—unless you believe that the offerings you give are given right into the Savior’s hands, you will never know what it means to be a joyful giver. You will never be able to marvel at how Jesus multiplies the meager into the miraculous.

By nature we don’t believe it; and that’s obvious. For if we truly believed that our offerings were direct gifts to Jesus, well then, then preachers would have to preach about limiting your giving to ten percent and not getting carried away with what you give. “Be careful not to add an extra zero as you write out the offering check.” I have neither preached nor heard a sermon like that. That’s because most of us are too busy counting our loaves and fishes, admiring them, investing them, drawing hope and safety and security from our loaves and fishes. And when it comes to our loaves and fishes we always want to do what’s sensible and reasonable and logical. But remember the sensible, reasonable suggestion of the disciples was simply to send everybody home—to call it a day. But Jesus had a better idea: “Bring those five loaves and two fish to me . . . and watch what happens.”

What will you do with your loaves and fishes—with your dollars and cents? As you ponder that question, don’t forget that those dollars and cents are in your hands because the Lord Himself put them there. He’s the Giver of every good and perfect gift. As you ponder that question, don’t forget what Jesus does with those offerings you return to His hands. In the Savior’s hands, our meager offerings are multiplied for the good of the whole Christian church on earth and for the life of the whole world. And in the end, there’s even more left over.

What will you do? What will you do with your loaves and fishes—with your dollars and cents? Will you do what’s reasonable and logical and keep them close so you can be sure there’s food on your table and a roof over your head? Or will you—in faith—place a generous percentage of those dollars and cents back into the hands of Jesus—full of faith and hope and love—trusting Him to put food on your table and a roof over your head?

Of course, you can’t place your offerings into the hands of Jesus without also noticing those hands of His—how they are now forever scarred with the marks of the nails. Those nails were placed there for you—so that you wouldn’t get what you deserve to get for your sins. For when He was crucified, Jesus poured out His love for you in a way that did not count the cost. Jesus poured out His love for you in a way that no amount of dollars or cents could ever purchase. And with that love of Jesus, you are fully satisfied. For Jesus doesn’t parcel out His love in little increments, based upon what you deserve, or in a way that is logical or reasonable. He gives His love in ways that are prodigal, wasteful and lavish—with basketfuls left over.

The same blood that was poured out for you at the cross is also poured out for you here today in the Lord’s Supper. Jesus the Good Shepherd has—right here—prepared a table before us. Our cup runneth over. It’s a meager meal by all appearances—a meager amount of bread and wine. But with these meager portions Jesus miraculously feeds you with His holy body and blood for the forgiveness of your sins—for your eternal good. In this miraculous meal Jesus fully satisfies every heart that hungers for forgiveness.

We have a lot to learn from those five loaves and two fish. Those loaves and fish traveled from the disciples’ hands into Jesus’ hands, where they were miraculously multiplied. But the loaves and fish didn’t stop there. Jesus Himself didn’t distribute the food. No, He gave the multiplied loaves and fish right back into the hands of the disciples; and the disciples distributed the food to the people. The impossible became possible. What was out of the question one minute, was perfectly viable and do-able in the next minute. And Jesus once again used His disciples to do the un-doable.

Jesus is also using us—using this meager congregation with our meager resources to accomplish the miraculous. Jesus Christ is the reason. Jesus alone is the reason that one of every five dollars that pass through those offering plates is sent straight out the door—for the education of special needs children, for the education of pastors at our seminaries, for outreach to students at UW-Milwaukee, for expectant mothers at A Place of Refuge so that they can choose life instead of abortion. All those wonderful things—miraculous things, really—begin here—begin with you, the baptized children of God, who are unafraid to generously share your loaves and fishes by placing them into the hands of Jesus.

Those hands are the hands that blessed and healed. Those hands show the marks of His love. Those hands will raise your body from the dead on the day of resurrection. Those hands will welcome you and embrace you when you depart this meager life of loaves and fishes for the heavenly feast of salvation which Jesus Christ is preparing for you. Amen.

Present Suffering ~ Future Glory

In Nomine Iesu
Romans 8:18-27
July 17, 2011
Pentecost 5 – Proper 11A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

“I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.” If ever there was a Scriptural saying that we ought to plaster on our walls, on our dashboards, desks and doorways—this is it. We should wear these words on signs that hang from our necks, on T-shirts and screen-savers. These words of God ought to be painted on the doorway of every hospital, every funeral home, and on the gates of every cemetery. Find a place in your heart for these words today, and keep them on stand-by: “I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.”

You don’t need me to tell you that there’s no shortage of suffering in our lives today. As a pastor I’m privileged to share in the sufferings of my parishioners—and it is a privilege. I’ve sat with a woman in the emergency room whose pain was so great that she threw up every ten minutes or so. I’ve been called to the hospital to be with a mother whose six-month-old baby simply stopped breathing one day without warning. And I’ve been to the cemetery more times than I care to remember. But in every one of those instances, these words of God have managed to bubble up and come to mind and bring me a measure of peace: “Our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.”

Of course, the sufferings I’ve seen and known aren’t even the tiniest tip of the iceberg. For in addition to every instance of suffering that is seen or heard, there is also suffering that is unseen and unheard—private, personal pain that so many people carry around. Victims of physical and sexual abuse, people who struggle with depression and other debilitating mental illnesses, those who are chained down by dark addictions, the singles who long to be married, and the married who know nothing but conflict—they also (they especially!) need to know and take to heart this promise from God Himself: “Our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.”

These words mean even more when you realize that the man who first put these words of God on parchment was St. Paul. We actually know quite a bit about Paul—about his life and times. You don’t have to read too far into Paul’s letters to realize that this man knew a thing or two about suffering. Listen to his own personal litany of sufferings: He was imprisoned, flogged, beaten, exposed to death, five times he received forty lashes less one, three times he was beaten with rods, once nearly stoned to death, shipwrecked three times, spent a night and day floating on the open sea, in constant danger from rivers, bandits and false brothers. He knew sleeplessness, hunger, cold, nakedness, and an undisclosed thorn in his flesh. If even one thing on that list had happened to me, I probably would have switched careers long ago. Paul knew suffering—knew that suffering was real—knew that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.

In today’s reading from Romans 8 our God takes our present sufferings and puts them in the proper perspective. He shows us the big picture—that the entire creation is in bondage to decay. The whole creation is groaning. Your personal suffering and your private groaning is really just a part of a giant, cosmic downward spiral. This world is a fallen world. This world isn’t evolving and progressing into something better and better; this world is devolving and decaying and dying.

Of course, it has to be said that a lot of our present suffering is the direct result of our present sinning. Let’s be honest here. We’re not simply innocent bystanders. We’re not merely victims of other people’s sin. Our own sin is part of the death and decay of this world. Our idolatries and our adulteries—our selfishness and our laziness—our sin has not only caused a good share of our own suffering; it’s caused untold and unknown suffering in the lives of others. We have to own up to that. We have to confess that. We need to repent of all the suffering we ourselves have caused.

So how should we deal with our present suffering? Should we pretend it isn’t happening? Should we just set our sights on that future glory and dream about what heaven will be like with no suffering, no tears, and no pain? Well, it’s fine to draw encouragement from the future glory God has promised. But don’t overlook the fact that your present sufferings have great value. Your present sufferings are a participation in the sufferings of Jesus. You and He have suffering in common. This is why St. Paul also wrote that we should rejoice in our sufferings. Your present suffering is not just the random ravages of life in a fallen world. Your suffering is the fertile soil in which the Holy Spirit does His best work—giving growth in the faith, teaching us to live each day in total dependence upon the mercies of God in Jesus Christ.

You see, we can’t talk about our sufferings apart from the sufferings of Jesus. His suffering—like yours—was not pointless or without purpose. His suffering, His death, His resurrection—it was all for you. Jesus didn’t suffer and die so that you would be inspired to try harder, or even to set a good example. No, Jesus went through death and resurrection so that you (and the whole creation) might follow Him through death to resurrection life. Jesus lived a sinless life as your substitute. Jesus died a perfect death as your substitute. Jesus rose again and ascended in glory so that that same glory will one day be revealed in you.

The Holy Spirit led Paul to describe our present suffering with a great comparison—a terrific simile. St. Paul didn’t describe our suffering as being like the pains of death. He didn’t describe our sufferings as pointless punishment. No, he described our present sufferings as being like the pains of childbirth—like labor pains. All the groanings of this present world—all the misery that you see and experience—these are but the labor pains of the new creation that Jesus will one day usher in. Labor pains lead to birth and new life and joy. So too for our present sufferings. They are pointing us ahead to the life of the world to come—a life that is yours by faith in Jesus, and by the forgiveness He alone gives.

It’s also true that you’re not alone in your present sufferings. You do not suffer in solitude or silence. Did you catch the wonderful promise that the Spirit helps us in our weakness? When we are at our worst—when our present sufferings are just about to swallow us up—when we can’t even string together two sentences of prayer—right then and there the Holy Spirit becomes your personal prayer partner. Right then and there the Holy Spirit intercedes for you—speaks up for you—in a way that goes beyond human language. The Holy Spirit, in fact, always packages our prayers—packages our prayers for direct delivery to the Father through the Son. And those prayers are always heard and answered for Jesus’ sake. It’s nice to know that the Spirit takes our imperfect prayers directly to the throne of grace, saying, “What he really means—what she really means—is this.”

Our present sufferings . . . are real. They are painful and sometimes heart-breaking. But I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. The day of resurrection—the life of the world to come—is not as far off as you might think. Suffering is limited. Suffering has an expiration date. But the glory of God which will be revealed in you—that glory will last forever and ever. Amen.

The Peace of Christ for Feuding Families

In Nomine Iesu
St. Matthew 10:34-42
June 26, 2011
Pentecost 2 - Proper 8A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

I love my wife. I love my son. I love my daughter. I love my mom and my step-dad. I love my father-in-law. I love my sisters and my sisters-in-law and my brothers-in-law. I love them all—my family. And if someday I’m blessed with a son-in-law . . . well, I’ll try to love him, even though there’s no way he’ll be good enough for my daughter. (And I think there’s some Biblical precedent for requiring seven years of hard labor before the boy gets the girl.)

But I’m not expressing anything unusual here. I mean, you love your family too, don’t you? Love for family is like apple pie and fireworks on the fourth of July. It’s God who gives us our family. Family is God’s gift to you; and you are God’s gift to your family. And even Jesus—despite His miraculous conception and birth—even Jesus was born into a family. “Honor your father and your mother” is the first of the commandments to have a promise attached to it, underscoring the importance of family.

Perhaps, then, this is why it sounds so utterly outrageous to hear Jesus describe the members of our families as enemies! “Don’t suppose I have come to bring peace on earth,” Jesus said. “I did not come to bring peace, but a sword—to turn a man against his father, a daughter against her mother, a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law. A man’s enemies will be the members of his own household.” There’s a radical statement for you. The Christian church teaches the importance of family values—that family matters. Focus on the Family is a well-known Christian organization. But the Christ of the Christian church says, “The members of your own family—well, they just might be your enemies.”

This might just be hyperbole. Jesus did that sometimes—exaggerated to make an important point, made an extreme statement so that He could highlight an important truth. It’s like the time when Jesus said, “If your hand causes you to sin, cut it off.” That’s hyperbole. Jesus isn’t advocating self-mutilation; but He is saying that it’s better to go through life one-handed than to spend eternity in hell.

I think there’s at least a little hyperbole here. After all, Jesus certainly did not come with the express purpose of turning family members against one another. Jesus came to save His people from their sins. Jesus came to seek and save the lost. Jesus came to give us life that lasts forever. But sometimes the result of Jesus’ work in our lives—the effect can be—conflict in the family. Sometimes the new life that Jesus gives is in direct conflict with the family life we’ve all come to know. And division sometimes results. This is why Jesus went on to clarify: “Anyone who loves his father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; anyone who loves his son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; and anyone who does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy of me.”

Peace among family members is a good thing. In fact, Jesus desires that there be peace and harmony in every family. But that peace can never be achieved by turning away from Jesus and His Word. But too often that’s the kind of peace we aim for. We aim merely to “keep the peace” among family members. And we do it by setting aside Jesus and His will for our family members. But this kind of peace is really no peace at all. It’s a declaration of war against God. It’s a sham peace that puts a shiny veneer over the sins of the family. Let me give you some examples . . . .

Peace in the family is just a sham when we see family members headed for divorce, but we don’t do a thing to bring help and healing to that marriage because (they say) that’s none of our business (and we have to keep the peace). Peace in the family is just a sham when parents don’t help their teenagers make God-pleasing choices when it comes to friends and clothing and movies and music—when parents refuse to say “no” because they want to avoid conflict and “keep the peace” and be a friend instead of a parent. Peace in the family is just a sham when grandpa (a widower) decides to move in together with his new lady friend without getting married—and no one says a thing in order to keep “peace” in the family. Peace in the family is a sham we the use of porn is tolerated in the family—because confronting the sin might lead to conflict (and we have to keep the peace at all costs).

Beloved in the Lord, this kind of peace isn’t just a sham; it’s a shame. And it can be a damning shame. When we fear confronting a family member more than we fear Almighty God—when our desire to avoid conflict is greater than our desire to speak up for the spiritual well-being of a family member—when we settle for being peace-keepers instead of being blessed peace-makers—we are sinning. Peace-makers also have to be risk-takers. Making the kind of peace that pleases God necessarily involves risk—risking conflict, risking hard feelings, and risking rejection. But by refusing the risk—by refusing to speak the truth in love we are sinning against our family. We are sinning against God who is the Giver of families. It’s a sham. It’s a shame. It’s a refusal to take up our cross and follow Jesus.

Nowhere do we need Jesus more than when it comes to our own flesh and blood. And this is precisely why Jesus Himself took our human flesh and blood and joined our human family as the Son of Mary. When you keep quiet to avoid conflict and confrontation, remember Jesus who spoke up and walked headlong right into conflict and confrontation and crucifixion. When you don’t want to take the risk to rescue a family member, remember how Jesus risked everything to rescue you. He took up His cross so that He might bring forgiveness of sins to every member of your family—so that He might give your family a peace that is real and genuine and honest. You simply need to repent of loving family more than Jesus—of being a peace-keeper instead of a peace-maker.

We all fail our families everyday. There’s probably not a day that goes by that we don’t sin against the members of our families. And no one sees our sins in a more up-close-and-personal way than the members of our families. Jesus wants your family to enjoy the genuine peace that He earned by the shedding of His blood. For all the times we have failed our family members, there stands Jesus who was forsaken by His heavenly Father as He hung from the cross. For all the times we have feared or loved our family more than we have feared and loved God, there stands Jesus who was unafraid to demonstrate His love for you by carrying His cross and enduring the shame, the scorn, the nails.

Jesus endured it all because He loves you and He wants you in His family forever and ever. Your baptism was the moment of your adoption into the Savior’s family. There you received His forgiveness for your sins, all His good for all your bad, His life instead of the death you deserve.

The Savior who made you a member of His family, has also given you your earthly family. He gives your parents, spouse and children not to love more than you love Him. He gives you your family to love because of Him. Love your family because of Jesus—not more than Jesus. And (miracle of miracles) in loving your family, you will be loving Jesus too.

Our calling as family members is not to keep the peace, but to live in the peace that Jesus died and rose to secure for every family. Living in that peace begins here in the Divine Service. It’s only as we ourselves each receive the forgiveness of Christ that we can then take that forgiveness home and share it with our families throughout the week.

Families that enjoy the genuine peace of Jesus will still have conflicts. Families that enjoy the genuine peace of Jesus will still have the occasional family feud. But those family feuds are followed by repentance and forgiveness for Jesus’ sake. Jesus teaches us not to ignore sin, but to confess it and receive His sure and certain forgiveness. The peace of Christ is not cheap. Don’t settle for fake imitations. Your family matters too much to settle for anything less.

I love my wife and my kids. I love my parents, my siblings and my in-laws and outlaws. I love them all. But by the grace of God, I love Jesus even more. I think you love Him more too. Why? Because He first loved us—because He gave Himself for us—because He took up His cross for us. Amen.

The Heart of the Holy Trinity in the Person of Jesus

In Nomine Iesu
St. Matthew 28:16-20
June 19, 2011
The Holy Trinity A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

I really do enjoy a good ending (like most people, I suppose). Lately I’ve been reading a lot of mystery/suspense novels. And the endings always manage to surprise me. There’s always a last-minute, unexpected twist in the plot that I didn’t see coming. And just when it appears that the criminal/villain is about to succeed in carrying out his murderous scheme, somehow the good guy manages to turn the tables. Truth, justice and the American way prevails. Virtue is rewarded. Evil-doers are punished. In my estimation, that’s a pretty good ending.

On this Trinity Sunday we get to consider another pretty good ending—the ending of Matthew’s Gospel. It’s a rather well known ending compared to most books of the Bible. We hear part of this ending at every Baptism; for this is precisely where Jesus commanded the eleven to make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. “And behold,” Jesus said, “I am with you always, to the end of the age.” But like any good ending, there are a few unexpected twists and turns in this plot—things you may have overlooked. Best of all, this is an ending that reveals the heart of the Holy Trinity in the person of Jesus.

For me, the biggest surprise in this ending comes right before Jesus speaks. St. Matthew reports that Jesus met the eleven on the mountain in Galilee. St. Matthew reports that when they saw Jesus they worshipped Him. St. Matthew also reports, however, that “some doubted.” Some doubted?! I didn’t see that coming. Who doubted? It wasn’t the crowds. It wasn’t just the fair-weather followers of Jesus (or a few of His Facebook friends). It was some of the Eleven—the inner circle (minus Judas). Now, these men would ultimately go to the ends of the earth to preach Christ crucified. Nearly all of these men would ultimately be martyred for their passionate confession that Jesus Christ is the Son of God—the only mediator between God and man. But surprisingly, even Jesus’ most intimate confidants—even those who stood there looking and listening to the risen, resurrected Lord—even among them, it says, “some doubted.” I find that surprising. There’s an unexpected twist in the plot.

The word “doubt” used here is different from the “doubt” of doubting Thomas. Remember, Thomas’s problem was really that he didn’t believe—didn’t believe that Jesus was living. Thomas was literally “faithless” on that first Easter. That’s not the case here, at the end of Matthew’s gospel. Here it’s not that the Eleven don’t believe—or that they are faithless. What “doubt” means here is that they were hesitant. They were unsure, unsteady and unconvinced about what was going to happen. Even as they saw Jesus, and believed in Jesus, and worshipped Jesus—even then, they weren’t all brimming with confidence. Some doubted.

On the one hand, I find that shocking and surprising; but on the other hand, I can see it. In fact, that kind of doubt is a doubt we all know perfectly well. It’s the kind of doubt that can eat away at you even while you’re sitting in church, on a Sunday morning, singing Holy, Holy, Holy. Even as you will confess your faith today in the glorious words of the Athanasian Creed—even as you confess with certainty all the big articles of the Christian faith—even then, this kind of doubt will find you—and rob you of the joy and confidence that could be yours.

This doubt doesn’t deny that Christ is risen; it simply denies you the benefits of that belief. To have this kind of doubt is to be like the Eleven—hesitant, unsure, unsteady, unconvinced of God’s presence and God’s plan for your life—that He is working all things for your good—that you are the apple of His eye—that the heartaches and fears that loom large today are somehow beyond the grasp of God the Holy Trinity. Maybe you think that your sin-filled life isn’t worthy of God’s attention. Maybe that’s why the Eleven doubted too. After all, they had abandoned Jesus and denied Jesus. When the going got tough, they ran away and hid behind locked doors. They didn’t have a proud record of spiritual success to build on. And neither do we. Our record is a sad record of broken promises, selfish desires, and sinful self-centered words and deeds. With a record like that, there are plenty of reasons to doubt God’s gracious care.

But then, in Matthew’s great conclusion, something happened that changed everything: Jesus started talking! And the words of Jesus changed everything. The Eleven didn’t overcome their doubt by trying harder; and you won’t either. They didn’t overcome their doubt by re-doubling their commitment to the Lord; and you won’t either. They didn’t overcome their doubt at all; Jesus did. He spoke. He put His Words in their ears and hearts. The same God who said, “Let there be light,” is the same God who said, “Go and make disciples of nations, baptizing them and teaching them.” In both cases, it happened—it happened because God spoke the Word. And by that Word, doubt and uncertainty were overcome.

What was true for the Eleven on that Galilean mountain is also true for you: “God doesn’t call the qualified . . . He qualifies those He has called.” God chooses to use uncertain, unsteady sinners to accomplish great things in this world! God chooses to use you! Do you have your share of doubts today? Are you unsure, unsteady and unconvinced that God will do for you exactly what He has promised? Do you feel like you’re losing in your daily struggle with sin? Are you teetering on the edge of depressing, feeling that your faith is futile, disgusted with your own personal performance as a disciple of Jesus? If so, then I say, “Great!” You are in a very good place—a place where the only thing you can do is repent. You are right where the Eleven were before Jesus came and commissioned them and included them in His purpose and plan for all the nations of the world.

Here at the conclusion of Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus gives us a glimpse into the heart of God the Holy Trinity. And there, in the heart of our great and awesome God, is a place for you. Uncreated, eternal, incomprehensible, almighty—God is all of that and much, much more. But behind all the theological jargon and the weighty words of the Creeds, we dare not overlook the simple fact that God is love. This love isn’t a fuzzy feeling or a fleeting emotion. This love is Jesus, God’s Son, who came to earth as your substitute—who bore your sin in His body, who took your punishment, who suffered your sentence of death. On the third day He rose again from the dead; and He promises that one day you will rise too.

The love of God the holy Trinity was poured into your life when you were baptized in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Those words—together with the water—changed everything for you—gave you a whole new identity as one redeemed by Christ the crucified—as one who is loved and treasured by the holy Triune God. Being a baptized disciple also means being taught—taught to observe all that Jesus has entrusted to us.

Notice that little word “all.” It’s important! We are to observe all that Jesus has commanded. We don’t get to pick and choose which of Jesus’ teachings to observe and which to disregard as unimportant or outdated. It’s all—all or nothing with our great God. God withholds nothing from you because He wants the absolute best for you.

But Matthew has saved the best for last. It’s the final sentence of His gospel that seals the deal for doubting disciples. “Behold,” Jesus says, “I am with you always, to the end of the age.” At the beginning of Matthew’s gospel, the baby Jesus is described with the Old Testament name “Emmanuel,” which means, “God with us.” Here at the end, Jesus spells out what it means that He is Emmanuel: “I am with you always.” He is with you—but not in some complicated, complex way. He is with you in the Words of the Scriptures. He is with you in the washing of Holy Baptism. He is with you in the bread that is His body and wine that is His blood. He is with you, bringing forgiveness and faith and joy and doubt-dispelling confidence.

In this ending, Jesus shows us the very heart of God. And there we find compassion for doubting disciples. There we find comfort that He will use us for His plans and purposes. There we hear His commitment to be with you to the end of the age. It’s a great ending for Matthew’s gospel. But for you it signals a life that has no ending—a resurrection ending—a “to be continued” ending—happily ever after. Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit. Amen.

The Punctuation of Pentecost (!)

In Nomine Iesu
Acts 2
June 12, 2011
Day of Pentecost A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord and Giver of life, who proceeds from the Father and the Son, who with the Father and the Son together is worshipped and glorified, who spoke by the prophets. . . . It’s the Day of Pentecost—exactly fifty days past Easter—the day when the Ascended Christ breathed out the Holy Spirit upon His tiny church, taking it from a mere 120 souls to over three thousand in one day.

You know the highlights of that day: the sound of a rushing wind, tongues of fire that came to rest upon the Apostles, and the miraculous preaching and proclamation in a multitude of languages and dialects. Jesus had promised His disciples that they would be clothed with power from on high; and that promise was fulfilled by the Holy Spirit on the Day of Pentecost. It was a great day—a grand and glorious day—an exciting exclamation point of a day designed to draw people in to hear the good news about Jesus.

But if I’m going to describe Pentecost as an “exclamation point” of a day, I need to be careful. You know what an exclamation point is, don’t you? It’s a mark of punctuation—a vertical line with a dot beneath it. Exclamation points signal surprise, emphasis and excitement. When it comes to punctuation, I’m not what you’d call a stickler; but I do like to get it right. But I have a tough time knowing when to use exclamation points. For instance, I could use one here(!) and here(!) and there(!) and there(!). But if you use exclamation points too often, they start to lose their effect.

In my early years of preaching, I used to attach an exclamation point to the title of every sermon, thinking that would somehow generate more excitement and enthusiasm for my message. But over the years I’ve concluded that a well-written sermon, filled with ordinary punctuation (like periods, commas and hyphens) gets a lot more mileage than a whole herd of exclamation points can achieve.

The Holy Spirit does His work using both exclamation points and periods. What do I mean by that? Well, nowhere is the punctuation of Pentecost more clearly seen than in Acts chapter 2. The exclamation points in that chapter are awfully hard to miss—the sound of rushing wind, flames of fire on the heads of men, a multitude of languages miraculously spoken and heard declaring the wonders of God. Bewilderment and utter amazement! And a little bit further on in the chapter you have Peter preaching, telling the crowds how the Jesus they had nailed to the cross and put to death was now alive forevermore(!)—that Jesus is both Lord and Christ(!), raised from the dead!, exalted to the Father’s right hand! And the people were cut to the heart when they heard this. You can feel the intensity of their emotions as they cried out to Peter and the others, “Brothers, what shall we do?!” Emphasis, emotion, excitement—exclamation point!

But we can’t overlook the “periods” of Pentecost either. Periods are just dots—signaling a routine pause. When it comes to punctuation, periods are ordinary, expected, routine—a chance to pause, and ponder and reflect. That’s what brought thousands of people together on that day. Pentecost itself was an ordinary, expected, routine festival. The Jews had been celebrating Pentecost for centuries. It was an annual harvest festival, perhaps not so different from Thanksgiving for us. It was as routine and predictable as turkey and pumpkin pie. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t important. It was. But OT Pentecost was just a period, not an exclamation point. It was a special occasion which brought together God’s people from all over the world. Yet God chose this routine, annual holy day to stage a grand opening for the Holy Spirit.

Later on in Acts 2 we learn of how those first believers lived under the Spirit’s influence. And for the most part, it was a life without exclamation points. It says, “They devoted themselves to the apostles’ doctrine and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers” (2:42). No exclamation points there, just some commas and a period. They regularly, routinely, ordinarily gathered together for preaching and liturgy, feasting and fellowship. There was nothing glamorous about it. There was no red carpet rolled out—no rushing wind and no tongues of fire. It was simply God’s people gathering around God’s gifts, growing slowly and steadily in faith and good works. No exclamation points, just periods—times to be refreshed, to ponder, reflect, listen and digest the faith delivered by the Holy Spirit.

Exclamation points and periods—that’s the punctuation of Pentecost. As a baptized child of God in whom the Holy Spirit dwells, you can and should expect your faith to be shaped by both forms of punctuation. We need both periods and exclamation points in our lives.

We need, first of all, the slow, steady, regular, routine, unremarkable, predictable periods produced by the Holy Spirit. You need a slow and steady dose of God’s Word, of prayers and praise and liturgy and hymns—just like you’re getting here this morning. Here you can delve deeply into the mysteries and mercies of God. It’s all as absolutely predictable as periods on the page of a manuscript. But it’s what we need. It’s part of what the Holy Spirit gives us.
You often hear people criticizing this part of the church’s life. They say liturgy is too formal, too predictable, too boring. “The liturgy with all its periods and pauses doesn’t let me express myself or sing what I want to sing.” And that’s exactly right! The liturgy teaches us to subdue ourselves, our wants, our likes, our dislikes and to more deeply understand what it means to be the One body of Christ—to be the one, holy Christian and apostolic church. We need that—to be less self-centered and more Christ-centered. We must decrease; Jesus must increase.

You know, if we wanted to, we could manufacture some exclamation points around here. We could generate fire and wind and people speaking different languages here every Sunday if we wanted to. And what would happen? We’d get bored with it within a month or two. Sound effects and pyrotechnics don’t last. They don’t give long term benefits. Even the best, most exciting entertainment gets stale over time. This is why we need to pause and ponder—to stop and listen . . . (period).

But we just as much need the Spirit’s exclamation points in our lives. The God of the period is the same God of the exclamation point. For the church has just as many sinners as she has members. The old Adam inside each of us would love nothing more than to fall asleep, to make the Christian life a dead routine, to engage in liturgy and hymns and pew-sitting as a disguise—a disguise to cover up our sinful self-satisfaction, our complacency and our lack of real repentance and serious stewardship. Attending a church you love can always become dangerously comfortable—a deadening routine in which the old Adam makes us feel proud and “spiritual,” while we turn a blind eye to the troubles and burdens of people around us. We can be glad that we attend a church that preaches and teaches the pure Word of God. And we can just as easily ignore that pure Word of God in every other hour of the week.

It is precisely then that the Holy Spirit graciously sends an exclamation point our way—a wake-up call that cuts us to the heart—a crushing blast of law that leads us to fall on our knees and cry out, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” It might be a sermon you hear. It might be a hymn that you sing that causes your voice to quake with emotion. It might be a word of admonition from a brother or sister in Christ that wakes you up. But behind that exclamation point is the Holy Spirit, the Lord and giver of life. He sends those exclamation points to stir up our hearts to repentance and to the joy that only Jesus can give.

On the day of Pentecost we are reminded again that our God will stop at nothing to save you. He uses periods and exclamation points, facts and feelings, ordinary and extraordinary, steady routines and shocking surprises, repetition and variety to make you His own and keep you as His own forever and ever.

The crucifixion cross of Jesus is God’s most powerful punctuation. In Jesus we have both period and exclamation point. It is finished—period. It is finished—exclamation point! Everything has been done for you and your salvation. Christ has died. Christ has risen. Christ has ascended to the throne of glory at the Father’s right hand. It is finished. Your sins are forgiven. The Spirit dwells in you. Nothing more needs to be done except to broadcast the victory. Preach it. Proclaim it. Make it known far and wide that Jesus Christ is the friend of sinners and the lover of souls. He was crucified for our trespasses and raised for our justification. In Jesus God has reconciled the world to Himself, not counting our sins against us. In Him we have redemption, the forgiveness of our sins.

The day will come when we won’t need exclamation points from the Holy Spirit to wake us up from complacency or to give us the joy of Jesus. Exclamation points will one day become obsolete—along with hospitals, obituaries, and cemeteries. For after the Lord awakens us on the last day, there will be no more crying, no more pain, no more death. Sorrow and sighing will flee away, and everlasting joy will be ours. But from what the Scriptures reveal to us about heaven, we know there will still be liturgy—the regular, steady, sustained praises of God sung by angels and archangels and all the company of heaven—including you.

For now, however, we need both. We need periods and we need exclamation points. The same Holy Spirit uses both—uses them to afflict the comfortable and to comfort the afflicted. The Holy Spirit is a stickler for just that kind of punctuation which He uses in just the right combination to draw you to Jesus Christ—and to keep you with Jesus Christ in the one true faith. Happy Pentecost (exclamation point)! Amen.

The Magnificent Seven

In Nomine Iesu
Acts 6:1-9; 7:2a, 51-60
May 22, 2011
Easter 5A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

When it comes to your New Testament knowledge, I’m sure you know something about Peter and Paul. You probably know about James and John. You might even be able to say a bit about Andrew or Thomas. But do you know about Nicanor (nai-KAY-nor) and Nicolas? What can you tell me about Timon (TAI-mon) and Philip? Would you be pleased to report on Procorus and Parmenas (PAHR-mee-nas)? I think it’s safe to say that these are not household names for most of us. Even veteran Sunday school teachers might be left scratching there heads over these names. But you—all of us—should know these names! For these six men together with Stephen made up (what I call) the “Magnificent Seven.” In fact, it was only because of these magnificent seven laymen that the New Testament church was able to survive its infancy and eventually spread to the ends of the earth.

When we left off last Sunday, in Acts chapter two, things were going fairly well for the first Christians. Three thousand had been added to their number on the Day of Pentecost. The believers were devoting themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. Everything in the church was new and fresh. They sold their possessions and belongings so that they could care for the poor and needy. Every day the Lord was adding to their number. And for a lot of people—even today—this is the image they have of the early church—where seldom was heard a discouraging word and the skies were not cloudy all day.

But guess what? Even in those idyllic early days of the New Testament, there were problems in the church. That first congregation in Jerusalem was not comprised of perfect people with halos hovering above their heads. Nope, it was made up of people who were frail and fragile, people who were sometimes grumpy and thin-skinned and insecure, people who were quick to assign blame and slow to accept it, people like us—sinners in need of a Savior.

The specific issue that erupted in that first Christian congregation is exactly the kind of issue that eventually erupts in nearly every Christian congregation. This was a congregation that cared for its members—especially the widows who, in those days, had no social security, no Medicare, no Individual Retirement Account from which to live out their senior years. So the church started up a kind of “meals on wheels” program, distributing food to these widows on a daily basis—just the kind of merciful care you would expect from the followers of Jesus.

But then something happened—probably nothing more than an oversight or a failure to communicate, a molehill that quickly got made into a mountain. Somebody’s Greek grandmother apparently didn’t get her fair share of tater tots and Jell-o one Tuesday afternoon. Meanwhile, some other Greek widow apparently got chocolate milk when she had specifically requested regular milk. Coincidence? Some thin-skinned conspiracy theorist apparently didn’t think so. No, this was nothing less than a coordinated effort to deprive the Greek widows so that the Hebrew widows could get more. Phone calls were made, e-mails were exchanged, and before long the entire congregation was engulfed in anger, threats, accusations, reprisals and recriminations.

Full disclosure here: I hope you’ve gathered that I’m embellishing some of the details here. And I’ve done that because, while the details change from congregation to congregation, this basic scenario gets repeated over and over again in congregation after congregation. An innocent mistake, a perceived slight, a misinterpreted comment, a simple oversight—is seized upon by someone, is ramped-up, exaggerated, magnified, and gossiped about. Like gasoline thrown on a tiny flame, a molehill is made into a mountain and the body of Christ suffers.

And this is where the Magnificent Seven rides to the rescue. And the Magnificent Seven specializes in shrinkage—shrinking mountains back down into molehills. The Twelve apostles wisely concluded that their vocation was to preach and teach the Word of God. The fair distribution of tater tots and jell-o was simply not their strong suit. So seven magnificent men were chosen—laymen not so different from any of you—men full of faith and the Holy Spirit who were unafraid to step up and do what needed to be done. They didn’t hesitate to ask, “What needs to be done? What can I do to help? How can we solve this problem? Allow me to handle this for you.”

These seven men were the very first lay leaders of the New Testament. If you’ve ever served on a church board or committee, if you’ve served as an officer or elder, if you’ve taught Sunday school or sung in the choir or helped with the altar guild or organized a Lenten supper or any of the other unsung tasks that someone absolutely has to do—well then, you are an honorary member of the magnificent seven. You are numbered together with Nicanor and Niclolas, Philip, Procorus, Timon, Parmenas, and Stephen. Without your willingness to step up—without your Spirit-led stewardship of money and energy and time—this congregation would quickly grind its way into gridlock. What you do—the sacrifices you make—for the good of our life together here at Our Savior—it matters today and it matters for all eternity.

No one may stand up and applaud for you. No one may even say thank you. No one may long remember how you tactfully defused a brewing conflict—how you always put the best construction on the motives and actions and words of your fellow members. Practically no one will ever know about the generous gifts and offerings you have given to the Lord. In fact, when you step up and make a difference in the church, you’ll probably wind up getting asked to do even more, to take on more responsibility, to attend more meetings and volunteer more hours.

So why bother? You hear that sentiment sometimes from people who’ve gotten burned in the life of a congregation—people who have tried to do the right thing only to have things backfire. These are the walking wounded, the disillusioned, people who distance themselves from the “institutional church” because of all the problems and conflicts. They sometimes float around from church to church, looking for the perfect church, or else they give up all together.

But the Magnificent Seven teach us that there is no perfect church (no perfect apostles, no perfect pastors either); there is only a perfect Savior. There has always been—and there will always be—problems in the church. These magnificent men teach us that you in the pew matter just as much as me in the pulpit. I can’t do it without you; and you can’t do it without a man standing here in vestments, serving you the gifts of life and forgiveness that Jesus Christ has earned for you.

So why bother? Why press on together through thick and thin? Because one day we will see what Stephen saw. You could say that Stephen was the leader of the Magnificent Seven. He too was a layman—not an apostle, not a called and ordained servant. But Stephen knew the Apostles’ doctrine as well as the apostles themselves. And Stephen was unafraid to bear witness to that doctrine about Jesus anywhere, anytime, with anyone. This is what got Stephen into terrible trouble. Time doesn’t allow us to take a detailed look at Stephen’s speech before the Sanhedrin, before they killed him. But the truth for which Stephen was willing to die can be aptly summarized with the words of Jesus from today’s Holy Gospel—that Jesus Christ is the way, the truth and the life—that no one comes to the Father except through Him. He could have watered down His witness, but He didn’t. What Stephen believed about Jesus mattered too much. At his words, the seventy furious men of the Sanhedrin gnashed their teeth and dragged Stephen out of the city and began to stone him. But before he died, this magnificent man said, “Look! I see heaven open and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God.”

Beloved in the Lord, one day you will see what Stephen saw. You will see heaven open and the Lord Jesus standing at the right hand of God the Father almighty. You will one day take your place in the Father’s house—a place that Jesus Himself has prepared for you by His dying and rising. For you are just like every other member of Christ’s church—frail, fragile, thin-skinned and sinful to the core. But to that list we must also add that you are forgiven of all sin, loved by God, and equipped by Him to be a witness like Stephen—to carry out your vocations and callings in this life with integrity and courage. Incidentally, the Greek word for witness is martyr. Stephen was the first of many martyrs. But as the stones rained down upon him, Stephen could pray with confidence, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.”

That same confidence can be yours. For in Jesus your guilt is taken away. Your sin is atoned for. You will live forever with Jesus. Meanwhile, you are not alone. You are a part of the holy Christian church. You are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of Him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light. Through faith in Jesus Christ you stand shoulder to shoulder with Stephen, with Philip, Procorus, Nicanor, Timon, Parmenas and Nicolas. Like them, you are magnificent and more—holy, forgiven and loved. And as a called and ordained servant of the word I just have to say this to all of you laypeople who work and sacrifice and labor and toil to make this congregation so very magnificent: Thank you. Amen.

Salt and Light

In Nomine Iesu
St. Matthew 5:13-16
February 6, 2011
Epiphany 5A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Regardless of what the final score of today’s game ends up being—regardless of who wins and who loses—at the end of the game a select number of players will be described as “difference-makers.” In football, the “difference-makers” are those who are in the right place at the right time. They make a key tackle, execute the perfect block, snag the interception, pounce on the fumble, toss the touchdown pass. The difference-makers regularly change the game’s trajectory and re-shape the outcome. And they accomplish all this simply by doing their jobs to the very best of their abilities—by playing their assigned positions with smarts and strength and skill. They are the difference-makers.

Today, from the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus is also describing difference-makers—difference-makers of a different kind. They are salt and they are light, He says. They are men and women called by Jesus to follow Him in faith. They are always in the right place at the right time precisely because they are following Jesus. By their words and by their deeds—by living out their assigned positions in this life to the very best of their ability—they change the world. They do the ordinary work of their callings; but they do that work extraordinarily well. And on that last day when the fourth quarter finally expires for planet earth—only then will it be fully revealed how these difference-makers changed the trajectory of history and brought life to a dying world. Today Jesus declares that you are one of these elect, select, difference-makers.

These difference-makers are the disciples of Jesus—those who follow Him in faith. These difference-makers are distinct from all the other players on planet earth. There are plenty of nice, friendly folks in this world, but not all are difference-makers for the Lord. For when Jesus said, “You are the salt of the earth” and “You are the light of the world,” He wasn’t addressing those words to the entire crowd that had gathered on the mountainside, but only to the select group of disciples whom He had called. They (and only they) are blessed (we heard last week). They (and only they) are salt and light.

Those are the two simple, yet powerful metaphors Jesus uses to describe difference-makers like you. You are the salt of the earth, and you are the light of the world. Salt and light are difference-makers. Salt is used for flavor. Salt is a preservative. Salt melts snow and ice. Salt is a necessary nutrient. If you do any cooking at all, then you know the importance of salt. Rarely does a recipe call for more than just a teaspoon of salt; but if you forget to add the salt you’ll realize it when you take your first bite. And light—light is indispensable. Light brings safety and security. One night this past week I drove from Whitefish Bay (a community with the good sense to install street lights) into a small municipality just north of here—a municipality which I will not name because it does not have the good sense to install street lights. Let me tell you, driving from this village to that village—from light into darkness—was not a good feeling. The difference on that dark night was astonishing. Why? Because light—and salt—are difference-makers.

Jesus says you are salt. You are light. You are a difference-maker in this world. And please notice the present tense. It’s a done deal. You are salt; you are light. This is not due to any decision that you make. It’s no achievement on your part. Jesus isn’t saying that you should aspire to be a difference-maker the way high school football players aspire to be like Aaron Rodgers or Charles Woodson. It would be absurd to think that a handful of uneducated fishermen from Galilee could be difference-makers for the whole world because of their own efforts and skill. No, they—and you—are difference makers because Jesus declares it. Jesus makes it so: “You—you who follow me in faith—you are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world—a city set on a hill—a brightly-burning lamp.”

And your marching orders—the way that you will make a difference as a disciple—is simple and straightforward: “Let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven.” That God-given light inside of you is shining for the sake of others. Your good deeds are to be done, not just to be nice and helpful, but so that others may see and hear your good and gracious God, and possibly become difference-makers themselves.

These words of Jesus are ultimately about good works. Good works are the whole reason that we are here. Of course, God doesn’t need our good works; but other people do—our family, our neighbors, our fellow believers. Good works from God’s perspective are anything a child of God says or does in faith, for the glory of God or for the good of your neighbor. And based on that definition, you are doing good works all the time.

But there’s something peculiar about these good works that we do. On the one hand, they are supposed to be noticeable. Our good works are obviously supposed to be public and visible and audible. We are supposed to let our light shine before men so that they may see your good deeds. But notice that it doesn’t say, “see your good deeds and praise you.” It’s “see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven.” The good works we do in faith—the truth that we speak—the seasoning and light we give to this tasteless, dying world—is not to put the spotlight on us, but on the gracious God who has called sinners like us to follow in faith. A little later on in the Sermon on the Mount Jesus makes clear that those who do good works only to be seen and praised by men have already received their reward in full.

We are called to let our light shine—to be difference-makers in this dying world—to act in mercy and to speak the truth in love. But the great temptation for the Christian church is to hide that light—to blend in and conform to the world around us—to water down the truth that we are called to bring to the world. For instance, churches that cannot speak clearly about God’s gift of life and the sin of abortion have ceased to be salt and light. Churches that cannot speak clearly about God’s gifts of sex and marriage and about the intrinsic sinfulness of pornography and adultery and homosexual acts—those churches have ceased to be salt and light. Churches that do not proclaim Jesus Christ crucified for our transgressions and raised again for our justification—there is no salt and no light. Rather than making a difference in the world, those churches are taking their cues from the world—adopting whatever fads and trends the world is offering.

For each of us as individuals, as well, there is the danger of conformity to the world, of blending in, of keeping and holding our faith so private that we are indistinguishable from unbelievers. We do good works—we let our lights shine—we are difference-makers in the callings that God has given us—within the family, within the church, on the job, and in the neighborhood. In those ordinary vocations you are called to do extraordinary things. Parents, are you raising your children any differently than the un-believing parents down the street? Are you difference-makers? Teenagers, do you go about your work as a student any differently than your fellow students who are unbelievers? Is your attitude/behavior any different than theirs? Are you difference-makers? With friends and co-workers and neighbors, do you offer something more than idle chit-chat? Are you a difference-maker in the lives of those around you?

I’m here to tell you: YOU ARE! Jesus says so. You are salt. You are light. You have something that this dying world needs more than anything, and that something is a someone. You have Jesus. Or rather, Jesus has you. You are not your own. You are bought, purchased and paid for by the Lord Jesus, who gave His life for your life. He has called you and made you His disciple in the cleansing splash of your baptism. In word and in deed Jesus made it clear that He wants you to be His own.

You have the power to be difference-makers in this world—right here and now in the simple good works that you do in faith every day. And you have this power to be difference-makers because your life has been claimed and cleansed by Jesus—and He makes all the difference. Jesus’ death for your sins as your substitute makes all the difference between heaven and hell. Jesus is the difference-maker who makes the difference between eternal punishment and eternal life, the difference between death and resurrection life, the difference between punishment and forgiveness, the difference between losing everything and being handed a victory that no one can ever take away from you. Whether the Packers will win or lose today I do not know. But this I do know: You are more than conquerors through Him who loves you (Rom. 8:37). Thanks be to God who gives us victory over death through our Lord Jesus Christ (1 Cor. 15:57).

Jesus is the difference-maker that matters on this day and every day. Your baptism into Christ makes all the difference, for that baptism has brought you salvation. In His Word, preached and proclaimed Jesus is making a difference in your life, equipping you for a life that is filled with brightly-shining words and deeds. In the bread that is His body and in the wine that is His blood, Jesus is making a difference in you, forgiving your sins, placing His life in your dying body, so that you will live forever with Him.

Jesus Christ is the difference-maker who declares that you are salt and you are light. The words you speak and the deeds you do have sacred importance for the people that you meet and greet and work with each day. When Jesus spoke of a city set on a hill, His listeners would have thought of Jerusalem—that high and holy city where the temple was located—the place in which God blessed His people. Today you have come to that city set on a hill. The church is now that holy place, where the grace of God brightly shines—the place in which God has promised to bless and forgive His people. God grant that in our good works—that in our offerings and in our service to others—people would not see us, but see the Savior who loves us and gave Himself for us. He makes all the difference—for your life—on this Super Sunday and forever. Amen.