Dogged Faith

In Nomine Iesu
St. Matthew 15:21-28
August 14, 2011
Pentecost 9-Proper 15A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

What do you do when you’re desperate? What do you do when you’ve got trouble with a capital T—when you’re past the point of panic, strangled by fear, spiraling downward into despair? What do you do? Have we trials and temptations? Is there trouble anywhere? We should never be discouraged—Take it to the Lord in prayer. Prayer, of course, is the natural thing for Christians to do in times of trouble.

But what do you do when your prayers seem to fall on deaf ears? What do you do when your trials, temptations and troubles don’t seem to subside—even after you’ve taken it to the Lord in prayer time and time again? What’s a faithful Christian to do when his or her prayers seem to do no good—seem to be met with only the stony silence of God? The Canaanite woman in today’s Holy Gospel provides us with answers to all of these questions.

Jesus happened to be in her town. Her town wasn’t in Israelite territory; it was a Canaanite neighborhood. But this Canaanite woman was desperate. She had trouble with a capital T—panic, fear, and despair. Her little daughter was suffering from demon-possession, and there was nothing she could do about it. How helpless she must have felt—forced to watch her lovely daughter suffer so.

But this woman did the very thing that you and I would do. She turned to Jesus for help. She went running to Jesus and cried out, “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on me!” She called Jesus the “Son of David,” which wasn’t the way most Canaanites would speak. She started talking like an Israelite—like a Jew. Talk like an Israelite. Speak like a Jew. Was it a clever strategy to get Jesus to do a favor for her? Still today some people do that when they pray. They pile on the religious phrases—try to sound like someone they’re not. Or they pray in King James English: “O Thou great Jehovah, we dost thank Thee for Thy great bountiful goodness . . .” It sounds impressive, but perhaps less than authentic.

But whatever the case, Jesus met the woman’s prayer with stony silence. “He did not answer her a word.” Nothing. Silence. Strike one. But the woman kept on pleading, over and over again. “Lord, have mercy.” (Just like we pray here nearly every Sunday.) The woman’s desperate pleas start to get on the nerves of Jesus’ disciples and they ask Jesus to send her away. When Jesus finally opens His mouth, He doesn’t even speak directly to the woman. He simply reminds everyone of who she is, and who she isn’t: “I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel.” In other words, “Sorry, I’m not here primarily for Canaanites like you. Sorry, you’ll have to go somewhere else.” Strike two.

What would you have done if Jesus had treated you this way? First He’s silent. Then He slams the door in your face and tells you to get lost. And then, strike three: He calls her a “dog.” “It’s not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to their dogs.” Israelites often called Canaanites “dogs,” and it wasn’t meant as a compliment. What would you have done after striking out with the Savior—after discovering only a dead end with the Son of David?

Some people simply give up. Some get angry. Some leave the church. Some walk away from Jesus, because they believe that Jesus walked away from them. As a pastor, I’ve encountered a lot of people like this. At a time of crisis and desperation in their lives they turned to Jesus—they prayed for help, for mercy—but their prayers only seemed to be met with silence. And so they stopped praying, stopped going to church, and many stopped believing. Sometimes they will tell you why—about the terrible time when Jesus let them down—when Jesus didn’t come through for them. If you know someone like this, don’t try to defend Jesus and don’t be too quick to dismiss their complaint as petty. But do learn from this Canaanite woman about how to handle the seeming silence of God in times of trouble.

This entire episode hinges on dogs. Dog lovers, take heart. Every dog has his day and today dogs are man’s best friend. For when Jesus calls her a dog, she didn’t run away. She didn’t get angry. She didn’t give up. She took the very words that came out of Jesus’ mouth and used those very words to take her prayer to a whole new level. Jesus called her a dog and she said, “Amen to that. Yes, Lord,” she said, “but even Canaanite dogs like me get to eat the crumbs that fall from the table, and I’ll be delighted with whatever crumbs you would throw my way.”

This is faith: she takes a hold of the words of Jesus and hangs on for dear life. She accepts Jesus’ words—harsh words with no sugar coating—that she’s nothing more than a yapping dog hassling Him on His way, even though He really wasn’t sent for the likes of her. This is faith. And this is how the faithful pray: We base our prayers on the words of Jesus. We wrestle an answer out of Jesus by using the very Words He Himself has given us. Jesus called the woman a dog and she latched onto that word like a terrier latches onto a soup bone.

What does this mean for you? Well, of course, Jesus hasn’t called you a dog. He calls you His brothers and sisters. God calls you His children. And so we base our prayers on that. We use God’s own words in the Bible to launch our prayers. O God, You command that children should honor their parents and that this pleases You. Help me to love and honor my parents, and help my own children to love and honor me. O God, you command that husbands should love their wives as Christ loved the church and that wives should submit to their husbands. Help me, then to love my wife with a Christ-like love, and grant that I might lead our marriage in such a way that she will be glad to follow. O God, you invite me to cast all my anxiety on You because You care for me. Help me to do just that—to let go of all anxiety and fear that all my words and deeds might bring glory to you.

Do you get the idea? Do you hear this pattern for prayer? You take whatever words Jesus gives you, and run with them. That’s what faith does. This woman had great faith because she clung to Jesus even when Jesus seemed not to care. Faith clings to Jesus even when He calls you a dog. Faith hears “yes” even when our eyes and ears hear “no.” Faith trusts the words of Jesus despite all appearances to the contrary. “Woman, you have great faith! Your request is granted.” And her daughter was healed from that very hour.

Some daughters aren’t healed. Some sons aren’t healed either. Sometimes the answer to our prayers is “no.” Sometimes we hear the same answer that St. Paul heard from Jesus, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” And the answer you get has nothing to do with how strong or how weak your faith is—or how well-crafted your prayers may be. For all sons and daughters, all mothers and fathers, live like little dogs beneath the table of our Father who art in heaven. He sent His own dear Son into this dog-eat-dog world of sin and death. Jesus carried all that sin and death in His body which was nailed to a cross as the payment for our sins. On that dark Friday afternoon Jesus Himself suffered the terrible silence of God. Jesus prayed, “Father, forgive them.” Jesus prayed, “Why have you forsaken me?” Jesus prayed, “Into your hands I commend my spirit.” But His prayers were met only with stone cold silence. But as your sacred substitute, Jesus continued to pray, continued to trust, continued to speak and act with perfect faith.

Those prayers, that trust, that perfect faith—it all counts for you. Everything that Jesus did, He did for you. You may feel dog-tired this morning, weak and weary of waiting patiently for the resurrection. But even dogs like us are privileged to feed on crumbs from the Master’s table. And this morning those crumbs turn out to be the finest and richest of fare: “Take eat, this is my body, given for you. Drink of it all of you, this cup is the new testament in my blood, shed for you for the forgiveness of sins.” Dogs never have it so good as when we are welcomed to this Master’s table. In this case, man’s best friend is . . . the Son of Man. What a friend! What a friend we have in Jesus. Amen.

Man Overboard!

In Nomine Iesu
St. Matthew 14:22-33
August 7, 2011
Pentecost 8-Proper 14A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Jesus walking on the water—and Peter joining Jesus on those waves in the nighttime darkness—has got to be one of the most memorable scenes in all of Scripture. But before we go any deeper, we need to highlight a few facts about this amazing scene. First, you need to know that the wind and waves were not a life-threatening problem that night. Yes, the wind was strong and the waves were a force to be reckoned with; but there’s no hint in the text that the disciples’ boat was in any danger of sinking. It’s nothing like that time when Jesus was in the boat sleeping as the disciples were on deck preparing to abandon ship. Only the words of Jesus, “Peace, be still!” were able to keep their boat afloat that night. But their boat was certainly not sinking on this night.

The second thing we need to get straight is that Peter’s words and actions demonstrate foolishness, not faith. The “moral” of this account isn’t “be bold and courageous like Peter.” At no point does Jesus say, “I’m so proud of you, Peter, for boldly stepping out of the boat.” We never hear, “Blessed are you, Peter, for being so gutsy.” There’s not even an “atta’ boy” or a “You da’ man!” Peter stepped out of the boat because he lacked faith—because He doubted Jesus—not because he had great faith. In fact, remember what Jesus said to Peter when it was all said and done: “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?”

To put it bluntly, the problem in this whole scene is Jesus! Jesus is the one who suspends the laws of physics so that He can catch up with His disciples. Jesus is the one who triggers the terror. Jesus facilitates the fear. Jesus is the one who dances on top of the deep waters as though He owned them and managed them. Jesus—not-so-subtly and without warning—gives an unforgettable late-night lesson that He is the Lord of all creation.

The disciples were afraid, and rightly so. Fear is a natural reaction when our safety and security appears to be threatened. Had you or I been on the boat that night, I don’t think we would have reacted much differently. Perhaps we’re not as superstitious. Perhaps we wouldn’t have assumed we were seeing a ghost. But the sight of Jesus walking on the water would surely make us afraid too. The fear of uncertainty. The fear of the unknown. It’s the same fear we have when waiting for the results of medical tests. It’s the fear of knowing that you aren’t in control—that what happens next is entirely in the hands of someone else. We know that fear.

What calms the disciples’ fear—and what calms our fears too—are the words of Jesus: “Take heart; it is I. Do not be afraid.” Jesus doesn’t allow their fear and trembling to continue. Jesus speaks. Jesus comforts them. And Matthew reports that Jesus spoke these words “immediately” in their presence. The message is clear and calming—soothing and straightforward: “Take heart; it is I. Do not be afraid.” Those words were more than enough to give the disciples everything they needed.

But those words of Jesus were apparently not enough for Peter. Peter needed something more before He would trust and believe that the midnight water-walker was Jesus. “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” Peter wants proof. Peter wants more than words. The same Peter who doubts the words of Jesus is now making demands on Jesus. Show me. Prove it. “I double-dog dare you to let me waltz on the waves too—if you are who you say you are.” Those aren’t words of faith. Those are words of weakness.

Amazingly, Jesus responds to poor Peter with one simple, unexpected, undeserved word: “Come.” And with that one word ringing in his ears, Peter did what no mortal man had ever done before or since. He walked ON the water. He defied the immutable laws of physics. He didn’t sink! How can Peter do such great things? Well, it wasn’t Peter, but the Word of God, that did this great thing. Peter shares in this miracle because Jesus simply said the word, “Come.” When Jesus first spoke, Peter didn’t believe it. When Jesus said, “It is I,” Peter said, “I’m not so sure.” But now, standing on the waves, the message is unmistakable: When you are afraid—when you are threatened by things beyond your control—when fear has wrapped its coils tightly around you—when you have doubt and despair—you can trust the Words and promises of Jesus Christ, come hell or high water. When Jesus says, “Do not be afraid,” you can let go. You can know the peace of God that surpasses all understanding. You can take Jesus at His Word.

But poor Peter. Even after he got what he asked for—even after doing what no mortal man had ever done—he doubted yet again. He saw the wind. He saw the waves. He forgot about the Word of Jesus. And he started to sink like a stone. That’s our problem too. One pastor I know has called it “spiritual ADD—attention deficit disorder.” Our attention quickly shifts away from Jesus and His Words to all the dangers, toils and snares that surround us. Our little faith won’t focus firmly on Jesus, but is always distracted—always bouncing from one threat to the next, and before long we start to sink. We’re in over our head. And there’s only one thing left to do . . . .

“Lord, save me.” That’s what Peter screamed as he sank. Peter deserved no rescue, and neither have we. Peter doubted, and so do we. Peter didn’t take Jesus at His Word, and neither have we. Peter’s sin is our sin too. But Peter’s rescue is also our rescue. Jesus doesn’t let Peter get what he deserves; and you don’t get what you deserve either. No, it’s like we heard from Romans chapter ten today: “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.” Everyone who cries out in faith, “Lord, save me,” (even if it’s just a little faith like Peter’s) will be saved.

Jesus can and will save you—despite your little faith and despite your doubts. Jesus took your sin. Jesus took your doubt. Jesus died in your place so that you won’t get the punishment you deserve. Jesus is now the resurrected Lord of life. All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to Him. He has destroyed death and everything else that threatens to destroy us. In Jesus you will not sink, but you will rise to live with Him on high.

Nothing can separate you from His love—not even the laws of physics! And speaking of the laws of physics, are you prepared to see them broken again today? For the same Jesus who defied the laws of the natural world by walking on water defies those same natural laws every time we gather here. Jesus isn’t walking on water today; that wouldn’t do anybody any good. But the living Christ is here in the bread that is His body and in the wine that is His blood. Every Lord’s Day in every Lord’s Supper, the Lord Himself is present: “This is my body. This is my blood,” He says. When you come to Communion today, here Jesus says to you what he spoke to that boatload of fearful disciples: “Take heart; it is I. Do not be afraid. Your sins are forgiven. I have come to save you.”

This is Jesus--our Savior. He is among us here to save us. Our work is now simply to worship Him and confess His holy name. That’s what the disciples did after Jesus and Peter rejoined them in the boat. “Truly you are the Son of God,” they confessed. That scene is a picture you and me here this morning. We’re in the boat with Jesus. The space where you’re seated is called the nave. Nave is the Latin word for “boat.” You are in the boat with Jesus. Our job isn’t to walk on water, but to make room for more souls in the boat—in the church—with Jesus. There is no better place to be. And by faith in Jesus you have a place in this sailing ship, and a guaranteed safe arrival in the life of the world to come. Amen.

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.