Monday of Advent 1
November 28, 2016
Dear Saints of Our Savior,
Another Thanksgiving has come and gone—and the crush of the rush to Christmas is now underway.
But in the church’s reckoning of time, it’s not yet Christmas; it’s Advent. Advent is the antidote to the crush and rush of cultural Christmas. Advent is the season for pondering the promises of our gracious God. Advent is when we stop rushing and start reflecting on where we have been and where we are headed—all by the mercies of Christ, our Savior.
This year our congregation is offering four special midweek opportunities to do just that. Each Wednesday during Advent we will gather at 6:30 p.m. for Evening Prayer. Because nearly each of these Wednesdays aligns with a minor festival this year, we will take our cues from these “minor” saints who bore witness to Christ in “major” ways. We will briefly examine their lives through the lens of Advent—drawing direction and definition for our own lives as Christ’s holy people.
November 30 ~ Saint Andrew, Apostle Witness with Andrew
December 7 ~ Saint Ambrose of Milan, Pastor & Hymnwriter Sing with Ambrose
December 14 ~ Saint Lucia, Martyr (observed) Die and Live with Lucia
December 21 ~ Saint Thomas, Apostle Believe with Thomas
Each of these midweek services will be preceded by a meal in the fellowship hall, beginning at 5:30 p.m. You are invited to bring a side dish, salad, or dessert to share—although no culinary contribution is required. Just come and enjoy the good company of other “ordinary saints,” drawn to the light of Christ during the darkness of December.
Jesus Christ is the light of the world—the light no darkness can overcome.
Monday, November 28, 2016
Thanksgiving in the Midst of the Mess
In Nomine Iesu
Ephesians 5:3-5
November 24, 2016
Thanksgiving Day
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
Today’s sermon text is comprised of three brief verses from Ephesians chapter 5:
But sexual immorality and all impurity or covetousness must not even be named among you, as is proper among saints. Let there be no filthiness nor foolish talk nor crude joking, which are out of place, but instead let there be thanksgiving. For you may be sure of this, that everyone who is sexually immoral or impure, or who is covetous . . . has no inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and God (v.3-5).
Sounds like a strange text for Thanksgiving, doesn’t it? If it’s your custom to show up here on the fourth Thursday of November, then there are certain things you’ve come to expect. You can be confident that we will sing “Now Thank We All Our God.” There will be a bountiful display of fruits, veggies and grains adorning the chancel. And Jesus will heal ten lepers; but only one will return to give thanks. That you expected and that you have received.
It’s also customary around here on Thanksgiving to be reminded of God’s First Article gifts, the daily bread that our heavenly Father provides: clothing and shoes, food and drink, house and home, wife and children. And those First Article gifts ultimately point us to the Second Article gifts: the forgiveness of sins, life, and salvation that our Savior won for us by His suffering, death, and resurrection. Those are gifts that money can’t buy—undeserved gifts that come to us by the grace of God. Giving thanks for these gifts is what we Christians do—not just on this national holiday, but every day. And this is what you came here today expecting to hear.
What you probably didn’t expect to hear about today were sexual immorality, filthy talk, and crude joking. Yet, as St. Paul penned the verses you just heard, he plopped in the word “thanksgiving” right in the middle of a list of prohibitions and warnings about unholy words and actions: sexual immorality, impurity, crude joking, and the like. “Instead,” Paul writes, “let there be thanksgiving.” He gives us a warning, and—right in the middle of that warning—he gives us a prescription: “Let there be thanksgiving.” We need to heed both—both the warning and the prescription.
First of all, the warning: Good works don’t make you good or holy; only the good work done by Jesus, received through faith, can make you good and holy. Bad works, however, always undermine your faith in Jesus. Bad works like sexual immorality and filthy talk can eat away at your faith, like termites in your foundation—like cancer on healthy tissue and bone. Bad works can eventually cause you to lose your faith in Jesus! It’s not that sexual immorality and crude language are unforgiveable sins. But Paul is clear that these sins can weaken and undermine your faith over time, and leave you with no inheritance in the kingdom of Christ.
Most of the Christians at Ephesus had been converted from paganism. Much of their former lives had been spent entangled in various forms of idolatry and gross immorality. They were constantly being tempted and pulled back into their former way of life. Paul essentially tells them what he also tells us: That’s not who you are! You are pure. You are holy. You are saints redeemed by the blood of the Lamb. Have nothing to do with the filth of the culture which surrounds you on every side. That’s the warning.
Then comes the prescription: Instead let there be thanksgiving. Right in the middle of this listing of filthy deeds and words comes this one holy word and deed: Thanksgiving. As you sit here this morning surrounded by a culture that lives and breathes sexual immorality—as you sit here this morning pulled and tempted and seduced to sample from that smorgasbord of impurity—the simple prescription is thanksgiving.
But this word, thanksgiving, doesn’t merely refer to the act of being thankful. It means more than that; it has to. I mean, anybody can be thankful. Think about it: Meth dealers can be thankful for brisk sales of their product. Greedy misers can be thankful as they count up their coins. Abortionists can be thankful for ridding the world of unwanted babies. Being thankful isn’t an exclusively Christian concept.
But by the time Paul wrote to the Ephesians, the word translated “thanksgiving” had begun to take on a bigger meaning. The actual Greek word is eucharisto—from which we get “Eucharist,” another name for Holy Communion. A little later in the same chapter Paul uses the same word (giving thanks) to describe what goes on in the Divine Service, as we sing and make melody to the Lord with Psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs (v.19-20). In other words, when Paul prescribes “thanksgiving,” what he means is the thanksgiving that takes place here. When he writes, “Let there be thanksgiving,” what that means is, “let there be worship.” His prescription is praise and hymn-singing and promise-hearing, and, yes, even the Eucharist itself—the body and blood of Jesus for the forgiveness of our sins.
Thanksgiving, therefore, isn’t just a thankful feeling for all that’s good in our lives. No, thanksgiving is what we do because Jesus has rescued and delivered us from all that’s bad in our lives. THIS is Thanksgiving! Singing God’s praises and receiving His gifts, including, especially, the Eucharist—the bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood. Are you surrounded by immorality? Let there be thanksgiving! Are you tortured by temptation? Let there be thanksgiving! Have you failed to lead a sexually pure and decent life? Let there be thanksgiving . . . because thanksgiving is worship.
Thanksgiving is when the Lord Jesus plants and plops Himself right in the middle of your sinful, sorry life and gives you His gifts of healing and hope and joy in His salvation. He loves to be here among you as you gather in His name. He comes specifically to save sinners. And on the cross He stood-in as the substitute for every sinner—taking your place, and giving you His place as a child of God.
It’s likely that Paul knew the Christians at Ephesus better than he knew any other congregation. Paul had spent nearly three years living among them—much more time than he spent with any other church. He had taught them and catechized them. He had absolved them. He had preached to them. He had presided at their altar and served them with the Eucharist—the body and blood of Jesus. Paul was a pastor to them. He knew how Satan was targeting them and tempting them. He knew their vulnerabilities and weaknesses. This is why Paul didn’t merely tell them to “count their blessings.” There’s nothing wrong with that; but they needed more, and so do we.
Paul said this: “Let there be thanksgiving.” Surrounded by sin and its wages, let there be thanksgiving. Let there be worship. For where there is worship, there is Jesus. Only Jesus can pull you out of the immorality that surrounds you. Only Jesus can cleanse you and purify you from the filth of your own sin. And Jesus doesn’t do partial-purifying. He doesn’t forgive halfway and then say, “Now you earn the rest.” His cleansing is complete. His forgiveness is full. His absolution . . . is absolute.
Perhaps Paul’s warning against immorality, and his prescription for thanksgiving, are best understood in terms of feasting. After all, today is a day of feasting. More calories will touch your lips today than on most days. Paul’s warning is not to sully and soil our lips and bodies with sexual sins and filthy language. Those things will bring death to you. Instead let there be thanksgiving. Instead, let your lips and bodies be purified with the cleansing body and blood of Jesus in the feast of the Eucharist. For when these gifts touch your tongue, that is thanksgiving. That is Jesus for you. And His feast—the feast of the Lamb—is a feast that has no end—as you will see for yourself soon enough. So let there be thanksgiving!
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Ephesians 5:3-5
November 24, 2016
Thanksgiving Day
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
Today’s sermon text is comprised of three brief verses from Ephesians chapter 5:
But sexual immorality and all impurity or covetousness must not even be named among you, as is proper among saints. Let there be no filthiness nor foolish talk nor crude joking, which are out of place, but instead let there be thanksgiving. For you may be sure of this, that everyone who is sexually immoral or impure, or who is covetous . . . has no inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and God (v.3-5).
Sounds like a strange text for Thanksgiving, doesn’t it? If it’s your custom to show up here on the fourth Thursday of November, then there are certain things you’ve come to expect. You can be confident that we will sing “Now Thank We All Our God.” There will be a bountiful display of fruits, veggies and grains adorning the chancel. And Jesus will heal ten lepers; but only one will return to give thanks. That you expected and that you have received.
It’s also customary around here on Thanksgiving to be reminded of God’s First Article gifts, the daily bread that our heavenly Father provides: clothing and shoes, food and drink, house and home, wife and children. And those First Article gifts ultimately point us to the Second Article gifts: the forgiveness of sins, life, and salvation that our Savior won for us by His suffering, death, and resurrection. Those are gifts that money can’t buy—undeserved gifts that come to us by the grace of God. Giving thanks for these gifts is what we Christians do—not just on this national holiday, but every day. And this is what you came here today expecting to hear.
What you probably didn’t expect to hear about today were sexual immorality, filthy talk, and crude joking. Yet, as St. Paul penned the verses you just heard, he plopped in the word “thanksgiving” right in the middle of a list of prohibitions and warnings about unholy words and actions: sexual immorality, impurity, crude joking, and the like. “Instead,” Paul writes, “let there be thanksgiving.” He gives us a warning, and—right in the middle of that warning—he gives us a prescription: “Let there be thanksgiving.” We need to heed both—both the warning and the prescription.
First of all, the warning: Good works don’t make you good or holy; only the good work done by Jesus, received through faith, can make you good and holy. Bad works, however, always undermine your faith in Jesus. Bad works like sexual immorality and filthy talk can eat away at your faith, like termites in your foundation—like cancer on healthy tissue and bone. Bad works can eventually cause you to lose your faith in Jesus! It’s not that sexual immorality and crude language are unforgiveable sins. But Paul is clear that these sins can weaken and undermine your faith over time, and leave you with no inheritance in the kingdom of Christ.
Most of the Christians at Ephesus had been converted from paganism. Much of their former lives had been spent entangled in various forms of idolatry and gross immorality. They were constantly being tempted and pulled back into their former way of life. Paul essentially tells them what he also tells us: That’s not who you are! You are pure. You are holy. You are saints redeemed by the blood of the Lamb. Have nothing to do with the filth of the culture which surrounds you on every side. That’s the warning.
Then comes the prescription: Instead let there be thanksgiving. Right in the middle of this listing of filthy deeds and words comes this one holy word and deed: Thanksgiving. As you sit here this morning surrounded by a culture that lives and breathes sexual immorality—as you sit here this morning pulled and tempted and seduced to sample from that smorgasbord of impurity—the simple prescription is thanksgiving.
But this word, thanksgiving, doesn’t merely refer to the act of being thankful. It means more than that; it has to. I mean, anybody can be thankful. Think about it: Meth dealers can be thankful for brisk sales of their product. Greedy misers can be thankful as they count up their coins. Abortionists can be thankful for ridding the world of unwanted babies. Being thankful isn’t an exclusively Christian concept.
But by the time Paul wrote to the Ephesians, the word translated “thanksgiving” had begun to take on a bigger meaning. The actual Greek word is eucharisto—from which we get “Eucharist,” another name for Holy Communion. A little later in the same chapter Paul uses the same word (giving thanks) to describe what goes on in the Divine Service, as we sing and make melody to the Lord with Psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs (v.19-20). In other words, when Paul prescribes “thanksgiving,” what he means is the thanksgiving that takes place here. When he writes, “Let there be thanksgiving,” what that means is, “let there be worship.” His prescription is praise and hymn-singing and promise-hearing, and, yes, even the Eucharist itself—the body and blood of Jesus for the forgiveness of our sins.
Thanksgiving, therefore, isn’t just a thankful feeling for all that’s good in our lives. No, thanksgiving is what we do because Jesus has rescued and delivered us from all that’s bad in our lives. THIS is Thanksgiving! Singing God’s praises and receiving His gifts, including, especially, the Eucharist—the bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood. Are you surrounded by immorality? Let there be thanksgiving! Are you tortured by temptation? Let there be thanksgiving! Have you failed to lead a sexually pure and decent life? Let there be thanksgiving . . . because thanksgiving is worship.
Thanksgiving is when the Lord Jesus plants and plops Himself right in the middle of your sinful, sorry life and gives you His gifts of healing and hope and joy in His salvation. He loves to be here among you as you gather in His name. He comes specifically to save sinners. And on the cross He stood-in as the substitute for every sinner—taking your place, and giving you His place as a child of God.
It’s likely that Paul knew the Christians at Ephesus better than he knew any other congregation. Paul had spent nearly three years living among them—much more time than he spent with any other church. He had taught them and catechized them. He had absolved them. He had preached to them. He had presided at their altar and served them with the Eucharist—the body and blood of Jesus. Paul was a pastor to them. He knew how Satan was targeting them and tempting them. He knew their vulnerabilities and weaknesses. This is why Paul didn’t merely tell them to “count their blessings.” There’s nothing wrong with that; but they needed more, and so do we.
Paul said this: “Let there be thanksgiving.” Surrounded by sin and its wages, let there be thanksgiving. Let there be worship. For where there is worship, there is Jesus. Only Jesus can pull you out of the immorality that surrounds you. Only Jesus can cleanse you and purify you from the filth of your own sin. And Jesus doesn’t do partial-purifying. He doesn’t forgive halfway and then say, “Now you earn the rest.” His cleansing is complete. His forgiveness is full. His absolution . . . is absolute.
Perhaps Paul’s warning against immorality, and his prescription for thanksgiving, are best understood in terms of feasting. After all, today is a day of feasting. More calories will touch your lips today than on most days. Paul’s warning is not to sully and soil our lips and bodies with sexual sins and filthy language. Those things will bring death to you. Instead let there be thanksgiving. Instead, let your lips and bodies be purified with the cleansing body and blood of Jesus in the feast of the Eucharist. For when these gifts touch your tongue, that is thanksgiving. That is Jesus for you. And His feast—the feast of the Lamb—is a feast that has no end—as you will see for yourself soon enough. So let there be thanksgiving!
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Wednesday, November 23, 2016
With Jesus, in Paradise
In Nomine Iesu
St. Luke 23:33, 39-43
November 21, 2016
Robert Schulz Funeral
Dear family and friends of Bob Schulz,
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus,
Robert Schulz was born into this world on October 26, 1939. Later that same year he was born again in the waters of Holy Baptism at Pilgrim Congregational Church in Milwaukee. He made public confession of his faith on the day of his confirmation in 1953. Ten years later he was married to Karen Wilke—on June 8, 1963, right here in this very sanctuary. That holy union was blessed with four children and ten grandchildren. Bob departed this life to be with Christ on Tuesday, November 15th. Today we feebly struggle; he in glory shines.
Bob departed this life at a time of transitions here in the church. Yesterday was the last Sunday of the Church Year. On Thursday we will celebrate Thanksgiving. And already on Sunday the Advent wreath will be hanging, sporting one lit candle. For us Christians, all of time—all of history—hinges on what happened on Good Friday and Easter Sunday. The gospel reading you heard a few minutes ago took us there. Much of what happened on Good Friday is hard to hear.
But in the midst of all the “bad” things connected with the Passion of our Lord, we hear of one very good thing. Tucked away in St. Luke’s gospel is one little exchange filled with good news for us, for Bob, for every follower of Jesus. You heard it just a few minutes ago—that conversation at the cross—the exchange between Jesus and the repentant criminal crucified next to him. That dying man made a request of Jesus—an amazing, faith-filled request: “Jesus,” he said, “remember me when you come into your kingdom.”
That dying man’s request teaches us what it means to walk by faith, and not by sight. When that criminal looked at Jesus, he saw one thing with his eyes; but he saw something quite different by faith. With his eyes he saw a bleeding man, a dying victim, a powerless casualty of Roman brutality. But by faith he saw Jesus as a powerful king and a mighty redeemer. He trusted Jesus so much that he placed himself in the Savior’s keeping: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” That is faith.
That’s also the faith that resided in the heart of Bob Schulz. The Lord showered Bob’s earthly life with so many good gifts and blessings—so many good years. A spirited wife in Karen, lively children and grandchildren, playful canine companions, a place on Green Lake, friends, co-workers, and a church family here at Our Savior. But as wonderful as all these gifts were, faith in Jesus was still the greater gift. In the waters of Holy Baptism, God gave Bob that gift of faith. By faith Bob knew that this life isn’t all there is—that in all things God was working for his eternal good—that the sufferings of this present time aren’t even worth comparing to the glory that will be revealed in us. When Karen died five years ago, it seemed like a part of Bob died too. But even that loss only focused Bob’s faith with more clarity upon Jesus—the Savior of sinners.
I was surprised to get the message last week that Bob had died; and yet, I wasn’t surprised either. It seemed like Bob had been on his last leg for a very long time. Bad knees, bad heart, bad lungs—the medical problems just seemed to snowball. There was one bad diagnosis after another, but very few remedies. Bob knew with more certainty than most of us that his days on earth were numbered. Like that criminal crucified with Jesus, Bob could see the end coming. Like that criminal, Bob regularly confessed his guilt to Jesus here in this room with the words, “I, a poor, miserable sinner.” And like that criminal, Bob placed himself in the Savior’s care: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Jesus can’t help but respond to that kind of faith. Even as Jesus was crowned with thorns and pierced by nails, He spoke a wonderful word of promise to all who die with faith in him: “Truly I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise.” By faith we believe those words. By faith Bob believed in the promised paradise that Jesus earned for him.
From this conversation on the cross we learn how God’s power is made perfect in our weakness, and how His glory is revealed in the midst of shame. By faith we know that God does His best work in us when we are at our worst. When we are weak, when we are powerless, when we are helpless, when we are most like that crucified criminal—then and there Jesus is most powerful. His grace is sufficient. His power is made perfect in our weakness. Bob came to know this when he lost Karen, and in subsequent years when health difficulties made everything a challenge. Nothing was easy anymore. But in the midst of that burden, God was at work in Bob’s life—strengthening his faith, forgiving his sin, reminding him that Jesus had prepared a place for him in paradise.
I’m so glad that we’re gathered here at Our Savior tonight. This was Bob’s church home for many decades. Certainly there are bigger and more beautiful churches than this one. But it’s good to be here tonight because this is the sacred space where God did His best work in Bob’s life. It was right here in the Divine Service, decade after decade, that all the blessings Jesus earned on the cross were poured out into Bob’s life. Here he heard the promises of paradise preached and proclaimed. From this altar he received the body and blood of Jesus, bringing forgiveness, life and salvation. Here Bob was able both to taste and see and hear that the Lord is good, that His mercy endures forever. Here Bob came to know and believe that one day he would be with Jesus in paradise.
Through faith in Jesus, that promise is also for you. What happened to that repentant criminal will also happen to all who repent and trust in Jesus. When we depart this life—at that very moment—we are with Jesus in Paradise. Last Tuesday Bob was escorted through the valley of the shadow of death and—in an instant—he was with Jesus in paradise. No wait. No line. No limbo. No purgatory. No paperwork to complete. No ghostly existence. No soul sleep. Just with Jesus, in paradise—awaiting the day of resurrection. And that is everything.
I don’t know how or where the Schulz family usually celebrates Thanksgiving. But I do know that this Thursday there will be an empty place at the table, and also an empty place in your hearts. Here at Our Savior on Thursday there will be an empty spot back in the back corner. Bob won’t be with us. But despite all that—despite our loss and sadness—there is every reason for thanksgiving this year—every reason to give thanks to God. He’s the one who gave Bob to us—to know and love as a companion on this earthly pilgrimage. He’s the one who gave Bob the gift of faith. And with deep thanksgiving we will not forget—Bob is already where we all long to be: with Jesus, in paradise.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
St. Luke 23:33, 39-43
November 21, 2016
Robert Schulz Funeral
Dear family and friends of Bob Schulz,
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus,
Robert Schulz was born into this world on October 26, 1939. Later that same year he was born again in the waters of Holy Baptism at Pilgrim Congregational Church in Milwaukee. He made public confession of his faith on the day of his confirmation in 1953. Ten years later he was married to Karen Wilke—on June 8, 1963, right here in this very sanctuary. That holy union was blessed with four children and ten grandchildren. Bob departed this life to be with Christ on Tuesday, November 15th. Today we feebly struggle; he in glory shines.
Bob departed this life at a time of transitions here in the church. Yesterday was the last Sunday of the Church Year. On Thursday we will celebrate Thanksgiving. And already on Sunday the Advent wreath will be hanging, sporting one lit candle. For us Christians, all of time—all of history—hinges on what happened on Good Friday and Easter Sunday. The gospel reading you heard a few minutes ago took us there. Much of what happened on Good Friday is hard to hear.
But in the midst of all the “bad” things connected with the Passion of our Lord, we hear of one very good thing. Tucked away in St. Luke’s gospel is one little exchange filled with good news for us, for Bob, for every follower of Jesus. You heard it just a few minutes ago—that conversation at the cross—the exchange between Jesus and the repentant criminal crucified next to him. That dying man made a request of Jesus—an amazing, faith-filled request: “Jesus,” he said, “remember me when you come into your kingdom.”
That dying man’s request teaches us what it means to walk by faith, and not by sight. When that criminal looked at Jesus, he saw one thing with his eyes; but he saw something quite different by faith. With his eyes he saw a bleeding man, a dying victim, a powerless casualty of Roman brutality. But by faith he saw Jesus as a powerful king and a mighty redeemer. He trusted Jesus so much that he placed himself in the Savior’s keeping: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” That is faith.
That’s also the faith that resided in the heart of Bob Schulz. The Lord showered Bob’s earthly life with so many good gifts and blessings—so many good years. A spirited wife in Karen, lively children and grandchildren, playful canine companions, a place on Green Lake, friends, co-workers, and a church family here at Our Savior. But as wonderful as all these gifts were, faith in Jesus was still the greater gift. In the waters of Holy Baptism, God gave Bob that gift of faith. By faith Bob knew that this life isn’t all there is—that in all things God was working for his eternal good—that the sufferings of this present time aren’t even worth comparing to the glory that will be revealed in us. When Karen died five years ago, it seemed like a part of Bob died too. But even that loss only focused Bob’s faith with more clarity upon Jesus—the Savior of sinners.
I was surprised to get the message last week that Bob had died; and yet, I wasn’t surprised either. It seemed like Bob had been on his last leg for a very long time. Bad knees, bad heart, bad lungs—the medical problems just seemed to snowball. There was one bad diagnosis after another, but very few remedies. Bob knew with more certainty than most of us that his days on earth were numbered. Like that criminal crucified with Jesus, Bob could see the end coming. Like that criminal, Bob regularly confessed his guilt to Jesus here in this room with the words, “I, a poor, miserable sinner.” And like that criminal, Bob placed himself in the Savior’s care: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Jesus can’t help but respond to that kind of faith. Even as Jesus was crowned with thorns and pierced by nails, He spoke a wonderful word of promise to all who die with faith in him: “Truly I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise.” By faith we believe those words. By faith Bob believed in the promised paradise that Jesus earned for him.
From this conversation on the cross we learn how God’s power is made perfect in our weakness, and how His glory is revealed in the midst of shame. By faith we know that God does His best work in us when we are at our worst. When we are weak, when we are powerless, when we are helpless, when we are most like that crucified criminal—then and there Jesus is most powerful. His grace is sufficient. His power is made perfect in our weakness. Bob came to know this when he lost Karen, and in subsequent years when health difficulties made everything a challenge. Nothing was easy anymore. But in the midst of that burden, God was at work in Bob’s life—strengthening his faith, forgiving his sin, reminding him that Jesus had prepared a place for him in paradise.
I’m so glad that we’re gathered here at Our Savior tonight. This was Bob’s church home for many decades. Certainly there are bigger and more beautiful churches than this one. But it’s good to be here tonight because this is the sacred space where God did His best work in Bob’s life. It was right here in the Divine Service, decade after decade, that all the blessings Jesus earned on the cross were poured out into Bob’s life. Here he heard the promises of paradise preached and proclaimed. From this altar he received the body and blood of Jesus, bringing forgiveness, life and salvation. Here Bob was able both to taste and see and hear that the Lord is good, that His mercy endures forever. Here Bob came to know and believe that one day he would be with Jesus in paradise.
Through faith in Jesus, that promise is also for you. What happened to that repentant criminal will also happen to all who repent and trust in Jesus. When we depart this life—at that very moment—we are with Jesus in Paradise. Last Tuesday Bob was escorted through the valley of the shadow of death and—in an instant—he was with Jesus in paradise. No wait. No line. No limbo. No purgatory. No paperwork to complete. No ghostly existence. No soul sleep. Just with Jesus, in paradise—awaiting the day of resurrection. And that is everything.
I don’t know how or where the Schulz family usually celebrates Thanksgiving. But I do know that this Thursday there will be an empty place at the table, and also an empty place in your hearts. Here at Our Savior on Thursday there will be an empty spot back in the back corner. Bob won’t be with us. But despite all that—despite our loss and sadness—there is every reason for thanksgiving this year—every reason to give thanks to God. He’s the one who gave Bob to us—to know and love as a companion on this earthly pilgrimage. He’s the one who gave Bob the gift of faith. And with deep thanksgiving we will not forget—Bob is already where we all long to be: with Jesus, in paradise.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Monday, November 14, 2016
The End Is Near!
In Nomine Iesu
St. Luke 21:5-28
November 13, 2016
Proper 28C
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
The end is near! Or at least, the end of the church year is near. One week from today we will wrap up another year of grace in the church of Jesus Christ. But the end of the church year also brings to mind the end of time—the end of the world as we know it—Judgment Day.
But something tells me that when you got up this morning you probably weren’t thinking about those things, were you? It’s more likely you were thinking about plans for Thanksgiving, or getting the last of your leaves raked, or wondering whether the Packers can turn their season around today. Most people with good mental health don’t spend a lot of time thinking about the end of the world. (Although, as the election results came in last week, I know a few people who probably began to wonder!)
But this is exactly why we have a church year, and a church calendar, and a lectionary—because it forces us think about
things we might not normally consider. For, as we just sang, the day is surely drawing near when Jesus will come again to judge the living and the dead. That day will inevitably come—burning like a blazing oven—a day of fire and wrath—a day when the faithless and arrogant evildoers will be reduced to stubble. The heavens will be shaken. The seas will roar. The perfectly predictable sun and moon and stars will fail. The earthquakes and hurricanes that make headlines today will seem like nothing by comparison. We simply can’t begin to imagine it. Cosmic destruction is really beyond our grasp. But that doesn’t mean it won’t happen.
The people of Jesus’ day couldn’t begin to imagine that Jerusalem would be destroyed. They thought Jerusalem was indestructible. After all, it was God’s city, the City of David, the place of His holy temple, Mount Zion, God’s dwelling place on earth. Yet Jesus predicted that it would all be destroyed within the time of His own generation. And by 70 AD invading gentile armies had leveled it all. And yet, because of what we heard from Jesus today, His followers were prepared. His followers—those who remembered His words—they knew to flee to the mountains when the armies of Rome appeared. They knew to flee instead of fight. Jesus was preparing His disciples for a coming destruction that no one would have conceived as even remotely possible.
As Jesus spoke the words of today’s Holy Gospel, the temple in Jerusalem was being rebuilt by Herod. It was a massive public works project which spared no expense. Enormous stones had to be quarried and moved. All sorts of craftsmen and laborers were employed to make the temple into something grand and glorious that would last forever. So, it sounded like total nonsense when Jesus looked at the construction site and said, “there will not remain here one stone upon another.” That was crazy-talk—like someone saying today that the United States won’t exist as a nation forty years from now, or that Chicago will be burned to the ground in a nuclear explosion. The FBI might show up at your doorstep for talking like that; but no one will take you seriously.
If talk about the end of the world makes you apprehensive or uneasy, it should! Jesus warned His disciples that they wouldn’t escape from the coming chaos. He told them that they would be persecuted, betrayed, arrested, imprisoned, and put on trial. Jesus didn’t tell them that they would be spared from persecution; only that He would see them through it—that He would even supply them with words and wisdom so that they could bear witness to Him. There is no notion in the Scriptures of believers being spared the tribulations of the end. And there’s no concept whatsoever of a “rapture” in which all true believers get whisked away before the distress of the end times descends. Christians don’t get a free pass. We already see Christians being targeted for their beliefs—being hated for the truth they confess. Don’t be surprised. Jesus said it would be this way. In fact, looking back at the history of Christianity, it’s when the church is most powerful and most popular that things go terribly wrong.
The Christian faith has a cross at its center—Jesus Christ and Him crucified. Gathered around the cross of Christ, you can expect suffering, hardship, loss, and persecution. As the world hated Jesus, so it will hate His followers. Jesus even told them, “Some of you they will put to death.” And yet, notice the very next sentence, “But not a hair of your head will perish. By your endurance you will gain your lives.” It sounds like a contradiction. Which is it? Will the followers of Jesus be put to death, or will not a hair on their heads perish? The answer is “yes.” Yes, death will come to those who follow Jesus—maybe even martyrdom; and “yes” again, you will live. Not a hair on your head will perish.
It’s not a contradiction; it’s not double-talk; it’s the way of the gospel—death giving way to life. That’s the hidden comfort on these last Sundays of the church year, as we ponder the end of the world. The end is also the beginning. The destruction of the old brings the revelation of the new. “We are looking forward to a new heaven and a new earth, the home of righteousness.” Imagine the scaffolding that surrounds new construction. That scaffolding hides the work going on inside. But when the work’s done and the building’s complete, the scaffolding comes down to reveal something entirely new.
Jerusalem was like that scaffolding. It served an important purpose in God’s plan of salvation. The temple there was God’s dwelling place . . . until the coming of the Christ—until the Son of God took on human flesh and dwelt among us. And then the temple was no longer needed. The scaffolding could come down. The temple was destroyed because God now dwells among us in Jesus the Christ. It’s true for the things of our world today. It’s all just a temporary scaffolding—nations, institutions, stadiums and skyscrapers—they are all just temporary. They will all eventually give way to reveal the permanent, eternal kingdom of God—the New Jerusalem.
And so it is for you—for each of us. Hidden behind this sinful scaffolding there is a new person—a new creation—a saint who will be unveiled on the day of resurrection. The sinner must die in order for the saint to be revealed. As in Adam all die, so in Christ will all be made alive. The flesh of the old Adam must be torn down so that the new creation in Christ can be revealed. God tears down what is temporary in order to reveal what is eternal. New heavens. New earth. New you.
Jesus is telling you now, ahead of time, so that you won’t be caught off guard when things begin to unravel. You are precious to Him. Even the hairs of your head are numbered. In His death your sin has been answered for. And by His resurrection He shows us that death is a defeated enemy.
On the Last Day your faith will be vindicated. Every promise made by Jesus will be fulfilled. Then you will see with your own two eyes what today you can only hear about and believe. The end is near; but Jesus is nearer. Already today Jesus is near—in His Word preached and proclaimed, in His Baptism, and in His Holy Supper. And sooner than you might think, you will see Him face to face. Amen.
St. Luke 21:5-28
November 13, 2016
Proper 28C
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
The end is near! Or at least, the end of the church year is near. One week from today we will wrap up another year of grace in the church of Jesus Christ. But the end of the church year also brings to mind the end of time—the end of the world as we know it—Judgment Day.
But something tells me that when you got up this morning you probably weren’t thinking about those things, were you? It’s more likely you were thinking about plans for Thanksgiving, or getting the last of your leaves raked, or wondering whether the Packers can turn their season around today. Most people with good mental health don’t spend a lot of time thinking about the end of the world. (Although, as the election results came in last week, I know a few people who probably began to wonder!)
But this is exactly why we have a church year, and a church calendar, and a lectionary—because it forces us think about
The people of Jesus’ day couldn’t begin to imagine that Jerusalem would be destroyed. They thought Jerusalem was indestructible. After all, it was God’s city, the City of David, the place of His holy temple, Mount Zion, God’s dwelling place on earth. Yet Jesus predicted that it would all be destroyed within the time of His own generation. And by 70 AD invading gentile armies had leveled it all. And yet, because of what we heard from Jesus today, His followers were prepared. His followers—those who remembered His words—they knew to flee to the mountains when the armies of Rome appeared. They knew to flee instead of fight. Jesus was preparing His disciples for a coming destruction that no one would have conceived as even remotely possible.
As Jesus spoke the words of today’s Holy Gospel, the temple in Jerusalem was being rebuilt by Herod. It was a massive public works project which spared no expense. Enormous stones had to be quarried and moved. All sorts of craftsmen and laborers were employed to make the temple into something grand and glorious that would last forever. So, it sounded like total nonsense when Jesus looked at the construction site and said, “there will not remain here one stone upon another.” That was crazy-talk—like someone saying today that the United States won’t exist as a nation forty years from now, or that Chicago will be burned to the ground in a nuclear explosion. The FBI might show up at your doorstep for talking like that; but no one will take you seriously.
If talk about the end of the world makes you apprehensive or uneasy, it should! Jesus warned His disciples that they wouldn’t escape from the coming chaos. He told them that they would be persecuted, betrayed, arrested, imprisoned, and put on trial. Jesus didn’t tell them that they would be spared from persecution; only that He would see them through it—that He would even supply them with words and wisdom so that they could bear witness to Him. There is no notion in the Scriptures of believers being spared the tribulations of the end. And there’s no concept whatsoever of a “rapture” in which all true believers get whisked away before the distress of the end times descends. Christians don’t get a free pass. We already see Christians being targeted for their beliefs—being hated for the truth they confess. Don’t be surprised. Jesus said it would be this way. In fact, looking back at the history of Christianity, it’s when the church is most powerful and most popular that things go terribly wrong.
The Christian faith has a cross at its center—Jesus Christ and Him crucified. Gathered around the cross of Christ, you can expect suffering, hardship, loss, and persecution. As the world hated Jesus, so it will hate His followers. Jesus even told them, “Some of you they will put to death.” And yet, notice the very next sentence, “But not a hair of your head will perish. By your endurance you will gain your lives.” It sounds like a contradiction. Which is it? Will the followers of Jesus be put to death, or will not a hair on their heads perish? The answer is “yes.” Yes, death will come to those who follow Jesus—maybe even martyrdom; and “yes” again, you will live. Not a hair on your head will perish.
It’s not a contradiction; it’s not double-talk; it’s the way of the gospel—death giving way to life. That’s the hidden comfort on these last Sundays of the church year, as we ponder the end of the world. The end is also the beginning. The destruction of the old brings the revelation of the new. “We are looking forward to a new heaven and a new earth, the home of righteousness.” Imagine the scaffolding that surrounds new construction. That scaffolding hides the work going on inside. But when the work’s done and the building’s complete, the scaffolding comes down to reveal something entirely new.
Jerusalem was like that scaffolding. It served an important purpose in God’s plan of salvation. The temple there was God’s dwelling place . . . until the coming of the Christ—until the Son of God took on human flesh and dwelt among us. And then the temple was no longer needed. The scaffolding could come down. The temple was destroyed because God now dwells among us in Jesus the Christ. It’s true for the things of our world today. It’s all just a temporary scaffolding—nations, institutions, stadiums and skyscrapers—they are all just temporary. They will all eventually give way to reveal the permanent, eternal kingdom of God—the New Jerusalem.
And so it is for you—for each of us. Hidden behind this sinful scaffolding there is a new person—a new creation—a saint who will be unveiled on the day of resurrection. The sinner must die in order for the saint to be revealed. As in Adam all die, so in Christ will all be made alive. The flesh of the old Adam must be torn down so that the new creation in Christ can be revealed. God tears down what is temporary in order to reveal what is eternal. New heavens. New earth. New you.
Jesus is telling you now, ahead of time, so that you won’t be caught off guard when things begin to unravel. You are precious to Him. Even the hairs of your head are numbered. In His death your sin has been answered for. And by His resurrection He shows us that death is a defeated enemy.
On the Last Day your faith will be vindicated. Every promise made by Jesus will be fulfilled. Then you will see with your own two eyes what today you can only hear about and believe. The end is near; but Jesus is nearer. Already today Jesus is near—in His Word preached and proclaimed, in His Baptism, and in His Holy Supper. And sooner than you might think, you will see Him face to face. Amen.
Tuesday, November 8, 2016
Members of the Multitude
In Nomine Iesu
Rev. 7:9-17
November 6, 2016
All Saints’ Sunday
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
Say what you will about “marching to the beat of your own drummer,” and “doing your own thing,” and “charting your own course,” most people are conformists by nature. Nobody wants to be the lone voice in the wilderness; everybody wants to be part of the majority. Everybody wants to jump on the bandwagon. Case in point: Before last week who knew there were so many Chicago Cubs fans in the world? Apparently, if you grew up with WGN as one of your cable TV channels, well, then the Cubs are your childhood team of destiny—and you have a reserved spot on the bandwagon. The point is—we all long to be part of something bigger than ourselves.
Today I have good news for you: You are indeed part of something bigger than yourself. You are a part of the holy Christian Church—not just Our Savior Evangelical Lutheran Church and not just one of millions of Christians worldwide. You belong to the Communion of Saints—saints on earth and saints in heaven, the church militant and the church triumphant—a great multitude that no one can number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages. To look around the room this morning, it would appear that we are but a tiny minority. But on this Sunday we are reminded—don’t believe what you see. Things are not as they appear. You are members of a holy multitude.
All Saints’ Day is the church’s memorial day—the day on which we remember with joyful thanksgiving all the saints who from their labors rest—including those dear saints from our fellowship who, in this past year, departed this life to be with Christ. As the hymn of the day reminded us: We feebly struggle, they in glory shine.
Revelation chapter 7 gives us a glimpse of that glory. There the curtain that separates the church on earth from the church in heaven is lifted, and we get a sneak peek at what’s going on around the throne of God. St. John is our tour guide. And the first thing he points out is a crowd—and not just any crowd. It is a crowd of unimaginable size and scope: After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands.
Beloved in the Lord, that multitude is your multitude. That crowd is your crowd. That is the great cloud of witnesses who constantly surround us and pray for us. Let that multitude remind you—you are never alone. No Christian is ever alone: Not the martyrs beheaded by ISIS, not the Christian business owners who have lost everything for failing to endorse the sexual lunacy of our land, not the university professors forced to choose between being fired or renouncing the faith once delivered to the saints. They are not alone; for we are one with them in the body of Christ, the Communion of Saints. This crowd is a great comfort.
But there are other kinds of crowds, too—crowds that will quickly pull you away from your Savior and from His body, the church. We are conformists by nature; and if we’re not careful we’ll find ourselves conforming to the wrong kind of crowd—a deadening crowd that wants to swallow you up—body and soul. We often warn our teenagers about the perils of peer pressure; but peer pressure isn’t just a teenage problem. The pull is powerful to conform to the popular crowd—to go along with the “group-think” and drink the “kool-aid” everyone else is sampling.
You must resist those trending crowds. Those crowds will suck the life right out of you. The crowds that swarm around you—they welcome sexual immorality in all of its deadening manifestations. That crowd wants you to view your body as a mere instrument for the pursuit of pleasure, rather than to see it for what it is—a temple of the Holy Spirit, designed to glorify God, destined for resurrection glory. The crowds that swell today want you to live as if this life is all that matters—to live a life of pride and selfishness—to view yourself a victim rather than to humbly help and serve those who are truly victimized and hurting. This crowd wants you to view your suffering as proof that God doesn’t exist (or if He does exist, that He’s unjust and uncaring and unloving), rather than to see your suffering as the setting where faith is forged and strengthened, and where the glorious grace of God is proved sufficient, and where His power is made perfect in our weakness.
But, as Jesus says, rejoice and be glad. For Jesus has called you from this world’s crowd of walking dead and has made you a member of that great heavenly multitude. You’ve already heard about the impressive size and the amazing diversity of that multitude in heaven. But the most unique thing about that multitude is not its size or even its diversity. It’s the unity of their attention—their laser-like focus. In St. John’s description of those white-robed saints, the thing that stands out above all else is that they aren’t paying the least bit of attention to themselves—or to one another. Instead, they are united as one as they look with undivided attention to the Lamb upon His throne, the Lord Jesus Christ victorious over death and the grave.
And right there is the secret to being part of that holy crowd of saints. You don’t join that holy crowd by squeezing in and trying to imitate the look of astonishment on their faces. You don’t do it by putting a Jesus bumper sticker on your car, or flying the Christian flag, or by wearing a crucifix, or by stitching up a white robe for yourself. Those things don’t make you a part of this crowd. No, the only way you can share in the blessedness of the saints is to join them in looking at what they are so fixated upon—the Lord Jesus Christ—the Son of God—our Savior. For you received your white robe of righteousness when Jesus claimed you as His own brother or sister in the waters of Holy Baptism. Jesus humbled Himself and became like you . . . so that He might lift you up to become just like Him—a holy child of God.
To be part of the crowd of saints is to fix your eyes upon Jesus. And yet, don’t think of it as Jesus on the pitcher’s mound and you somewhere up in the nose-bleed seats. No, every single member of this crowd enjoys the gentle, tender, individual attention of Jesus. “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes.” Think about that. Whatever tears of tribulation stain your face, Jesus will wipe them away. And the only way to wipe away another’s tears is to be right there, up close and personal—face to face. With a touch of His nail-scarred hand, Jesus will wipe away your tears and you will never weep again. As St. John writes, “We shall see him as he is.”
And those nail-scarred hands will remind us of how it is that we poor sinners can stand before God in that great multitude—because our tattered and sin-stained robes have been washed and made white in the blood of the Lamb. All of your sin—all that should rightly keep you out of this saintly crowd—it’s all been answered for in the blood of Jesus, shed on the cross, as your sacred substitute. And that same cleansing blood He offers to this crowd, here today, as we gather around this altar: “Drink of it all of you. This is my blood of the New Testament which is shed for you, for the forgiveness of sins.”
In just a few minutes the chimes will toll for Marge and Don, for Ruth and Bernice—dear saints of our Savior who now stand in the Savior’s presence. One day the chimes will toll for you. But do not fear. Rejoice and be glad. Jesus isn’t overwhelmed by the size of this holy crowd. No, today we realize just how precious each saint is to Jesus—of how precious your life is to Jesus. “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints.”
Today we have our fair share of trouble and tribulation. And things are going to get worse before they get better—no matter who gets elected on Tuesday. But because the Lamb is victorious on His throne, we know. We know that tribulation is temporary; life with the Lamb is forever. He has called you into His holy multitude. On the day of resurrection He will raise your body from the grave. Your white robe will be waiting. And your voice will be clear and strong to join in that delightfully deafening chorus: Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever. Amen.
Rev. 7:9-17
November 6, 2016
All Saints’ Sunday
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
Say what you will about “marching to the beat of your own drummer,” and “doing your own thing,” and “charting your own course,” most people are conformists by nature. Nobody wants to be the lone voice in the wilderness; everybody wants to be part of the majority. Everybody wants to jump on the bandwagon. Case in point: Before last week who knew there were so many Chicago Cubs fans in the world? Apparently, if you grew up with WGN as one of your cable TV channels, well, then the Cubs are your childhood team of destiny—and you have a reserved spot on the bandwagon. The point is—we all long to be part of something bigger than ourselves.
Today I have good news for you: You are indeed part of something bigger than yourself. You are a part of the holy Christian Church—not just Our Savior Evangelical Lutheran Church and not just one of millions of Christians worldwide. You belong to the Communion of Saints—saints on earth and saints in heaven, the church militant and the church triumphant—a great multitude that no one can number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages. To look around the room this morning, it would appear that we are but a tiny minority. But on this Sunday we are reminded—don’t believe what you see. Things are not as they appear. You are members of a holy multitude.
All Saints’ Day is the church’s memorial day—the day on which we remember with joyful thanksgiving all the saints who from their labors rest—including those dear saints from our fellowship who, in this past year, departed this life to be with Christ. As the hymn of the day reminded us: We feebly struggle, they in glory shine.
Revelation chapter 7 gives us a glimpse of that glory. There the curtain that separates the church on earth from the church in heaven is lifted, and we get a sneak peek at what’s going on around the throne of God. St. John is our tour guide. And the first thing he points out is a crowd—and not just any crowd. It is a crowd of unimaginable size and scope: After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands.
Beloved in the Lord, that multitude is your multitude. That crowd is your crowd. That is the great cloud of witnesses who constantly surround us and pray for us. Let that multitude remind you—you are never alone. No Christian is ever alone: Not the martyrs beheaded by ISIS, not the Christian business owners who have lost everything for failing to endorse the sexual lunacy of our land, not the university professors forced to choose between being fired or renouncing the faith once delivered to the saints. They are not alone; for we are one with them in the body of Christ, the Communion of Saints. This crowd is a great comfort.
But there are other kinds of crowds, too—crowds that will quickly pull you away from your Savior and from His body, the church. We are conformists by nature; and if we’re not careful we’ll find ourselves conforming to the wrong kind of crowd—a deadening crowd that wants to swallow you up—body and soul. We often warn our teenagers about the perils of peer pressure; but peer pressure isn’t just a teenage problem. The pull is powerful to conform to the popular crowd—to go along with the “group-think” and drink the “kool-aid” everyone else is sampling.
You must resist those trending crowds. Those crowds will suck the life right out of you. The crowds that swarm around you—they welcome sexual immorality in all of its deadening manifestations. That crowd wants you to view your body as a mere instrument for the pursuit of pleasure, rather than to see it for what it is—a temple of the Holy Spirit, designed to glorify God, destined for resurrection glory. The crowds that swell today want you to live as if this life is all that matters—to live a life of pride and selfishness—to view yourself a victim rather than to humbly help and serve those who are truly victimized and hurting. This crowd wants you to view your suffering as proof that God doesn’t exist (or if He does exist, that He’s unjust and uncaring and unloving), rather than to see your suffering as the setting where faith is forged and strengthened, and where the glorious grace of God is proved sufficient, and where His power is made perfect in our weakness.
But, as Jesus says, rejoice and be glad. For Jesus has called you from this world’s crowd of walking dead and has made you a member of that great heavenly multitude. You’ve already heard about the impressive size and the amazing diversity of that multitude in heaven. But the most unique thing about that multitude is not its size or even its diversity. It’s the unity of their attention—their laser-like focus. In St. John’s description of those white-robed saints, the thing that stands out above all else is that they aren’t paying the least bit of attention to themselves—or to one another. Instead, they are united as one as they look with undivided attention to the Lamb upon His throne, the Lord Jesus Christ victorious over death and the grave.
And right there is the secret to being part of that holy crowd of saints. You don’t join that holy crowd by squeezing in and trying to imitate the look of astonishment on their faces. You don’t do it by putting a Jesus bumper sticker on your car, or flying the Christian flag, or by wearing a crucifix, or by stitching up a white robe for yourself. Those things don’t make you a part of this crowd. No, the only way you can share in the blessedness of the saints is to join them in looking at what they are so fixated upon—the Lord Jesus Christ—the Son of God—our Savior. For you received your white robe of righteousness when Jesus claimed you as His own brother or sister in the waters of Holy Baptism. Jesus humbled Himself and became like you . . . so that He might lift you up to become just like Him—a holy child of God.
To be part of the crowd of saints is to fix your eyes upon Jesus. And yet, don’t think of it as Jesus on the pitcher’s mound and you somewhere up in the nose-bleed seats. No, every single member of this crowd enjoys the gentle, tender, individual attention of Jesus. “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes.” Think about that. Whatever tears of tribulation stain your face, Jesus will wipe them away. And the only way to wipe away another’s tears is to be right there, up close and personal—face to face. With a touch of His nail-scarred hand, Jesus will wipe away your tears and you will never weep again. As St. John writes, “We shall see him as he is.”
And those nail-scarred hands will remind us of how it is that we poor sinners can stand before God in that great multitude—because our tattered and sin-stained robes have been washed and made white in the blood of the Lamb. All of your sin—all that should rightly keep you out of this saintly crowd—it’s all been answered for in the blood of Jesus, shed on the cross, as your sacred substitute. And that same cleansing blood He offers to this crowd, here today, as we gather around this altar: “Drink of it all of you. This is my blood of the New Testament which is shed for you, for the forgiveness of sins.”
In just a few minutes the chimes will toll for Marge and Don, for Ruth and Bernice—dear saints of our Savior who now stand in the Savior’s presence. One day the chimes will toll for you. But do not fear. Rejoice and be glad. Jesus isn’t overwhelmed by the size of this holy crowd. No, today we realize just how precious each saint is to Jesus—of how precious your life is to Jesus. “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints.”
Today we have our fair share of trouble and tribulation. And things are going to get worse before they get better—no matter who gets elected on Tuesday. But because the Lamb is victorious on His throne, we know. We know that tribulation is temporary; life with the Lamb is forever. He has called you into His holy multitude. On the day of resurrection He will raise your body from the grave. Your white robe will be waiting. And your voice will be clear and strong to join in that delightfully deafening chorus: Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever. Amen.
Monday, October 31, 2016
Scarlet Sins
In Nomine Iesu
Isaiah 1:10-18
October 30, 2016
Reformation/Proper 26
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
The snowy scene pictured on today’s bulletin cover is not a welcome sight for many of you, I know. Recent warm weather has made it easy to be in denial about what’s coming. But you might as well come to terms with the fact that the flakes will soon be
flying. The National Weather Service came out with their long-term winter forecast last week. Apparently, the odds are good that we in Milwaukee will see normal temperatures and above normal precipitation. Time will tell just how many inches that will translate into.
Snow does not figure prominently in the Scriptures, which is kind of unfortunate for us. You have to admit that the gospels would be a whole lot more meaningful for us Wisconsinites if Jesus’ miracles had included the stilling of a snowstorm, or the healing of a frostbitten hand, or the resurrection of a snow-blower that had breathed its last. Contrary to what you might think, it does occasionally snow in Israel, especially in the higher elevations. Snow was not unknown to the prophets and the apostles. The Prophet Isaiah had a particular fondness for precipitation—including the frozen variety. And from his pen we hear these words from the Lord on this Reformation Sunday: Come now, let us reason together, says the Lord: though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.
That bit about scarlet sins becoming snowy white is the beautiful, good news that concludes today’s reading from Isaiah. But you may have noticed how that good news was preceded by a scorching indictment by Lord against His very own people. In this the first of Isaiah’s 66 chapters, the Lord begins to lay out the case against His people. Like the opening statement of a prosecuting attorney, the Lord details the crimes His people are committing, the sins in which they have grown comfortable and complacent, and the blood on their hands. He addresses His people as though they were residents of Sodom and Gomorrah—those notoriously sinful cities of old.
The Lord’s displeasure with His people is summed up nicely in this simple sentence: I cannot endure iniquity AND solemn assembly. The people were gathering for worship—for solemn assemblies. Outwardly, they were doing all the right things. They were offering sacrifices and burning incense and spreading out their hands in prayer. They were offering the Lord their outward works of worship; but the Lord doesn’t want outward works of worship from His people. He wants faith. The people were showing up for worship, offering sacrifices, in the hopes that they could butter God up for a blessing. It was an outward show of piety, designed to cover up what was really going on: the iniquity in their hearts. In their solemn assemblies they were pretending to be pious—without concern for the sin and iniquity that shaped their every thought, word, and deed.
Four hundred ninety-nine years ago tomorrow, an obscure Augustinian monk began to make a similar case against the church of his day. The 99 Theses which Martin Luther nailed to the door of the Castle Church in Wittenberg were a call for repentance—not unlike the call for repentance in Isaiah chapter one. The church of Luther’s day also thought that God was to be worshipped with works—that sinners had the power within themselves to make things right with God—through their offerings and indulgences, through their prayers and fasting, by the adoration of holy relics, by pilgrimages to holy sites, or especially by a life lived in a cloistered convent or monastery. The church was telling people to offer God their works—to find security in their works—to earn God’s forgiveness by their works.
But God didn’t want their works. God doesn’t want your works. God desires from you only faith. The just shall live by faith. That’s what Martin Luther read in His Bible. It’s what you heard today from Romans: We hold that one is justified by faith apart from the works of the law. God wants your faith, not your works. Good works are not for God. God doesn’t need your good works. But someone does! And that someone is your neighbor. Good works are for the sake of those around you. We are to serve God with faith; and we are to serve our neighbor with works. That was but one of Luther’s great discoveries.
But what Luther figured out 500 years ago we still can’t keep straight today. God desires your faith—all of it. Yet, what do we do with our faith? We place our faith in human beings, in human institutions, in human government. Case in point: there’s an election coming up soon. And, if nothing else, this election affords us Christians the opportunity to test whether our faith is really in God, or not. If you think that your life and well-being depend on any one candidate being elected, then you need to remember who it is that gives your life and promises to sustain it for all eternity. If you are fiercely partisan because you believe our only hope is in the election of this or that candidate, then you need to remember who alone can forgive your sins and offer you the sure and certain hope of eternal life. Or, on the other hand, if this election has reduced you to a quivering pile of despair and hopelessness—if you believe that all is lost—then you have forgotten who gives you this day your daily bread. You have forgotten who it is that works all things for your eternal good. You have forgotten Him who did not spare His own Son for you. God wants your faith. Why won’t you give it to Him? Without faith it is impossible to please Him. Without faith, you’re just going through the motions in this solemn assembly. And God won’t tolerate that kind of iniquity.
There’s nothing wrong with campaigning and politicking and voting. In fact, those are good works in God’s eyes. We are serving our neighbor by honestly engaging in those good works. We Christians are to stand up and advocate for those who cannot speak for themselves, including the disabled and the unborn, widows and orphans. We are to speak the truth in love and let our light shine before others so that they may see our good works and give glory to our Father in heaven. A world full of people needs your good works. But God alone deserves your faith. God alone will order your days and your deeds in His peace—no matter who the temporary leaders of this world may be.
We need to repent. We have not reserved our faith for God alone. We do not trust in Him as we should. Our sins are like scarlet—red like crimson. What we need is more than a few flurries of forgiveness. What we need is a blizzard of mercy—a thick, white blanket of absolution. We need grace piled up high, drifting into every crevice of our lives. This is what the Lord promises: Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow. Though your guilt runs blood-red, the pure, snowy-white innocence of Jesus can be yours by faith.
You have to admit that there’s something divinely beautiful about freshly-fallen deep snow. We Wisconsinites don’t see that beauty sometimes. When a big snowstorm comes we immediately think of how it will lengthen our commute and make our paths treacherous. But deep snow is something God alone can create. Deep snow covers everything. Everything that’s brown and dead and dirty is covered completely by a brilliant blanket white flakes. After a good snowfall, even the dirtiest, poorest, most litter-strewn, rundown neighborhood in north Milwaukee looks like a magical scene from the paintbrush of Norman Rockwell.
That’s how it is with the love and mercy of God in Jesus Christ. No matter how dirty, rundown, and sin-strewn your life may be, God can make it clean and pure. No sin is too big. No sinner is too bad. No one is excluded. Jesus is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the whole world. God was reconciling the whole world to himself in Christ, not counting our trespasses against us. He wants all people to be saved and come to the knowledge of the truth. In Holy Baptism God covers us completely with a snowy white robe of righteousness—a gift that Jesus earned for us, which we receive though faith.
One question still remains: Why does God describe our sins as being “like scarlet” and “like crimson?” Why are they red? Why not a dirty black or a muddy brown? Luther suggested that black denotes sadness. But red—red denotes blood. That’s the bad news—and that’s the good news—for this day. That’s the Law and the Gospel for this Reformation Sunday. Our sins are so serious, so deadly, so damnable—that the shedding of blood is necessary for them to be forgiven. That’s why our sins are like scarlet. That’s also why our Savior from sin shed His blood on the cross and gave up His life as your sacred substitute. His life in exchange for yours. His blood poured out in exchange for yours. He takes the bloody mess of your sins upon Himself, and you get His snowy, white robe of righteousness through faith in Him. He gives you His forgiveness in, with, and under the bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood.
Next Sunday is All Saints’ Sunday—when we remember those who rest from their labors with angels and arch angels and all the company of heaven. And regarding those departed saints who are with Christ, we will hear this mysterious sentence: They have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. The stain of our sin is scarlet; it is a stain we cannot remove. But in the blood of the Lamb, Jesus Christ, you have cleansing. You have forgiveness. You have a sure and certain hope in Jesus the Christ. Remember that when the snows come this winter. Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Isaiah 1:10-18
October 30, 2016
Reformation/Proper 26
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
The snowy scene pictured on today’s bulletin cover is not a welcome sight for many of you, I know. Recent warm weather has made it easy to be in denial about what’s coming. But you might as well come to terms with the fact that the flakes will soon be
Snow does not figure prominently in the Scriptures, which is kind of unfortunate for us. You have to admit that the gospels would be a whole lot more meaningful for us Wisconsinites if Jesus’ miracles had included the stilling of a snowstorm, or the healing of a frostbitten hand, or the resurrection of a snow-blower that had breathed its last. Contrary to what you might think, it does occasionally snow in Israel, especially in the higher elevations. Snow was not unknown to the prophets and the apostles. The Prophet Isaiah had a particular fondness for precipitation—including the frozen variety. And from his pen we hear these words from the Lord on this Reformation Sunday: Come now, let us reason together, says the Lord: though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.
That bit about scarlet sins becoming snowy white is the beautiful, good news that concludes today’s reading from Isaiah. But you may have noticed how that good news was preceded by a scorching indictment by Lord against His very own people. In this the first of Isaiah’s 66 chapters, the Lord begins to lay out the case against His people. Like the opening statement of a prosecuting attorney, the Lord details the crimes His people are committing, the sins in which they have grown comfortable and complacent, and the blood on their hands. He addresses His people as though they were residents of Sodom and Gomorrah—those notoriously sinful cities of old.
The Lord’s displeasure with His people is summed up nicely in this simple sentence: I cannot endure iniquity AND solemn assembly. The people were gathering for worship—for solemn assemblies. Outwardly, they were doing all the right things. They were offering sacrifices and burning incense and spreading out their hands in prayer. They were offering the Lord their outward works of worship; but the Lord doesn’t want outward works of worship from His people. He wants faith. The people were showing up for worship, offering sacrifices, in the hopes that they could butter God up for a blessing. It was an outward show of piety, designed to cover up what was really going on: the iniquity in their hearts. In their solemn assemblies they were pretending to be pious—without concern for the sin and iniquity that shaped their every thought, word, and deed.
Four hundred ninety-nine years ago tomorrow, an obscure Augustinian monk began to make a similar case against the church of his day. The 99 Theses which Martin Luther nailed to the door of the Castle Church in Wittenberg were a call for repentance—not unlike the call for repentance in Isaiah chapter one. The church of Luther’s day also thought that God was to be worshipped with works—that sinners had the power within themselves to make things right with God—through their offerings and indulgences, through their prayers and fasting, by the adoration of holy relics, by pilgrimages to holy sites, or especially by a life lived in a cloistered convent or monastery. The church was telling people to offer God their works—to find security in their works—to earn God’s forgiveness by their works.
But God didn’t want their works. God doesn’t want your works. God desires from you only faith. The just shall live by faith. That’s what Martin Luther read in His Bible. It’s what you heard today from Romans: We hold that one is justified by faith apart from the works of the law. God wants your faith, not your works. Good works are not for God. God doesn’t need your good works. But someone does! And that someone is your neighbor. Good works are for the sake of those around you. We are to serve God with faith; and we are to serve our neighbor with works. That was but one of Luther’s great discoveries.
But what Luther figured out 500 years ago we still can’t keep straight today. God desires your faith—all of it. Yet, what do we do with our faith? We place our faith in human beings, in human institutions, in human government. Case in point: there’s an election coming up soon. And, if nothing else, this election affords us Christians the opportunity to test whether our faith is really in God, or not. If you think that your life and well-being depend on any one candidate being elected, then you need to remember who it is that gives your life and promises to sustain it for all eternity. If you are fiercely partisan because you believe our only hope is in the election of this or that candidate, then you need to remember who alone can forgive your sins and offer you the sure and certain hope of eternal life. Or, on the other hand, if this election has reduced you to a quivering pile of despair and hopelessness—if you believe that all is lost—then you have forgotten who gives you this day your daily bread. You have forgotten who it is that works all things for your eternal good. You have forgotten Him who did not spare His own Son for you. God wants your faith. Why won’t you give it to Him? Without faith it is impossible to please Him. Without faith, you’re just going through the motions in this solemn assembly. And God won’t tolerate that kind of iniquity.
There’s nothing wrong with campaigning and politicking and voting. In fact, those are good works in God’s eyes. We are serving our neighbor by honestly engaging in those good works. We Christians are to stand up and advocate for those who cannot speak for themselves, including the disabled and the unborn, widows and orphans. We are to speak the truth in love and let our light shine before others so that they may see our good works and give glory to our Father in heaven. A world full of people needs your good works. But God alone deserves your faith. God alone will order your days and your deeds in His peace—no matter who the temporary leaders of this world may be.
We need to repent. We have not reserved our faith for God alone. We do not trust in Him as we should. Our sins are like scarlet—red like crimson. What we need is more than a few flurries of forgiveness. What we need is a blizzard of mercy—a thick, white blanket of absolution. We need grace piled up high, drifting into every crevice of our lives. This is what the Lord promises: Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow. Though your guilt runs blood-red, the pure, snowy-white innocence of Jesus can be yours by faith.
You have to admit that there’s something divinely beautiful about freshly-fallen deep snow. We Wisconsinites don’t see that beauty sometimes. When a big snowstorm comes we immediately think of how it will lengthen our commute and make our paths treacherous. But deep snow is something God alone can create. Deep snow covers everything. Everything that’s brown and dead and dirty is covered completely by a brilliant blanket white flakes. After a good snowfall, even the dirtiest, poorest, most litter-strewn, rundown neighborhood in north Milwaukee looks like a magical scene from the paintbrush of Norman Rockwell.
That’s how it is with the love and mercy of God in Jesus Christ. No matter how dirty, rundown, and sin-strewn your life may be, God can make it clean and pure. No sin is too big. No sinner is too bad. No one is excluded. Jesus is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the whole world. God was reconciling the whole world to himself in Christ, not counting our trespasses against us. He wants all people to be saved and come to the knowledge of the truth. In Holy Baptism God covers us completely with a snowy white robe of righteousness—a gift that Jesus earned for us, which we receive though faith.
One question still remains: Why does God describe our sins as being “like scarlet” and “like crimson?” Why are they red? Why not a dirty black or a muddy brown? Luther suggested that black denotes sadness. But red—red denotes blood. That’s the bad news—and that’s the good news—for this day. That’s the Law and the Gospel for this Reformation Sunday. Our sins are so serious, so deadly, so damnable—that the shedding of blood is necessary for them to be forgiven. That’s why our sins are like scarlet. That’s also why our Savior from sin shed His blood on the cross and gave up His life as your sacred substitute. His life in exchange for yours. His blood poured out in exchange for yours. He takes the bloody mess of your sins upon Himself, and you get His snowy, white robe of righteousness through faith in Him. He gives you His forgiveness in, with, and under the bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood.
Next Sunday is All Saints’ Sunday—when we remember those who rest from their labors with angels and arch angels and all the company of heaven. And regarding those departed saints who are with Christ, we will hear this mysterious sentence: They have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. The stain of our sin is scarlet; it is a stain we cannot remove. But in the blood of the Lamb, Jesus Christ, you have cleansing. You have forgiveness. You have a sure and certain hope in Jesus the Christ. Remember that when the snows come this winter. Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Monday, October 17, 2016
Pesky, Persistent Prayer
In Nomine Iesu
St. Luke 18:1-8
October 16, 2016
Proper 24C
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
Jesus told them a parable to the effect that they ought always to pray and not lose heart. Some of Jesus’ parables
leave us scratching our heads, asking, “What does this mean?” Other parables of Jesus are so ripe with possible meanings and interpretations that a hundred sermons couldn’t begin to unpack it all. But with the parable of the unjust judge, St. Luke does us a huge favor. He just tells us what it means. He gives us the conclusions we ought to draw from it, not as a conclusion, but as an introduction. Before we hear even one word from the mouth of Jesus, St. Luke gives us the takeaway: Jesus told them a parable to the effect that they ought always to pray . . . and not lose heart.
Are you losing heart? To lose heart feels a lot like despair and hopelessness. But the Greek word for losing heart also has a more specific meaning. To lose heart can also mean “to give in to evil.” It means to buckle beneath the weight of evil—to give up the fight—to throw in the towel—to conclude, “There is nothing I can do.” And now more than ever, Christians are being tempted to do just that—to give in to evil—to surrender, to retreat, to simply lose heart. There are plenty of reasons today for Christians to be losing heart. Allow me to share a few with you:
One is abortion, the murder of the unborn. Tens of millions of tiny, helpless human beings have been denied their first breath. And these evil acts aren’t just happening in some far-removed, distant location. Abortion happens three miles south of where you are sitting right now—on Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. And do you remember when those undercover videos from Planned Parenthood were released a year ago, in which they discussed selling the body parts of aborted babies while laughing and sipping chardonnay? Did anything come of that expose? Well, the people who made the videos—the people who exposed the evil—they got harassed and were dragged into court for months of expensive litigation. But your tax dollars are still flowing to Planned Parenthood. Abortion “is settled law—the law of the land,” we hear. It’s enough to make a person lose heart.
And then there’s God’s good gift of marriage and sexuality. It used to be so simple and straight forward. In the beginning God created them male and female—males who became husbands and fathers—females who became wives and mothers. Such terms are now being outlawed—along with masculine and feminine pronouns, like “him” and “her.” God gave marriage as the fundamental building block of human life and society. Only our society has now made marriage meaningless. We’ve made sex meaningless. The LGTB movement desires nothing less than the destruction of the family. And right now there’s little standing in their way. It’s enough to make a person lose heart.
And then there are the scores of people who are abandoning the Christian faith, as we speak. Multitudes of believers across North America are simply turning their backs on the great good news of our Savior, Jesus Christ, and are walking away from His church. They care nothing for sound teaching or truth because their itching ears are only tuned-in to their own passions and desires. Sadly we see it right here at Our Savior—families and individuals drifting away—not to join other churches—just leaving the faith behind. Our young people head off to college and only a few will stay connected to this or any other church. It’s enough to make a person lose heart. It’s heart-breaking. It’s enough to ask along with Jesus, “When the Son of Man comes, will he find [the] faith on earth?”
This is why we need the pesky, persistent widow in today’s parable. She didn’t lose heart. She didn’t grow weary. She didn’t give up the fight against evil. It would have been so easy for her to do that—to simply resign herself to the facts that she was poor—that she had no standing or influence in the community—that it was almost laughable to think that she (of all people) could do battle against a corrupt and evil judge, and somehow, in the end, come out on top. All she could do was show up day after day in his courtroom, badgering him and battering him with her continual cries for justice. That’s all she could do. And she did it relentlessly. And right here is where the parable takes an unexpected turn. The crooked judge ends up giving the pesky widow what she wants—not on the merits of her case—but just to get her out of the courtroom and out of his hair. And if that’s how it is in the crooked courtrooms of this world—if arrogant and evil judges can occasionally do the right thing—will not God give justice to His elect—to His children—to you who cry out day and night? Yes. Yes He will.
But before you can walk in the ways of that widow, you must leave behind the ways of the unjust judge. For we live more like the judge than the widow in this parable. He carried out his work with no fear of God. “I neither fear God nor respect man,” he confessed. That should be our confession too. We don’t fear God. We do fear what others may think of us. We do fear what our friends may think of us—especially if we were to speak out in defense of the unborn. We do fear what might happen to us if we were to relentlessly promote marriage as the lifelong union of one man and one woman, and to lovingly reprove and correct those who have been deceived. We do fear alienating our college-age/twenty-something children by telling them to lead a sexually pure and decent life and by persistently urging them to receive God’s gifts in the Divine Service. Those are the kinds of things we fear—much more than we fear God.
And what that means is that, in God’s courtroom, we don’t have a legal leg to stand on. We are just as corrupt and crooked as the unjust judge. Under God’s law we are guilty. Our adversary, the devil, has an open-and-shut case against us. We neither fear God nor respect our neighbors. We are sinful and unclean. It’s enough to make a person lose heart.
But take heart. For you stand before a Judge who is gracious and merciful. You stand in faith before a Judge like none other. Jesus is the one who will judge the living and the dead—including you. Jesus is the judge in whose name all our prayers are prayed. Jesus is the judge who will always rule in your favor. Jesus is the judge who bears such love and concern for you that He stood in your stead and took your guilt and punishment upon Himself. Your sin—including your sins of despair and hopelessness—your failure to pray, praise, and give thanks—those sins can no longer condemn you. For Judge Jesus has made peace with the Father. Judge Jesus became the convicted criminal—Judge Jesus went to death row—so that sinners might be justified, declared righteous, and hear this sentence handed down: “Not guilty.”
This is why you are afforded the chance always to pray—to pray like that pesky, persistent widow. You pray not so much because you have a case to make, but because the case against you has been dismissed. You pray not based on your merits, but on the merits and in the name of Jesus—who is also praying with you and for you. You can boldly claim the right to be heard because you have been baptized in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.
Beloved in the Lord, don’t lose heart. Even when God appears absent, silent, or uncaring. Remember how your Savior did not lose heart, even during those agonizing hours when He hung from the cross. Even then He prayed: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Even then He continued to pray with persistence to His Father: “Into your hands I commit my spirit.” When your prayers seemingly go unanswered, remember that your God is no crooked judge; He is your gracious and loving Father in heaven. And remember that you are so much more than a nuisance to Him; you are His child. Go ahead and bother Him with your prayers. Be shameless about it. Be pesky and persistent.
Jesus concluded this parable with a reference to the Last Day—to the day when He returns to judge the living and the dead. When the Son of Man comes, will he find the faith on earth? What does the Last Day have to do with your prayers this day? Well, on the last day it will all become clear. It will become clear just how tenderly Jesus has carried us along through all those dark times in life—those times when we were losing heart—those times when every syllable of prayer was a struggle—those times when our lives seemed so widowed and worthless. On the Last Day it will become clear how God’s apparent slowness is really only part of His wanting our eternal good—how by it He is building your faith and teaching you to rely completely on His grace, His mercy, and His love.
When the Son of Man comes, will He find the faith on earth? Yes. Yes He will. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
St. Luke 18:1-8
October 16, 2016
Proper 24C
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
Jesus told them a parable to the effect that they ought always to pray and not lose heart. Some of Jesus’ parables
Are you losing heart? To lose heart feels a lot like despair and hopelessness. But the Greek word for losing heart also has a more specific meaning. To lose heart can also mean “to give in to evil.” It means to buckle beneath the weight of evil—to give up the fight—to throw in the towel—to conclude, “There is nothing I can do.” And now more than ever, Christians are being tempted to do just that—to give in to evil—to surrender, to retreat, to simply lose heart. There are plenty of reasons today for Christians to be losing heart. Allow me to share a few with you:
One is abortion, the murder of the unborn. Tens of millions of tiny, helpless human beings have been denied their first breath. And these evil acts aren’t just happening in some far-removed, distant location. Abortion happens three miles south of where you are sitting right now—on Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. And do you remember when those undercover videos from Planned Parenthood were released a year ago, in which they discussed selling the body parts of aborted babies while laughing and sipping chardonnay? Did anything come of that expose? Well, the people who made the videos—the people who exposed the evil—they got harassed and were dragged into court for months of expensive litigation. But your tax dollars are still flowing to Planned Parenthood. Abortion “is settled law—the law of the land,” we hear. It’s enough to make a person lose heart.
And then there’s God’s good gift of marriage and sexuality. It used to be so simple and straight forward. In the beginning God created them male and female—males who became husbands and fathers—females who became wives and mothers. Such terms are now being outlawed—along with masculine and feminine pronouns, like “him” and “her.” God gave marriage as the fundamental building block of human life and society. Only our society has now made marriage meaningless. We’ve made sex meaningless. The LGTB movement desires nothing less than the destruction of the family. And right now there’s little standing in their way. It’s enough to make a person lose heart.
And then there are the scores of people who are abandoning the Christian faith, as we speak. Multitudes of believers across North America are simply turning their backs on the great good news of our Savior, Jesus Christ, and are walking away from His church. They care nothing for sound teaching or truth because their itching ears are only tuned-in to their own passions and desires. Sadly we see it right here at Our Savior—families and individuals drifting away—not to join other churches—just leaving the faith behind. Our young people head off to college and only a few will stay connected to this or any other church. It’s enough to make a person lose heart. It’s heart-breaking. It’s enough to ask along with Jesus, “When the Son of Man comes, will he find [the] faith on earth?”
This is why we need the pesky, persistent widow in today’s parable. She didn’t lose heart. She didn’t grow weary. She didn’t give up the fight against evil. It would have been so easy for her to do that—to simply resign herself to the facts that she was poor—that she had no standing or influence in the community—that it was almost laughable to think that she (of all people) could do battle against a corrupt and evil judge, and somehow, in the end, come out on top. All she could do was show up day after day in his courtroom, badgering him and battering him with her continual cries for justice. That’s all she could do. And she did it relentlessly. And right here is where the parable takes an unexpected turn. The crooked judge ends up giving the pesky widow what she wants—not on the merits of her case—but just to get her out of the courtroom and out of his hair. And if that’s how it is in the crooked courtrooms of this world—if arrogant and evil judges can occasionally do the right thing—will not God give justice to His elect—to His children—to you who cry out day and night? Yes. Yes He will.
But before you can walk in the ways of that widow, you must leave behind the ways of the unjust judge. For we live more like the judge than the widow in this parable. He carried out his work with no fear of God. “I neither fear God nor respect man,” he confessed. That should be our confession too. We don’t fear God. We do fear what others may think of us. We do fear what our friends may think of us—especially if we were to speak out in defense of the unborn. We do fear what might happen to us if we were to relentlessly promote marriage as the lifelong union of one man and one woman, and to lovingly reprove and correct those who have been deceived. We do fear alienating our college-age/twenty-something children by telling them to lead a sexually pure and decent life and by persistently urging them to receive God’s gifts in the Divine Service. Those are the kinds of things we fear—much more than we fear God.
And what that means is that, in God’s courtroom, we don’t have a legal leg to stand on. We are just as corrupt and crooked as the unjust judge. Under God’s law we are guilty. Our adversary, the devil, has an open-and-shut case against us. We neither fear God nor respect our neighbors. We are sinful and unclean. It’s enough to make a person lose heart.
But take heart. For you stand before a Judge who is gracious and merciful. You stand in faith before a Judge like none other. Jesus is the one who will judge the living and the dead—including you. Jesus is the judge in whose name all our prayers are prayed. Jesus is the judge who will always rule in your favor. Jesus is the judge who bears such love and concern for you that He stood in your stead and took your guilt and punishment upon Himself. Your sin—including your sins of despair and hopelessness—your failure to pray, praise, and give thanks—those sins can no longer condemn you. For Judge Jesus has made peace with the Father. Judge Jesus became the convicted criminal—Judge Jesus went to death row—so that sinners might be justified, declared righteous, and hear this sentence handed down: “Not guilty.”
This is why you are afforded the chance always to pray—to pray like that pesky, persistent widow. You pray not so much because you have a case to make, but because the case against you has been dismissed. You pray not based on your merits, but on the merits and in the name of Jesus—who is also praying with you and for you. You can boldly claim the right to be heard because you have been baptized in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.
Beloved in the Lord, don’t lose heart. Even when God appears absent, silent, or uncaring. Remember how your Savior did not lose heart, even during those agonizing hours when He hung from the cross. Even then He prayed: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Even then He continued to pray with persistence to His Father: “Into your hands I commit my spirit.” When your prayers seemingly go unanswered, remember that your God is no crooked judge; He is your gracious and loving Father in heaven. And remember that you are so much more than a nuisance to Him; you are His child. Go ahead and bother Him with your prayers. Be shameless about it. Be pesky and persistent.
Jesus concluded this parable with a reference to the Last Day—to the day when He returns to judge the living and the dead. When the Son of Man comes, will he find the faith on earth? What does the Last Day have to do with your prayers this day? Well, on the last day it will all become clear. It will become clear just how tenderly Jesus has carried us along through all those dark times in life—those times when we were losing heart—those times when every syllable of prayer was a struggle—those times when our lives seemed so widowed and worthless. On the Last Day it will become clear how God’s apparent slowness is really only part of His wanting our eternal good—how by it He is building your faith and teaching you to rely completely on His grace, His mercy, and His love.
When the Son of Man comes, will He find the faith on earth? Yes. Yes He will. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
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