Salt & Light

In Nomine Iesu
St. Matthew 5:13-20
February 5, 2017
Epiphany 5A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

I wrote the first draft of this sermon on Thursday, which was Ground Hog Day. AMC was running the movie, “Ground Hog Day,” featuring Bill Murray. You’ve probably seen it. He plays a TV weatherman who gets sent to Puxatawney, PA to cover the annual Ground Hog Day festivities there. But somehow every morning he awakens there . . . it’s Ground Hog Day all over again—the very same day, the very same people and places, the very same situations, over and over again. Same ol’ same ol’. Been there, done that. No surprises. Each day just a replay of the day before.

Sometimes in real life we begin to feel just a bit like the Bill Murray character. The days of our lives become utterly predictable. The people, the places, the predicaments don’t change much from day to day. “I’m in a rut,” you hear people say. And when that happens, you begin to ask yourself some questions: Do I matter? Do I make a difference? Am I doing any good for anyone? Does my all-too-predictable life have purpose and meaning? Today Jesus weighs in with an answer to questions like these. And the answer He gives to every disciple—to all who follow Him in faith—is a resounding “yes.”

You are the salt of the earth, Jesus says. Salt seasons and preserves. Salt melts snow and ice off our streets and sidewalks. And it really doesn’t take much salt to do the trick, either. If you do much cooking, then you know that many recipes call for salt—but usually only a half-teaspoon or just a dash. How often have you taken that first sip of soup from the stovetop only to realize, “This needs salt?” And just a tiny bit of salt transforms your soup from something bland and flavorless into a savory, tasty, zesty, explosion of flavor. Behold the power of salt!

Jesus says you are salt. You are the special seasoning that Jesus has scattered around this world to make a positive difference for the benefit of those around you. As you go about your daily business at work, at school, at home, at church—as you live out your faith in Jesus, doing the important vocations He has called you to do—you are making a huge difference. Now, your difference-making is largely unseen and unnoticed. That’s how it is with salt. When salt is doing its job, no one notices. No one takes a bite of a chocolate chip cookie and says, “Mmmmm. What type of salt is in this cookie?” Salty saints of Our Savior, you season the world with the good news of Jesus Christ—baptized into His name, forgiven by the blood He shed, confessing your faith in word and deed.

If you still need convincing that you make a difference in this world, then hear what Jesus says next: You are the light of the world. Present indicative. You are light. He doesn’t say you should aspire to be light. It’s no achievement on your

part. It’s a done deal according to Jesus. As you follow Him in faith, you are the light of the world. The great difference made by light is impossible to miss. On one of these dark winter nights take a drive from the well-lit streets of Whitefish Bay into darkness of Fox Point where, apparently, street lights are an unaffordable luxury. Or just think about that long stretch of dreary, cloudy days a few weeks ago, and what a welcome sight it was when bright sunshine finally returned. Behold the power of light! Light is inherently beneficial; and so are you, dear baptized believer.

You are light shining in the darkness of this world. You light the way. You illuminate the truth. You send the deeds of darkness skittering away. You shine; and in your shining, the life of Jesus is revealed to the world. Let your light shine before others, Jesus says, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven. Note that last part carefully. The goal is not to do good works so that we get recognition and admiration and applause. The goal isn’t that people sit up and take notice of us and of how good we are. God forbid! But rather, as your light shines, people will see the Source of that light and give praise to God. As salt and light, our attitude should be like that of St. Paul when he first went to Corinth. He said, “I resolved to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified.” It’s all about Jesus for us. In Him we are absolved of every sin. In Him we have the promise of resurrection life. In Him already today we are salt and light, making an eternal difference with our words and actions.

Of course, we can easily botch up the work we have been given to do. We can lose our saltiness. We can dim our light. We can stop being difference-makers and just slide right into the sinful status quo. Jesus warns against one of the ways this happens. It happens with how we handle the Law of God. Therefore whoever relaxes one of the least of these commandments and teaches others to do the same will be called least in the kingdom of heaven. To “relax” one of the Lord’s commandments—to “loosen” the burden of the Law—to water down God’s Word of Law—is to contribute to the darkness.

It’s tempting to relax the commandments, especially when we want to ease the burden for someone else. It’s always tempting to water-down God’s commands to keep from hurting people’s feelings. It’s always tempting to tell people that it doesn’t matter what they say or do or think because God loves them. But it does matter. God’s commandments should always shape our words, thoughts, and actions. Part of being the light of the world is being a beacon of truth.

Back in my seminary days, I shared with a brother in Christ something that was troubling my conscience—a commandment of God that I had not kept. It bothered me greatly. So, when I confessed my sin to him, I was disappointed that his response was to tell me that he had been guilty of the same thing also. He was trying to comfort me—to let me know that I wasn’t alone in my guilt. I needed to hear that my sin was forgiven in Jesus. But he, unintentionally, watered down the law of God—in effect saying, everybody does it. Don’t worry about it. What he should have said was, “Yes, your sin is very great; but you have an even greater Savior who bears your sin away.” But he relaxed and loosened the Law of God so that I wouldn’t be so troubled. We’re all tempted to do that—to relax and water down God’s commands concerning marriage and adultery and homosexuality and you name it. It might be for the best of intentions, but it’s not living as the salt of the earth or as the light of the world.

Jesus didn’t relax the commandments. No, as you’ll hear in Bible class this morning, Jesus amplified the commandments. He made them even harder to keep. The Law said, “Don’t murder,” but Jesus said that even the one who hates is guilty of murder. The Law said, “Don’t commit adultery,” but Jesus said that even he who imagines committing adultery is an adulterer. The Law said, “Love your neighbor,” but Jesus said, “While you’re at it, love your enemies too.”

To relax the Law—to water down the commandments—is to diminish the work of Jesus Christ. He came to fulfill the Law with His perfect obedience and His death on the cross. When we write-off the commandments we are, in effect, writing off and watering down the work that Jesus came to do for us. If you water down the commandments enough—erasing dots and iotas here and there—sooner or later you don’t really need a Savior from sin. Why do you need a Savior if you have no sin? Why do you need a Redeemer if the Law doesn’t convict you of anything in particular? Let the Law do what it’s intended to do—to show you your sin. Why? Because Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.

Jesus has redeemed you, a lost and condemned person, purchased and won you from all sins, from death and the power of the devil, not with gold or silver, but with His holy, precious blood and His innocent suffering and death that you might be His own and live under Him in His kingdom and serve Him in everlasting righteousness, innocence and blessedness—so that you can live each day as the salt of the earth, as the light of the world.

All that you are is a gift from Jesus—God of God, light of light. For us and for our salvation He came down from heaven. For us and for our salvation He became man—was crucified, died, and was buried. For us He lived a perfect life of obedience. His righteousness exceeded even that of the Scribes and Pharisees. He kept the Law perfectly, every last iota—even the fine print. He was the righteousness of God. And wonder of wonders, He gives that righteousness to you. He gives you the credit for something He did. That’s how you’ve become salt and light. It’s not by what you do; it’s by what He did (and still does) for you. As you eat and drink His body and blood, He puts His life in your life. You are baptized to live each day beneath the umbrella of God’s grace, through faith in Jesus. Under that grace, you are a city set on a hill. You are the light of the world. You are the salt of the earth. You are doing good for all people, making an eternal difference, living a life filled with purpose and meaning. Amen.

Wanted: Followers

In Nomine Iesu
St. Matthew 4:18-22
January 22, 2017
Epiphany 3A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

When someone assumes a new position, or lands a new job, those first few days can be critically important. The strategic choices and symbolic steps taken right on day one will often set the stage for years to come. We see this going on right now in

our nation’s capital. Our newly inaugurated president has given a few speeches and issued some executive orders—hoping to lay out an agenda for the next four years.

When I first came to Our Savior as your new pastor, I didn’t issue any executive orders; but I do remember the critical importance of those first few weeks—how we began a year-long study of Luther’s Small Catechism, how I made as many home visits as I possibly could, and how I prepared to preach my very first sermon from this pulpit—a sermon entitled, “Let’s Run,” based on the words of Hebrews chapter 12: Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us. I’ve preached quite a few sermons since then . . . and led quite a few Bible studies, as well. But what happened on day one and week one—how we kicked things off—was very, very important.

This morning Jesus kicks things off. This morning St. Matthew lays out for us the significant steps Jesus took right as He began His public ministry. These first steps are not random or accidental. No, they lay out the Savior’s strategy from that day forward. And what we see more clearly than anything else—what emerges as priority number one for this new preacher is His great desire for followers. His very first official act—the first order of business—is to acquire followers. His first executive order consisted of two words: Follow me. Before the miracles and before the healings—before casting out even one unclean spirit—Jesus called people—ordinary people—to follow Him.

Jesus left His home in Nazareth—the place where He grew up—and moved into the region of Galilee. Seven centuries before this happened, the Prophet Isaiah had foretold how the Messiah would begin His ministry in Galilee—like a light dawning on those living in the land of the shadow of death. The geography of Galilee is dominated by the Sea of Galilee. And as the Savior walked that shoreline, He encountered two sets of brothers—fishermen one and all. First it was Peter and Andrew, followed by the sons of Zebedee, James and John. Jesus went to where they were. He called them and immediately they followed Him. Boom! What Jesus really wants are followers.

Now, on this particular Sunday, it seems like a good time to point out the difference between being a follower and being a fan. A lot of my fellow pastors have lamented how today’s Packer game will be a bit of a distraction for many people in the pews today—how visions of the Super Bowl are filling up all your available brain cells. I’m under no illusion that the sense of electric anticipation in the air this morning probably has less to do with my sermon than with what will transpire between the goal posts at the Georgia Dome this afternoon. So, in an effort to preach the hand I’ve been dealt, let me emphasize again that what Jesus wants are followers, not fans.

There’s a big difference between the two. Fans choose to be fans; but followers must be called. That’s why Jesus personally went to Peter, Andrew, James, and John. “Follow me,” He said, “and I will make you fishers of men.” That call—that invitation—was almost unheard of in those days. Back then it was customary for disciples to choose which rabbi they would follow. The student picked the teacher. But Jesus—as He began His new mission—He turned tradition on its head. Jesus did the choosing. Jesus took the initiative. Jesus called men to be His followers.

Fans are different than followers. Fans choose to be fans. I’m a Packer fan because I choose to be a Packer backer. I have made my decision to direct my football loyalties to the green and gold (although it’s just a happy coincidence that I’m wearing those colors right now). Jesus has a lot of fans. Lots of people routinely say nice things about Him. They cheer Him as a champion for the poor. They invoke Him as a man of peace. They try to model His morals. But Jesus doesn’t want any of that. Jesus doesn’t want fans; He wants followers. He wants YOU to follow Him in faith.

This is the best of news! In your baptism Jesus called you and saved you, and each day He guides your steps to follow Him. Jesus once told His disciples, “You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit—fruit that will last” (John 15:16). Jesus has chosen you. Jesus wants you—your faithful, fruit-bearing life. Oh, your life might not seem so important or exceptional. You may never be chose as MVP. But the reality is that you have been called by Jesus, saved by Jesus, chosen to follow Him all the way to Paradise. Whatever glory may be generated on the football field today is nothing compared to the glory that will be revealed in you—in the life of the world to come.

But you should know that it’s not easy being a follower of Jesus. You are being changed and used. Jesus has plans for you. Not many of you are called to be fishers of men. Most of you are not pastors or preachers. But Jesus is using you in whatever your vocations may be—as accountants of men, or mechanics of men, teachers of men, managers of men, or whatever. What matters is . . . Jesus has called you. He is shaping you for service to others in His name.

Following Jesus isn’t easy. We like to be fans; and fans like to win. But the followers of Jesus are called to lose in this life—to lose your life in Jesus. You are called to confess the worst about yourself—to repent of your sin. He wants us to deny ourselves and put the needs of others ahead of our own. He wants us to lose our lives in His life. Being a follower of Jesus means taking a stand on His Word—even when taking a stand is unpopular.

For instance, followers of Jesus are called to stand up for God’s gift of human life—and to decry the traumatic, life-terminating act of abortion. In these latter weeks of January we often pause to ponder the gift of life in the womb—and to mourn how abortion rejects that gift—and rejects God Himself. Since Jesus really does change and use those He calls to follow, then we need to be open for how He might use us to take a stand for the protection of the unborn. A Place of Refuge, The Blessed Again Re-Sale Shop, Eyewitness for Life, Lutherans for Life—there are so many ways and so many places right here in Milwaukee where followers of Jesus can be used by Jesus to bring light and life to those trapped in the darkness of sin and death. Will you follow where He leads?

Jesus wants followers—people like you to follow Him in this life, through death, to the life of the world to come. And so deeply does He desire that, that He laid down His life for the sin of the world. Jesus demonstrated His greatest power in the weakness of the cross. He shed His blood to cleanse you of every sin. Through Holy Baptism He has made your body to be a temple of the Holy Spirit—a sacred place which He uses to accomplish His holy purposes in this world.

It seems so simple, but it’s so true: The key to following Jesus in a life of discipleship is being with Jesus—being connected to Jesus—being a branch of that holy Vine. One of the most remarkable features of today’s Gospel reading is how those four disciples immediately left their nets and their boats and followed Jesus. Following Jesus meant being where Jesus was. For us, following Jesus means being here in the Divine Service, where Jesus gives Himself for us. Here His promises are proclaimed for you. Here His body and blood are given for you, for the forgiveness of sins. Here is the primary place where God chooses His people, changes His people, and uses His people for the life of the whole world. It all begins here.

So, where will it end? Well, Jesus will continue calling people to follow Him until the Last Day. You who have heard that invitation in faith will also hear it again. You will hear it spoken again for the last and final time on the day of resurrection. Then and there you will hear these grace-filled words of Jesus as you leave your grave behind: “Follow me,” He will say. For that is what Jesus really, really wants. Amen.

The Eye-Opening Power of Baptism

In Nomine Iesu
Matt. 3:13-17; Rom. 6
January 8, 2017
Baptism of Our Lord-A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Christmas is over. All twelve days have come and gone. The nativity is history. From my perspective as a pastor, Christmas always arrives too soon . . .and then disappears too soon, as well. Sometimes it seems like I missed it. But it’s my

own fault, really. During Advent, when I should have been repenting and preparing the way for the Lord, I was worried about whether our sidewalks would be icy and what our Wednesday night attendance would be. When I drove to Notre Dame on December 15th to bring my daughter, Mary, home for Christmas after a successful first semester of college, I should have embraced the joy and pride and happiness of that journey; but instead I was concerned about lake-effect snow and staying ahead of the Chicago traffic. When we gathered here on Christmas Eve for lessons and carols and candlelight, I was thinking of lights and logistics and timing. Looking back at December now, it was all so extraordinarily beautiful and wonderful. Those moments were so rich and meaningful. But while it was happening—as it was all going on in real time—I missed it. I failed to see it for what it was.

We rarely see the significance of events while they are happening. Whether you’re standing at the altar preparing to say, “I do,” or kneeling at the altar for the Lord’s Supper, or singing “Silent Night” by candlelight, we rarely recognize those extraordinary moments while those extraordinary moments are happening. Only later—only in retrospect—do we begin to see what we missed at first.

The Baptism of Jesus is like that. Looking back today, soaking up all that the Scriptures tell us about this event on the banks of the Jordan River, we can easily see how extraordinarily rich with meaning it is. Here Jesus takes the first steps of His public ministry. Here He begins to identify with sinners like us. Here the heavens are opened. Here His identity as the eternal Son of God is enunciated clearly by the Father’s voice from heaven. Here all three persons of the Holy Trinity make a joint appearance as the Holy Spirit descends like a dove. Here God is at work to show us what a grand and glorious thing baptism is. Looking back now, we see that and celebrate that. We teach that and preach that and believe that about the Baptism of Our Lord.

But, as it was unfolding, as it was actually happening in real time—well, it was messy. It was awkward and unexpected. Things did not play out according to the script by which John had been operating. John had been preaching a Jesus who would burn the chaff with unquenchable fire—a Jesus whose sandals John wasn’t even worthy to stoop down and untie—a Jesus whose axe was razor-sharp and ready to cut down every tree that did not produce good fruit. And then Jesus showed up at the Jordan one day—an ordinary-looking guy from Galilee, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with sinners, seeking a sinners’ baptism. John wanted nothing to do with it. John objected. All the color must have drained from John’s face as Jesus stated plainly, “Let it be so now, for thus it is fitting for us to fulfill all righteousness.” It wasn’t nice and neat and well-orchestrated. Nobody (except for Jesus) truly saw the incredible, extraordinary, eternal significance of that moment.

The same thing is true where your own baptism is concerned. As it was happening, no one could truly see and believe the marvelous miracle that was unfolding. No one could see the Holy Spirit making your body His temple. No one could see that you were being born again. I’ve done enough baptisms to know what’s really going on in the minds of those who gather around the font: hoping that the baby doesn’t start screaming, wondering whether the diaper will stay dry, and trying to remember where to stand and what to say. Most baptisms are just as messy and just as awkward as was the baptism of Jesus by John. And to top it all off, if you were baptized as an infant, you don’t even remember it! That moment—the event of your own baptism into Christ—you can’t recall it no matter how hard you try. We rarely see the extraordinary importance of events while they are happening—including your own baptism.

Your enemy uses that fact to his advantage. Satan works hard to keep the extraordinary details of your baptism buried deep down in the pages of your life’s history. He wants to minimize, reduce and abbreviate whatever significance you attach to your baptism. He’s hoping that you’ll forget (or never take to heart) how that splash of water and the Word transformed you forever—how in that moment you were born again—that then and there God made you dead to sin but alive to Him in Christ Jesus. The devil hates those details. The devil is ever-so-diligent in deadening you to the glorious truth of what your baptism means—that you are now God’s own child, called not to continue in sin, but to turn from it in faith and repentance—to walk in newness of life.

For what is true of the grand and glorious moments of our lives is also true of our worst moments—our most sinful moments: We do not see the significance of our sins while we are sinning. In fact, while we are sinning, our minds are filled with justifications and rationalizations and perfectly crafted excuses. Only later on—only after our transgressions have transpired—only as Satan’s awful accusations begin to rain down upon us—do we begin to realize the wretched reality we have wrought. Our conscience is crushed as our sin sinks in. But precisely then, when the enemy whispers, “You’re no child of God. You’re not holy. How can you call yourself a Christian?,” when all you can do is admit the worst about yourself—precisely then you can draw upon the most extraordinary, significant, miraculous event that ever happened to you. Fully, freely, joyfully you can declare, “I am baptized.”

Jesus came for sinners—to redeem sinners. He came for sick and broken people. As the Prophet Isaiah looked ahead to the coming of the Christ, he wrote, “a bruised reed he will not break, and a faintly burning wick he will not snuff out.” In the ancient world a bruised reed was a rather useless thing. A modern equivalent might be a pen that has run out of ink. What’s left to do with such a pen but throw it away? Likewise in the ancient world a smoldering wick was a rather useless thing. A smoldering wick meant that the darkness was soon to descend upon you. A modern equivalent might be a burned-out light bulb. What’s left to do with a burned-out bulb but throw it away? But Jesus, the Servant of the Lord, He won’t do it. A bruised reed He will not break. A faintly burning wick He will not snuff out. He comes not to condemn sinners, but to stand with them shoulder-to-shoulder. He comes to bear your sins—to suffer for your sins—to be your sacred substitute in the face of God’s righteous wrath.

We rarely see the extraordinary significance of events while they are happening. Never was that more true than on Good Friday when Jesus was crucified as a common criminal. In real time He appeared to be a good man who just happened to get on the wrong side of powerful people. He appeared to be a miracle-worker who died for what He believed in. But looking back, we know better. For our eyes have been opened by the power of our baptism. We can see clearly. This is God’s beloved Son! The death He died—He died for you. The sins that condemned Him that day were your sins. And this awful assignment as your sin-bearing substitute—Jesus undertook it willingly and freely for your sake. And the acceptance of this assignment—His first steps to save you—were taken on the muddy banks of the Jordan River. There He began to fulfill all righteousness . . . to make you righteous. That was a gift you received in your own baptism.

We rarely see the significance of events while they are happening—even here in the divine service. Here—in real time—things just don’t seem very practical or efficient. Sermons seem like such an old-fashioned way to communicate. Confessing our sins doesn’t seem like the path to holiness. The music isn’t what’s popular or trending at the top of the charts. The Holy Supper of our Lord’s body and blood doesn’t seem all that holy at the time, but meager and insignificant. But your eyes have been opened wide in baptism. Through the lenses of faith you can see things as they really are. You know that right here the gifts of heaven come to earth—that angels tend this altar and this pulpit—that Jesus Himself comes here in the flesh to give you life that lasts forever.

In this New Year, God grant us the ability to see God’s blessings as they come—as they are happening—in real time—with no worries about tomorrow and no regrets about yesterday. God grant us to see our family members as gifts from God, not just while the Christmas tree is up, but also on Monday mornings at 7:30 or whenever challenges seem to loom the largest. God grant us to see the space between these four walls as sacred space, where God is at work in real time, deserving every ounce of reverence and all the awe we can muster.

You are baptized. And that baptism is everything. It tells you who you are. It tells you whose you are. And it becomes more meaningful with every passing year. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

No Empty Manger

In Nomine Iesu
St. Luke 2:1-20
December 24, 2016
Christmas Eve

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn. What would Christmas be without the manger? Most of us wouldn’t even know what a manger is

if our Lord hadn’t been laid in one. Most of us have miniature mangers in our homes—one piece among many that gets carefully placed in the crèche every December. And inevitably there’s a baby Jesus who fits nicely into that little manger.

Here at Our Savior we have a real manger—a life-size manger—a manger from which real livestock could very possibly eat (although we’ve never actually tested it out with real livestock). Instead, we pull it out for nearly every children’s Christmas program. Many years ago, I recall, there was a bit of a dust-up regarding the manger. I was directing the program that year. And after our first rehearsal one little girl came up to me with a rather grave and grim look on her face. She reported her concern to me: “Pastor, there’s no baby in the manger. The manger is empty!”

Of course, I knew that. In my mind, there were thousands of other problems that needed addressing—costumes needed altering, lines needed memorizing, music needed practicing. I quickly offered an explanation to my concerned little girl: (Although I sounded a bit like the Grinch trying to get Cindy-Lou-Hoo to be quiet and go back to bed,) I told her that the manger was just a prop—that it was just there for “effect,” that even though she could see it was empty as she stood next to it, the people in the pews wouldn’t know the difference. So, let’s not worry about it, okay? “Pastor,” she said, “I have a doll at home and I could bring that to put in the manger.” Oh, that’s okay; you don’t have to do that. “I’ll bring my doll, Pastor, so that we can have a baby in the manger.” Well, by this point it was pretty clear to me that there was not going to not be a baby in the manger for that year’s Christmas program. And sure enough, for that year’s program, the manger was not empty, but occupied. There was a baby in the manger, and everything was right in the world.

As I look back now, that little girl was right to be concerned. An empty manger just won’t do. The fact that Jesus was once a baby like us is what Christmas is all about. The fact that God has a human body in Jesus—that Jesus was born of a woman—that Jesus wore diapers just like all of us once did—these things aren’t just insignificant details or theological trivia. This is the essence of the whole story. God in Christ was born like you—suffered like you—got hungry, sleepy and thirsty—was tempted like you in every way, but did not sin—was crucified, died and was buried, all for you. Your Savior became what you are, so that you can be what He is. This is the message of the manger; this is why we need babies in our mangers.

I regret the fact that, in my role as director of the Christmas program, I overlooked something very important. I had reduced and relegated the manger to nothing more than a prop—a prop designed to produce the intended effect—to conjure up the Christmas spirit and make a memorable Christmas program for everyone. Perhaps you’ve never directed a Christmas program; and perhaps you never will. But we all aspire to be award-winning directors. We all desire to manage and script how life plays out for us. We often see ourselves as both the star of the show and the director. And in our sinful quest for control over our supporting cast members, we are fond of using Jesus as our favorite prop.

Jesus becomes a prop in our lives when we use Him to achieve a desired effect. When we use our faith in Christ to make ourselves look good in front of others. When we portray ourselves as good and respectable and religious so that others will look up to us and admire us and say good things about us—then Jesus is nothing more than a shiny prop that helps us get what we want. When we piously promise other people, “I will pray for you,” but never actually get around to praying for them, we have used our faith as a prop—to make ourselves look good. Or when we use our faith as an excuse to sin—when we say, “Since I know that God will forgive me anyway, there’s no harm in crossing the line occasionally,” then too our faith in Jesus becomes just a prop to help us stage and direct our lives according to our own whims and desires. The always-quotable Shakespeare once wrote that “all the world’s a stage.” But one day this world will come to a halt for each of us. At that moment each of us will stand before the Christ and there will be no stage, no applause, no supporting cast, no props, no costuming, no make-up, and no script—just you and your sin and Jesus.

The only hope that you will have is the baby in the manger—who became the man on the cross. In the same way that we need the baby in the manger, we need the Christ on the cross. For the Christ on the cross—like the baby in the manger—isn’t just an insignificant detail or theological trivia—it is the essence of the story. This is why the Christ was born in Bethlehem—to save us from our sins—to pay for those sins with the offering of His own life. Both the manger and the cross are reminders of reality—the reality of our sin and the reality of God’s great love for sinners.

We spend so much time trying to direct and control and stage and script and pretend. But tonight, on Christmas Eve, reality breaks in—truth breaks in—God breaks in and He rearranges everything according to His grand and glorious script: Fear not: for behold I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And in this show, written and directed by God, sinners are born again, death is destroyed, and everyone lives (by faith) joyfully ever after.

But in the Lord’s production, there are no props. You are not a prop or a minor player or a tiny pawn in God’s great plan. You are the object of His love and affection. The baby in the manger and the Christ of the cross are the essence of God’s great plan for you—to save you, and to have you as the apple of His eye, and to give your life eternal significance. You don’t have to be an actor when you come here to church. You don’t have to pretend to be something you are not. For Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners. He came to seek and save the lost and the least and the lowly. His power is made perfect in your weakness. He meets you where you are—bringing you forgiveness for your sins and resurrection life.

Jesus is no longer in the manger; although that was critically important for your salvation. Jesus is no longer on the cross; although that was critically important for your salvation. And we don’t hesitate to portray Him in the manger or on the cross—because the Word became flesh and dwelt among us. Here in the church is where the Christ is to be found. Here in the church where His promises are proclaimed—this is where the Savior’s arms are opened wide to receive you. Here in His church He claims sinners as His own family in the splash of baptism. Here the Christ of Christmas feeds us with the bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood. Here Christ comes whenever two or three gather in His name.

The manger and the cross tell the whole story tonight. They tell your story on this Christmas Eve—that you are loved and forgiven—that you are not alone. God has a plan for you. The scenes that come and go in your life are not random or haphazard. They are not meaningless. Your days and your deeds have been lovingly sketched and scripted and blocked-out by the God who knit you together in your mother’s womb. When you leave here tonight it won’t be to go home and direct the world’s most perfect Christmas. No, when you leave here you step onto God’s stage, where there are no minor parts, no bit players—but sinners redeemed by Christ the crucified—men and women who are the light of the world. So ponder that in your heart this Christmas. Glorify and praise God for all that you have seen and heard. The baby in the manger is the Christ on the cross—a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.

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

A Bad News Christmas

In Nomine Iesu
St. Matthew 1:18-25
December 18, 2016
Advent 4A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Pregnancy, as we know it, is usually greeted as good news. Those nine months are precious times—usually filled with

excitement, anticipation, and even a few baby showers. Back in the day, baby showers were purely feminine affairs. Men were not invited and were thankful not to be. The delicate desserts, the dainty decorations, the silly games—it’s not the kind of afternoon that most men aspire to. Let the dad assemble the crib or rip out the carpeting in the new nursery and he’ll be happy with that. Because most pregnancies are meant to be happy occasions in life.

But not every pregnancy is a happy occasion in life—or so it seems. Not every child conceived seems like good news, at first. Your teenage son or daughter manages to master the skill of making a baby—even though they haven’t managed to acquire a high school diploma quite yet, and marriage is out of the question. When children have children—when abortion comes to be seen as an attractive option—when grandparents start to wonder if they will have to adopt their own grandchild—well, those kinds of pregnancies and those kinds of babies can be discouraging and hard to bear.

And, for those difficult and troubling pregnancies, we have today’s gospel reading from Saint Matthew. Thank God for Matthew and his Christmas account which addresses the darker side of Christmas. In his Christmas account there’s certainly no baby shower, John doesn’t leap in his mother’s womb, and expectant mothers don’t break out in song. Instead, what Matthew sets before us is a difficult situation. Joseph and Mary are engaged. Joseph has been good; he hasn’t slept with Mary. He’s done his part. But, oh, the darkness. Mary’s pregnant. What now? You better believe that Joseph suffered through many sleepless nights of heartache and disappointment. Perhaps Mary wasn’t who he thought she was. The ideal family he hoped for might never be. The best he could do was send her off to live with a relative and cancel the wedding.

Joseph seems like a man who wanted to do the right thing. We don’t know how he and Mary became engaged. It was probably arranged by the respective families. We don’t know whether they were “in love” or not, but that’s a modern concept. People didn’t marry on the basis of romantic love in those days. Matthew tells us that Joseph was “a just man.” But he was also a reasonable and sane man. He knew that virgins don’t get pregnant. Joseph was a builder from Nazareth, a businessman who operated in a world of income and expenses, blueprints and tools, algebra and geometry. He wasn’t some superstitious country-bumpkin. He knew that virgins don’t conceive, no matter how religious-sounding their explanation might be.

Into Joseph’s despair and darkness the Word of God gets delivered by an angel of the Lord. It would take the Word of the Lord for Joseph to overrule his reason and his senses, not to mention his common sense: “Joseph, son of David, do not fear to take Mary as your wife, for that which is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.”

Yes, that’s why Jesus came—to save His people from their sins. Those sins threaten to separate us from God eternally. Those sins—our sins—are what dims this world into perpetual darkness. Sometimes our sins produce self-inflicted wounds. Sometimes those around us get sucked in. Sometimes innocent people suffer for what we’ve done or what we’ve failed to do. This ugliness of sin—this depressing darkness—is why Jesus came. He came to save us from our sin and its deadly wages. Jesus didn’t come to shine a twinkling star on a moonlit night, or to lead us in joyful song, or to be a good excuse to roast chestnuts on an open fire. He came to people in mourning—to people in dark and difficult situations—to sinners—to you—to save you from your sins. See how much God loves you!

Matthew makes it clear that the Lord’s plan to save you had been around for a long time. There was a prophecy buried deep under about 700 years of Israelite dust—the prophecy of Immanuel. As you heard in today’s OT reading, that prophecy was first spoken to faithless King Ahaz. And even though Ahaz didn’t want a sign from the Lord, the Lord gave him one anyway: “Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call his name Immanuel (which means, God with us).” To make a long story short, Ahaz rejected the sign offered by the Lord. Ahaz didn’t trust the Word of the Lord. And Ahaz went down to swift destruction.

That prophecy of Immanuel laid dormant for centuries, like a forgotten seed planted in the soil. But when God speaks—when God makes a promise—He never forgets it. And one marvelous day a smiling angel appeared to a young virgin named Mary, who was betrothed to Joseph. And the angel said, “Guess what, Mary? You’re it. The Lord is with you. Immanuel!” God is with us. The Word has become flesh in the womb of a virgin. His name shall be Jesus. He will save his people from their sins.

Mary believed it; and Joseph believed it too. That’s the real Christmas miracle! Joseph believed; and Joseph acted according to what he believed. As you may know, there isn’t a single syllable from Joseph’s mouth recorded in the Bible. Joseph is silent in the Scriptures. Mary sings her Magnificat, but Joseph has no song. He shows his faith by what he does. His actions speak louder than words. “He did as the angel of the Lord commanded him.” He took this pregnant teenager home as his wife. He gave the child the name Jesus, as directed by the angel. He raised that child as his very own. Joseph is a picture of faith in action. When God’s Word and his own “common sense” didn’t agree, Joseph trusted the Word. He believed it. He did what it says.

You also have the Word of the Lord delivered to you—applied to your life—by a messenger sent from God. I’m no angel; and this is no dream. But I am a messenger sent by God to you. Today the Word of God comes to you, calling you to do what Joseph did—to live in the obedience of faith—to live in the light of your baptism—to say “no” to all sin and ungodliness. In Matthew’s version of Christmas, things are messy and complicated because of sin. So will your Christmas be this year—messy, complicated, corrupted by your sin and its wages.

But the Word of the Lord is at work in you. That Word intrudes, it inconveniences, it rearranges things, it forgives sin. A virgin bears a Son. That Son, Jesus, dies and rises from the dead, bearing your sins away. With God—and with His Word—nothing is impossible. Sinners are forgiven. And the dying depart this life in peace to be with Christ—awaiting the resurrection of the body. Nothing is impossible with God.

Jesus comes. He is “Immanuel,” God with us. He comes in the water of your baptism. He comes in the bread and wine of His holy supper. He comes to save you from your sin. Mary actually was a Virgin. But our Lord also comes for those who aren’t—those who have made sinful and selfish choices. That story isn’t so pretty; nor does it inspire singing or decorations. But this is the Christmas Saint Matthew gives us. This is the Christ who comes even when pregnancy is not good news. This is the Christ who comes into a world where Herod and his allies still slaughter little babies. The Christ was born to die—precisely for the likes of us. He didn’t come so that people would put up fake, plastic trees, but He did come to hang upon a tree that was stained with His own sweat and His own blood. He came to bring genuine good news into a bad news world.

Saint Luke—he gives us the Christmas we want—where Mary sings for joy and where angels fill the sky and where shepherds marvel at the manger. We love it and we’ll hear about it this afternoon from the children. But Saint Matthew—he gives us the Christmas we need. And even in our darkest days, we can still say, “Thank you” and “Alleluia.” Amen.

Beasts Made Beautiful

In Nomine Iesu
Isaiah 11:1-10
December 4, 2016
Advent 2A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

In the earliest years of my childhood there were two television programs that I watched regularly. One, of course, was Sesame Street. The other was Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom. These two programs were very different. One program featured creatures like Big Bird and Snuffolufogas learning to live together peacefully on the streets of an urban neighborhood. Whereas Wild Kingdom featured creatures like leopards and lions hungrily feasting on the bloody entrails of some unlucky zebra or gazelle, somewhere in the African Serengeti. The contrast between these two shows couldn’t have been starker.

What I didn’t realize at the time was that Marlin Perkins was actually teaching me more about the real world than Grover and Cookie Monster ever could. Sesame Street never mentioned anything about sin. For that matter, Marlin Perkins never said the word either. But every time I saw a wolf pack ripping some little bunny to shreds—every time I saw the crimson face of a lion snacking on the innards of a baby water buffalo—every time I saw a cobra sink its fangs into some cute, fuzzy mammal and then swallow the mammal whole—what I was seeing was the unmistakable evidence of the fall into sin.

Originally, in the beginning, before the fall into sin, these beasts were harmless and posed no threat whatsoever to Adam and Eve. Even the biggest and fiercest creatures were ruled and dominated by our first parents in Paradise. Predator and prey were terms you would not find in the dictionary of the Garden of Eden. But since that fateful day in Genesis chapter three, wolves, bears and lions are largely untamed. They are wild—outside of our control and dominion. If you get attacked by a bear, it’s nothing personal. Don’t be offended. Bears and other predators live by instinct, not by conscience. They prey on the weak. They fight to survive. It’s what they do. Back them into a corner or, say, threaten their offspring, and prepare to have claws and jaws aimed at your throat. The theme of this fallen creation is not “live and let live,” but rather, “kill to live.”

Sadly, the laws of the jungle don’t only apply to the predators and prey of the planet, but also to the people of the planet. For what the wolf does to the lamb and what the lion does to the fattened calf is also what we do to those around us. We don’t do it with fangs and claws, mind you, but with our words and actions. It really doesn’t take much provoking for us to rip apart the lives of others. We regularly sink our fangs into those who get in our way and inconvenience us. We chomp down on the bones of those who dare to cross our paths. For what the cat does to the mouse is what we do to those around us on a regular basis—friends, family members, innocent bystanders, it matters not. As we view the world through the lenses of our sinful nature, it’s clear: I’m always right, and everybody else is always in the wrong place at the wrong time, fully deserving all the puncture wounds we can inflict with our words and deeds.

The painful truth is that we’re much worse than the animals. Isaiah makes that clear in chapter one where he writes, “The ox knows his master, the donkey his owner’s manger, but Israel does not know, my people do not understand” (v.3). The ox and ass have things figured out. The wild animals are wise compared to us. To describe our behavior as beastly is actually an insult to the beasts! At least nature’s carnivores kill for their own survival. In the human world, unborn babies can be brutally murdered for nearly any reason at nearly any time of development. In the human world, we rip apart reputations just to make ourselves look good by comparison. In the human world, we bear our fangs purely for reasons of revenge and retribution. The “human” world is actually much less “humane” than the wild kingdom. Inside each of us is a wild, beastly, sinful creature. It cannot be domesticated, placated, or tamed. It must be killed.

This is what Advent is all about—killing the beast within. This is what John the Baptist meant when he preached repentance, calling the scribes and Pharisees a brood of vipers when they came after him with their fangs in full view. Advent is about Jesus—about the Son of God coming right into this hellish God-forsaking zoo of a world—stepping right into the lions’ den—right into this wild kingdom. Jesus came precisely for wild and untamed sinners like us. Jesus came to seek and save us beasts, to give us the beauty of His own righteousness.

When Isaiah first preached about the Messiah coming into our wild, wild world, it must have seemed pretty unlikely; in fact, darn near impossible. Isaiah preached that the coming Savior would be like “a shoot from the stump of Jesse.” You remember Jesse, don’t you? Jesse, the father of King David? God had promised David that his kingdom and his throne would be established forever (2 Sam. 7:16). But right about the time Mary and Joseph were encountering all those “no vacancy” signs in Bethlehem, David’s throne had been unoccupied and gathering dust for nearly five centuries. David’s kingdom had long ago been mowed down by the Babylonian chain saw wielded by Nebuchadnezzar; and only a dead stump remained. But from the remains of that dead stump sprouted David’s greater Son—David’s greatest Son—the Son of God—the Son of Mary—our Savior.

Isaiah said that the Savior would come to judge. But He doesn’t judge by what He sees with His eyes or hears with His ears. He judges you, Isaiah says, with righteousness. And even though you are guilty, for your sake He takes the blame. For your sake, the rod of punishment leaves welts and bloody furrows on His back. The belt of righteousness around His waist, the belt of faithfulness around His loins—these He removes from Himself and lovingly wraps them around you. You through faith become what He is; as He becomes what you are. You switch places, so that all the good He has becomes yours; and all the bad you have becomes His. As Isaiah looked ahead to Good Friday, he expressed the Savior’s work like this: He was wounded for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities . . . and with His stripes we are healed.

This great exchange—this sacred substitution—transpires here in His church. Here in the church of Jesus Christ there’s always more than meets the eye. For as my eyes scan the pews this morning, I see sinful beasts—lions and tigers and bears (oh, my). Yet at the same time, I see something glorious: baptized beasts—sinners defanged and declawed by confession and absolution—souls redeemed by Christ the crucified—living together, loving together, serving and sacrificing together, witnessing as one. Here in the church, already today, the wolf dwells with the lamb, the leopard with the goat, the cow and the bear, the lion and ox, all of them hanging out together without fear of harm or destruction—led by the little child born in Bethlehem, David’s Son and David’s Lord.

Ultimately, of course, this life we share together in the church is a preview of heaven—the life of the world to come. And that heavenly life is less about harps and halos, and more about a return to Paradise—a restoration of what Adam and Eve enjoyed before they sinned and died. In paradise there will be no predators and no prey. No sin and no death. Just the good company of the Creator and His creatures, living in perfect harmony.

But between now and then, of course, you have to head back out into that wild kingdom we call planet earth. It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there. But as you head out, remember this: the Lord Jesus has chosen you (of all creatures) to be His own, to bless you with His blood-bought forgiveness and His resurrection life. He has washed you and welcomed you into His holy family. He has fed you and clothed you with the beauty of His own righteousness. You are a beast made beautiful by the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Witness with Andrew

In Nomine Iesu
St. John 1:35-42a
November 30, 2016
Midweek Advent 1

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

You’ve probably never heard a sermon centering on Saint Andrew. I’ve never preached such a sermon. His feast day—today

—falls at a time of year when our focus is firmly fixed on other things. Frankly, there’s not a lot of biblical material to work with where Andrew is concerned. When I opened my Anchor Bible Dictionary to the entry on Andrew, I found a one-page article; and the first sentence was this: “The NT shows little interest in Andrew.” That sounded a bit harsh. But the article went on to explain that while Andrew is mentioned a dozen times in the NT, most of those times he’s simply listed along with the other apostles. He speaks two sentences. One of them you just heard: “We have found the Messiah.” The other line comes in John 6 where Andrew mentions how five barley loaves and two fish won’t be nearly enough to feed a crowd of thousands. It’s true—the NT shows little interest in Andrew.

By contrast, the NT is very, very interested in Andrew’s brother, Peter. Peter’s escapades are splashed across page after page—not to mention First and Second Peter, the two epistles written by Peter. It was Andrew’s impetuous brother, Peter, who walked on water at the invitation of Jesus. It was Peter who confessed that Jesus was the Christ, the Son of the Living God. It was Peter who beheld Jesus in the glory of His transfiguration and then offered to set up tents for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah. It was Peter who cut off the ear of the High Priest’s servant, Peter who denied Jesus three times, Peter to whom Jesus said, “Feed my sheep,” Peter who preached a Pentecost sermon after which three thousand were baptized and added to the church of Jesus Christ. Andrew, it would seem, pales in comparison to his brother, Peter.

Or so it seems, unless you take seriously our text tonight. For there we learn that Andrew had been one of John the Baptist’s disciples, along with some unnamed, anonymous guy. And when these two saw John the Baptist point his prophetic finger at Jesus and declare, “Behold, the Lamb of God,” Andrew and the other guy followed Jesus. Andrew and the other guy spent a day with Jesus. And at the end of that day Andrew tracked down his brother, Peter, and said to him, “We have found the Messiah.” And immediately Andrew brought his brother to Jesus. Andrew was the first of Jesus’ disciples. Andrew was the first missionary—the first person to bear witness to Jesus as he brought along his brother to see and hear the Savior.

What if he hadn’t? What if Andrew had never gone to Peter and said, “We have found the Messiah?” What if Andrew had never brought brother Peter into the presence of Jesus? Perhaps Peter would never have been an apostle. It’s speculation, of course, but if Andrew had kept his brother in the dark concerning the Light of the World, there would have been no Peter walking on water, no Peter on whose rock solid confession of Christ the church would be built, no Peter proclaiming Jesus as the crucified and risen Messiah on the Day of Pentecost. Without the witness of Andrew, the New Testament would be a very different document.

Will you witness with Andrew? Remember how there was another anonymous, unnamed disciple together with Andrew? There’s lots of speculation about who that other guy was—lots of interesting theories. But I, personally, like to think that that unnamed partner of Andrew is unnamed for a reason—that the Holy Spirit wants you to see yourself as a partner of Andrew—a partner in discipleship, and a partner in bearing witness to Jesus, the Messiah.

When Andrew looked Peter in the eye and said, “We have found the Messiah,” he had no idea of the fruit that those words would bear. When Andrew ushered Peter into the presence of Jesus, there’s no way he could have fathomed how that simple act of witness would impact the history of the world and the church. But then again, that’s how it is every time you bear witness to Jesus—every time you speak of the hope that you have in Jesus—every time that you invite someone to come with you here into the Savior’s presence. You never know what the results might be. The results aren’t something you can control. The results of your witness depend primarily upon the work of the Holy Spirit; and not upon you.

Will you witness with Andrew? Most of us would object that we’re not knowledgeable enough about Jesus to bear witness about Him to others. But you know a lot more than Andrew did! What did Andrew know about Jesus? He heard John call Him the Lamb of God, and Andrew had spent less than 24 hours with Jesus. Andrew hadn’t seen even one miracle performed by Jesus. Andrew’s concept of “Messiah” probably had more to do with political victory than it did with suffering, shame, and crucifixion for the sins of the world. Witnessing doesn’t depend on having an answer for every question or having a PhD in theology. Andrew himself likely had more questions than answers; but that didn’t stop him from telling his brother, “We have found the Messiah,” and then bringing his brother to that Messiah.

Will you witness with Andrew? If so, to whom will you witness? Thank about that. Andrew went to a family member—a brother he knew better than anyone. Who do you know and love that has distanced themselves from Jesus and His church? The odds are that you have no shortage of family and friends who are not receiving what Jesus wants to give them. Far better to aim your witness at those you know than to go out ringing random doorbells. You probably wouldn’t say what Andrew said, “We have found the Messiah.” But you might say that Jesus has found you, and loved you, and made all the difference in your life—that He has given your life meaning, direction, hope, comfort, and eternal significance . . . or whatever seems right to you.

And then you bring them to Jesus—you invite them to come here with you. By my count there are something like 10 services happening here between now and January 1st. Invite someone to the children’s Christmas program. Invite someone to Evening Prayer. Because, when you witness with Andrew, the results don’t depend on you. What are you afraid of? What’s stopping you? What do you have to lose? Whose life might you change—forever—with a simple invitation?

You have found the Messiah, the Lamb of God. Or, more accurately, He has found you and forgiven you—named you and claimed you in the cleansing splash of your baptism. He took on our human flesh and was born of the Virgin Mary. By His death on the cross all of our sin has been answered for. And by His resurrection from the dead we know that our present sufferings don’t even begin to compare with the glory that will be revealed in us. Sharing the hope that you have—witnessing with Andrew—you don’t know the results and you won’t know the results . . . not until you stand with all the redeemed around the throne of the Lamb—together with Peter and Andrew and all the other saints like you—valuable, precious, died-for, and loved. Amen.