We Wish to See Jesus

In Nomine Iesu
St. John 12:20-43
April 9, 2017
Palm Sunday (Confirmation)

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus,
And especially those of you confirmed in the faith this morning: Elizabeth, Justin, Benjamin, Leah, Keagan, and Maren~

Sir, we wish to see Jesus. No sooner had Jesus dismounted His donkey—no sooner were the

palm branches being picked up and the shouts of “hosanna” dying down—than a group of Greeks came to Philip with a request: Sir, we wish to see Jesus. We aren’t told exactly why these Greeks wanted to see Jesus. Like everyone else who squeezed into Jerusalem for the Passover feast that year, they had probably heard about how Jesus had raised Lazarus from the dead just days earlier. And since these Greeks had come to town for the Passover, it’s reasonable to assume that they knew what the Old Testament had to say. They knew that the Messiah was coming; and perhaps they had dared to believe that this Jesus was the King they had been waiting for.

Whatever their motivation, their request was right on: Sir, we wish to see Jesus. That’s what we want, too, every time we come here to the Divine Service. We, also, wish to see Jesus—to experience the Savior’s mercy and love, to cast our cares on Him and feel the burden of our sin taken away—as far as the east is from the west. I once preached from a pulpit where those words were inscribed so that the preacher would see them every time he preached: Sir, we wish to see Jesus—a reminder to the preacher to give his hearers what they needed, namely, Jesus. That’s also why six young people are being confirmed today—because they, too, wish to see Jesus, even as they are already seen and loved by Him. We all wish to see Jesus.

Jesus’ response, at first, must have caused their hearts to swell with excitement: The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. That’s exactly what they wanted to hear! The palm branches, the hosannas—this was the real Jesus, the royal Jesus. The Romans were on the way out and the kingdom of God was on the way in, with blaze of heavenly glory.

But as Jesus kept talking about “glory,” it quickly became apparent that “glory” doesn’t mean what we think it means. He talks about a seed falling into the earth and dying. He talks about losing His life. He talks about being “lifted up from the earth” and drawing all people to Himself. Of course, He said all this to show by what kind of death he was going to die. Jesus describes His impending crucifixion as His hour of glory. It’s as if Jesus was telling His Greek admirers—and all of us who wish to see Him—that you can’t see Jesus or fully know Jesus apart from His crucifixion cross. That cross is why the Father sent His Son into our flesh. He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.

If you want to see Jesus and know Him fully, then see His suffering and death in all of its glory. Those two words, death and glory, don’t ordinarily go together in our way of thinking. For us, glory means basking in the spotlight, fame and fortune. Glory is winning, not losing—and certainly not dying. But the glory of Jesus is centered at the cross. The glory of Jesus doesn’t shine; it bleeds. It bleeds for you and for your salvation.

But that kind of glory—bleeding glory, crucifixion glory—it just doesn’t seem very glorious to us; and that’s a big problem. Sin has warped our view of things so severely that important things—things divine—holy things—well, they don’t seem divine or holy to us. The holy cross doesn’t always seem holy to us. We like decorative crosses, precious moments crosses, pretty jewelry crosses made of gold and silver. But big crosses with bloody corpses we’re not so fond of.

But when it comes to the cross of Jesus, we can actually learn a few things from the enemies of the cross—enemies of the Christ and His church. I read an article in National Review last week about the Christian communities in northern Iraq. Christianity has existed in Iraq since apostolic times—long before it existed here. But three years ago, as ISIS moved in, these Christians had to flee for their lives with only the clothes on their backs. But the Islamic State has been in retreat as of late, and now a few brave Christians are returning home to sift through the rubble and ashes. In the town of Karemlash, as the author surveyed the blackened walls of a firebombed church, he made this observation: “Perhaps the most powerful symbol I came across in Karemlash was the defaced Cross. Everywhere, in all the churches and monasteries I visited, the Cross was defaced, scratched out, broken, or pierced with bullet holes. ISIS had spray-painted the message ‘the Cross will be broken’ on the walls of the rectory, and the pastor’s office door was booby-trapped, to kill him when he returned.”

What triggered the wrath and rage of the Islamists more than anything? The cross of Jesus—the tool of torture on which Jesus was lifted up for the sins of the whole world. That’s the lynchpin of the Christian faith. Everything hinges on what you believe and confess about Christ the crucified. Who do you say He is? What happened on the cross is what divides humanity. It’s either a stumbling block which causes men to fall, or it is the glorious source of your salvation. The cross divides, but at the same time, it’s the only thing that can truly unite us—with one another and with the God who loves us.

It’s ultimately the cross of Christ that distinguishes Christianity from every other religion. Mohammed had a few nice things to say about Jesus, but he denied the cross. Islam holds that Jesus never made it to the cross, that God sent in a last-minute substitute—a substitute for THE Substitute. Or consider the Latter Day Saints. They talk about Jesus. They have their temples and their meeting houses, but you won’t find a cross there to save your soul—let alone a Christ suffering upon it.

We Christians would do well to take note. Listen to Jesus and learn that He comes to die a death that is glorious—that His death is, at the same time, horrific yet holy, awful yet awesome, gory yet glorious. What appears to the world as just another tortured criminal at the killing grounds of Calvary is, in fact, the Son of God, lifted up from the earth, drawing you to Himself, paying the penalty of your sin. That moment is the defining moment in all of history, in which the Creator of all is sacrificed for all His creatures, to become their Redeemer. This is the bleeding glory of Jesus. And it is all for you.

And what about you—you the baptized—you who received the sign of the holy cross both upon your forehead and heart to mark you as one redeemed by Christ the crucified? How will you spend your days living as those marked by the holy cross? Jesus gives us a metaphor to live by: “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. Whoever loves his life loses it, and whoever hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life.” On the one hand, Jesus Himself is that grain of wheat He was describing. Try to preserve it—or simply admire it—and you get nothing. But bury it in the ground and it rises to bear much fruit. That’s what was in store for Jesus during the days that followed Palm Sunday. He went the way of death and the grave like a seed buried in the ground. He lost His life only to take it up again three days later. And in His dying and rising Jesus has borne much fruit—your eternal salvation.

As it is for Jesus, so it is for all of us who follow Him in faith. We, too, are nothing more than grains of wheat—seeds in the Savior’s hands. You are seeds for Jesus. Of course, that doesn’t sound very “glorious.” Confirmation Sunday is really a seed—planting celebration. When our six confirmands were baptized all those years ago, they were planted—planted in the fertile soil of God’s grace and mercy. “For you died,” St. Paul told the Colossians about their baptism, “and your life is now hidden with Christ in God.” In baptism, you died. You were planted like a seed. To be a seed planted in the ground is to give up everything. You have no control, no power. You don’t call the shots. You’re like Lazarus who was stone-cold dead until Jesus came along and spoke His life-giving word. The fruit you bear in this life will only come as you (like Lazarus) hear the Savior’s voice—as you come here to “see Jesus” and hear His Word, and be fed with His precious body and blood.

To those being confirmed today, remember that you are a seed. Just a seed. It’s not about you. A seed is nothing; but Jesus is everything. Your job as a seed is to be planted and to receive the growth and life of Jesus. But we all struggle with that. We would rather be in control, calling the shots, pretending to be god in the place of God. When I was confirmed, Jesus to me was the one who helped me get good grades, be a good athlete, be popular, happy and successful. Even when we’re older and wiser, we’re still tempted to see Jesus as one whose job it is to make sure my life is the good life. If that’s your Jesus; you’ve got the wrong Jesus. He wasn’t lifted up on the cross to make your life the good life, but to give you eternal life—and to make you “good” with His own holiness and righteousness.

Why do the enemies of Christ hate the cross so much? It shows just how bad, how dire, our situation really is. It shows our sin and just how much we need a Savior. The first thing the ISIS warriors tear down and smear is the picture of Christ crucified. They know that’s where the ultimate war is waged. But you—you know that cross is where the war for your salvation was waged . . . and won by Jesus. He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died and was buried. He descended into hell to proclaim His triumph over Satan and was raised on the third day never to die again. In Him you have been baptized. In Him you live forever.

Indeed, it’s true. We wish to see Jesus. And see Him we shall—on the last day, at the last trumpet, in the twinkling of an eye, with glorious, resurrected bodies. And at the name of Jesus every knee shall bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. Amen.

The Seventh Sign

In Nomine Iesu
St. John 11:1-45
April 2, 2017
Lent 5A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

In the Gospel according to St. John, Jesus performs seven “signs,” seven miracles. The very first of these signs took place at a wedding at Cana in Galilee. You remember it. The wine ran out and Jesus saved the day by turning ordinary water into the finest of wines. The first sign took place at a wedding; but the last sign—the seventh sign—took place at a funeral in a cemetery. There Jesus raised his friend,

Lazarus, from the dead to show that He is the resurrection and the life.

Jesus loved Lazarus and his sisters, Mary and Martha. Those siblings were friends of Jesus. Remember when they had welcomed Jesus into their home—how Martha got overwhelmed in the kitchen, while Mary just sat at the Savior’s feet listening? It was only natural, then, that when Lazarus got seriously ill, the sisters sent an urgent message to Jesus: “Lord, he whom you love is ill.” They hoped, and perhaps expected, that Jesus would come quickly. But He didn’t. In fact, there was little to no urgency on the part of Jesus. He seemed almost nonchalant about the whole thing and lingered a few days longer before going to visit his friends.

The delay makes almost no sense to our ears. If we get notified that someone we love is sick and dying, we make plans to visit. We drop everything. We rearrange our lives so that we can say our goodbyes and share some good memories. It’s the decent, respectful thing to do. Jesus, of course, could have visited and done a lot more than share good memories with his friends. He could have healed Lazarus—could have saved his life—could have rushed right over to that house He knew so well and spared them days of tears and grief. But He didn’t. Jesus intentionally waited and did nothing. He told His disciples that the illness “does not lead to death.” Even when Jesus knew that Lazarus was dead, He seemed to downplay the whole thing, saying, “He’s fallen asleep; and I’m going to awaken him.”

That’s how it is with Jesus. Death is merely a sleep from which He awakens us. To our eyes—to our reason and senses—death is the end, the last word, the final exit. It’s over, curtains, kicked the bucket, pushing up daisies, dead and gone. Jesus let his best friend die. And He goes so far as to say, “I’m glad—glad I wasn’t there—so that you may believe.”

Mary and Martha, however, were not glad that Jesus wasn’t there. In fact, they were angry. When Jesus finally arrives four days later, the sisters aren’t terribly happy with Jesus. Martha ran down the road to meet Him: “If you’d been here—if you’d come when we called you—my brother would not have died.” You can hear the anguish in those words. Jesus had healed so many people—strangers, children, foreigners, Samaritans. Why wouldn’t He take the time to heal His best friend? Why didn’t He do anything?

That’s our question too. We want an activist, interventionist Jesus—a superhero Jesus—who drops whatever He’s doing to fly to our assistance. Jesus on demand. What we get instead is the Jesus who delays—who does nothing—who even makes light of our death as if it were nothing more than a Sunday afternoon nap. We get understandably upset when the people we depend on don’t return our emergency calls. Double the upset when it’s our Savior; and triple it when He’s supposed to be our friend—who loves us.

Despite Martha’s frustration and grief, there’s still a glimmer of faith there. Martha says, “Even now I know that whatever you ask from God, God will give you.” At this point, for Martha, Jesus is just someone who has a special “in” with God. God listens to Jesus. Jesus can channel and apply the power of God in special situations. But Jesus is so much than that. And He wants Martha to know and believe that. “Your brother will rise again,” He says. “I know that he will rise again on the last day,” she says, probably reciting what she had learned back in Sabbath School. But Jesus wants her to see Him as the object of all her faith and hope. And so He tells her plainly: I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live.

Next, comes the question: Do you believe this? Does Martha believe that this Jesus, with whom she is angry to the point of tears, is the source of the resurrection and the life—that He holds the keys to the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting? Martha certainly believes something: “Lord, I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who is coming into the world.” But does she realize that this Christ must suffer and die for the sins for the world? Does she realize that to defeat death, Jesus Himself must die? Does she realize that to bring us resurrection life, the corpse of Jesus must first be laid in the tomb, and rise again on the third day?

Jesus’ question is for you, too. Do you believe this—that Jesus is the resurrection and the life—that in Him you will never die? It’s one thing to trust that Jesus can heal your sicknesses or change your water into wine. It’s quite another to trust Jesus with your death. Jesus could have rushed right over to heal Lazarus. He could have spared Mary and Martha their grief—could have spared Lazarus the agony of dying. He could have saved the day. But Jesus wants to give you more. He wants you to see Him as the one—the only one—who can save you from death. So what does He do? He allows his friend Lazarus to die of his illness. He doesn’t fly to the rescue in your life every time you get a new diagnoses or suffer some setback. He leaves things as they are in our lives, and then He asks, “Do you trust me? Do you trust me when I hear your prayers and do nothing? Do you trust me even when I let you die?”

In this seventh sign, so strange and wonderful, Jesus shows us that His ways are not our ways, and His thoughts are higher than ours. His help and His healing will come, but not always at the time we desire or in the way we desire. Death, however, is never His desire. And in this seventh sign Jesus backs up His Word with His deeds—He practices what He preaches. Jesus weeps. Jesus goes to the tomb. Jesus commands the stone to be rolled away. Jesus prays to His Father. Jesus cries out with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” And Lazarus comes out, alive again. All it takes is a Word: Death must obey its Master. Jesus is the resurrection and the life. Trust Him and you will live in spite of dying.

Beloved in the Lord, someday what happened to dear Lazarus will happen to you. At the sound of the trumpet, in the twinkling of an eye, the Lord Jesus will call you from your grave. Dust and decomposition are not the final destiny of your flesh and blood. Jesus has destroyed death and brought life and immortality to light through the gospel. Jesus destroyed death by submitting to it Himself—on the cross, as your substitute, bearing all your sins. “Do you believe this?” Jesus wants to know.

This seventh sign—the raising of Lazarus—the greatest and grandest of Jesus’ miracles—it had other, more grave, implications. We heard 45 verses from John chapter 11 this morning; but we would have to read on into chapter 12 to hear the rest of the story. For Jesus, the raising of Lazarus essentially signed His own death warrant. His enemies, who were already jealous, would now be sufficiently enraged to plot His death. This seventh sign was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Now Jesus would be killed.

And what about Lazarus? What became of him after he was raised by Jesus? In today’s world he could have signed a book deal worth millions. He could have sat down for an interview with Barbara Walters or Bill O’Reilly. I certainly would tune-in to watch that. But all we know for sure is this: As the Pharisees plotted to kill Jesus, so also did they plot to kill Lazarus (John 12:10). And that makes perfectly good sense, in an evil sort of way. Of course, they had to kill Lazarus! He was a walking, talking, living, breathing witness whose every breath and heartbeat was a testimony to the power and glory of Jesus Christ, the resurrection and the life, the Son of God.

In this way, you aren’t so different from Lazarus. You also are a witness for Jesus. You too are a walking, talking, living breathing “sign” for the Savior. Your words and your deeds bear witness to Christ and to the truth of His teaching—the sanctity of life, the sacred gift of marriage, the creation of the world. When you were baptized, you died. And in that baptism you were also raised with Christ. You, therefore, are a little Lazarus—you died and were raised in baptism. In you, as in Lazarus, the sinful world sees Jesus. So there’s a price on your head too. You too are a target. Don’t expect smooth sailing. But rather, take up your crosses, live as witnesses, let your light shine—all for the sake of Jesus who loved you and gave Himself for you.

What’s the worst that could happen? You die? Jesus is the resurrection and the life. Learn with Lazarus that your life is in the Lord’s hands. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Eyes to See the Savior

In Nomine Iesu
John 9
March 26, 2017
Lent 4A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

There was a man blind from birth . . . and Jesus healed him. Jesus restored his sight, and that man was brought to faith in Jesus. “Lord, I believe,” he said. The healing of the blind is one of those miracles that the Messiah was supposed to be doing.

The Old Testament prophecies often declared that the blind receiving sight would be a surefire sign of the coming Messiah. And there’s probably no other miracle that Jesus performed more often, more regularly, than healing the blind. Perhaps seven times or more. But in John chapter 9 we have what is undoubtedly the longest, most detailed account of a blind man being healed.

The man had always been blind—blind from birth. And in the religious world of the first century, such a terrible disability was always believed to be the result of sin. “Who sinned,” the disciples wanted to know, “this man or his parents?” Religion for them was a matter of cause and effect. Bad things (like blindness) must happen to bad people. Sin now; pay later. Sin today; expect the worst tomorrow. Crime, and then punishment. There had to be a reason for this man’s blindness. Someone must’ve sinned big-time, right?

Even we enlightened, baptized children of God think that way sometimes. When tragedy strikes—when disability is diagnosed—when chronic pain becomes intense—when the condition has no cure—what’s the inevitable question? What did I do to deserve this? And even if that question isn’t being asked, it’s usually because we know perfectly well all that we have done to deserve the payback we’re now receiving. Either way, this attitude is one of the devil’s most effective tools. If he can lead you to self-pity or to self-justification, the end result is the same. You’re stuck seeing yourself, instead of seeing the Savior. Your eyes are on you—not on Jesus. And there’s no salvation when your sights are squarely set on the self.

Jesus quickly demolishes all our ideas about a religion of quid pro quos—of this, then that—of cause and effect. “It was not that this man sinned, or his parents,” Jesus said, “but so that the works of God might be displayed in him.” Sickness, suffering, and pain are the places where the Savior does some of His very best work. Jesus’ power is made perfect in our weakness. Do you believe that? By nature, we don’t. When tragedy strikes—when disabilities weigh heavily on our hearts—we always ask the wrong question: Why? The better question is this: Where? Where is Jesus as the darkness closes in? Where is my Savior in the midst of my suffering? That’s the question to ask. That’s the question Jesus wants to answer.


The blind man couldn’t see Jesus, of course; but Jesus “saw” him. The Savior’s eyes are always turned toward those who are lost and lowly, fearful and faithless. Jesus goes right to the blind man. And before even speaking one word to him, Jesus spits on the ground and makes a messy batch of mud. And Jesus applies this messy mud to the blind man’s eyes. It makes no sense, humanly speaking. The man can’t see and now he’s got mud in his eyes. But remember, this is Jesus-mud—Messiah mud—God-man mud. The same God who created man from mud in the beginning, He now applies a little bit of mud to fix what’s broken in this one man. Jesus then sends him off to wash in the pool of Siloam. So he went, and washed, and came back seeing.

But even while this one poor man was miraculously receiving the gift of sight and the blessing of vision, there was another group of men going blind. The Pharisees were ever more tightly shutting their eyes. They turned a blind eye to the plain evidence right in front of their faces. Dozens of people could testify to the truth that the man who had always been blind as a bat was now seeing everything with 20/20 clarity—without so much as contact lenses, lasik surgery, or a pair of cheaters from the end of the aisle at CVS. The whole episode spelled out in flashing neon letters: Jesus is the Messiah. But the Pharisees shut their eyes to all of that. What they saw—the thing that caught their eyes—was that Jesus had broken a rule. Jesus made mud on the Sabbath day—a day when no work (not even mud-making) was allowed.

These men were experts in the Law of God. They were zealous for the Law of God. And let’s be clear: The Law of God—as summarized in the Ten Commandments—is good and holy. But, the Law cannot make you good and holy. It doesn’t have that power. It has the power to instruct us, to curb our sin, to mirror our sin back to us, and to guide us. But it doesn’t have the power to make a sinner holy. It can’t make a bad tree bear good fruit. Only Jesus can do that. Only the Savior can change you and make you good and holy. Only He can make saints out of sinners by washing them and healing them, in the power of His death and resurrection. But those poor Pharisees, they couldn’t see it. Or, rather, they refused to see the wonderful good news that Christ Jesus came into the world—not to add more chapters to the rule book—but to save sinners.

Is that how you see yourself? By nature, we are just like that man born blind. We have sinned. Our parents have sinned. Their parents have sinned, all the way back to our first parents where the business of sin began. Sin is a hereditary condition. We are born spiritually blind, steeped in sin. It takes Jesus—it takes His anointing—to heal our blindness. Not an anointing with mud . . . but with blood, with the water and the word of holy baptism. In that cleansing splash Jesus gives forgiveness of sins, rescues from death and the devil, and gives eternal salvation. There in that washing the sacrificial death of God’s own Son is applied to you. His sinless and holy life, applied to you. His Sonship, yours.

The blindness that plagues us isn’t so much the lack of vision, but the lack of faith. In our blindness we are blind to God. We live most days as if He didn’t exist or matter. When things are going good, we’re more than willing to tout the smart strategies we’ve successfully employed. And when things aren’t going good, we see our sufferings as punishment. What have I done to deserve this? We don’t fear God, or love Him, or trust that His grace is sufficient—that His power is made perfect in our weakness—that He wants to display His mighty works in our lowly lives. By nature, we just don’t see it.

But something happened to you as you groped around in the darkness—Jesus reached out and grabbed you. He anointed you with the Holy Spirit in Baptism. Jesus reached out and gave you eyes to see Him, ears to hear Him, faith to receive His gifts with thanksgiving. You are just as much a “miracle” as the man healed in today’s text. The muddy fingerprints of Jesus can be found all over you. Jesus saw you and saved you. Not because you did your part. Not because you’re such a great rule-keeper. No, you were lost and Jesus found you. You were blind, but now you see. In the watery, wet Word of baptism the blind see, the deaf hear, the lame walk, the poor hear good news, the dead are raised, sinners are justified for Jesus’s sake. In the watery, wet Word of baptism you were called out of darkness into the marvelous light of Christ. In His light, you see light.

It’s an interesting fact that once the blind man went and washed off the mud and began to see, Jesus was nowhere to be found. He had never laid his fully-functioning eyes on Jesus. Only after the man gets excommunicated from the synagogue does Jesus go and seek Him out a second time. Jesus asks him, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” “And who is he, sir, that I may believe in him?” Notice he doesn’t believe yet. Seeing—even seeing Jesus—is not the same thing as believing. He can see Jesus just fine with his newly-healed eyes, but he doesn’t yet believe. So Jesus speaks, “You have seen him, and it is he who is speaking to you.” The Word is what makes faith. Faith comes by hearing. Not by seeing, not by miracles. By hearing. The Word of Christ is what creates and sustains faith. It’s why you’re here today.

Then, and only then, the man says to Jesus, “Lord, I believe.” And then, St. John records that the man “worshiped” Jesus. And what do you think that worship looked like? What does it look like when the blind are able to see that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God? Did he stand there casually praying, praising and giving thanks? No, he knelt—he knelt down low. The word for “worship” in the gospels almost always means that bodies are moving, that knees are bending, reflecting the reality of heaven—where every knee shall bow and every tongue confess (and every eye behold) that Jesus Christ is Lord. By His death He destroyed the power of death. And by His resurrection He has opened the kingdom of heaven to all believers. One day you will see it all with new and resurrected eyes, and the sight will be glorious. But for now you hear, and you believe.

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

Tempted for Us

In Nomine Iesu
Matthew 4:1-11
March 5, 2017
Lent 1A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Then Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. That’s how this morning’s holy gospel begins. But it’s important to know what had happened just prior to that. Before the wilderness, before the temptations,

before going toe-to-toe with the devil—Jesus was baptized. Jesus was still dripping wet with Jordan River water when He was ushered immediately into the wilderness. First Jesus was baptized; and then Jesus was attacked.

You—the baptized—should learn from that. Your baptism is the most important event of your earthly life. There in water and the Word you were born again. There at the font your sins were forgiven. You were rescued from death and the devil. You became an heir of everlasting life. But among all the momentous and glorious ways you were blessed and changed by your baptism, one word of warning should be added. Your baptism—and the faith it brings—serve to make you a target—a target for temptation. The devil has you in his crosshairs. His goal is not merely to get you to break a few of God’s commandments. His goal is the destruction of everything good, especially your faith in Jesus Christ. So today—the first Sunday in Lent—we would do well to listen and learn from Jesus about temptation. He was tempted in every way, just as we are, yet without sin (Heb. 4:15).

In the wilderness Jesus was alone and isolated—and hungry from a forty-day fast. He is now a prime target for the devil. The devil, like any good predator, looks to attack the solitary, isolated, weakened sheep. He found a way to corner Eve in the garden. He seeks to isolate every baptized believer—at home, alone, away from other Christians, away from the church, separated from the Word of God and the Holy Supper.

This is why Luther never counseled troubled Christians to seek solitude. Solitude and silence were viewed as great spiritual achievements in Luther’s day—especially in convents and monasteries. But solitude was not a spiritual solution for Luther. He knew from his own experience how the devil seeks out the believer in isolation from other believers. Luther’s deepest doubts and anxieties swirled around him when he was alone and separated from others. That’s why his counsel was always to seek out the company of other lively Christians—to tell few jokes over a stein of good beer. Gemütlichkeit and fellowship are good for the soul and helpful for battling temptation.

So it is that the devil begins his assault against Jesus while the Lord is alone and weak and deliriously hungry. Not surprisingly, first temptation concerns the appetite. If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread. There were likely lots of stones there in the Judean wilderness. Turning them all into bread might have been like a trip to Breadsmiths on Silver Spring.

When it comes to hunger, there’s some little spot inside our brains that controls all our appetites. There’s a pleasure center deep within the gray matter that causes us to crave. Unfortunately, that pleasure center, like the rest of us, is corrupted by sin. It can turn our appetites—life’s little pleasures—into big addictions and idolatries. A trip to the casino for fun turns into an insatiable desire to wager larger and larger sums of money for the thrilling chance of winning more. A quick click through a few porn sites becomes a necessity—a gateway into darkness—an escapade into adultery—a despising of God’s gift of marriage. There’s the happy buzz of alcohol—the drug-induced high that leaves us feeling low and always needing more. Appetites become idols. They can dominate us. They can rule over us. They can ruin us. Yet how we hate to deny our appetites. Fasting? That’s a foreign concept for most of us.

Not so with Jesus. The Son of Man came not to be served—not to serve Himself—not to tend to His own appetite—but to serve you and give His life as a ransom for many. He came to deny Himself and take up His cross for every addicted, idolatrous sinner. Jesus subjects Himself to virtual starvation in the wilderness. But by His hunger, you are filled. As your sacred substitute, Jesus speaks the Word in your defense: Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God. Jesus turns back temptation number one. One small step for the God-man; one giant leap for mankind.

Temptation number two quickly followed: If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down. And then, just to sweeten the deal, the devil quotes from the Bible. He knows the Bible better than any of us. He quotes a carefully selected snippet from Psalm 91: He will command his angels concerning you . . . they will bear you up, lest you strike your foot against a stone. The devil is tempting Jesus to test God—to test His Word and promises. Is God true to His promises? Will God really do what He says? Let’s put Him to the test and find out. So take a flying leap, Jesus, and let’s see if the angels catch you!

But God’s Word can’t be tested and proved. That’s not the way of faith. God gives His Word and His promises; and all we can do is believe them. You can’t prove that God created the heavens and the earth in six days; you can only believe it. You can’t prove that you are a child of God; you can only believe it through the power of your baptism. You can’t prove the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting. You can only believe it. You must simply take God at His Word. Don’t test it. Don’t twist it. Trust it. You shall not put the Lord your God to the test, says Jesus. One small step for the God-man; one giant leap for mankind.

But the devil doesn’t surrender. He takes Jesus to a mountaintop to show Him all the kingdoms of this world and their glory. This is the big prize—the big enchilada. This is what we all aspire to: power, riches, and glory. It can all be yours, Jesus. Never mind that messy business of the cross. You can have it all now—already today. Just worship me. It’s the temptation of idolatry. As bread is to the empty stomach, so are wealth and power to the empty soul. They promise everything: long life, peace, happiness, contentment, comfort. We’re willing to sacrifice most anything for power, wealth, or glory. Not only our lives, but the lives of others too. Even the unborn are sacrificed to wealth, power, and convenience. We will gladly bow down and worship whoever promises us the power and glory that we crave. But how reluctant we are to bend our knees and bow down to worship the one Man who willingly emptied Himself and made Himself nothing, so that He might give you everything.

There would be only one route by which Jesus would take His rightful place on the throne as king of kings and Lord of Lords. There would be only one very narrow way by which Jesus would indeed rule over all the kingdoms of this world. It would happen only as He would hang as a corpse on a cross—cursed and forsaken by God the Father—bearing the filth of your sin. Only by dying and rising would Jesus come to be in charge and in control, so that at the name of Jesus every knee will bow—in heaven, on earth, and under the earth—and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of God the Father.

Jesus refuses the devil’s deal for your sake. His worship is pure; and His purity is yours through faith. He refuses to fall down and worship anyone other than His Father. He refuses to be “superman,” but instead becomes the Man of Sorrows—the broken, bleeding, dying man who rules heaven and earth by crucifixion and resurrection. And all of it for you and for your salvation. One small step for the God-man; one giant leap for mankind.

As bone of our bone and flesh of our flesh, Jesus conquered the devil. And in Jesus—through faith in Jesus—you conquer too. When it comes to the temptation of Jesus, you’re not a fan in the stands cheering as Jesus pounds the opposition. No, you, the baptized, you are in Christ. In Jesus, we ALL go toe-to-toe with the heavyweight champion of hell. When Jesus steps into the ring with the tempter in front of Him, you step in with Jesus. What you cannot do, Christ has done for you. Just as by Adam’s sin we all became dying sinners; so in the perfect obedience of the Second Adam you have become a holy and righteous child of God. Satan will not have the last word where you are concerned. And don’t you be tempted to think otherwise.

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

Something More Sure

In Nomine Iesu
2 Peter 1:16-21
February 26, 2017
Transfiguration-A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Do you have witnesses? Did anybody else see what you saw? Is there someone who can corroborate the details of what transpired? Can they provide an accurate description? If you’ve ever witnessed something extraordinary—something paranormal or supernatural or otherwise inexplicable—it really helps to have someone standing right next to you, seeing what you see and hearing what you hear, ready to verify and testify and corroborate every last detail.

So it was that when Jesus ascended to the top of a very high mountain, He didn’t go alone. Nor did He only bring along one

disciple. But He took with Him Peter and James and John. And that trio of disciples beheld with their own eyes and ears something paranormal, supernatural, and inexplicable. They saw Jesus in all His dazzling glory—or, at least as much glory as they could handle. They saw the Savior shining like the sun—God of God, light of light, very God of very God—Godhead, humanity, union supernal—shining brighter than all the angels in the sky. And not only that: They saw Moses and Elijah, key Old Testament figures who had been dead for centuries, but who are apparently alive and well in the presence of Jesus. And they heard the Father’s voice thundering from the cloud of glory: This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him.

There on the mountain Peter, James and John came to know that there’s much more to Jesus than meets the eye. They saw it. They heard it. And they wrote about it. John wrote about it in the prologue to the Gospel that bears his name: “We have seen His glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth” (1:14). Peter also wrote about it in today’s epistle from 2nd Peter: “We were eyewitnesses of His majesty. For when He received honor and glory from God the Father, and the voice was borne to Him by the Majestic Glory, ‘This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased,’ we ourselves heard this very voice from heaven, for we were with Him on the holy mountain.” John wrote about it. Peter wrote about it. We don’t hear from James, but only because he didn’t live long enough to write much, thanks to the sword of Herod.

What Peter, James and John saw on the mountain was unlike anything else, before or after. It was nothing at all like the so-called visions of Jesus or of the Virgin Mary people sometimes see in the clouds or in water stains on the wall. The jury is permanently “out” on that kind of thing. But to have three otherwise sane, sensible, rational men see exactly the same vision—to have two of the three write about it years later—it tells you that they actually saw what they claimed to have seen: Jesus’ face shining like the sun, His clothes shining with dazzling light, and special guest appearances by Moses and Elijah.

What happened that day on the mountain was literally the high point of Jesus earthly ministry. Jesus was preparing the disciples for the road ahead. For the next mountain would be Calvary, and it would be anything but glorious. Instead of light, there would be darkness. Instead of life, there would be death. Instead of glory, there would be defeat. Instead of a voice from heaven, there would be stone-cold silence. Immediately after the Transfiguration, after descending from the holy mountain, Jesus began to teach that He must suffer, die, and rise again. The glory of the Transfiguration pointed ahead to the hidden glory of the cross—where Jesus would defeat sin by becoming sin, where He would conquer death by dying.

Wouldn’t it be grand if we could have been there to see Jesus shining? Don’t you kind of wish you could have been standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Peter, James and John so that you yourself could see the glory of God in the face of Jesus? Don’t you think that if you could hear and see what happened on the mountain that day that your faith would be strengthened? Wouldn’t it give you hope and encouragement when doubt threatens to derail you, and when life threatens to overwhelm you? Peter seemed to think so. Peter wanted to linger as long as possible: Lord, it’s good to be here. I can make three tents if you’d like, one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah. But to this God the Father essentially said, “Be quite and listen—listen to my Son.”

Yes, there’s no doubt—it would have been nice to be there on the mount of Transfiguration; but it’s better to be here. Good to be there; better to be here. This is your “mountain.” This is the holy place where Jesus reveals Himself to you—where your faith is strengthened, where your sins are forgiven, where you receive hope and encouragement. This is where Jesus changes your heart. It’s good to be here—here in the Divine Service—here where heaven and earth intersect. Here the very Son of God draws near to you personally in the water of your baptism, in the bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood, in the absolution that follows your confession—where two or three are gathered in His name and around His Word.

So, which would you choose? Being here this morning, or seeing Jesus’ glory on the mountain with Peter, James, and John? Honestly, if given the option, I think these pews would be empty. Why? Because we view what goes on here as purely predictable, as monotonously mundane, as utterly ordinary, unworthy of our absolute attention. We despise preaching and God’s Word as surely as we fail to hold it sacred and gladly hear and learn it. Here the glory is hidden—hidden like it was on Good Friday—hidden, but nonetheless certain and sure—in fact, MORE certain and MORE SURE than Jesus shining on the mountain. And if you won’t take my word for it, then listen to Peter.

Decades after Peter saw the Transfiguration, he wrote the words of today’s epistle. And hidden away in that paragraph is a remarkable phrase that makes it clear that you have something better—something even MORE SURE than a front row seat for the Transfiguration: We were eyewitnesses of His majesty, Peter writes, We ourselves heard the voice from heaven, for we were with Him on the holy mountain. AND we have something more sure, the prophetic word, to which you will do well to pay attention as to a lamp shining in a dark place. Peter points us to the Word. He tells us that the “prophetic word” is “something more sure” than what he saw on the mountain with James and John.

Now, a lot of Bible translators and theologians struggle with what Peter wrote. He wrote that the “prophetic word” is “something (even) more sure” than the Transfiguration! He’s telling us that what scribes have scribbled on scrolls—including the dry dusty words of our Bibles—these printed pages are something more sure—more beneficial—more powerful—than what transpired at the Transfiguration. Bible scholars admit that’s what Peter wrote, but add that he couldn’t possible mean that. Let’s assume that Peter and the Holy Spirit mean what they say . . . and say what they mean.

Beloved in the Lord, you—YOU—have something more sure than what Peter saw on the mountain of transfiguration. It may have been “good” for Peter to be there; but it is “better” by far to be here, where the Word of God is preached and proclaimed. “This” is even “more sure” than “that.” It is “more sure” to hear the word of forgiveness proclaimed by your pastor than to see Jesus shining on a mountaintop. It is “more sure” to remember your baptism into Christ than to see Moses and Elijah conversing with Jesus. It is “more sure” to eat and drink His body and blood in His Holy Supper than to see His face shining like the sun—more sure to seek Christ in the Scriptures than to fly to Israel and stand on the exact mountain where the Transfiguration took place.

You have something more sure—something better. You have the power and presence of Jesus the Christ here and now to bring you life that lasts forever. It’s good to be here! And, part of what we do here is listen, as we are invited to do by the Father: This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to Him. Listen to Him when life overwhelms you. Listen to Him when sin has you entangled. Listen to Him when your hope is almost gone. Listen to Him. He has the words of eternal life. Only Jesus can save you. Only Jesus bears your sin, your death, the punishment you deserve. Only Jesus can mediate between God and man . . . because He is BOTH God and man.

That’s what the transfiguration tells us: Jesus is both Son of God and son of man. But His crucifixion and resurrection tell us more. Jesus’ dying and rising tell us who Jesus is for you—your Lord, your Redeemer, your Savior, God’s sacrificial Lamb who dies for the sin of the world. You will see it all for yourself one day. You will see Jesus shining soon enough. For He has promised to appear again in glory and to raise you from the dead. You will see Moses and Elijah and all the saints of God.

This week the mountain of transfiguration gives way to Mount Calvary. Alleluias will give way to ashes. But year in and year out, through every month and every season of life, it’s good to be here. For here we have the Word. And something more sure you will not find anywhere else. Amen.

Leveled by the Law

In Nomine Iesu

St. Matthew 5:21-37
February 12, 2017
Epiphany 6A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Today we are three Sundays into the Sermon on the Mount. And what started off with blessing and benediction has taken a turn into troubling territory. The Sermon on the Mount began with such good news for sinners: Blessed are the poor in spirit. But today we learn just how “poor” we are. Today Jesus unleashes the Law of God in its full fury; and no one is left standing.

The Law of God can make for interesting discussion. To talk about the Law isn’t so bad. We like to engage in all

kinds of discussion and debate about what’s right and what’s wrong—about how the fine print might apply in various circumstances and situations. A Bible study on the Ten Commandments is usually much more titillating than a study on Baptism. Why? Because the Commandments highlight who’s naughty and who’s nice (and all the different ways to be naughty and nice). And besides that, studying the Law of God at arm’s length is safe. It’s like encountering a labradoodle on a leash—yeah, sure, she’s got teeth and claws, but she’s not dangerous and she certainly won’t bite you (especially if you’re willing to give her some belly scratches).

This morning Jesus unleashes not a doodle, but a Doberman—a fearsome, fanged beast who just might chew off your right hand or pluck out your right eye, or whatever body parts might be causing you to sin. The Law of God that Jesus lets loose this morning pursues you relentlessly. It always accuses you. It always amplifies and magnifies your sin. It always shatters your excuses and exposes your evil. It uncovers your corruption. It trumpets your transgressions. It never quits picking away at your iniquity. Jesus unleashes the Law this morning in order to drive you to despair of your own goodness and righteousness. And, ultimately, He unleashes His law because He loves you.

“You have heard that it was said.” That’s how Jesus introduces each new topic in this section of His sermon. “You have heard that it was said to those of old, but I say to you.” Here Jesus interprets and proclaims the Law on the basis of His own authority. He doesn’t need footnotes with sources cited. He doesn’t need to list His references. It’s His law and this is how He applies it. He amplifies the Law—turns the volume way up. He takes the focus off of actions and, instead, puts our inner attitudes under the microscope. He gives us the true intention of the Law which, in most cases, was quite different from what the Scribes and Pharisees of Jesus’ day had been teaching.

Take the fifth commandment, for example: You shall not murder. Do you think you’ve kept this commandment because you haven’t plunged a knife into someone, or sent a bullet sailing in someone’s direction, or laced someone’s supper with poison? Think again. You can murder someone in your heart and with your words. Unchecked anger and indulging in bitter insults can just as easily lead you down the road to eternal damnation as can strangling someone with your own bare hands. And it’s an especially serious matter when a disciple of Jesus treats a fellow disciple (a “brother”) in these murderous ways. Repent!

To pretend that you can be in a good relationship with God while, at the same time, refusing to be reconciled with a brother or sister in Christ, is just that—pretending. You cannot love God AND hate your brother. You can’t engage in anger or hatred against someone and think it’s no big deal. And by the way, these rules against hate and insults also do apply to the comments you leave and post on all forms of social media. If anger is your idol—if hatred has hemmed you in—then repent of your idolatry and, yes, your murder. Jesus says, first drop everything, leave your gift in front of the altar, go and be reconciled to your brother; then come and offer your gift to the Lord.

Jesus knows all about the hurt and harm that gets exchanged between brothers. For Jesus came to be your brother. Even as He preached so eloquently against hatred and bitter insults, so did He Himself endure hatred and hear bitter insults hurled at Him. He heard the angry shouts of those who called for His crucifixion. He willingly submitted to the hurt and harm that pierced and lacerated His flesh on Good Friday. Such violence was the payment for your sin. It was the cost that had to be paid to reconcile you with the Father. He did it so that sinners like us could be received and welcomed into the family of God, where all are brothers and sisters—forgiven and forgiving.

Jesus quickly moves on to the sixth commandment: You shall not commit adultery. At first blush that doesn’t sound too difficult. I love my spouse. I haven’t been unfaithful. And then comes Jesus’ “but I say to you.” “Everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart.” One stray look will nail you—whether you’re online, or on the beach with bikinis as far as the eye can see. Do you think you’ve kept God’s law because you haven’t taken into your arms someone other than your spouse? Think again. You can commit adultery with your eyes, your brain, your heart. Lust and fantasizing—imagining and envisioning and considering and desiring directed at anyone other than your God-given marriage partner—these all can lead down the road to eternal damnation.

Lust is not identical to the physical act of adultery, in every respect. True enough. But lustful leering at someone other than a spouse always dishonors marriage—always dishonors your spouse—always dishonors God’s gifts of marriage and sex. Divorce, too, always dishonors marriage. Divorce always separates what God has joined together. Even when one spouse has been unfaithful—even when divorce is “allowed” and “permitted”—even then divorce is not God’s desire or God’s intention.

Sins against the sixth commandment have much to do with our bodies—with our eyes, our brains, our hands, our hearts. The dangers of these bodily sins are so great that Jesus uses hyperbole to suggest that a better option might be to cut off our hands or gouge out our eyes. But such an extreme approach forgets something very important: your body is not your own. Your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit—paid for and redeemed with the blood of Jesus, claimed and inhabited by the Holy Spirit in the splash of Holy Baptism, destined for resurrection. As one who follows Jesus in faith, your body is designed to glorify God—to lead a sexually pure and decent life in what you say and do. Living by that Spirit, you can confess your sixth-commandment sins and receive full forgiveness. Jesus bore our every sin in His body, when He suffered on the cross. He refused to divorce His bride, the church, despite our unfaithfulness. He died to rescue us from all the ways we have taken His gift of marriage and used it for our own selfish purposes.

The final topic Jesus takes up today involves swearing and oath-taking. In Jesus’ day the Jews had constructed an elaborate system for taking oaths and making promises. We don’t do so much oath-taking nowadays; but we’re still very good at evading the truth and shading the truth and spinning the truth to our advantage. We’re very good at casting ourselves as the heroes of our narratives. We’re not afraid to re-write and edit the historical record to vindicate ourselves. We’re much more likely to tell half the truth, than to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth. But Jesus cuts through our hazy cloud of half-truths. He says, “let your ‘yes’ be ‘yes,’ and let your ‘no’ be ‘no.’” Say what you mean. Mean what you say. Keep your promises. Let honesty be your policy.

In this area you can learn much from the God who loves you. He means what He says and says what He means—law and gospel, threats and promises. He tells you the truth in love. His Word is truth. God’s “yes” and God’s “no” are clear and definite. But before this sermon concludes, you need to hear the “yes” of Jesus, spoken to you. For Jesus is God’s ultimate “yes.” In Jesus and His cross God has said yes—yes to your forgiveness, yes to your resurrection. In Jesus, God has said “yes” to your adoption into His family.

The cross of Jesus tells the ultimate truth about us. The cross shows how serious our sin is—how the Law of God levels us all, and leaves no one standing. But even more, the cross shows the magnitude of God’s love for sinners like us. While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Because of Jesus, because of His suffering, death and resurrection, God says “yes” to you. In your baptism, in the Supper of His body and blood, in holy absolution, God’s yes means yes. In His Law He levels us all. Were He to keep a record of sin no one could stand. But in Jesus God raises those who are knocked down. He lifts those who’ve been leveled. He gives eternal life to all who believe. Amen.

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.