Jesus' Ark

In Nomine Iesu
1 Peter 3:20-22
May 21, 2017
Easter 6A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

As a parent, you always have regrets of some kind or another. You can always look back at how you raised your children and think, “I should have handled that differently,” or “What was I

thinking?” Today’s epistle reading brought to mind one of those episodes in my years as a parent where I should have been smarter. I should have done better. For you see, I bought my children a toy play-edition of Noah’s ark—with pairs of cute plastic animals that could walk right up a few short steps and into the waiting ark.

What was I thinking? I placed into my children’s little hands a toy that commemorated the deadliest event in all of human history. With that Noah’s ark play set I gave my children hours of fun and enjoyment based on the most catastrophic, cataclysmic act of divine wrath that has ever been leveled against the inhabitants of planet earth. To make a children’s play-toy out of Noah’s ark is to rip the ark right out of its true, Biblical context. For unless this Noah’s ark play set included bloated corpses and terrified sinners clinging to the sides of the ark like barnacles as the waters rose to swallow them, then this toy is only telling half the story. At best this is a toy that’s in bad taste, and at worst it ranks right up there with a playmobile set commemorating the holocaust or a toy tsunami simulator. Not even Toys-R-Us would have the audacity to sell something like that.

Children and Noah’s ark came to mind because of today’s epistle reading. There St. Peter was writing to children—well, to children in the faith, that is—newborn babies who had just recently been born again in the waters of Holy Baptism. They were converts—mere infants in the faith, just beginning to learn the basic, elementary teachings of Christianity. And among the many things that Peter laid out for them in this letter, we learn today that Peter wanted to set these children straight concerning both Noah’s ark and the meaning of their baptism—two watery events with two wet messages.

Peter first uses Noah’s ark to teach these new Christians a thing or two about God’s patience. He points them to God’s patience in the days of Noah. Do you remember from Genesis just how bad things were? There it says, The Lord saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and that every intention of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually. And the Lord was sorry that he had made man on the earth, and it grieved him to his heart. It’s hard for us to imagine just how bad things must have been—to envision a time when humankind was engaged continuously, exclusively in wickedness and evil. The only exception was Noah, who found favor with God—not because of his perfect church attendance or his sin-free lifestyle—but through faith.

It was because of that faith that Noah built the ark at God’s command. And that ark is, first and foremost, a demonstration of God’s great patience. We don’t know exactly how long it took to build the ark. What we do know is that Noah had around 500 candles on his birthday cake when his three sons were born, and that he was six hundred years old when the flood finally came. It’s likely that for decades Noah was building the ark. And you don’t build an ark in your backyard privately. To build an ark is to make a public profession. As that ark was being built, it proclaimed a message of watery judgment to come—of the need to repent and turn. That ark was a sermon not of words, but of gopher wood. And as it came together, cubit after cubit, it called everyone who saw it to turn from their sin and flee to the grace of God—or face a terrible day of judgment.

Both baby Christians and veterans of the faith can learn from this that God is patient—that He desires not the death of sinners but that they turn from their sin and live—that He wants all to be saved and come to the knowledge of the truth. But the ark also teaches us that God says what He means, and He means what He says. His threats and His warnings should not be taken casually. Do not presume upon His patience. Do not mistake His patience for the permission to go on sinning casually and carelessly. Planned repentance is not repentance. The ark teaches us that there will come a day of reckoning—a day of colossal, cataclysmic, catastrophic reckoning. And know this: God’s wrath against sin in the flood—this watery judgment—is but a preview of the Final Judgment, when the earth and the heavens will be destroyed not by water, but by fire—and when all the unbelievers will be punished, while the believers will join Noah and all the righteous in their heavenly home.

But just as the flood reveals God’s wrath against sin, the ark also reveals God’s love for humanity. Noah’s ark is not only a story of judgment, but also of salvation—not only of Law, but also of Gospel. The ark, like the cross, shows just how much God loves His children and how deeply He desires to save them. This is the second main point Peter makes in today’s text: It was in the ark “in which a few, that is, eight persons were brought safely through water.” The ark proclaims—simultaneously—a tale of death and destruction, and of life and deliverance.

Several years ago my family attended a theatrical production of Noah’s Ark at the Sight and Sound Theater in Branson, Missouri. And it was quite a production. The closing scene of the first act was terrifying. On stage, inside the ark, were Noah and his family. And as soon as God closed the door of the ark, the sounds of rain and thunder and rushing waters were heard. And those sounds were quickly followed by the terrifying screams of those outside the ark, those being swept away, those who had rejected God’s gracious offer of deliverance. And then there was only darkness and silence. But as the second act opened, there was light and life all around. The entire theater had been transformed into the interior of the ark. Everywhere you looked were living creatures, great and small, bathed in light—a floating zoo delivered from destruction by a gracious and loving God.

Most importantly, there were eight people on board that ark: Noah and his wife, his three sons and their wives too. The same water that had drowned a sinful and evil world, that same water lifted up the ark to preserve faithful Noah and his family. The same water that killed and destroyed—that same water brought life and deliverance to eight people. And here’s the good news that Peter wanted to convey to his readers about the baptism they had recently undergone: Just as eight people were saved by water in the ark, “baptism, which corresponds to this, now saves you.”

Baptism now saves you. Peter writes that baptism saves you “through the resurrection of Jesus Christ, who has gone into heaven and is at the right hand of God.” Baptism now saves you because baptism now unites you with Jesus. All that Jesus accomplished in love for you—His suffering for your sins—His crucifixion and resurrection—your baptism applies that power to you personally. Your baptism cleanses you with Christ—His righteousness, His innocence, and His blessedness. Your baptism drowned and washed away all that is sinful and evil in you, while preserving you high and dry and safe and secure in the holy ark of the holy church—until that day when you reach the safe harbor of heaven. Your baptism placed you safely inside the ark with the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

Noah’s ark was pretty impressive, you have to admit. You can travel down to the Creation Museum in Kentucky to experience a real life replica of what the ark was like. How did eight people manage and feed and care for such a wide array of living creatures? But that ark was nothing compared to this ark. For this is Jesus’ ark—the place where the water of your baptism washes you clean and bears you up each day, living in the grace and forgiveness of God, confessing your sins and enjoying a good conscience. Here in Jesus’ Ark the Lord feeds and cares for a great multitude of people that cannot be numbered.

Noah’s ark is long gone. Lots of people have looked for it. Lots of people have claimed to have found what remains of it. And you smart-alecks from Wisconsin always like to tell people that “Noah’s ark” is located two hours west of here in the Dells. But don’t waste your time with Noah’s ark. Baptismal waters have given you a new birth into the ark of Jesus, which is the church of Jesus. It doesn’t take much imagination to sit where you are right now and to envision that you are sitting below deck in a great ark. You’re sitting in that part of the building we call the “nave,” which comes from the Latin word for “boat.” You are surrounded by death and destruction; but here in the ark of Jesus you are safe and secure. Because Jesus lives, you shall live also. Here you live on every word that proceeds from the mouth of the Lord, and here you dine on the bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood. Here Jesus gives you His resurrection life in the flood of water that flows from this font.

This ark of Jesus—the one, holy, Christian, and apostolic church—it will endure forever. The gates of hell will not prevail against it. What unites you with Noah, and with believers of every age, is faith in Jesus, the Son of God. He suffered once for sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, that He might bring you to God in this holy ark. Amen.

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

Comfort and Clarity

In Nomine Iesu
John 14:1-14
May 14, 2017
Easter 5A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Let not your hearts be troubled. There’s a lot going on in today’s holy gospel from John chapter 14. Deep theology.

Precious promises. Questions and answers. Comfort and clarity. But we dare not overlook that very first sentence from the lips of Jesus: Let not your hearts be troubled.

Who has a troubled heart? There are plenty of people here this morning with troubled hearts. If you’re not among them—if your heart is carefree—then count yourself fortunate and just wait your turn. Troubled hearts are a common malady among the followers of Jesus—among all of us who live in a world where sin and death loom so large. How many people do you know who are battling cancer right now? And how many of them are losing the battle? How many mothers do you know (on this Mothers’ Day) who are trying to hold together families that are bitterly divided or torn apart by conflict? How many “former” Christians do you know—baptized children of God who (for no particular reason) have wandered away from the faith, from the church, from the Savior? Having a troubled heart isn’t necessarily a sin. For the Scriptures tell us that even Jesus—at the death of his friend Lazarus—even Jesus was “greatly troubled” (Jn. 11:33).

Let not your hearts be troubled. When Jesus said those words, He wasn’t just tossing out some casual comfort for no particular reason. He wasn’t just telling the Twelve to cheer up and turn their frowns upside down. It was the Thursday night of holy week. Jesus would be a corpse on a cross in less than twenty-four hours. He had just predicted that one of the twelve was going to betray Him. Peter had just promised to lay down his life for Jesus (13:37); but Jesus had sharply corrected him: “Truly, truly, I say to you, the rooster will not crow till you have denied me three times.” That night was a night marked by darkness, denial and betrayal. That night would turn out to be a night when sin and death would be unleashed to do their worst. And into the deep darkness of that awful night, when terrible trouble was looming large, Jesus dared to say, “Let not your hearts be troubled.”

What the disciples needed at that moment was comfort; and Jesus did not fail to deliver. What Jesus proceeded to prescribe for their troubled hearts was faith: Believe in God; believe also in me. Jesus here equates Himself with God. He and the Father are one. Jesus needed to make that clear because His glory and His divinity would be horribly hidden in the hours just ahead. And so Jesus reminds them that there’s more to Him than meets the eye.

And then Jesus gives them something to look forward to: In my Father’s house are many rooms. . . I go to prepare a place for you. The old King James Version described it as a house “with many mansions.” The point here is not to imagine the largest mansion or the biggest castle. Rather, Jesus wants us to know, first of all, that there’s plenty of room in the heavenly dwelling He’s preparing for us. The Father’s house is no three-bedroom colonial. The Father’s house is designed to hold a multitude that cannot be numbered.

But even more importantly, the Father’s house—the place that Jesus prepares for us—is permanent. Last week in Bible class we discussed what it means that on earth we are exiles, aliens, and strangers. I mentioned how the address I now have I’ve had longer than any other address in my life. And many of you can say the same thing about your dwelling place. It’s home, yes; but it’s not forever. It’s not permanent. We are but strangers here; heaven is our home. The things that trouble your heart today and tomorrow are temporary. Jesus Christ, in love, has prepared something better for you. You have the comfort of this sweet sentence from the Savior: I will take you to myself.

But Thomas was still troubled. Thomas needed more than just comfort. Thomas needed clarity. “How can we know the way?” he asked. There’s a lot of ground to cover between where we are now and where we will be forever and ever in the Father’s house. Thomas needed details. He wanted the route laid out with certainty and clarity. He wanted to know exactly what to expect: “Lord, how can we know the way?” A lot of us would like that too. We would like to know ahead of time about all the twists and turns and detours that lie ahead. We’ll follow Jesus, for sure, but we would really like to have more information—for planning purposes.

Why do we need all of that? It’s simple: We don’t trust Him. We have more faith in our earthly house than we do in the Father’s house. The earthly house we can see. The Father’s house we see only by faith. And so we trust what we see and we doubt what we don’t see. But when you go through life trusting in what you see, investing in what you see, centering your life around what is visible; suddenly you’re no longer an exile. You’re no longer a stranger here. Suddenly, you’re at home here; while heaven sounds stranger and stranger.

In our kitchen we have what I scornfully refer to as the “junk” drawer. It’s a nice big drawer near the back door. We temporarily place things in that drawer and then promptly forget about them. I cleaned out the junk drawer a few months ago (it was like an archeological expedition digging down through layers of history) and do you know what was at the very bottom? Maps. Street maps of Milwaukee. Maps I had used years ago to find my way to members’ homes and hospitals and churches, back when we were new citizens of this city. I used to love a good map. I took pleasure in plotting my course, my exits, my turns. Planning the perfect route gave me a sense of clarity and confidence. Of course, maps are obsolete now. I miss maps.

Beloved in the Lord, there’s no map to show the way to the Father’s house. There’s no map that will give you all the details you crave about the twists and turns between here and there. Instead, Jesus gives us something better: “I am the way and the truth and the life,” He says. “No one comes to the Father except through me.” The way to the Father’s house—the way to that heavenly mansion—the way of deliverance from sin and death—is exclusively through Jesus. Salvation is found in no one else (Acts 4:12). That’s the kind of clarity we need. All are invited to the Father’s house. God desires the salvation of all people. But there’s only one way to get there. All paths do not lead to God. There are not a multitude of equally valid paths to salvation. It’s not like planning a trip to Mayfair Mall. There are many different routes you can take to get there.

But to get to the eternal house in heaven that Jesus has prepared for us, there are no alternate routes, no bypasses or detours. Only faith in Jesus Christ, the Son of God, will get you there. He alone is the way. No one comes to the Father except through Him. Jesus is the singular path to heaven. His crucifixion cross made the way for you. His sinless life as your substitute is what has bridged the gap between lost and dying sinners and the holy God of heaven and earth. And His resurrection from the dead is the proof. His Word is truth. The life He gives is eternal. In Him we have comfort. In Him we have clarity.

And yet, sometimes that comfort and clarity doesn’t seem like enough. That was Philip’s concern. For Philip spoke up after Thomas to say, “Lord, show us the Father and that will be enough for us.” Philip’s concern was having “enough.” Bear in mind, Philip had seen Jesus. Philip had seen the miracles of Jesus. Philip had faith in Jesus. But somehow, in Philip’s mind, that wasn’t enough. He needed more.

Do you ever feel like Philip? Do you ever find yourself praying, “Lord, I believe . . . but.” Troubled hearts always look for signs. Troubled hearts are always quick to prescribe a solution, a plan, a route of escape. But Jesus invites troubled hearts simply to believe in Him—and to leave the details to Him. He is the way. He is the truth. He is the life. He has the solution. He has the plan. He has a deliverance in store for you. Believe in Him. Trust Him. “Come to me,” He says, “all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” He may never show us all that we want to see. He may never reveal to us all that we’d like to know. But He invites us simply to believe; and in our believing, to realize that in having Jesus, we have enough. In fact, we have more than enough—more than we deserve—even more than we desire.

To troubled hearts Jesus gives comfort and Jesus gives clarity. You will find it here: in the preaching and proclamation of His Word. You will find it in the cleansing splash of your baptism into Christ. You will find it in the holy Supper of His body and His blood. This is the place where troubled hearts gather in the name of Jesus. Believe in Him. Cast your cares on Him. Let not your hearts be troubled. Let Jesus bear your sins away. For He can do it. He is the way, the truth, and the life. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Living the Abundant Life

In Nomine Iesu
Jn. 10:10; Acts 2:42
May 7, 2017
Easter 4A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

It’s the fourth Sunday of Easter, and around here that always means “Good Shepherd Sunday.” Jesus the Good Shepherd. Jesus the door of the sheep. Jesus who calls His sheep by name, and leads them and feeds them in green pastures beside quiet waters. The King of Love my Shepherd is. It’s all very comforting, isn’t it? Even for us city folks who don’t know much about sheep or shepherding.

Thankfully, for those of us who are sheep deprived, Jesus explains in one simple sentence what it means to have Him as our good shepherd: I came that they may have life and have it abundantly. Jesus comes to bring us life; and not just life, but “abundant” life. And since we are sitting squarely in the middle of the Easter season, it’s not difficult to figure out what this “abundant” life is. The abundant life is resurrection life—life that lasts forever—eternal life that comes as a gift to all those who believe in Jesus Christ. “Because I live,” Jesus says, “you shall live also.”

But the abundant life of our Good Shepherd isn’t only a gift for the future. It isn’t something we have to wait around for. It is already yours—a present possession. You see, the abundant life Jesus gives has nothing to do with an abundance of things or money or even blessings. The abundant life is the life lived in the presence of the Good Shepherd. The abundant life is the life that is served by the Savior with His good gifts. It means that Jesus is the heart and center of your life. Sounds good, doesn’t it? But what’s it look like? What does the abundant life of Jesus look like? How can you live your life in the presence of the Good Shepherd already today?

I don’t know whether it’s by design or by coincidence, but today’s reading from Acts chapter two shows us exactly what the abundant life looks like. That first reading today shows us what life was like in the church way back in the beginning—during the days right after Pentecost—back when everything was new and fresh, before problems and persecutions began. The first sentence of today’s first reading tells the whole story. That one verse, Acts 2:42, summarizes the abundant life enjoyed by those very first followers of Jesus in Jerusalem. Their number had swelled to over three thousand on the Day of Pentecost. They had heard the death and resurrection of Jesus proclaimed and preached by Peter. They had been baptized. And St. Luke summarizes the abundant life they enjoyed in this way: They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.

When St. Luke wrote that they “devoted themselves” to these things, the Holy Spirit inspired Him to choose a powerful verb to express what was happening. That they “devoted themselves” means that they were obstinately, passionately persisting in these things. They were into these things with all their heart and soul. These things were the center of life for the very first followers of Jesus. All of them—from the greatest to the least—all of them devoted themselves—to what?—to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.

First and foremost, they devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching—to doctrine. Today we hear complaints about how doctrine divides people—that we shouldn’t get too caught up in doctrinal details. Just make sure everyone believes in Jesus and call it a day! Not so for the first followers of Jesus! Doctrine didn’t divide them; it united them. What the apostles’ were preaching and teaching was the glue that held them all together. Remember how very different they were—how on the day of Pentecost people had gathered in Jerusalem from all over the world, featuring a diversity of cultures and classes and languages and customs. It wasn’t politics that united them. It wasn’t demographics that brought them together. It was the Law/Gospel preaching and teaching of the apostles. Doctrine didn’t divide them; it united them despite their differences and outward diversity.

That’s no less true right here among us at Our Savior. We are a diverse group—differing in politics and personality, in education and income levels, in age and experience, and temperament and tastes. But when it comes to what matters most—to the teaching God has given us through prophets and apostles, written in the words of our Bibles—there we do not merely agree to disagree. Instead, we live in a God-given unity—a blessed oneness based on the truth of God’s Word. That’s what holds this group together.

But this unity can only be maintained as we continue to devote ourselves to the Scriptures—only as we passionately persist in reading them, studying them, and teaching them to future generations. If we don’t do that, the abundant life we now enjoy will quickly become impoverished. If we don’t talk about God’s Word in our homes, if we consistently choose activities that lead us away from hearing God’s Word in worship, if parents don’t model for their children what it means to be a lifelong student of the Scriptures—well, then don’t be surprised when those children grow up to separate themselves from their Savior, and walk away from the abundant life He gives so freely.

But the abundant life of the first Christians didn’t center exclusively on doctrine; they also devoted themselves to “fellowship.” Now, Lutherans hear “fellowship” and they often think of coffee or potluck meals with lots of jello. Well, forget about that for a minute. The abundant life of Jesus has little to do with Jello. Instead, “fellowship” in Acts chapter 2 meant that they all shared in the same things. In fact, these very first Christians pooled together all their goods and money. They sold their belongings and gave the proceeds to those who were in need. Freely they received; freely they gave. This system of fellowship worked well when the church was but a few thousand people, living together in one place, at that time in history. It wouldn’t work so well today if we all liquidated our assets and pooled them all together. That’s not what this means for us.

But what does it mean? Why did the Holy Spirit go to the trouble of teaching us about their unique brand of fellowship and sharing and caring? If nothing else, it shows how those first believers were whole-heartedly committed to cultivating and sustaining their life together through acts of mercy and compassion. They weren’t afraid to take risks out of love for the body of Christ. Where there was a need—where there was a debt—where there was a problem—these saints didn’t just stand around with their hands in their pockets saying, “Well, that’s not my problem. Not my job. Above my paygrade.”

Beloved in the Lord, the fellowship we enjoy here at Our Savior isn’t that different. It means that there are no bystanders, no spectators, no second and third-stringers sitting on the bench. We’re all baptized; we’re all in this together. What must not escape our notice about the fellowship of those first believers is that their life together mattered more than everything else—more than team sports and hobbies, more than entertainment and social events. Fellowship mattered more. Those first Christians managed their lives in a way that visibly demonstrated their faith in Christ. It was the center of life. It was real. And they were unafraid to invest their money, their property, their time and sweat—and eventually their blood—into insuring the success of their life together.

Obviously, there are few churches today that reflect that intense level of commitment and fellowship. But that shouldn’t stop us from taking positive steps in the right direction. Consider these questions for yourself: Are you stepping up to be part of the solution, or are you sitting back waiting for someone else to take the lead and do the work (and take the blame if something goes wrong)? Are you committed to peace-making and problem-solving, or are you content only to point out the problems, to complain about the problems, and thereby perpetuate the problems? There’s a better way and—Christ be praised!—I see that better way finding expression here at Our Savior on a regular basis.

The abundant life for those first believers centered not only on the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, but also on the breaking of the bread and the prayers. For them, the “breaking of the bread and the prayers” went together. The breaking of the bread was a likely reference to the Lord’s Supper, Holy Communion. As often as they were gathering to hear the apostles’ teaching—as often as they shared together in fellowship—they also gathered to be fed with the body and blood of the Good Shepherd. This gift was also at the center of life. It nourished their life together. It brought them forgiveness and faith and equipped them to live lives of peace-making and reconciliation. They were passionately persisting in the Lord’s Supper. It, too, was the center of life.

And around this regular celebration of the Lord’s Supper came also “the prayers.” Note that St. Luke describes not just prayer, but “the prayers.” We today would call it “the liturgy.” When the first Christians gathered for worship it wasn’t just a free for all. There were set prayers, and hymns, and readings—just as there had been in the synagogues of the Old Testament. Private prayer was no doubt happening too. But “the prayers,” the liturgy spoken and sung in worship—it too was the very center of life.

They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. There in one simple sentence we have the abundant life. This is what the abundant life looks like today, among us. You have it here and now. It’s not an easy life, of course. It’s not a life that’s free from trouble or sorrow. It’s a life where wolves and thieves and robbers threaten to steal and kill and destroy. But Jesus has come to give you His abundant life. Abundant life begins by being served by Jesus, and continues as we serve others in the name of Jesus.

You have the abundant life because Jesus devoted Himself to you. Jesus has invested in your eternal good. It was an investment made not with gold or silver, but with His holy precious blood and His innocent suffering and death. He bore all our sins in His body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By His wounds you have been healed. That healing is distributed here in holy absolution, in His holy Word, and in His holy meal. This is your life—the abundant life to which you have been called by the Good Shepherd—the abundant life which has no end.

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

On the Road to Emmaus

In Nomine Iesu
St. Luke 24:13-35
April 30, 2017
Easter 3A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

It was a slow, seven-mile slog for two disappointed disciples. They were walking from Jerusalem to Emmaus. It was the afternoon of Easter Sunday. Cleopas and another disciple were heading home after the Passover weekend in Jerusalem. As they

walked, they talked. They discussed what had happened over the past several days concerning Jesus—the arrest, the trial, the crucifixion, the burial. There had also been a strange report from the women that morning that the tomb was open and empty—that there had been an angel or two. But these two men had not seen Jesus; and they didn’t expect to either.

These two disciples had likely staked their lives on this Jesus of Nazareth, just like so many others. They had believed that He was the One: “A prophet, powerful in word and deed before God and all the people.” He made the blind to see, the lame to walk. He raised the dead! They had hoped He was the Messiah, the one who would redeem Israel. But now their hopes had been shattered. Their faith had collapsed like a house of cards. Jesus was dead, and buried, and nowhere to be seen.

The road to Emmaus is filled with disappointment and disillusionment, grief and confusion, bewilderment and sadness. Have you ever been on the road to Emmaus? I suspect that you have. I suspect you know just how those two disciples felt: hopeless, disappointed, and faithless. Things haven’t turned out the way you expected in your life and you’re left to wonder why. You trusted Jesus—you believed in Him—you experienced His power. You staked your life on His life. But now He seems to have fled the scene without a trace. You feel betrayed, used, certainly sad. On the road to Emmaus nobody sees the Savior.

But like Thomas from last Sunday, these disciples needed to see Jesus. Unless they saw Him, they would not believe. Unless they saw Him, there would be no point in going on. Unless they saw Him, all they could do was walk the seven miles back to Emmaus with no hope, no joy, and no faith.

About that time a stranger caught up with them. It was Jesus; but their eyes were kept from recognizing Him. Note that passive verb: their eyes were kept from recognizing Him. It wasn’t because they were so distraught that they didn’t recognize Jesus. It wasn’t that the angle of the afternoon sun hid the Savior’s face or that Jesus had suddenly become a master of disguise. These two men were not permitted to recognize Jesus. His identity was intentionally, divinely concealed from them.

You have to wonder, “Why?” Was this just some cruel trick on the part of Jesus? Why play this little game with two distraught disciples? Why didn’t Jesus just show Himself to these two the way He did to the women and to the Ten, plus Thomas? The two disciples pour out their hearts about Jesus, to Jesus. Jesus patiently listens. He walks with them and talks with them. And then Jesus tells them what they need to hear: They were being “foolish” and “slow of heart.” Foolish as in unbelieving. Slow of heart as in hearts that were hardened to the Word. They knew what Jesus had said so many times about how He would be crucified and rise again on the third day—but they didn’t believe it. They didn’t trust that Jesus would be true to His Word.

That’s us too. We too can hear the good news of Jesus’ resurrection, but then carry on as though nothing of significance had happened. We can hear that sin and death are defeated and still go through our week with grim faces, worn and wearied by guilt, anxiety, and discouragement. We’re just as scared of living as we are of dying. Foolish, faithless, hardened hearts—so slow to believe. Even the strongest of Christians has had this trouble. I’m told that Martin Luther’s wife, Katie, once chiding him by saying, “To look at you you’d never know that Jesus rose from the dead.” You know how it is: You get caught up running on the treadmill of frustrations and failures and worries and the general stupidity of life . . . and you forget that Christ is risen.

The remedy we need is repentance—a repentance that changes slow, hardened hearts into hearts burning brightly with faith in the Risen Christ. That’s eventually what happened for those two disciples on the road to Emmaus. And they’re not so different from us. Because what caused their hearts to burn so brightly with faith and joy wasn’t that they saw Jesus risen from the dead. Note that! They didn’t recognize Jesus until He broke the bread and then immediately disappeared from their sight. They couldn’t see Jesus even when He was walking and talking with them. And this was the Lord’s doing—not their own nearsightedness. Jesus knew He was only going to be visibly present for forty more days. So He had to “wean” His followers from “seeing” Him with their eyes. He had to catechize them to hear His voice in the Word, and to recognize Him in the breaking of the bread.

Beloved in the Lord, this is where your road and the road to Emmaus intersect. We aren’t that different from Cleopas and the other guy. We’ve heard the news that Christ is risen. We’ve read the eyewitness accounts that Jesus is living. But Him we have not seen. Our eyes too are prevented from seeing Jesus. And yet, He is here—quite here, profoundly here, bodily here—here to make your heart and your life burn brightly with resurrection joy by the forgiveness of your sins. The Scriptures tell us plainly that Jesus is here where two or three are gathered in His name. The bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood bear witness to His real presence with us, in us, and for us.

Every Sunday is a “little Easter,” we say. Every Sunday is an Emmaus walk with Jesus—Jesus not seen but heard in the preaching and proclamation of His Word—Jesus not seen but tasted in the Communion meal. Word and Sacrament, we Lutherans say. It’s not a new or novel idea. It’s not something that Martin Luther thought up. It goes all the way back to Easter Sunday and the road to Emmaus.

Each week we walk into this room, sometimes riddled with guilt and our faces downcast and worn with worry. Oh, and if you’re not walking into this room each week then you’d better have a darn good excuse for standing-up the Savior, for refusing His company and His consolation in His Word and in His meal. Worship is not optional in the life of the Christian; it is needed and necessary for faith in Christ, for forgiveness of sins, and for holy living. This is where Jesus comes to join us and to reveal Himself to us. This in-between time—this time between Jesus’ resurrection and your resurrection—it’s not a time for seeing Jesus with our eyes. It is a time for hearing with our ears His Word of life, and receiving with our mouths His body and blood for the forgiveness of sins. Do you want Jesus to walk with you and talk with you and tell you that you are His own? Then you have come to the right place. Just follow the Road to Emmaus.

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

Easter Greetings

In Nomine Iesu
St. Matthew 28:1-10
April 16, 2017
The Resurrection of Our Lord-A

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Alleluia! Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia! It sure feels good to say and sing those alleluias again. It’s like we’ve been stifling our sneezes for forty days. Finally, today, we get to let it roll right off our tongues.

Jesus has done it. He was delivered up for our trespasses and raised for our justification (Rom. 4:25). As in Adam all die, so in Christ shall all be made alive (1 Cor. 15:22). Christ, being raised from the dead, will never die again; death no longer has dominion over him (Rom. 6:9). When Christ who is your life appears, then you also will appear with him in glory (Col. 3:4). What comfort this sweet sentence gives: I know that my Redeemer lives.

But let’s back up for a moment. For the account of our Lord’s resurrection begins with a journey to the cemetery—a visit to the tomb. That’s a journey that nearly all of us have made. We know the weariness of grief and the pain of a loved one’s death. Like the women who got up early with broken and fearful hearts, we, too, have walked that trail of tears. We’ve laid to rest the earthly remains of those we love who have departed this life. And that departure always seems so final—so permanent. The cemetery always seems to get the last word: The wages of sin is death. The soul that sins shall die.

I’ll never forget my first Easter as a pastor, 20 years ago. I was serving in the teeny, tiny town of Avon, SD. And as Holy Week drew near that year, someone mentioned to me, “By the way, pastor, our church is hosting the community youth sunrise service this year. What do you want to do?” Now, as a rookie pastor I didn’t know what do for much of anything—let alone a community youth sunrise service. But for some reason I said, “Let’s go to the cemetery. Let’s do it there.” And there, on a chilly, windswept hillside, beneath brilliant sunshine, we proclaimed that Christ is risen and death is destroyed. Amidst the tombstones we sang, “I know that my Redeemer lives.” We heard the angel ask, “Why do you seek the living among the dead?” And we confessed our belief in the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting. Turns out, a cemetery is a great place to celebrate Easter—the perfect place to declare death’s defeat.

Luckily, there was no earthquake, like there was in the cemetery on that first Easter Sunday. There are few fault lines in South Dakota—and even fewer in Jerusalem. But that doesn’t matter. Because when the Lord wants an earthquake, He gets an earthquake—with or without tectonic plates shifting. Just as there was an earthquake on Good Friday, at the death of Jesus, so is there an earthquake on Easter Sunday, at the resurrection of Jesus. These two tremblors go together. Calvary earthquake and Easter earthquake show us that the death of Jesus and the resurrection of Jesus are inseparably connected. They are the divine hinge on which all of human history hangs.

But so that there might be no question about what’s going on, God sends an angel to apply His Word to the situation. Look at that angel, as bright as lightning and as white as snow—casually camped out, sitting on the stone. Death is defeated. Death doesn’t deserve our respect. The tomb holds no terror for those whose lives are already hidden with Christ in God. So the angel sits back, stretches out, and relaxes to announce the best news since the dawn of time: Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified. He is not here, for he has risen, just as He said. An angel had announced His birth “to save His people from their sins.” And now, another angel declares, “He is risen.” The deed is done. The tomb was temporary. He is risen; just as He said.

Just as He said? Oh, yeah! Let’s not overlook what seems to have escaped everyone’s notice. Jesus had predicted, on several occasions, in clear and simple sentences, that He would not only be put to death, but that He would rise again on the third day. Anybody can predict their death with a pretty good shot at that prediction coming true. But Jesus predicted His resurrection from the dead on the third day. And it happened, just as He said.

Beloved in the Lord, do you know what this means? It means that you can trust this Jesus. You can believe Him. You can hold Him to His promises and you will not be disappointed. For if Jesus got His own resurrection right—if He could speak with truth and accuracy and specificity about rising from the dead—then there is nothing He says that you cannot believe. You can stake everything—goods, fame, child, and wife, your living and your dying—you can stake everything on every word that proceeds from the mouth of the Lord Jesus Christ.

Of course, on most days, we don’t do that. On the other 364 days of the year, we’re not so eager to hear those words and take them to heart and trust them. As the culture around us slides into madness and darkness and depravity, you must not let go of Jesus’ words. Jesus tells us that God created human beings as “male and female” (Matt. 19:4). That’s all—male and female. He tells us how a man shall leave his father and his mother and hold fast to his wife—that the two become one flesh—that God establishes the family as the foundation of His creation. Not the individual—the family. Jesus tells us that the bread is His body and the wine is His blood. He says, “Let the little children come to me,” and the word He uses for little children is also used of little children still in the womb, little children yet unborn. All are precious to Jesus. All deserve our love and protection. Take Jesus’ words to heart—all of them—and trust them. Live by them, die by them, and be raised by them. For He is the resurrection and the life.

Easter changes us. Each year the good news of Jesus resurrection touches our lives and we are never quite the same again. St. Matthew tells us that as the women left the tomb after hearing the angel’s message, they were filled with both fear and joy. They were fearful and joyful. Fear and joy make for a strange combination. But I think you can understand how it works. Many of us will leave here this morning feeling not so unlike those women—joyful yet fearful. We don’t know exactly what tomorrow brings; but we do know that the devil and our own sinful nature have certainly NOT surrendered in their war against us. They have not given up on their very creative attempts to lure us away from Jesus and so destroy our faith.

That’s why it’s worth noting that Jesus Himself met those fearful, joyful women. They hadn’t gone far from the tomb before Jesus crossed their path. You don’t have to go far either, before Jesus will cross your path here again, every Lord’s day, where His Word is proclaimed and where He gives His body and blood for the forgiveness of sins. Jesus met the women and said, wait for it, “Greetings.” Greetings? How about Easter greetings? In modern English, “greetings” sounds a bit stiff and detached. Greetings is what the aliens say when the step off the flying saucer. The King James Version translates it as, “All, hail” which doesn’t really help us modern English speakers.

But at the root of Jesus’ Easter “greetings” there is a deeper, fuller, richer, weightier connotation. It’s like in English when we say “goodbye.” Goodbye has a deeper meaning. Over the years, “goodbye” is what evolved from the phrase, “God be with ye.” The ancient root of Jesus’ Easter “greetings” actually means, “Rejoice,” or “Be ye glad.” So, take Jesus at His Word. Do what He says. Be ye glad. Rejoice. For like those lowly women, the love of Jesus has made you precious. In Jesus, your sin is paid for. In Jesus, you will live forever! The women bent their knees, knelt down in worship, and took hold of Jesus’ feet. And on this Easter, we too bend our knees, kneel down, and worship the risen Christ at His altar. “This is my body,” He says, “given for you. Drink of it all of you, this cup is the new testament in my blood, shed for you, for the forgiveness of sins.” The Lamb who was slain has begun His reign. Alleluia! Christ is risen. He is risen indeed. Alleluia.

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.