Leaning Into the Promise--with Peter

In Nomine Iesu
St. Mark 16:1-8
April 1, 2018
Easter-B

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
Alleluia! Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Assume for a moment that your assignment is to paint a picture of Easter—to capture the significance of the resurrection on canvass. What would you paint in your picture? What would you want to include? An open, empty tomb with the stone rolled away? Perhaps an angel or two preaching to a small group of faithful women? Or what about the resurrected Christ Himself—radiant and victorious, with peace that passes understanding? Aspiring artists down through the centuries have taken approaches similar to these—sometimes with spectacular results.

But what if I told you that one of the best Easter paintings ever painted contains no Christ and no angel, no women and no garden, no tomb and no stone? Grab a copy of today’s bulletin and take a look at the cover. This work has a rather long title: The Disciples Peter and John Running to the Sepulcher on the Morning of the Resurrection. More often than not it’s just referred to by the shortened form, The Disciples. Now, some of you may have actually seen this painting on display. You won’t find it hanging in the Louvre or

the Met or the National Gallery. Instead, it hangs tucked away in Paris in an old railway station (the Musée d’Orsay, on the left bank of the Seine).

This painting hasn’t always been highly regarded. It was painted in 1898 by a Swiss artist named Eugene Burnand. He was something of an old-fashioned realist at a time when all the cool kids were embracing modernism. For this reason The Disciples didn’t make a big splash when it was first hung. The artist’s style was already considered passé by the 1890s.

But let’s take a closer look at this painting. The colors of the sky tell us that the first blush of dawn is just beginning to tint the clouds. The two disciples pictured are John and Peter. They are rushing to the tomb of Jesus, having just been told by Mary Magdalene that she and the other women found it empty—and that Christ has risen. Her words are ringing in their ears, but their faces and their bodies reveal that they aren’t sure they can believe her.

John is the younger one on the left. He wrings his hands together anxiously. His face looks more troubled than joyful. John has the distinction of being the only one of the twelve who was with Jesus when He died on the cross—the disciple whom Jesus loved—the disciple who took the blessed Mother of Jesus into his own home. John is clad a white garment, looking almost angelic.

But in the center of the painting is Peter—wearing a dark-colored robe, thick, heavy and oppressively mournful. If John was Jesus’ most faithful disciple, Peter was His most faithless. Peter was the only disciple who repeatedly, explicitly, verbally denied even knowing Jesus in His darkest hour. St. Mark’s account of Peter’s threefold denial of Christ is especially brutal and haunting. But this shouldn’t surprise us since Peter himself likely had a hand in shaping much of Mark’s gospel. Peter was never one to shy away from allowing others to see his terrible flaws, his awful judgment, and his soul-crushing sin. In fact, in Mark’s gospel, when Peter denies Jesus for the third time, we learn that he invoked a curse upon himself and he swore: I do not know the man. And with those words Peter placed himself squarely on the road to hell. Peter successfully separated himself from the Savior. And he broke down and wept.

Look at Peter’s face in the painting. How would you describe it? In this picture Peter looks terrified, yet hopeful—guilty, ashamed, and desperate. His eyes are wide open, ready to face what lies in his future. He’s not yet sure he can believe the report that Christ is risen. But he wants to. Oh, how he wants to believe it. With one hand Peter grasps at his heart, perhaps feeling around for the courage which had deserted him just nights earlier. What an amazing array of emotions the artist managed to capture in that one face.

And yet we don’t need to go to Paris to see a face like that firsthand. We just need to look in the mirror. For we are no less complex than Peter. We too are worn, wearied, and ashamed of our sin. We are at the same time disciples of Jesus, following Him in faith, while also bearing the burden of our brokenness, deeply aware and ashamed of all the ways we have denied Jesus—all the ways we have separated ourselves from our Savior—all the ways we have cursed and confessed together with Peter, I do not know the man.

And now on this Easter Sunday we once again find ourselves aligned with Peter—hearing the astounding good news that Christ is risen, leaning in to the promise of the resurrection, hoping against all hope that Christ is indeed risen from the dead, and that He loves us, and that He forgives us. Like Peter in the painting, all we have to go on is a promise—the promise of what is to come (which can’t yet be seen).

Last week I said that the gospel of Mark ends with a whimper, not with a bang. You certainly get a sense for that in the resurrection account you heard earlier—it’s a resurrection account in which Jesus Himself does not make an appearance. And it concludes with the women saying nothing—to nobody—because they were afraid. It’s not what you’d call a grand finale. There’s definitely good news here in Mark chapter 16; you just have to look for it a little harder than you do in Matthew, Luke, or John.

Go back to the painting on the bulletin cover for a moment. Take another look at Peter—how he touches his heart with his right hand. His left hand, strangely, has the index finger extended. It’s strange because his finger is extended, but he’s not really pointing at anything in particular. The two men aren’t looking where the finger is pointing. No, that extended finger simply seems to indicate that Peter is recalling something of singular importance. That finger indicates that something of profound significance was rattling around in Peter’s swirling mind.

You see, Peter himself had been singled out. And we know this only because of Mark chapter 16. In the report that filtered back from the tomb, the angel had said these words: “Go, tell his disciples and Peter that He is going before you to Galilee. There you will see him, just as He told you.” Tell his disciples—AND PETER! Let there be no doubt—Peter had been singled out . . . to be welcomed in. Peter who claimed not to know Jesus . . . was himself still known and still loved by Jesus. Peter the Denier—Faithless Peter—Proud Peter—Peter the supreme sinner—terrified, ashamed, and desperate Peter—the angel called him out by name to absolve him of his sin, to heal his brokenness, to vindicate his feeble faith, to give him hope and courage. The disciples AND PETER. Perhaps Peter’s extended finger is to emphasize and accentuate those two precious words hidden way down deep in the details of Easter. “And Peter.”

And this is the best of news—for all of us who follow in Peter’s footsteps. On Good Friday Christ died for our sins. And on the third day He rose from the dead. And this glorious work was for the salvation of the world. Jesus’ work is primarily one of addition, not subtraction. Jesus comes to seek and save and welcome sinners; not to cast them out—to add, not to subtract. Our faces may at times be grim with grief and shame. But when that happens, learn from Peter—learn from Peter to believe the impossible—to open your eyes in hope and faith and to just lean-in to the promises of our Savior.

Only Peter got a special invitation by name on that first Easter Sunday. Your “by name” invitation came a long time ago when the pastor called you by name and applied water in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Then and there you were joined to Jesus—numbered together with John and Peter—learning to trust Jesus Christ, the Savior of sinners. The glorious good news of the resurrection has gone out to the disciples and to Peter—to the most unlikely and undeserving of people: to Peter AND MICHAEL, AND ___________, AND ____________, AND ______________, AND _____________--and on and on and on. Jesus Christ is no longer dead. He lives and reigns to all eternity. And in Him you too will live and reign forever. Alleluia, Christ is risen . . .

Deliver Us from Evil

In Nomine Iesu
Luke 23:46/7th Petition
March 30, 2018
Good Friday

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

In the account of our Lord’s Passion from the pen of St. Luke, Jesus’ final words from the cross are words of faith—a prayer of great faith and confidence. Despite all appearances to the contrary—despite every indication that He is completely abandoned by His Father—despite the savage brutality to which He is subjected—Jesus prays with confidence and deep conviction: Father, into Your hands I commit my spirit. And having said this, He breathed His last.

This final prayer of our Lord is nothing new. Jesus is merely quoting from Psalm 31—quoting from the mouth of His ancestor, King David: Into your hands I commit my spirit. Jesus made these words His dying prayer. And saints down through the ages have also prayed these words as earthly life ebbed away. As angry men gnashed their teeth and hurled stones at Saint Stephen, he prayed that the Lord Jesus would receive His spirit. Martin Luther on the night when he died, prayed over and over again, “Father, into Your hands I commit my spirit.”

To “commit” something is sort of like making a deposit—maybe even a bank deposit. In these days of electronic banking and direct deposit, it’s becoming increasingly rare to do what I do two times each month: I drive to my bank, walk in, hand over my paycheck, and make a deposit. And this is an act of trust and faith on my part. I “commit” those funds, confident that when I need them they will be available.

To commit yourself to the Lord is also an act of trust and faith. It acknowledges that He is good and merciful and loving—that He does what He says and keeps His promises. You can deposit yourself with Him. You can commit to Him Your body and soul, your possessions and reputation. You can trust Him.

Father, into Your hands I commit my spirit. Can you pray these words along with Jesus? Can you comfortably and confidently entrust your spirit to your heavenly Father when your last hour comes? Not everyone can, and some for good reason. For some, the hands of God are to be avoided at all costs. In the book of Hebrews it says, “It is a fearful thing—a dreadful thing—to fall into the hands of the living God” (10:31). It is “fearful,” the author explains, for those who keep on sinning deliberately—even after receiving the knowledge of the truth. God’s hands are a “dreadful” place for those who know better—for those who insult the spirit of God’s grace by persistent, deliberate, unrepentant sinning. Our God is holy, which means that He is sinless and hates sin.

How then can sinners commit themselves to this holy God? We must first pray the seventh petition: Deliver us from evil. Before we can commit ourselves into God’s holy hands, we must first confront the problem of evil. We know all about evil. News broadcasts serve up a steady diet of despicable crimes and evil acts: Mass shootings, terrorist bombings, heartless acts of sexual abuse perpetrated against the powerless. And sometimes, even what the media trumpet as “progress” and a “grand step forward,” is actually a despicable evil in God’s eyes. Evil is real and we are surrounded by it.

But there’s a deeper truth concerning evil that never quite makes the headlines. The Scriptures remind us that evil also has a home in our hearts. Evil isn’t just something that finds expression in bars, brothels, and battlefields. Evil finds expression in our lives—in your life. Our liturgy teaches this terrible truth. The liturgy leads us to confess that we are poor, miserable sinners—that we are by nature sinful and unclean. But there’s a tremendous difference between just saying those words and believing them. If we don’t believe them—if we don’t believe that even our hearts are poisoned by evil, then we will never, ever correctly pray, Deliver us from evil. It’s the evil in here from which we most need deliverance. Nor can we deliver ourselves from evil. We must be delivered from it. When it comes to deliverance from evil, we are passive. God is active—very, very active. Deliverance from evil is what He does best.

And so behold the man on the center cross. There you will see God delivering you from evil. Isaiah saw this deliverance from evil centuries before it came to pass. Isaiah saw God’s servant, the Messiah, made to bear the punishment for our evil. He was pierced for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities, the punishment that brought us peace was upon Him, and by His wounds we are healed. When we pray, “Deliver us from evil,” we must always pray with the crucifixion in mind. Because there, on a dark Friday afternoon, evil had its way with Jesus.

Thus Jesus teaches us to pray, “Our Father, deliver us from evil.” Notice that Jesus doesn’t have us pray for an end to evil—at least not until our last hour comes and we depart this valley of sorrow for our heavenly home. No, Jesus doesn’t teach us to pray for all evil to be eradicated and eliminated. He teaches us to pray for deliverance from evil. We’re praying to be rescued from it. We’re praying that—in the end, when the smoke clears and the dust settles and the flames subside—we will still be standing, with our living Lord.

This is exactly how God operates in your life. He doesn’t remove all evil, but He does deliver your safely right through it—right through the valley of the shadow of death. Like when the Lord sent a plague of venomous snakes in the book of Numbers. People were dying left and right from snake-bite. The people asked Moses to pray to the Lord to take away the snakes. But the Lord didn’t take away the snakes. He had Moses make a bronze snake on pole. And when anyone looked at that bronze snake they were delivered—delivered from death by snakebite—even as the snakes continued slithering and sinking their fangs into flesh.

There are other examples too. Think of Daniel in the lions’ den. The Lord didn’t take away the lions; He simply delivered Daniel from becoming the lions’ lunch. Or think of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the fiery furnace. The Lord didn’t douse the flames. He didn’t turn down the thermostat. He simply delivered those young men—delivered them from evil.

As we gather together on this Good Friday in the year of our Lord 2018, many of us are in rough shape. Temptation slithers around us like venomous snakes. The weariness of worry and grief has left us fatigued to the point of despair. Some are in the lions’ den; others in the fiery furnace. All we know for sure is this: You will be delivered from every evil. For you have been delivered by Jesus—Jesus who became our sin so that we might become the righteousness of God—Jesus who loves you and gave Himself for you.

Trusting Jesus, redeemed by His blood, you too can pray along with Him. You can, with all boldness and confidence pray, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” For despite any appearances to the contrary, your God loves you for Jesus’ sake. He will deliver you from death for Jesus’ sake. You just wait. Just wait until the third day. And then you will see the ultimate deliverance from evil.

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

At the Ninth Hour

In Nomine Iesu
Mark 15:34-39
March 25, 2018
Palm/Passion Sunday

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

This Sunday has it all—everything from pomp, pageantry and praise . . . to torture, execution, and burial. Joy-filled shouts of “Hosanna” to hate-filled cries for crucifixion. This is the Sunday so nice they named it twice. It’s Palm Sunday; it’s also the Sunday of the Passion. Palms and Passion. Cheers and jeers. Triumph and tragedy meet head-on this day—in Jesus the Christ.

The Gospel according to Saint Mark has been our guide to the life of Jesus for most of this year. Mark is the most concise of the four gospels. But if you happen to make it back here next Sunday to celebrate the resurrection (which I hope you will), what you will discover about the Gospel of Mark is that it ends with a whimper—not with a bang. Easter according to St. Mark only has an angel and a few fearful women who are too scared to say anything to anyone. It’s not a very grand finale. But then again, it’s not intended to be.

No, the finale—the climax of Mark’s gospel—is found in that long reading you heard today from chapter fifteen. Specifically, everything comes to a head at the ninth hour. Now, the “ninth hour” is not nine o’clock, but three o’clock—three o’clock in the afternoon. It’s the ninth hour because it’s been about nine hours since the sun had risen. But by this ninth hour, on this Friday afternoon, there was only darkness. Four things happen in rapid sequence at the ninth hour. And these four things are why Good Friday is called Good Friday.

At the ninth hour Jesus cried out with a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” which means, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” These words of Jesus from the cross are the only words from the cross that Saint Mark chose to record for us. You have to

look elsewhere for the other six sayings. But these words are crucial to understanding what’s happening. Jesus is quoting Psalm 22—a Psalm that reads like a blow-by-blow commentary on the events of Good Friday. But this one verse tells us all we need to know.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? God the Father has forsaken His one and only Son. He has abandoned Jesus. He has turned a deaf ear to His prayers, and a blind eye to His suffering. And this is hell. When you and I reflect on the bleakest and most hopeless periods of our lives, we sometimes say, “It was a living hell.” But not really. The only person to endure a “living hell” in the strict sense was Jesus. And He endures it for you. He’s bearing your sin. He’s taking your punishment. He who knew no sin became sin for us, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God. As Isaiah reminds us, “it was the will of the Lord to crush Him” (53:10).

Last Sunday I asked the children to remember the worst sin they had ever committed. And I heard from a few of you adults after the service, that you didn’t really care for that question. It’s not too pleasant to ponder and, for some of us, it’s quite a challenge to choose which one of our many sins is the worst. Whatever the sin that you’d rather not recall—see it with Jesus in the living hell of His crucifixion. It’s why He was forsaken by His Father, so that His Father will never forsake you—so that your sin (even your worst sin) will never stand between you and your Father in heaven.

At the ninth hour, at the moment Jesus died, two things happen almost simultaneously: He “uttered a loud cry and breathed his last. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom.” The fact that Jesus could cry out loudly is remarkable when you consider what His body was going through at that moment. Many of you know that death by crucifixion is actually death by asphyxiation. As the hours pass by, the ability of a crucified man to draw oxygen into his lungs becomes less and less. Breathing becomes labored and shallow. You can’t shout or cry out unless you’ve got air in your lungs. But Jesus found a way. And with that loud cry He gave up His life for us.

At that exact moment—less than a mile away—a critical curtain in the temple was torn in two. This curtain separated the Holy of Holies (God’s dwelling place on earth) from what was called the Holy Place. No one except the High Priest could ever pass through that curtain into God’s presence—and he could do it only once a year on Yom Kippur, and only being properly vested and bearing blood to atone for the sins of the people.

But at the ninth hour, at the moment Jesus died, God Himself tore down that curtain. The temple and its sacrificial system had become obsolete. The blood of God’s own Lamb had atoned for the sins of the world. And all who are covered by that blood now have full and free access to God. Jesus, our great High Priest, has opened the way for us with His own flesh and blood. And now nothing is able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

And now comes the climax. Now comes the grand finale. And quite surprisingly, this moment of maximum significance in the Gospel according to Saint Mark is entrusted to a no-name centurion—a Roman soldier who had witnessed our Lord’s crucifixion from a seat in the front row. When the centurion, who stood facing him, saw that in this way he breathed his last, he said, “Truly this man was the Son of God.”

Now the true significance of the centurion’s statement only becomes clear as you reflect back on the previous 14 chapters of Mark’s gospel. You probably noticed how, in His earthly ministry, Jesus often commanded those who experienced His divine power to say nothing about it. It began with the demons and the unclean spirits. Jesus ordered them not to tell who He was. He placed that same gag order on other ordinary folks who had witnessed wonders—a man healed of leprosy, Jairus whose dead daughter was raised to life, to a deaf and mute man whose hearing and speech Jesus restored—to all of these people who had experienced Jesus to be the Son of God firsthand—Jesus said, “Shhh. Don’t tell anyone. Keep it quiet.” Even when Peter had explicitly confessed, “You are the Christ,” and after Peter, James, and John saw His heavenly glory on the Mount of Transfiguration—Jesus told them to keep quiet and tell no one.

But now, finally, at the ninth hour, a centurion spills the beans: Truly this man was the Son of God! That centurion is a stand-in for all of us—for all of us who will follow Jesus this week from Bethany to Jerusalem, and from Jerusalem to Calvary’s cross. We’re “in” on the secret together with this no-name centurion. Only when Jesus has breathed His last—only when He has been reduced to a corpse on a cross—only then does He allow the truth to be confessed by the most unlikely of people, including you and me.

We stand shoulder-to-shoulder with that centurion. For our baptism has also given us a front row seat to witness what happened to Jesus on Good Friday. Do you not know that all of us who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into His death? We were crucified with Him. We were buried with Him. And we have a share in His resurrection from the dead. And until that day when we depart this life to be with Christ, we make it our goal to say with the centurion: This man was the Son of God. Not only that, but we make it our goal to live and speak and serve in such a way that we are always bearing witness to Jesus, the Son of God.

Part of what makes Mark’s gospel unique is that it was first written for Christians who were being persecuted. For them, to say with the centurion that Jesus Christ was the Son of God—well, it might have been enough to get them killed. Following Jesus is never easy. One day your own “ninth hour” will come. But whether your “ninth hour” passes with a whimper or a bang, remember what Saint Mark shows us today: You can trust this Jesus. Behold all that He has done for you. See the depths of His love for you. He will never leave you or forsake you. You are precious to Him. He is—truly—the Son of God, your Savior.

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

Forgive Us Our Trespasses

In Nomine Iesu
Fifth Petition
March 21, 2018
Midweek Lent 5

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

I’ll see you in court! You’ll be hearing from my lawyer! I’ll sue your pants off! Sound familiar? It should. Litigation is the contagion of our times. Back in 2012 litigation costs in the United States totaled $250 billion dollars. The amount of money we spent on suing and being sued amounted to over two percent of the Gross Domestic Product. It would be as if every man, woman, and child in this country spent $838 dollars in search of a legal remedy.

Although litigation is sometimes a necessary thing—and although judges and attorneys should be viewed as good gifts from God—yet, suing somebody has almost become a way of life in American culture—even among Christians—even between Christians. The creed of our culture almost seems to be: I don’t get mad; I get even.

But for those who follow Jesus Christ, getting even and getting revenge are not viable options. Jesus advocates forgiveness, not litigiousness. Jesus promotes reconciliation, not litigation. He tells us to love our enemies and to pray for those who persecute us (Matt. 5:44). And the concrete expression of that love for our enemies—the place where the rubber hits the road—is the Fifth Petition of the Lord’s Prayer: Our Father, forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.

You’ve prayed those words perhaps thousands of times. What do they mean? First and foremost, those words are a confession—an admission—that we’ve got trespasses that need forgiving. Whenever we pray this petition we are owning-up to the fact that we daily sin much and deserve nothing but punishment. With these words we admit the worst about ourselves—that we are indeed poor, miserable sinners.

This petition also levels the playing field. It just lumps us together with all the other sinners. There’s no distinction here. It’s not “forgive him” or “forgive her” or even “forgive me.” It’s “forgive us our trespasses.” The plural pronouns of this petition break our pride and keep all of us as beggars before God. Anyone who would dare to boast in his own goodness and look down on the sins of others—that person needs to pray these words: Father, forgive us.

This petition also teaches us how God’s forgiveness is like rainwater. It pours down vertically from God to us; and then runs horizontally from us to our neighbors. It’s just like the rain that first showers down from the heavens and then runs along the channels of streams and creeks and rivers. Or, if you prefer, it’s like a waterfall that gushes downward and then turns into a river flowing outward. God forgives, and His forgiveness propels His forgiven people also to forgive. Both our forgiveness and our forgiveness of others is offered to God in one, seamless, unbroken petition, prayed in a single breath: Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.

Forgiveness cannot be hoarded. You can’t save it up just for yourself. It’s like the air we breathe—inhaled and exhaled, but no holding your breath—at least not for very long. Forgiveness is made to move. It’s made to flow, like the blood and water from Jesus’ side—from God to us—and through us to those around us. This is important because any blockage in the horizontal channel results in a back-up in the vertical. Those who refuse to forgive others are also—actually—refusing to be forgiven themselves. Jesus helpfully expressed it this way: For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you, but if you do not forgive others their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses (Matt. 6:14-15). Luther put it more succinctly in the Large Catechism: If you do not forgive, do not think that God forgives you.

To forgive means to “let go” of the sin—to send the sin away to where it no longer comes between you and your neighbor. But our sinful nature never wants to let go—never wants to send away the sins perpetrated against us. We want to hold onto those sins—carefully file them away for use at a later time. Instead of “forgive and forget,” what comes naturally to us is to “remember and retaliate.” We’d rather even the score than forgive as God in Christ has forgiven us.

What’s more, the forgiveness we are called to share cannot be half-hearted. It’s not just saying, “I forgive you,” but meaning it. As the Small Catechism reminds us, “So we too will sincerely forgive and gladly do good to those who sin against us.” The forgiveness we give should be just like the forgiveness we receive from the Lord: full, free, and genuine.

This is tough. In fact, this is impossible without Jesus. I’d like to share with you something Jesus once taught me about forgiveness. I was in second grade. And one Wednesday evening during Lent, while I was at church with my family, I did something destructive. My destructive act was soon discovered, and later that night at home a suitable punishment was administered.

But that’s not the end of the story. For my parents decided that since my destructive deed was carried out at church, I needed to apologize to our pastor. I still remember the fear and dread that followed in the days ahead as I contemplated what it would be like to apologize to the pastor, who to my second-grade eyes was a rather formidable figure. When the moment of truth arrived, I was terrified. I don’t remember a word of what I said. But I will never forget what he said: Mike, since Jesus forgives you, I forgive you too. It was unexpected. It was undeserved. It was grace. It was the forgiveness of Jesus flowing from one forgiven sinner to another.

That forgiveness is still flowing right here this evening. It flows from the cross of Jesus—from the Lamb of God slain for sinners like us. Hanging from the cross, on a dark Friday afternoon, our Lord Jesus prayed to our Father. Even as He was mocked and spit upon—as pain beyond measure was inflicted upon His lacerated body—He prayed. He prayed not for vengeance or retribution. He prayed for the forgiveness of His enemies: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” And just a short while later, Jesus breathed His last to make our forgiveness possible. Jesus, who was innocent, prayed for the guilty. He takes our guilt and gives us His innocence. He takes our sin, and gives us His forgiveness. Tonight you have His forgiveness—full, free, and genuine. The only question is: What will you do with it?

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

Ten--And Still Holding

In Nomine Iesu
Exodus 20:1-17
March 4, 2018
Lent 3B

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

When I took my first-ever trip to Germany last summer, there was nothing I depended on more than Google Maps. With one glance at my phone, my navigation needs were mostly met. I knew right where I was. I got my bearings quickly. I could emerge from a shadowy, underground subway station into the bright Berlin sunshine, and pretty much immediately, I knew which way to walk—despite never having traveled those streets before in my life. With Google maps I knew where I was; I knew where I had been; and I knew where I was going.

The Ten Commandments serve a similar purpose in the Christian’s life. The Ten Commandments—and especially that all-encompassing First Commandment—serve as a kind of spiritual GPS as we travel along life’s way. Whether you give much careful thought to the Ten Commandments or not, they provide a center of gravity—a solid point of reference—for us. With one simple sentence—You shall have no other gods—God simultaneously shows us both the way we should be going and just how far we have strayed from that way.

Our text this morning—the chapter in which the Ten Commandments are first recorded—is Exodus 20. To me, that’s always a little bit surprising. Why did it take so long to get these timeless truths inscribed on two tablets? We are seventy chapters into the Old Testament.

We are at least seven centuries past the call of Abraham, and who knows how many centuries past that awful day when our first parents fell into sin and ruined everything. Why did the Lord wait so long to lay out the rules? Two simple Power Point slides could have sufficed. If I’m God, I’m setting Adam and Eve down in Genesis chapter four and giving them ten bullet points to take to heart. But the Lord waits. I wonder why?

Well, as many of you already know, the Ten Commandments are just a written expression of what we call the “Natural Law.” It’s called the “natural” law because God writes it upon the heart of every human being. So, long before the Lord took the time to give Moses those two tablets, that content was actually already inscribed on every human heart. Every human being has a conscience—an inborn sense of right and wrong. Long before you ever learned there was such a thing as the Fifth Commandment, you knew that murder was wrong. You knew that parents should be honored—that stealing and lying and adultery were wrong. In a sense, God only waited until Exodus chapter twenty to formalize what was already naturally known.

This means that there really aren’t too many surprises when it comes to the Commandments. What is a surprise is that the Bible nowhere calls them the “Ten Commandments,” and that not everybody numbers them exactly the same way. There may be a lot of differences between Lutherans and Roman Catholics and Jews; but we’re all on the same team when it comes to numbering the commandments. We see the command against carved images as falling under the First Commandment, leaving two commandments concerning coveting at the end. The Eastern Orthodox and other Protestants number things differently.

But ultimately the numbering doesn’t matter because, however you slice it and dice it, “God spoke all these words.” And all these words—all these commandments—still hold and still apply to us today. No statute of limitations. No expiration date. Jesus didn’t abolish the commandments. If anything, He sharpened them. He brought them to bear on human conduct at the very deepest level. Avoiding adultery, for instance, is now much more than just avoiding sexual intercourse with the wrong people; for Jesus tells us that even our private thoughts must be sexually pure and decent. Likewise, avoiding murder is much more than just refraining from plunging my knife into my neighbor’s back; for Jesus tells us that even hateful thoughts break the Fifth Commandment.

Time doesn’t allow us to explore all Ten Commandments in one sermon—you’ll be thankful to know. Such a sermon would probably leave you feeling more than a little depressed—more than a little inadequate. For your commandment-keeping has been a colossal failure. Your performance has been pathetic. You have not measured up to God’s standards of holiness, and you never will.

But for a bit of good news, consider again why God waited as long as He did to formalize His commandments on tablets of stone. In many ways, God’s timing tells the whole story concerning His commandments. There’s one simple sentence we dare not overlook this morning. For the Decalogue does not begin with the words “You shall” or “You shall not.” No, it begins with the words “I am—I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery.”

What took the Lord so long to scribble out those commandments? What held Him up? He first of all had to baptize a people for Himself in the waters of the Red Sea. He first of all had to save and deliver His people from slavery and death—without any merit or worthiness in them. Because only then—only after they saw Pharaoh’s horses and chariots washed away forever under the waves of the Red Sea—only then could they know that this God was their God. Only then could they believe Him and trust Him. Only then could they see that the relationship between them was ultimately governed by grace and mercy and love. The commandments didn’t come first. First, God acted. God saved. God delivered.

Only then could the Israelites know that they were loved by this God, Yahweh. Only then could they understand that the words which followed—the Ten Commandments—were not just rules for the sake of rules—or rules by which to earn God’s acceptance. They already had God’s acceptance. No, these commandments were given in love. It’s the very same reason God has given you these Ten Commandments: Because He loves you. He is your God. You can believe Him and trust Him. He has washed you—not with Red Sea waters—but washed you in the tide that flows from the pierced side of His beloved Son, Jesus the Christ.

Israel knew her God because of what happened at the Red Sea; but you know your God because of what happened at Calvary. How do we know that God is for us and not against us? How do we know that His rule is one of grace and mercy and love? We see it at Calvary. There He makes it clear that He is your God, who has rescued and delivered you from sin and death.

We’ve made a royal mess of God’s commandments; so God has sent His royal Son into the midst of our mess. He is bone of our bone and flesh of our flesh. He is like us in every way—yet without sin. And although His commandment-keeping was perfect, yet He takes your sin and He answers for it. He takes your death and overcomes it. All this He did for you, so that you might know Him by faith as your God—the God who forgives you, the God who makes Himself your brother, and who gives your life eternal meaning and significance.

He is God; we are not. You shall have no other gods. He is number one. What He gives and says goes. This can be rough. We’re often reluctant to let Him have the final say. We all have our personal idols that we like to bring into the conversation—to get a broader perspective on things. But be careful with that. God is in the idol-destroying business. And when He’s through with you, He may just leave you with nothing—with nobody at all to rely on—but Him alone. That’s the sort of love He shows to all of us from time to time. And this is good. For when He cleanses us of our other gods—when He cleanses us of all our attempts to play God and to tell God how to behave properly—well then, what we are left with is the true God. He’s the God in the manger and the God on the cross—a God you can rely on and love—a God from whose nail-scarred hands we are given life that lasts forever.

Week after week the people of God gather right here. I’m sure you probably didn’t need Google Maps to find your way here. But for decades this place has been a solid reference point for God’s people—a place where we get our bearings—where we get reoriented to the Savior at the center of our universe. In the Divine Service we take our place in God’s throne room—with angels and archangels and all the company of heaven. We remember the relationship we have with God—the one He forged through water and the word: In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. That, my friends, is a solid point of reference—a very good place to be. Here in God’s presence, we get things sorted out. We see clearly where we’ve been and where we’re going. We confess and get rid of everything that has gotten in the way—every idol, every false god, every sin. We confess it all and ask forgiveness. And that forgiveness is given in the name of Jesus. Here we drink deeply from His Word. We are fed from His altar. We respond with prayers and praises. And then we go back outside to the callings He has given us.

But as we take our leave from here, we have our bearings. By God’s grace, we know where we’re going. We know that one day we shall emerge from this dark land of shadows into the bright light of God’s presence. Google Maps can’t get you there; but that’s okay. You know the way. Just follow Jesus.

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

Lifted Up by the Lord

In Nomine Iesu
St. Mark 1:29-39
February 4, 2018
Epiphany 5B

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

It is the germaphobe’s least favorite time of the year. Influenza and other viruses are running rampant. Copious amounts of hand sanitizer do very little shore up weakened immune systems—especially when we’re all crammed together indoors like sardines thanks to this ferocious February weather. With all these germs floating around, it almost makes you want to stop breathing—or at least not to inhale any more than is absolutely necessary.

When was the last time you were sick, injured, or in great pain? Such miserable moments can actually be very spiritual moments. Serious illness, especially, can be a time of great insight and clarity. Our dependence on others and our own weakness and vulnerability—it enables us to experience God’s gracious care in ways we never could otherwise. On one hand, our sicknesses remind us of our mortality—remind us that we are dust and to dust we shall return. But on the other hand, every time we recover—every time we bounce back to health—we are pointed ahead to the day of resurrection, when our broken bodies will be forever raised to new life—changed from merely mortal to immortality.

It would be easy to overlook the healing of Simon Peter’s mother-in-law in today’s holy gospel. It seems almost trivial—especially compared to what had just taken place: Jesus engaged in a thrilling and spectacular confrontation with a demon-possessed man in the

synagogue. Instead, in today’s text, we have just an old lady in bed with a fever. Possibly serious, but likely to improve with some rest and plenty of fluids. Feed a cold, starve a fever. Nevertheless, Jesus goes to her bedside, takes her by the hand, lifts her up, and the fever leaves her. And she proceeds to put on some coffee, make some sandwiches, put out some cookies, and serve her son-in-law’s new friends.

As miracles go, it’s not very spectacular. But what a nice story! Wouldn’t it be nice to have Jesus come to your sickbed, take you by the hand, and lift you up on eagles’ wings? So much better than dealing with insurance, keeping track of deductibles, waiting on lab results, phoning the pharmacy because you can’t remember if it’s two pills three times a day or three pills two times a day. I’ll gladly take a house call from Jesus instead of all of that rigmarole.

Later that night the whole city gathered in Simon Peter’s front yard, bringing multitudes of diseased and demonized people. And Jesus dutifully made his way from one to the next, healing them much as He had Peter’s mother-in-law. It’s a bit surprising, though, to hear that Jesus left town the next morning without healing everybody. And why did He check out? To go to other towns so that He could preach, “for that is why I came,” He said. Miracles and healings were not the main thing for Jesus. Preaching was the main thing.

Preaching was at the top of Jesus’ “to do” list. Preaching, not healing. Healing we like. Miracles we like. Preaching . . . well that’s another matter. But not really. We need to align our priorities with Jesus’ priorities. Too often we expect all the wrong things from God—that He will provide a quick fix—something to make us heathier, wealthier, and wiser. We want practical, easy solutions to all our stubborn problems. We just want to be happy. Is that asking too much? But all Jesus wants to do is preach the good news.

So why did Jesus bother with all the miracles? Why did He display His divine powers every so often? Why take the time to heal a little old lady with a fever? The miracles are a sign that reveal who Jesus is. The miracles of healing, in particular, show us that Jesus is the One behind every healing of every disease. Even if Jesus had never gone to Peter’s mother-in-law and taken her by the hand, her healing would still have been the work of Jesus. For every healing is ultimately the work of the Christ. The miracles just leave out the middle man—be that the doctor, the surgeon, the pharmacist. The miracles make it plain as day that Jesus is the master healer. They don’t call Him the Great Physician for nothing.

Do you believe that? Do you believe that Jesus Christ healed you when you had the flu? Do you believe that Jesus Christ healed you when you underwent surgery—when you twisted that ankle, broke that hip, sliced that finger? Very often we don’t believe it. But the miraculous healing of Peter’s mother-in-law should at least teach us this: Behind every healing, behind every pill, behind every therapy, physician, specialist and nurse—behind every last one of them stands Jesus. Through them all Jesus is working for your good—keeping you in good working order so that He can work through you too—lifting you up off your duff to start serving those around you, just like Peter’s mother-in-law did when she was healed.

But understand this: Jesus didn’t come to fix the world’s problems through miracles. He didn’t come to deal with demons and diseases and death by performing miracles. No, the way Jesus dealt with all that was for He Himself to die as your substitute—to take your punishment, to bear your sicknesses and sorrows, to endure the just wages of your sin. On His cross and through His death, Jesus drags all our demons and diseases and sins into the black hole of His death—swallows them all up forever. Jesus’ ultimate healing work is not to dole out band-aids and pills, but to die and rise again. Death and resurrection is the way Jesus works.

Notice I said death and resurrection. Because Christ is risen, it means that every prayer you’ve ever prayed for healing will be answered positively and affirmatively on the Last Day, in the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come. Whenever we pray for health and healing, that prayer is always, ultimately, answered by God with a “yes.” We just don’t know when or how that “yes” will come to pass. You might be like Simon Peter’s mother-in-law and jump up out of bed and head off to start working in the kitchen. Or you might spend a few more days in bed. Or you might spend the balance of your life on earth in hospitals or other care facilities. Or you may die. But then and there God’s “yes” will be wondrously revealed to you.

Peter’s mother-in-law died one day. Peter died, too, along with Andrew, James and John. All those diseased and demonized people who Jesus healed in Peter’s front yard in Capernaum—they all died too. One day you and I will die. And there won’t be any easy answers or quick fix miracles. But Jesus will be there, as He always is. Jesus will come alongside of you, take you by the hand, and lift you up from sin, death and despair. Jesus will lift you up to be with Him. And then all those prayers for health and healing you ever prayed will find their “yes” and their “amen” in the wonder of your resurrection. All your sighs and groanings and tears and prayers—Jesus heard them all, and in His death and resurrection He’ already done something about them. They who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.

The healing of Peter’s mother-in-law is such a “minor” event in the ministry of Jesus; but even in this minor event, there is major comfort for you. Consider the scene one last time. Jesus, having just cast out a demon from a man in the synagogue, enters Peter’s humble abode. Into this lowly, little world of Peter’s house Jesus comes—where the dirty dishes and dirty laundry are piling up, and the floor is sticky, and a poorly-trained terrier is jumping on the furniture and barking up a storm—into this domestic mess strides the Lord of heaven and earth. The lady of the house, apologizing for the mess, mentions that it’s been hard to keep up because her old mother has been sick.

And immediately Jesus heads off to check on her. They clear the way to the back bedroom where the woman lies sick, quickly pulling down the unmentionables hung out to dry, never expecting a man to venture into that space—never dreaming that the Messiah would want to be bothered by a feverish old woman. But Jesus doesn’t bat an eye. Nothing gives Him pause. To the bed and the feverish, flustered woman He comes. There can be no mistake. Jesus is there just for her—exclusively, unmistakably for her. He says not one word, but takes her by the hand, lifts her up, the fever disappears, and she heads for the kitchen. Big deal? Yep. Big deal! From that day on that woman was never the same again. Why not? Because she knew that she was precious to Jesus. She—the old lady with all of her faults and failings and false teeth—with all of her crackling bones and aching, arthritic joints—she was precious to Jesus.

And you are, too. Jesus Christ comes today into your messy world—into your domestic mess. Whatever worry plagues you—whatever causes you to be feverish and flustered—whatever it is that fills you with fatigue and weariness—Jesus doesn’t bat an eye. Nothing gives Him pause. To you He comes. “Take and eat,” He says, “This is my body given for you. Drink of it all of you, this is my blood, shed for you for the forgiveness of sins.” And with these gifts He lifts you up from all that would drag you down. And you rise up to depart in peace. And you head off to serve those around you in the vocations and the estates where God has placed you. Big deal? Yep. Because in your hearing of these words—because in your eating and drinking of this holy food—you are given to know that you are precious—you with all of your tears and fears, your sins and transgressions, your wounds and sicknesses—Jesus Christ comes to you, today, with healing.

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

Living as God's Child in the Family

In Nomine Iesu
Genesis 2:18-25
January 28, 2018
Three Estates: Sermon 3

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

The biggest surprise of the creation account in Genesis is not what you might think. It is astonishing that God created the heavens and the earth in a span of but six days. And it is a bit unexpected that God took a breather and rested for a while on the seventh day. And it does make you stop and scratch your head when you realize that God created light days before He got around to creating the sun, moon, and stars.

But the most shocking surprise of the creation account is that God didn’t get it quite right the first time around—that as the dust was settling on God’s good creation and as God surveyed everything He had made—as He went over His list and checked it twice—the Lord realized an oversight. There was something not good in His very good creation: “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper fit for him.”

A cast of creatures was then paraded into the man’s presence. A kind of animal audition was held. But it quickly became apparent that the Lord had a little more creating to do. “. . . for Adam there was not found a helper fit for him. 21So the Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall upon the man, and while he slept took one of his ribs and closed up its place with flesh. 22And the rib that the Lord God had taken from the man he made into a woman and brought her to the man. Finally, Adam had a bride—bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh. Adam had his Eve and, at long last, everything was, indeed, very, very good.

Marriage—the lifelong union of one man and one woman—is the crowning achievement of God’s very good creation. Marriage is the glue that holds the world together. God’s focus is always on the family: “Therefore a man shall leave his father and mother and hold fast to

his wife, and they shall become one flesh.” And from that “one flesh” relationship, husbands and wives have the distinct pleasure of heeding God’s gracious call to “be fruitful and multiply.”

Now, this doesn’t mean that being single is bad; but it does mean that even those who are single should honor and support marriage whenever and however possible. Even if you yourself are a confirmed bachelor or bachelorette, the odds are pretty good that you came into this world through the marriage of your parents. Through them, God gave you life. Through them, God protected you, nurtured you, and taught you. Everything hinges on God’s gift of marriage and family.

The family is the third and final estate of the three estates. In recent weeks you’ve heard about how to live as God’s child in the church, and how to live as God’s child in submission to the government. Today’s topic is family. And in the family the importance of your role is magnified. Whether you are a parent or child, a husband or wife, a brother or sister—God is using you in your family in a profound and mysterious way.

Consider your role in your family in comparison with your role in the church and in the state. In the church, if you don’t step up to serve with a particular task, it’s likely someone else will step up and serve. If you don’t do it, someone will. Likewise with respect to the state, if you choose to live as an outlaw, and refuse to serve the government as a good citizen, you will face dire consequences. But your bad behavior alone won’t grind the gears of government to a screeching halt.

But your God-given role in your family can only be carried out by you! Husbands and fathers are crucial. Wives and mothers are essential. Brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, are all gifts from God. In your family, you are irreplaceable. The love and honor shown between husbands and wives is precious in God’s sight. The obedience and honor shown from children to their parents is a priceless good work. Parents who teach the faith to their children can engage in no more critical work.

Children can’t choose their parents; and parents can’t choose their children. God gives us to one another as He knows to be best. He has created your family as surely as He created the first family from our first parents. Family is the crucial and critical foundation for life in a fallen world.

Those of you who are currently married: Do you realize that your marriage is not entirely your own doing? In this respect, your marriage is a lot like the marriage of our first parents. It was God who joined Adam and Eve. And it was God who joined you to your spouse—for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death parts you. In, with, and under the courtship and dating—the engagement and the wedding—God Himself was at work, drawing you and your spouse together—to love and be loved—to serve and be served. Yours is (so to speak) a match made in heaven. God’s divine finger prints are all over your marriage and your family. And don’t just take my word for it. After all, it’s Jesus who describes marriage as “what God has joined together.”

Jesus made that astounding claim about marriage in response to some Pharisees who wanted to give Him the third degree about divorce. Then, as now, divorce is a difficult and divisive topic. Someone is sure to get offended, and that’s just what the Pharisees were counting on when they raised the topic with Jesus. But Jesus took them back to the beginning—back to Genesis chapter two. He reminded them that marriage is God’s gift—given for our good, and for the good of the whole world. And then Jesus added, “What God has joined together, let not man separate” (Matt. 19:3-6).

But ever since the fall into sin, human beings have been busy seeking to separate what God has joined, rejecting what God has given, and radically revising and re-defining God’s gift of this holy estate to suit our own sinful, selfish desires. And nowhere have human being sought to change things up more than when it comes to the phrase, “one flesh.”

“[Husbands and wives] are no longer two but one flesh,” said Jesus. That phrase “one flesh” is more than just a figure of speech. It describes how marriage is the closest communion that can possibly exist between two people. It is the union of a man and woman in heart, body, and mind. And this communion between husband and wife is a closed communion. No one is permitted to drive a wedge between a husband and wife. Anyone who dares to do so—anyone who dares adultery—who subtly seeks to separate what God has joined together—that person is answerable to God.

That phrase, “one flesh” also tells us another truth about marriage: Marriage is the only God-pleasing place for sexual love to be expressed. Only within marriage can two people, like Adam and Eve, stand before one another naked and without shame. Here God’s command to be fruitful and multiply is gladly kept by husbands and wives.

Any sexual relationship between people who are not married is destructive, harmful, and sinful. It separates sex from marriage—separates what God has joined together for our good. Couples who live together without the benefits and blessings of marriage are dishonoring marriage—and dishonoring the God who gives marriage (not to mention setting themselves up for all sorts of marital problems in the future). And by the way, God’s truth about living together and sex and adultery—it’s all just as true for the AARP crowd as it is for twenty-somethings. No one gets a pass. God gives us His truth about marriage because He loves us and wants the best for us. And His truth about marriage contains no loopholes, no exceptions or exclusions.

In fact, God’s truth about marriage condemns us all. For we’ve all dishonored marriage in our thoughts, words or deeds. And in every marriage, every day, husbands and wives sin against one another and against the God who joined them together. We can go on excusing our sin or hiding our sin, or blaming someone else for our sin, or claiming that everybody else is doing it. Or, we can confess our sin to God, receive His full and free forgiveness, and then make the changes we need to make, all with the help of God. God’s forgiveness is always total and complete. But God’s forgiveness is never the permission to go on living in our sins.

In the Scriptures, God gives us a perfect picture of marriage. In this picture, Jesus is the groom and the church is His bride. We are the bride of Christ. But it could have been otherwise. For Jesus could have divorced us. God could have put us all away for our countless spiritual adulteries and infidelities. He could have sent us away for good, and with just cause. Instead, Jesus Christ bore our adulteries on the cross. Our sin was joined to His body. His body was joined to the cross. All of our sin was laid with Him in His tomb. Whatever your personal adulteries and infidelities—whatever the ways you have sought to separate what God has joined together—see that shameful load buried forever in the tomb of Jesus. See it all washed away in the cleansing splash of your baptism. There are no “scarlet letters” worn by those redeemed by Christ the crucified.

Husbands and wives, God has joined you to your marriage partner; and God doesn’t make mistakes. That doesn’t mean that your spouse will always be your best friend, or that your spouse will always make you happy. No one can be that spouse. The problem isn’t that Men are from Mars and women are from Venus—those differences are not our downfall. We’re just struggling sinners, cleansed and redeemed by the blood of Jesus. But as we confess our sins to God and one another, we have an ever-present help. For the God who joins husbands and wives together is surely willing, ready and able to provide every marriage with help and healing and hope and joy. Are you willing to look for that help, and ask for that help, and receive that help?

Beloved in the Lord, it’s not just a matter of “marriage is good” and “divorce is bad.” It’s a matter of “marriage is holy, and we must all keep it holy with the help of God.” Apart from His help, there’s not much we can do. “Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain” (Ps. 127:1). But with the Lord—with His mercy, help, and forgiveness—all things are possible. Through the family, God gives and protects life. Through the family—through your family—God is doing some of His very best work. Amen.