In Nomine Iesu
St. Mark 9:38-50
September 30, 2018
Proper 21B
Dear Saints of Our Savior~
If anyone ever says to you, “You look like a pastor,” don’t take that as a compliment. It’s happened to me before. I tell someone what I do for a living and they say, “Oh, sure. You look like a pastor.” I try not to be insulted by that, because I think what they really mean is: “You look old, and your wardrobe is a bit outdated.” It’s true that members of the clergy do have a way of sticking out. The religious elite are often easy to recognize.
But on the positive side, this makes it easy to spot imposters—people pretending to be pastors—charlatans acting like apostles. That’s how this morning’s Gospel reading opens up. The disciples spotted someone driving out demons in the name of Jesus who didn’t look the part. “Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he was not following us.” He wasn’t a card-carrying member of the disciples club—didn’t have the synodical seal of approval. He wasn’t properly credentialed—was exorcising demons without a license. This was a lawsuit waiting to happen, so the disciples moved to shut down that unauthorized operation.
What the disciples are actually demonstrating here is that the Old Adam in each of us is a total control freak. He likes to have things his way and according to his rules and standards. He doesn’t like it when things get messy around the edges. And that’s a problem—especially in the church, where things are sometimes messy and unpredictable. Here was some guy going around casting out demons in the name of Jesus. People were trusting in Jesus because of him. He was proclaiming the Savior’s power in places where the disciples were not. You’d think this would be cause for amazement and joy. But not so for the disciples. To them, this was a clear cut case of an outsider impersonating insiders like them. He wasn’t one of the chosen twelve and so they sought to stop him.
The disciples elected to make a power play and exert their control over the situation. Sure, Jesus might have been the CEO; but they were the Board of Directors. We do that too in our life together as the church. We shoot people down for taking the initiative—or just for trying a new approach. Everybody tries to defend their own turf and get their own way. Power plays are the name of the game: “I’m the pastor here so we’ll do it my way.” Or,
“I’ve been a member here for fifty years so we’ll do it my way.” Or,
“I give more money than most so we’ll do it my way.”
We treat the church like an exclusive country club where money and power and status and bylaws are the most important things—instead of treating the church like a family of sinners gathered around Jesus and His gifts of forgiveness.
The disciples were no doubt expecting to be praised by Jesus for their vigilance. In reality, they were acting like over-zealous third-grade hall monitors who were tattling to the Teacher. But Jesus turns the tables on them—and on our Old Adam too: “Don’t,” said Jesus. “Don’t stop him, for no one who does a mighty work in my name will be able soon afterward to speak evil of me.” Jesus wanted them to know that, despite all their power plays, the power belongs to Him and to His Word. The disciples were just the instruments—the hands and mouths that Jesus was using to accomplish His purposes. And if Jesus wants to utilize some freelance exorcist out on the fringes, well, that’s His business.
It turns out that “Team Jesus” has a much bigger roster than anyone could imagine. “The one who is not against us is for us.” That is a very inclusive approach, wouldn’t you say? We always want to make things exclusive with ourselves in control. But that’s not the way of Jesus.
It turns out, our God is sneaky. It turns out He doesn’t need insiders like us with our boards and by-laws and membership cards. He’s got His secret agents scattered all over the place—just like the anonymous exorcist in today’s text who didn’t have all the right credentials. Or perhaps, like in Russia, where the pious old grandmother baptized her grandchildren after the communists took over all the churches and killed all the priests. Or like the total stranger who comes along with a cup of cold water and a gentle word of good news about Jesus Christ for some poor, thirsty soul. Or like that friend of yours who loved you enough to confront you when you were secure in your sin (and needed confronting). Oh, your God is sneaky. He’s got His secret agents all over the place; and most of the time they don’t look anything like a pastor.
This means that no one is absolutely necessary for the success of God’s kingdom. And maybe that’s what was hardest for John and the other eleven disciples to swallow—their own non-necessity. It alarmed them that there were others who could drive out demons in Jesus’ name. If they didn’t do it, others would. If they couldn’t do it, others could. The twelve weren’t necessary, just as none of us is necessary. Important, yes. Loved, you bet. Died for and redeemed, certainly so. But not necessary. God can and will get it done, even without you and without me. You can’t bear the burden of necessity (even though we all try). That burden will break you down and burn you out.
As a pastor, I see this all the time—in others and in myself. It’s all up to me, we say. I’ve got to get results. I’ve got to beat the cancer. I’ve got to heal my marriage. I’ve got to get straight A’s. I’ve got to be the perfect parent with the perfect kids—the perfect pastor with the perfect counsel—the perfect Christian with the perfect witness. But I’m here to tell you, you can’t do it. You can’t bear that burden and Jesus doesn’t expect you to. Don’t make an idol out of yourself—out of your own importance and your own indispensability.
Pastors are particularly prone to this kind of thinking, just like the disciples were. We start to think that the success of the congregation depends on us—on the power of our personality, on our wisdom, on our ability to teach and lead and inspire. When the truth of the matter is that the church always draws her life from Christ—that Jesus sustains and builds the church—despite the pastor and despite all the self-proclaimed movers and shakers.
Here’s a little something I’ve come to appreciate over the years: The salvation of the world doesn’t rest on your shoulders; it rests on the shoulders of Him who stretched out His arms on the cross for you. Solving and fixing all the problems in your life doesn’t rest on your shoulders; it rests on the shoulders of Him who stretched out His arms on the cross for you. He can bear it. We cannot. God calls us each—not to be perfect—not to be failure-free—but simply to be faithful—to trust in Him and not in ourselves.
Being faithful means having the faith that God will get the results He desires—in your life, in the life of His church and around the world. Being faithful means that you leave the results to Jesus. It doesn’t all depend on you. But it does all depend on Jesus. He proved His faithfulness on the cross. And He always gets the results we need. In Him is forgiveness for our idolatry of ourselves—forgiveness for our push for perfection that pushes Jesus aside as if to say, “I don’t need you, Lord.”
The truth of the matter is that He doesn’t need you—but He has chosen you to be His own nonetheless. He has chosen you and washed you and clothed you and fed you and forgiven you. We have a word for all that in the church. That word is “grace.” By that grace you have been saved. And by that grace you are able to go out and live each day with confidence and joy—liberated from the need to succeed because Jesus has given you His success. Jesus has given you His perfection through faith; and you can’t add to that.
Your God doesn’t need you, but He chooses to use you in the indispensable work of your vocations. Remember, your God is sneaky. And He’s got His secret agents stationed all around the world. And I’m going to let you in on a little secret; you are one of them—one of the Savior’s secret agents. At your workplace, in your home, in your neighborhood, in the classroom and here in your congregation your sneaky God is using you. You are the salt of the earth, carrying the flavor of Jesus’ life, and death and resurrection wherever you go.
So stop thinking it all depends on you. Your choices, your words, your actions, your performance—they are all important. But Jesus’ words and deeds matter more. His Word is the final word. His death for your sins and His resurrection mean that nothing can separate you from Him, or Him from you. It’s not all up to you. It’s all up to Jesus. Everything depends on Him. And Jesus never fails.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Monday, October 1, 2018
Monday, September 17, 2018
Help My Unbelief
In Nomine Iesu
St. Mark 9:14-29
September 16, 2018
Proper 19B
Dear Saints of Our Savior,
Last week’s Holy Gospel was about the healing of a deaf man with a speech impediment. This week’s Holy Gospel is about the healing of a demon-possessed boy. Last week’s account was easy, fun, and filled with hope. But this week things are messy, scary and complicated. This week we’ve got demon possession and unbelief, an epic fail by the disciples, and a Jesus who seems to be packing some attitude.
It’s worth noting that this episode happens right after the Transfiguration of Jesus up on the mountain top. It’s when Jesus comes down the mountain with Peter, James, and John that they encounter a crowd of people arguing. At the center of it all is a father with a boy who is suffering terribly from demon-possession. The evil spirit afflicts the boy with seizures; and it makes frequent attempts to kill the boy by throwing him into fire or water. The man had brought his son to the nine disciples who were not up on the mountain; but they had struck out in their attempts to help. So that leaves us with a desperate man, his demonized son, nine disciples who look like losers, and a handful of scribes itching for an argument. What a mess!
And Jesus is none too happy about this mess: O faithless generation, how long am I to be with you? How long am I to bear with you? Jesus orders that the boy be brought to him. Immediately the boy has a convulsion and starts rolling on the ground. In desperation the father pleads, “If you can do anything, have compassion and help us.” But Jesus immediately snaps back, “If you can? All things are possible for one who believes.”
For the record, Jesus isn’t angry with the boy or his father. Jesus is angry at the devil and his demons and the chaos they cause. We aren’t told exactly how old the boy is; but it doesn’t matter because the devil is delighted to target even the youngest among us. He’s a shameless predator who delights in victimizing even children. And since the evil one delights in hurting and harming children, can there be any doubt about who is the driving force behind the abortion industry? Can there be any doubt about the origin of the compulsion of some priests and pastors and bishops to prey sexually upon little children and adolescents? Who else but the prince of darkness could orchestrate such evil acts? The boy in today’s text is just one casualty in a long line of little victims.
Help us . . . if you can, said the father. Jesus took issue with the words, “if you can.” All things are possible for the one who believes He responded. Jesus can do anything He wants because He’s God. That’s not the issue. The issue is whether Jesus is willing to help. The man should have said, “If you are willing, have compassion on us.” It’s just like whenever we pray Thy will be done in the Lord’s Prayer. We don’t know what God’s will is in each and every circumstance that comes our way. But it’s never a matter of whether Jesus can do something; but, rather, is He willing to do something. And having faith means that you are open to all the possibilities. Having faith means praying, “Thy will be done.”
This is why we can pray for miraculous healing on one hand, and go to the doctor and accept a terminal diagnosis, all at the same time. This is why we can pray for the repentance of those we know who are living outwardly sinful lives, while, at the same time, sadly acknowledging that they are presently on the path to hell. Nothing is impossible with God. All things are possible for one who believes. That certainly doesn’t mean that you get everything you want if you believe hard enough and pray for it in just the right way. It does mean that faith is always open to every possible outcome, because with God nothing is impossible.
This goes right to the heart of the matter for us, and for the father of the demon-possessed boy. “I believe,” he says, “help my unbelief.” This isn’t double talk. These aren’t weasel words or pious pretense. This is the naked truth: I believe; help my unbelief. You can’t say it any better than this. This is the real deal. He is simultaneously believer and unbeliever. And so are you. The truth be told, we are all a mixed bag of great faith and great unbelief. And when things get really messy and complicated and downright demonic, that’s when even the strongest faith begins to waiver, and doubts come home to roost, and we find ourselves wondering, “Is Jesus able to do anything to help me?”
Jesus rebuked the unclean spirit and the spirit obeyed—because demons have no choice but to obey the voice of the Lord. But hold your applause because Jesus isn’t quite done testing the father’s faith. In the seconds that followed the spirit’s departure, the boy appeared dead. He looked like a corpse. Maybe he was. Maybe everything had gone from bad to worse. This didn’t look good. First the disciples had failed this father, and now Jesus had failed, and, by all appearances, the boy was dead. In fact, that’s what the crowd had concluded. “He’s dead.” They all said so.
But Jesus wasn’t finished yet. And you have to wonder whether this isn’t intentional on the part of Jesus—whether he’s just pushing the father’s faith a little bit further the way a personal trainer makes you do five more push-ups. He hadn’t been sure that Jesus could get rid of the demon and now he’s forced to face his son’s apparent death. Could Jesus help him now? Would Jesus help him now? Will Jesus help you now—as things go from bad to worse, and with your sinful fingerprints smudged all over everything?
You’ve probably heard it said: Be careful what you pray for. Sure, you can pray for more patience if you want. But just remember, God often uses suffering and pain to create more patience. The boy’s father had prayed, “Help my unbelief.” And Jesus is doing precisely that—helping the man’s unbelief—answering his prayer—pushing the envelope, turning up the volume by allowing it to appear that the boy was dead.
It wasn’t long. Just a few seconds. A moment or two. The boy was momentarily motionless. But as He had done before, Jesus took the boy by the hand and lifted him up. “And,” St. Mark adds, “he arose.” He arose. (In Greek it’s anastay—the resurrection word.) It’s a little preview of the resurrection—corpses rising to new life—the mortal being clothed with immortality. And this little detail gives us every reason to trust Jesus—to believe that He will help.
For He truly died. As our sin-bearing substitute, He died like a common criminal, stretched out on a Roman tool of torture. Jesus goes into the darkness. He becomes sin for us. He takes on the demons. He dies. Jesus became a corpse on a cross. And on the third day He arose. Jesus lives. And in Jesus you also will rise and live forever. When it seems like your faith is faltering, remember the resurrection. For on that day death and sin will be undone; and all doubts will melt away.
But for now, today, Jesus is here to help you. Here He comes in the cleansing cadence of holy absolution and in the bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood. Of course, the Savior’s help may not be exactly what you were hoping for. It may not come according to your timetable. It may not materialize according to your design or plan. It may appear that things are going from bad to worse. And if you find that to be discouraging or troubling, then pray. Pray. Go to Jesus with your trouble. Lay it on the line: I believe; help my unbelief. The Lord will answer. He will help. Trust Him.
By the grace of God we believe. But as sinners/saints, there’s still that unbelieving heart of the Old Adam in us. We are each a strange mix of faith and unbelief, trust and doubt, confidence and fear—dying, yet we live forever and ever. Every day is a day for repentance—for turning from unbelief to faith—for remembering our baptism—every day until we finally die, and the hand of Jesus reaches down to raise us up to life. That is the good and gracious will of God. All things are possible for one who believes.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
St. Mark 9:14-29
September 16, 2018
Proper 19B
Dear Saints of Our Savior,
Last week’s Holy Gospel was about the healing of a deaf man with a speech impediment. This week’s Holy Gospel is about the healing of a demon-possessed boy. Last week’s account was easy, fun, and filled with hope. But this week things are messy, scary and complicated. This week we’ve got demon possession and unbelief, an epic fail by the disciples, and a Jesus who seems to be packing some attitude.
It’s worth noting that this episode happens right after the Transfiguration of Jesus up on the mountain top. It’s when Jesus comes down the mountain with Peter, James, and John that they encounter a crowd of people arguing. At the center of it all is a father with a boy who is suffering terribly from demon-possession. The evil spirit afflicts the boy with seizures; and it makes frequent attempts to kill the boy by throwing him into fire or water. The man had brought his son to the nine disciples who were not up on the mountain; but they had struck out in their attempts to help. So that leaves us with a desperate man, his demonized son, nine disciples who look like losers, and a handful of scribes itching for an argument. What a mess!
And Jesus is none too happy about this mess: O faithless generation, how long am I to be with you? How long am I to bear with you? Jesus orders that the boy be brought to him. Immediately the boy has a convulsion and starts rolling on the ground. In desperation the father pleads, “If you can do anything, have compassion and help us.” But Jesus immediately snaps back, “If you can? All things are possible for one who believes.”
For the record, Jesus isn’t angry with the boy or his father. Jesus is angry at the devil and his demons and the chaos they cause. We aren’t told exactly how old the boy is; but it doesn’t matter because the devil is delighted to target even the youngest among us. He’s a shameless predator who delights in victimizing even children. And since the evil one delights in hurting and harming children, can there be any doubt about who is the driving force behind the abortion industry? Can there be any doubt about the origin of the compulsion of some priests and pastors and bishops to prey sexually upon little children and adolescents? Who else but the prince of darkness could orchestrate such evil acts? The boy in today’s text is just one casualty in a long line of little victims.
Help us . . . if you can, said the father. Jesus took issue with the words, “if you can.” All things are possible for the one who believes He responded. Jesus can do anything He wants because He’s God. That’s not the issue. The issue is whether Jesus is willing to help. The man should have said, “If you are willing, have compassion on us.” It’s just like whenever we pray Thy will be done in the Lord’s Prayer. We don’t know what God’s will is in each and every circumstance that comes our way. But it’s never a matter of whether Jesus can do something; but, rather, is He willing to do something. And having faith means that you are open to all the possibilities. Having faith means praying, “Thy will be done.”
This is why we can pray for miraculous healing on one hand, and go to the doctor and accept a terminal diagnosis, all at the same time. This is why we can pray for the repentance of those we know who are living outwardly sinful lives, while, at the same time, sadly acknowledging that they are presently on the path to hell. Nothing is impossible with God. All things are possible for one who believes. That certainly doesn’t mean that you get everything you want if you believe hard enough and pray for it in just the right way. It does mean that faith is always open to every possible outcome, because with God nothing is impossible.
This goes right to the heart of the matter for us, and for the father of the demon-possessed boy. “I believe,” he says, “help my unbelief.” This isn’t double talk. These aren’t weasel words or pious pretense. This is the naked truth: I believe; help my unbelief. You can’t say it any better than this. This is the real deal. He is simultaneously believer and unbeliever. And so are you. The truth be told, we are all a mixed bag of great faith and great unbelief. And when things get really messy and complicated and downright demonic, that’s when even the strongest faith begins to waiver, and doubts come home to roost, and we find ourselves wondering, “Is Jesus able to do anything to help me?”
Jesus rebuked the unclean spirit and the spirit obeyed—because demons have no choice but to obey the voice of the Lord. But hold your applause because Jesus isn’t quite done testing the father’s faith. In the seconds that followed the spirit’s departure, the boy appeared dead. He looked like a corpse. Maybe he was. Maybe everything had gone from bad to worse. This didn’t look good. First the disciples had failed this father, and now Jesus had failed, and, by all appearances, the boy was dead. In fact, that’s what the crowd had concluded. “He’s dead.” They all said so.
But Jesus wasn’t finished yet. And you have to wonder whether this isn’t intentional on the part of Jesus—whether he’s just pushing the father’s faith a little bit further the way a personal trainer makes you do five more push-ups. He hadn’t been sure that Jesus could get rid of the demon and now he’s forced to face his son’s apparent death. Could Jesus help him now? Would Jesus help him now? Will Jesus help you now—as things go from bad to worse, and with your sinful fingerprints smudged all over everything?
You’ve probably heard it said: Be careful what you pray for. Sure, you can pray for more patience if you want. But just remember, God often uses suffering and pain to create more patience. The boy’s father had prayed, “Help my unbelief.” And Jesus is doing precisely that—helping the man’s unbelief—answering his prayer—pushing the envelope, turning up the volume by allowing it to appear that the boy was dead.
It wasn’t long. Just a few seconds. A moment or two. The boy was momentarily motionless. But as He had done before, Jesus took the boy by the hand and lifted him up. “And,” St. Mark adds, “he arose.” He arose. (In Greek it’s anastay—the resurrection word.) It’s a little preview of the resurrection—corpses rising to new life—the mortal being clothed with immortality. And this little detail gives us every reason to trust Jesus—to believe that He will help.
For He truly died. As our sin-bearing substitute, He died like a common criminal, stretched out on a Roman tool of torture. Jesus goes into the darkness. He becomes sin for us. He takes on the demons. He dies. Jesus became a corpse on a cross. And on the third day He arose. Jesus lives. And in Jesus you also will rise and live forever. When it seems like your faith is faltering, remember the resurrection. For on that day death and sin will be undone; and all doubts will melt away.
But for now, today, Jesus is here to help you. Here He comes in the cleansing cadence of holy absolution and in the bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood. Of course, the Savior’s help may not be exactly what you were hoping for. It may not come according to your timetable. It may not materialize according to your design or plan. It may appear that things are going from bad to worse. And if you find that to be discouraging or troubling, then pray. Pray. Go to Jesus with your trouble. Lay it on the line: I believe; help my unbelief. The Lord will answer. He will help. Trust Him.
By the grace of God we believe. But as sinners/saints, there’s still that unbelieving heart of the Old Adam in us. We are each a strange mix of faith and unbelief, trust and doubt, confidence and fear—dying, yet we live forever and ever. Every day is a day for repentance—for turning from unbelief to faith—for remembering our baptism—every day until we finally die, and the hand of Jesus reaches down to raise us up to life. That is the good and gracious will of God. All things are possible for one who believes.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Monday, September 10, 2018
Be Opened!
In Nomine Iesu
St. Mark 7:31-37
September 9, 2018
Proper 18B
Dear Saints of Our Savior~
The miraculous healing in today’s Holy Gospel is, for me, one of the most meaningful and moving moments in our Lord’s entire ministry. It’s probably because there’s not a day that goes by when I don’t interact with someone whose hearing or speaking is impaired. In some instances the ears can hear and the lips can speak, but it’s the brain that impairs and impedes the communication process. The dyslexic, the autistic, the deaf, folks with dementia, stroke victims—all find themselves struggling with incoming or outgoing language.
And because of that struggle with language, these people, as a general rule, tend to be somewhat isolated—somewhat removed and remote from the people around them. That’s just how it is when you have trouble hearing and speaking.
But did you catch how the deaf man with a speech impediment came to be in the presence of Jesus? Some of the man’s friends believed enough about Jesus to bring their suffering friend to the Savior. These days we call that “evangelism” (bringing people to Jesus), and we tend to assign that kind of work to committees and boards and task forces. We talk a lot about evangelism, and how we should be doing more of it. But what it boils down to in the end is bringing the people you know (here) to Jesus so that He might bless them. It’s really that simple.
And then notice how Jesus took the man aside, away from the crowd. Jesus doesn’t want to make a big scene for the six o’clock news or generate selfies for social media. Jesus never sought celebrity. And He doesn’t use the misfortune of others to draw attention to Himself. Jesus was completely there for that man at that moment. He had the Savior’s undivided attention. When your ears are closed and your speech is garbled you can never be quite sure what’s going on. But that man at that moment knew that he mattered—knew that he was loved—knew that he was precious—to Jesus.
And what do you think of the Savior’s medical methods? Jesus put His fingers into the man’s ears. Then he spits and touches the man’s tongue. How would you like it if your physician did that to you? Spit that belongs to somebody else is generally regarded these days as gross—a bio-hazard. It always makes me feel kind of bad when I go to get my teeth cleaned and the hygienist walks into the room wearing a hazmat suit. I try not to take it personally. It’s not just me, right? But all those precautions are taken, essentially, for the sake of spit!
But for just a moment let’s put aside all our presuppositions about saliva and look at what’s going on here. Jesus is using a kind of sign language. He was communicating a message that couldn’t be missed, even by this disabled man—who missed so many important messages. As Jesus touched him—touched his ears and his tongue—and then as Jesus looked up to heaven, Jesus was essentially saying, “I know. I know. I understand your problem, brother. You’ve got ears that don’t hear and a tongue that doesn’t work and I’m going to do something about it. I’m lifting up my eyes to heaven ‘from whence cometh our help.’ That’s my Father’s home. But I’ve left that place to come here and to be with you and with all those who lives have been disordered by sin and death.”
Perhaps it was the thought of sin and death that caused Jesus to sigh. Literally, He “groaned.” Why would Jesus groan as He restored this man’s hearing and speech? St. Mark doesn’t tell us why. Perhaps it was because human sinfulness has no more effective means of expression than human ears and human tongues—our ears and our tongues. Ears that hear are a great gift from God. But what do we do? We who can hear close our ears to God’s Word and God’s will for our lives. His commandments routinely fall on our deaf ears. On the flip side, our ears work exceptionally well—our hearing is never so acute—as when we tune into gossip and slander and the voice of temptation. We use our ears to hear what we want to hear, while tuning out the needs of those closest to us, those whom God has given us to love.
And then there are tongues. Tongues that speak and sing and pray are a great gift from God. But we who can speak—we are experts at closing our mouths when it comes to prayer, praise, and thanksgiving. We by nature prefer to use our tongues for careless words of complaining, for harsh words of anger, for cutting words of gossip, inflicting more pain than any weapon ever could. Human tongues have the hardest time defending our neighbor, speaking well of him, and explaining his actions in the kindest way. And so I ask, with all the misuse and abuse carried out by our tongues and by our ears, is it any wonder that Jesus groaned?
But then comes the best part, when Jesus speaks His Word: “Ephphatha,” “Be opened!” Did the deaf man hear this word? Were these the first syllables to make their way into his newly opened ears? Or did he read the Savior’s lips and “see” the word as it was spoken? Who knows? What matters is that the Word of Jesus gets results. The Word of Jesus gets results in human ears and human hearts—even in ears that don’t hear and even in hearts that are hard and scarred by sin. That word, “ephphatha,” shows that Jesus can open whatever is closed, free whatever is bound, resurrect what is lifeless, dead and hopeless.
The people in that place were astonished beyond all measure, declaring of Jesus, “He has done all things well.” But the English word “well” doesn’t go far enough. This is the same word spoken by God back in Genesis chapter one as He surveyed all that He had created, and called it “very good.” It was beautiful, only to be decimated by sin and its wages. But in Jesus Christ God has come in human flesh to make all things new—to make deaf ears hear and cause mute tongues to sing for joy. Jesus has indeed done all things exceptionally well. His work is “very good,” beautiful and wonderful.
“Ephphatha. Be opened,” said the Savior. With that word Jesus said a mouthful. For Jesus came to do more than open the ears of one afflicted man. Jesus came to open the kingdom of heaven—and to do it for all believers—for sinners who could never make their way to heaven on their own. His Word alone would not be enough to open heaven for you. It would require His very life. The Savior who groaned as He healed one afflicted man, would groan again on a dark Friday afternoon, as He bore the curse of our sinful ears and sinful tongues. Nails and thorns and whips would apply the punishment to which He surrendered as your substitute. On that day He would be covered not only with blood, but with the spit of those who mocked Him. But from the cross of Christ on that dark day, one word still rings out: “Ephphatha, be opened.” The blood of Jesus still cries out on your behalf, “Let heaven be opened for every soul redeemed by Christ the crucified.” There at the cross God was reconciling the world to Himself in Christ, not counting your sins against you.
Today Jesus deals with you as He did the deaf and mute man. Here in the Divine Service Jesus takes you aside from the crowd. The forgiveness and faith He gives isn’t addressed “to whom it may concern,” but to you personally: “This is my body, given for you. This is my blood shed for you.” In Holy Baptism our Lord continues to carry out His grand openings. In that sacred splash, your ears were opened to hear of the Savior’ love, your tongue was loosened to sing His praises, your sins were washed away, your body became a temple of the Holy Spirit, and the gates of heaven were thrown wide open for you—as one redeemed by Christ the crucified.
We haven’t heard the last of this word, “ephphatha.” It echoes on until that glorious day when Christ shall call you from your grave. “Be opened,” He shall say again. And then, miracle of miracles, you and I will be gathered around the throne of God in robes washed white in the blood of the Lamb. And wonder of wonders, we poor sinners will hear Jesus declare that WE have done all things well—through faith in His perfect life and His blood-bought redemption. And then all of us, from the greatest to the least—those once called dyslexic, and autistic, and deaf and mute—all of them with all of us will join in singing the everlasting song, “Worthy is the Lamb who was slain.” He has indeed done all things well.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
St. Mark 7:31-37
September 9, 2018
Proper 18B
Dear Saints of Our Savior~
The miraculous healing in today’s Holy Gospel is, for me, one of the most meaningful and moving moments in our Lord’s entire ministry. It’s probably because there’s not a day that goes by when I don’t interact with someone whose hearing or speaking is impaired. In some instances the ears can hear and the lips can speak, but it’s the brain that impairs and impedes the communication process. The dyslexic, the autistic, the deaf, folks with dementia, stroke victims—all find themselves struggling with incoming or outgoing language.
But did you catch how the deaf man with a speech impediment came to be in the presence of Jesus? Some of the man’s friends believed enough about Jesus to bring their suffering friend to the Savior. These days we call that “evangelism” (bringing people to Jesus), and we tend to assign that kind of work to committees and boards and task forces. We talk a lot about evangelism, and how we should be doing more of it. But what it boils down to in the end is bringing the people you know (here) to Jesus so that He might bless them. It’s really that simple.
And then notice how Jesus took the man aside, away from the crowd. Jesus doesn’t want to make a big scene for the six o’clock news or generate selfies for social media. Jesus never sought celebrity. And He doesn’t use the misfortune of others to draw attention to Himself. Jesus was completely there for that man at that moment. He had the Savior’s undivided attention. When your ears are closed and your speech is garbled you can never be quite sure what’s going on. But that man at that moment knew that he mattered—knew that he was loved—knew that he was precious—to Jesus.
And what do you think of the Savior’s medical methods? Jesus put His fingers into the man’s ears. Then he spits and touches the man’s tongue. How would you like it if your physician did that to you? Spit that belongs to somebody else is generally regarded these days as gross—a bio-hazard. It always makes me feel kind of bad when I go to get my teeth cleaned and the hygienist walks into the room wearing a hazmat suit. I try not to take it personally. It’s not just me, right? But all those precautions are taken, essentially, for the sake of spit!
But for just a moment let’s put aside all our presuppositions about saliva and look at what’s going on here. Jesus is using a kind of sign language. He was communicating a message that couldn’t be missed, even by this disabled man—who missed so many important messages. As Jesus touched him—touched his ears and his tongue—and then as Jesus looked up to heaven, Jesus was essentially saying, “I know. I know. I understand your problem, brother. You’ve got ears that don’t hear and a tongue that doesn’t work and I’m going to do something about it. I’m lifting up my eyes to heaven ‘from whence cometh our help.’ That’s my Father’s home. But I’ve left that place to come here and to be with you and with all those who lives have been disordered by sin and death.”
Perhaps it was the thought of sin and death that caused Jesus to sigh. Literally, He “groaned.” Why would Jesus groan as He restored this man’s hearing and speech? St. Mark doesn’t tell us why. Perhaps it was because human sinfulness has no more effective means of expression than human ears and human tongues—our ears and our tongues. Ears that hear are a great gift from God. But what do we do? We who can hear close our ears to God’s Word and God’s will for our lives. His commandments routinely fall on our deaf ears. On the flip side, our ears work exceptionally well—our hearing is never so acute—as when we tune into gossip and slander and the voice of temptation. We use our ears to hear what we want to hear, while tuning out the needs of those closest to us, those whom God has given us to love.
And then there are tongues. Tongues that speak and sing and pray are a great gift from God. But we who can speak—we are experts at closing our mouths when it comes to prayer, praise, and thanksgiving. We by nature prefer to use our tongues for careless words of complaining, for harsh words of anger, for cutting words of gossip, inflicting more pain than any weapon ever could. Human tongues have the hardest time defending our neighbor, speaking well of him, and explaining his actions in the kindest way. And so I ask, with all the misuse and abuse carried out by our tongues and by our ears, is it any wonder that Jesus groaned?
But then comes the best part, when Jesus speaks His Word: “Ephphatha,” “Be opened!” Did the deaf man hear this word? Were these the first syllables to make their way into his newly opened ears? Or did he read the Savior’s lips and “see” the word as it was spoken? Who knows? What matters is that the Word of Jesus gets results. The Word of Jesus gets results in human ears and human hearts—even in ears that don’t hear and even in hearts that are hard and scarred by sin. That word, “ephphatha,” shows that Jesus can open whatever is closed, free whatever is bound, resurrect what is lifeless, dead and hopeless.
The people in that place were astonished beyond all measure, declaring of Jesus, “He has done all things well.” But the English word “well” doesn’t go far enough. This is the same word spoken by God back in Genesis chapter one as He surveyed all that He had created, and called it “very good.” It was beautiful, only to be decimated by sin and its wages. But in Jesus Christ God has come in human flesh to make all things new—to make deaf ears hear and cause mute tongues to sing for joy. Jesus has indeed done all things exceptionally well. His work is “very good,” beautiful and wonderful.
“Ephphatha. Be opened,” said the Savior. With that word Jesus said a mouthful. For Jesus came to do more than open the ears of one afflicted man. Jesus came to open the kingdom of heaven—and to do it for all believers—for sinners who could never make their way to heaven on their own. His Word alone would not be enough to open heaven for you. It would require His very life. The Savior who groaned as He healed one afflicted man, would groan again on a dark Friday afternoon, as He bore the curse of our sinful ears and sinful tongues. Nails and thorns and whips would apply the punishment to which He surrendered as your substitute. On that day He would be covered not only with blood, but with the spit of those who mocked Him. But from the cross of Christ on that dark day, one word still rings out: “Ephphatha, be opened.” The blood of Jesus still cries out on your behalf, “Let heaven be opened for every soul redeemed by Christ the crucified.” There at the cross God was reconciling the world to Himself in Christ, not counting your sins against you.
Today Jesus deals with you as He did the deaf and mute man. Here in the Divine Service Jesus takes you aside from the crowd. The forgiveness and faith He gives isn’t addressed “to whom it may concern,” but to you personally: “This is my body, given for you. This is my blood shed for you.” In Holy Baptism our Lord continues to carry out His grand openings. In that sacred splash, your ears were opened to hear of the Savior’ love, your tongue was loosened to sing His praises, your sins were washed away, your body became a temple of the Holy Spirit, and the gates of heaven were thrown wide open for you—as one redeemed by Christ the crucified.
We haven’t heard the last of this word, “ephphatha.” It echoes on until that glorious day when Christ shall call you from your grave. “Be opened,” He shall say again. And then, miracle of miracles, you and I will be gathered around the throne of God in robes washed white in the blood of the Lamb. And wonder of wonders, we poor sinners will hear Jesus declare that WE have done all things well—through faith in His perfect life and His blood-bought redemption. And then all of us, from the greatest to the least—those once called dyslexic, and autistic, and deaf and mute—all of them with all of us will join in singing the everlasting song, “Worthy is the Lamb who was slain.” He has indeed done all things well.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Monday, September 3, 2018
Soldiers of the Savior
In Nomine Iesu
Ephesians 6:10-20
September 2, 2018
Proper 17B
Dear saints of Our Savior~
If you’ve been paying attention for the past eight weeks, then you know that we’ve been reading our way through Paul’s letter to the Ephesians. Ephesians is a powerful book full of good news—that you were chosen in Christ before the foundation of the world to be adopted as God’s own child, that you have been saved by grace, through faith—and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast. Ephesians is a book that pulls no punches, reminding us that we are dead in sin—we are spiritual corpses—apart from Christ. Ephesians tells us how to live together in the unity of the Spirit, as children of the light, speaking the truth in love. All that, and so much more.
But now, today, we finally come to the word “finally.” We hear the final words from Paul to the congregation in Ephesus. This was a congregation dearly loved by Paul. Paul’s farewell to the elders from Ephesus in Acts 20 is profound and deeply moving. Decades later, in the book of Revelation, the church at Ephesus gets singled out as a doctrinally pure church whose love had grown cold. Loveless doctrinal purity is always a danger in the church. It’s a reminder that it’s possible to be right . . . but in all the wrong ways.
“Finally,” Paul concludes, “be strong in the Lord and in the strength of His might.” He doesn’t just say, “Be strong” or “Live strong.” Their own strength meant nothing. Your own strength means nothing. Be strong . . . in the Lord. Whatever the challenges you face, you don’t have to survive on your own strength. God’s power is made perfect in weakness—in the weakness of the cross and the
grave. Left to our own devices and ingenuity we’re doomed. It’s only in the strength of Jesus that we can “be strong,” and face our fears head on.
We need to be clothed, too—clothed as (of all things) soldiers of the Savior. When Paul wrote the letter to the Ephesians he was under arrest—under guard 24/7. It’s safe to conclude that there was an ever-present Roman soldier stationed nearby. Perhaps as Paul beheld that soldier’s uniform—through his Christ-centered vision—he saw you and me—baptized believers—dressed in the full armor of God, like soldiers of the Savior.
A soldier, first and foremost, needs to know and recognize the enemy. And so Paul makes that point clearly: “We do not wrestle,” he writes, “against flesh and blood, . . . but against the powers of this present darkness, and against the spiritual forces of evil. . .” Our fight is not against people—flesh and blood. Our enemies are not the atheists or the “freedom from religion” crowd or the Muslims or Planned Parenthood. Christ died for all people without exception. There is no one for whom Christ did not die. Our battle is ultimately with the powers of darkness, the devil and his demons. If you don’t know this—if you don’t know who the real enemy is—then you’re just a sitting duck—a big, fat target.
This is why you need the whole armor of God. We need all the protection we can get. I was sharing this passage about the armor of God with a member in the hospital last week. If you’ve ever been hospitalized, then you know about the standard-issue hospital gown. The typical hospital gown is designed to leave you as unsupported, exposed and as vulnerable as possible. Medical personnel need access to your body, and the hospital gown provides nearly unhindered access. What a privilege it was for me to remind this weak and vulnerable sister in Christ . . . that she was neither weak nor vulnerable—that she was strong in the Lord—that she was clothed in the full armor of God Himself.
Just what is this armor? As a soldier of the Savior, you’ve got the belt of truth around your waist. Truth may be in short supply these days, but truth is the foundation of our faith. God’s Word is truth. God’s people speak the truth . . . in love. You know and believe the truth—that your sins are forgiven in the death of Jesus, and you will live forever in His resurrection life. That’s the truth that enables you to stand your ground in this world of lies.
As a soldier of the Savior, you’ve got the breastplate of Jesus’ righteousness over your heart. It’s like a Kevlar, bullet-proof vest. In your baptism you were clothed with that righteousness of Christ. And listen carefully to what that means: Jesus kept the whole law as your substitute—every commandment. And that perfect life is now yours as a gift. He became your sin in death, so that in Him you might be the righteousness of God. That righteousness is your armor breastplate. No charge can stick to you. There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.
As a soldier of the Savior, your feet need to be ready to move. Soldiers don’t stand still; they march. Your shoes, Paul writes, are the gospel of peace. When we have good news we’re motivated to move; we want to tell others. The good news about Jesus was meant to be shared and spoken and preached and proclaimed and demonstrated in acts of mercy. In fact, the word “gospel” is a term that comes straight from the battlefield. When the fight was over and the battle won, they sent a runner to bring the good news—the gospel—back to the king. That’s how the marathon was invented. Some guy with a long Greek name ran 26.2 miles to tell the king the gospel, the good news of victory. And then he dropped dead. It’s not exactly a happy ending, but it does inspire thousands of people to go out and run marathons every year. (Runners are weird.)
Please note that this good news, Paul writes, is the gospel of peace. Soldiers of the Savior are not waging war (or jihad); we’re waging peace. There is now peace between God and man because of the God-Man who died and rose again. Our enemy is already defeated. The holy war was waged at Calvary, and was won when Jesus died. This morning’s opening hymn, “Onward Christian Soldiers,” is slightly off the mark. We’re not “marching as to war.” We’re on a peace march, telling the whole world that the fight is o’er, the battle won. Christ has conquered, and through faith in Him you have the victory.
Oh, and don’t forget your shield. Arrows hurt, especially the flaming kind. The Roman shield was made of leather and it could be soaked in water ahead of time to extinguish flaming arrows. Your shield is the shield of the faith. I say THE faith because I don’t merely mean the trust in your heart. I mean THE faith once delivered to the saints—the Christian faith—the doctrines and teachings of Christ. That’s what deflects the arrows of Satan.
That’s why Luther found such comfort in the Creed and had people pray the Creed, and why he himself always prayed it with the sick and troubled. When you are sick or weak or doubting, take up your shield, soaked in the water of your baptism, and confess those sturdy words that recall your baptism: “I believe in God the Father almighty.” Going into the world without the teachings and doctrines of THE faith is like going into battle without your shield. You don’t stand a chance. The same goes for the helmet of salvation upon your head.
And by all means, don’t forget your weapon—the soldier’s best friend. But because our battle is not against flesh and blood, our weapon is a spiritual one. The only weapon God puts in your hand is the sword of the Spirit, the Word of God. Nothing but the Word. That’s all we have to defend ourselves. That’s all we need. But a word to the wise: Be careful. Swords are dangerous. Make sure you know how to use your sword, the Word of God. Learn how to apply it and use it appropriately and draw from it life and salvation. How? Go to Sunday school. Attend Bible class. Dust off your small catechism.
Many years ago I was in a production of “Tom Jones,” and in one scene I and another fellow had a good, old-fashioned sword fight. That was one scene that required lots of practice and rehearsal. Forget the sequence of sword strikes, and you risk getting whacked or worse. The battles we wage with the Word of God aren’t pretend, but real. They have eternal consequences. The only way you’re going to get better at handling that sword is to study and apply your mind to the Word of God—and I’d be delighted to help you with that.
Well, there you have it, the whole armor of God—everything you need to withstand the powers of darkness. It’s not exactly the most fashionable and trendy clothing in this year’s fall collection, but only those wearing this attire will be left standing on the last day.
Paul’s final exhortation in Ephesians is that we pray—pray for each other. Pray for all the saints around the world, but especially those who are persecuted for Jesus’ sake. Use your Our Savior picture directory to pray for each person you see in that book. I wonder what might happen in a congregation that prayed intentionally for one another? And please pray for me, your pastor. Pray that I have the courage and the wisdom to apply God’s Word to the lives of those whom God has entrusted to my care.
Paul concludes his letter to the Ephesians on a note of peace and love, and I can’t improve upon his conclusion, so I’ll make it my own: “Peace be to you, and love with faith, from God the Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Grace be with all who love our Lord Jesus Christ with love incorruptible.”
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Ephesians 6:10-20
September 2, 2018
Proper 17B
Dear saints of Our Savior~
If you’ve been paying attention for the past eight weeks, then you know that we’ve been reading our way through Paul’s letter to the Ephesians. Ephesians is a powerful book full of good news—that you were chosen in Christ before the foundation of the world to be adopted as God’s own child, that you have been saved by grace, through faith—and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast. Ephesians is a book that pulls no punches, reminding us that we are dead in sin—we are spiritual corpses—apart from Christ. Ephesians tells us how to live together in the unity of the Spirit, as children of the light, speaking the truth in love. All that, and so much more.
But now, today, we finally come to the word “finally.” We hear the final words from Paul to the congregation in Ephesus. This was a congregation dearly loved by Paul. Paul’s farewell to the elders from Ephesus in Acts 20 is profound and deeply moving. Decades later, in the book of Revelation, the church at Ephesus gets singled out as a doctrinally pure church whose love had grown cold. Loveless doctrinal purity is always a danger in the church. It’s a reminder that it’s possible to be right . . . but in all the wrong ways.
“Finally,” Paul concludes, “be strong in the Lord and in the strength of His might.” He doesn’t just say, “Be strong” or “Live strong.” Their own strength meant nothing. Your own strength means nothing. Be strong . . . in the Lord. Whatever the challenges you face, you don’t have to survive on your own strength. God’s power is made perfect in weakness—in the weakness of the cross and the
We need to be clothed, too—clothed as (of all things) soldiers of the Savior. When Paul wrote the letter to the Ephesians he was under arrest—under guard 24/7. It’s safe to conclude that there was an ever-present Roman soldier stationed nearby. Perhaps as Paul beheld that soldier’s uniform—through his Christ-centered vision—he saw you and me—baptized believers—dressed in the full armor of God, like soldiers of the Savior.
A soldier, first and foremost, needs to know and recognize the enemy. And so Paul makes that point clearly: “We do not wrestle,” he writes, “against flesh and blood, . . . but against the powers of this present darkness, and against the spiritual forces of evil. . .” Our fight is not against people—flesh and blood. Our enemies are not the atheists or the “freedom from religion” crowd or the Muslims or Planned Parenthood. Christ died for all people without exception. There is no one for whom Christ did not die. Our battle is ultimately with the powers of darkness, the devil and his demons. If you don’t know this—if you don’t know who the real enemy is—then you’re just a sitting duck—a big, fat target.
This is why you need the whole armor of God. We need all the protection we can get. I was sharing this passage about the armor of God with a member in the hospital last week. If you’ve ever been hospitalized, then you know about the standard-issue hospital gown. The typical hospital gown is designed to leave you as unsupported, exposed and as vulnerable as possible. Medical personnel need access to your body, and the hospital gown provides nearly unhindered access. What a privilege it was for me to remind this weak and vulnerable sister in Christ . . . that she was neither weak nor vulnerable—that she was strong in the Lord—that she was clothed in the full armor of God Himself.
Just what is this armor? As a soldier of the Savior, you’ve got the belt of truth around your waist. Truth may be in short supply these days, but truth is the foundation of our faith. God’s Word is truth. God’s people speak the truth . . . in love. You know and believe the truth—that your sins are forgiven in the death of Jesus, and you will live forever in His resurrection life. That’s the truth that enables you to stand your ground in this world of lies.
As a soldier of the Savior, you’ve got the breastplate of Jesus’ righteousness over your heart. It’s like a Kevlar, bullet-proof vest. In your baptism you were clothed with that righteousness of Christ. And listen carefully to what that means: Jesus kept the whole law as your substitute—every commandment. And that perfect life is now yours as a gift. He became your sin in death, so that in Him you might be the righteousness of God. That righteousness is your armor breastplate. No charge can stick to you. There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.
As a soldier of the Savior, your feet need to be ready to move. Soldiers don’t stand still; they march. Your shoes, Paul writes, are the gospel of peace. When we have good news we’re motivated to move; we want to tell others. The good news about Jesus was meant to be shared and spoken and preached and proclaimed and demonstrated in acts of mercy. In fact, the word “gospel” is a term that comes straight from the battlefield. When the fight was over and the battle won, they sent a runner to bring the good news—the gospel—back to the king. That’s how the marathon was invented. Some guy with a long Greek name ran 26.2 miles to tell the king the gospel, the good news of victory. And then he dropped dead. It’s not exactly a happy ending, but it does inspire thousands of people to go out and run marathons every year. (Runners are weird.)
Please note that this good news, Paul writes, is the gospel of peace. Soldiers of the Savior are not waging war (or jihad); we’re waging peace. There is now peace between God and man because of the God-Man who died and rose again. Our enemy is already defeated. The holy war was waged at Calvary, and was won when Jesus died. This morning’s opening hymn, “Onward Christian Soldiers,” is slightly off the mark. We’re not “marching as to war.” We’re on a peace march, telling the whole world that the fight is o’er, the battle won. Christ has conquered, and through faith in Him you have the victory.
Oh, and don’t forget your shield. Arrows hurt, especially the flaming kind. The Roman shield was made of leather and it could be soaked in water ahead of time to extinguish flaming arrows. Your shield is the shield of the faith. I say THE faith because I don’t merely mean the trust in your heart. I mean THE faith once delivered to the saints—the Christian faith—the doctrines and teachings of Christ. That’s what deflects the arrows of Satan.
That’s why Luther found such comfort in the Creed and had people pray the Creed, and why he himself always prayed it with the sick and troubled. When you are sick or weak or doubting, take up your shield, soaked in the water of your baptism, and confess those sturdy words that recall your baptism: “I believe in God the Father almighty.” Going into the world without the teachings and doctrines of THE faith is like going into battle without your shield. You don’t stand a chance. The same goes for the helmet of salvation upon your head.
And by all means, don’t forget your weapon—the soldier’s best friend. But because our battle is not against flesh and blood, our weapon is a spiritual one. The only weapon God puts in your hand is the sword of the Spirit, the Word of God. Nothing but the Word. That’s all we have to defend ourselves. That’s all we need. But a word to the wise: Be careful. Swords are dangerous. Make sure you know how to use your sword, the Word of God. Learn how to apply it and use it appropriately and draw from it life and salvation. How? Go to Sunday school. Attend Bible class. Dust off your small catechism.
Many years ago I was in a production of “Tom Jones,” and in one scene I and another fellow had a good, old-fashioned sword fight. That was one scene that required lots of practice and rehearsal. Forget the sequence of sword strikes, and you risk getting whacked or worse. The battles we wage with the Word of God aren’t pretend, but real. They have eternal consequences. The only way you’re going to get better at handling that sword is to study and apply your mind to the Word of God—and I’d be delighted to help you with that.
Well, there you have it, the whole armor of God—everything you need to withstand the powers of darkness. It’s not exactly the most fashionable and trendy clothing in this year’s fall collection, but only those wearing this attire will be left standing on the last day.
Paul’s final exhortation in Ephesians is that we pray—pray for each other. Pray for all the saints around the world, but especially those who are persecuted for Jesus’ sake. Use your Our Savior picture directory to pray for each person you see in that book. I wonder what might happen in a congregation that prayed intentionally for one another? And please pray for me, your pastor. Pray that I have the courage and the wisdom to apply God’s Word to the lives of those whom God has entrusted to my care.
Paul concludes his letter to the Ephesians on a note of peace and love, and I can’t improve upon his conclusion, so I’ll make it my own: “Peace be to you, and love with faith, from God the Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Grace be with all who love our Lord Jesus Christ with love incorruptible.”
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Monday, August 27, 2018
Higher Love
In Nomine Iesu
Ephesians 5:22-33
August 26, 2018
Proper 16B
Dear Saints of Our Savior~
Wives, submit to your husbands, as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife even as Christ is the head of the church, his body, and is himself its Savior. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit in everything to their husbands. . . . Do I have your attention? I suspect I do have your attention because few passages of Scripture sound more jarring than this. The husband is the head of the wife. At best, those words sound quaint and old-fashioned to our modern ears. At worst, those words
might even sound offensive to some in our “enlightened” generation.
But the fact is that God’s Word concerning husbands and wives has always been counter cultural. Just listen to what one Lutheran theologian wrote about this passage concerning submission and headship in marriage: These words . . . may not seem palatable to modern ears, but no pastor should stoop to surrender these words for the sake of pleasing the whims of our modern generation. The theologian who wrote that is named George Stoeckhardt. And the thing about George Stoeckhardt is that he died in 1913, over a century ago. There has never been a time when the whole world has simply nodded its head in agreement with the Lord’s divine design for husband and wife.
This is why it’s crucial to keep talking about God’s gift of marriage. It’s critical that you recognize the patterns and pathways that God has laid out for husbands and wives to follow. Weddings are always a great time to talk about marriage; but no one can listen very long at a wedding—what, with a party about to start and all. It’s a tricky topic for Sunday morning, too, since a good percentage of you are not currently married. But even if you’re a confirmed bachelor or bachelorette, the odds are pretty good that you came into this world through the marriage of your parents. Marriage matters. It’s the foundation for human life. It’s well worth our time and attention this morning.
You may recall how we studied the Three Estates back in January. The Three Estates are those three arenas of life—the three institutions—designed by God for the good of the whole world: the state, the church, and the family. Marriage, of course, falls under “family,” when a man leaves his father and mother to hold fast to his wife in a wonderful, intimate union that is closer than any other bond we have in this life. At the heart of marriage is a promise between a man and a woman that says, “It’s you and me, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death parts us.”
That marital promise is not based on feelings, but on faithfulness—on fidelity. This higher love between husband and wife is about as close as we can come to that kind of love we hear so much about in the Bible: agape. This love (agape) is a decision—an act of the will. It’s voluntary. It’s sacrificial. It’s undeserved. Tender, warm feelings are fine. Romance is alright. Passion can be a powerful force. But marital love isn’t based on tender feelings or romance or passion. Marital love is a deliberate act—an intentional choice to serve your spouse—even at those times when he or she isn’t being particularly lovable.
This is the love that God has for the world in Christ. This is the love that Christ has for His bride, the Church. It’s the kind of love that lays down one’s life for the sake of the other. This is the kind of love God has in mind when he tells husbands, “love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.” This love gets expressed independent of feelings and circumstances. It perseveres for better or worse, richer or poorer, healthy or sick. This love hangs in there when you’d rather leave. This love embraces when you’d rather refrain. This love forgives when you’d rather keep a record of wrongs. This love is the love that God has for you in Jesus.
Through marriage God brings order to creation. And order is good. Sin brought disorder and chaos into the world and into every aspect of our humanity, including our sexuality. Nothing illustrates the depth of our sin and depravity better than how distorted and perverted human sexuality has become. In American culture, we normalize what is abnormal; and then seem surprised when abuse and assault and adultery continue to make the headlines. Marriage is part of God’s remedy for all that. Marriage gives order and structure right where we need it most.
And so, God says, “The husband is the head of the wife.” As the “head,” he leads. He guides. He directs. He protects. Notice that it says the husband is the “head,” which is not the same thing as the “boss.” It’s not that he’s superior and she’s inferior. He’s the head. And, if he’s the head, then as someone has aptly noted, she’s the heart. The two are designed to work together—to complement one another—to form a partnership through which God gives great blessings.
As my friend Pastor Eyer has so helpfully written, marriage is like dancing. On the dancefloor, when the husband leads well, his wife gets the glory and looks good and graceful. He’s leading, but she’s all the more better off for it. He never forces her into moves and rhythms that might make her stumble. He leads, but he never leads with power or force or coercion, but always with gentleness and wisdom. Husbands, are you leading? And, are you leading in these Christ-like ways?
She follows. She follows her head. She submits to her husband. She follows his lead, trusting him, letting him watch out for traffic on the dance floor. If both attempt to lead, they will stumble. If no one leads, they’re not dancing. But when he’s the head and she’s the heart—when he leads and she follows—the result can be a thing of great beauty. Wives, are you following your God-given head? And, are you following with gentleness and respect for him?
Husbands, it’s not about you. Wives, it’s not about you. Sure, you could sit down and come up with a long list of all your spouse’s faults, failures and shortcomings. But that’s not love, is it? Love is always about helping and serving and forgiving your spouse—the person to whom God has joined you. And that’s a higher love. That’s not amore. That’s agape.
There’s only been one perfect marriage in the long history of the world. And that’s the marriage between Christ and His church. And through faith in Jesus Christ you are a part of this perfect marriage—this match made in heaven and on earth. Regardless of whether you are single or married, divorced or widowed, you are the bride of Christ. From heaven He came and sought you to be His holy bride. With His own blood He bought you, and for your life He died. The greatest love story of all time tells us how the Son of God set aside all His heavenly glory to come among us and take on human flesh to woo and win for Himself a people of His own choosing. And the fact that we were clothed in the stained rags and wretchedness of our sin did not deter Him. This Bridegroom insists that we poor sinners be dressed in white. He loves us and gave Himself up for us.
Jesus makes you holy—makes you to be the most beautiful, radiant bride that ever walked down the aisle. He has cleansed you by the washing of water with the word in Holy Baptism. At the font He washed away all the ugliness of our sin—the ugliness of divorce and adultery, the ugliness of pornography and abuse and all the other selfish ways we ruin God’s gift of marriage—it is all washed away. Jesus took it all upon Himself on His crucifixion cross, so that you might be His holy bride, His radiant bride, without spot or wrinkle or blemish, but holy and blameless. He whispers into your ear not just sweet nothings, but the very words of eternal life. Fine dining is His specialty, and He regularly serves up for you His precious body and blood in His holy Supper, bringing you forgiveness, faith, and life that lasts forever.
As husbands and wives receive the love of Jesus in these ways, something amazing happens. They find that their love for one another is actually deepening, strengthening, and growing with each passing year. And this love is not based on merit or performance, but on Jesus and His grace. Falling in love is great fun. Romance is great fun. But the higher love of husband and wife, expressed through submission and sacrifice—this is the love on which the engine of marriage runs—for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish. Because Jesus has pledged you His faithfulness forever.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Ephesians 5:22-33
August 26, 2018
Proper 16B
Dear Saints of Our Savior~
Wives, submit to your husbands, as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife even as Christ is the head of the church, his body, and is himself its Savior. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit in everything to their husbands. . . . Do I have your attention? I suspect I do have your attention because few passages of Scripture sound more jarring than this. The husband is the head of the wife. At best, those words sound quaint and old-fashioned to our modern ears. At worst, those words
But the fact is that God’s Word concerning husbands and wives has always been counter cultural. Just listen to what one Lutheran theologian wrote about this passage concerning submission and headship in marriage: These words . . . may not seem palatable to modern ears, but no pastor should stoop to surrender these words for the sake of pleasing the whims of our modern generation. The theologian who wrote that is named George Stoeckhardt. And the thing about George Stoeckhardt is that he died in 1913, over a century ago. There has never been a time when the whole world has simply nodded its head in agreement with the Lord’s divine design for husband and wife.
This is why it’s crucial to keep talking about God’s gift of marriage. It’s critical that you recognize the patterns and pathways that God has laid out for husbands and wives to follow. Weddings are always a great time to talk about marriage; but no one can listen very long at a wedding—what, with a party about to start and all. It’s a tricky topic for Sunday morning, too, since a good percentage of you are not currently married. But even if you’re a confirmed bachelor or bachelorette, the odds are pretty good that you came into this world through the marriage of your parents. Marriage matters. It’s the foundation for human life. It’s well worth our time and attention this morning.
You may recall how we studied the Three Estates back in January. The Three Estates are those three arenas of life—the three institutions—designed by God for the good of the whole world: the state, the church, and the family. Marriage, of course, falls under “family,” when a man leaves his father and mother to hold fast to his wife in a wonderful, intimate union that is closer than any other bond we have in this life. At the heart of marriage is a promise between a man and a woman that says, “It’s you and me, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death parts us.”
That marital promise is not based on feelings, but on faithfulness—on fidelity. This higher love between husband and wife is about as close as we can come to that kind of love we hear so much about in the Bible: agape. This love (agape) is a decision—an act of the will. It’s voluntary. It’s sacrificial. It’s undeserved. Tender, warm feelings are fine. Romance is alright. Passion can be a powerful force. But marital love isn’t based on tender feelings or romance or passion. Marital love is a deliberate act—an intentional choice to serve your spouse—even at those times when he or she isn’t being particularly lovable.
This is the love that God has for the world in Christ. This is the love that Christ has for His bride, the Church. It’s the kind of love that lays down one’s life for the sake of the other. This is the kind of love God has in mind when he tells husbands, “love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.” This love gets expressed independent of feelings and circumstances. It perseveres for better or worse, richer or poorer, healthy or sick. This love hangs in there when you’d rather leave. This love embraces when you’d rather refrain. This love forgives when you’d rather keep a record of wrongs. This love is the love that God has for you in Jesus.
Through marriage God brings order to creation. And order is good. Sin brought disorder and chaos into the world and into every aspect of our humanity, including our sexuality. Nothing illustrates the depth of our sin and depravity better than how distorted and perverted human sexuality has become. In American culture, we normalize what is abnormal; and then seem surprised when abuse and assault and adultery continue to make the headlines. Marriage is part of God’s remedy for all that. Marriage gives order and structure right where we need it most.
And so, God says, “The husband is the head of the wife.” As the “head,” he leads. He guides. He directs. He protects. Notice that it says the husband is the “head,” which is not the same thing as the “boss.” It’s not that he’s superior and she’s inferior. He’s the head. And, if he’s the head, then as someone has aptly noted, she’s the heart. The two are designed to work together—to complement one another—to form a partnership through which God gives great blessings.
As my friend Pastor Eyer has so helpfully written, marriage is like dancing. On the dancefloor, when the husband leads well, his wife gets the glory and looks good and graceful. He’s leading, but she’s all the more better off for it. He never forces her into moves and rhythms that might make her stumble. He leads, but he never leads with power or force or coercion, but always with gentleness and wisdom. Husbands, are you leading? And, are you leading in these Christ-like ways?
She follows. She follows her head. She submits to her husband. She follows his lead, trusting him, letting him watch out for traffic on the dance floor. If both attempt to lead, they will stumble. If no one leads, they’re not dancing. But when he’s the head and she’s the heart—when he leads and she follows—the result can be a thing of great beauty. Wives, are you following your God-given head? And, are you following with gentleness and respect for him?
Husbands, it’s not about you. Wives, it’s not about you. Sure, you could sit down and come up with a long list of all your spouse’s faults, failures and shortcomings. But that’s not love, is it? Love is always about helping and serving and forgiving your spouse—the person to whom God has joined you. And that’s a higher love. That’s not amore. That’s agape.
There’s only been one perfect marriage in the long history of the world. And that’s the marriage between Christ and His church. And through faith in Jesus Christ you are a part of this perfect marriage—this match made in heaven and on earth. Regardless of whether you are single or married, divorced or widowed, you are the bride of Christ. From heaven He came and sought you to be His holy bride. With His own blood He bought you, and for your life He died. The greatest love story of all time tells us how the Son of God set aside all His heavenly glory to come among us and take on human flesh to woo and win for Himself a people of His own choosing. And the fact that we were clothed in the stained rags and wretchedness of our sin did not deter Him. This Bridegroom insists that we poor sinners be dressed in white. He loves us and gave Himself up for us.
Jesus makes you holy—makes you to be the most beautiful, radiant bride that ever walked down the aisle. He has cleansed you by the washing of water with the word in Holy Baptism. At the font He washed away all the ugliness of our sin—the ugliness of divorce and adultery, the ugliness of pornography and abuse and all the other selfish ways we ruin God’s gift of marriage—it is all washed away. Jesus took it all upon Himself on His crucifixion cross, so that you might be His holy bride, His radiant bride, without spot or wrinkle or blemish, but holy and blameless. He whispers into your ear not just sweet nothings, but the very words of eternal life. Fine dining is His specialty, and He regularly serves up for you His precious body and blood in His holy Supper, bringing you forgiveness, faith, and life that lasts forever.
As husbands and wives receive the love of Jesus in these ways, something amazing happens. They find that their love for one another is actually deepening, strengthening, and growing with each passing year. And this love is not based on merit or performance, but on Jesus and His grace. Falling in love is great fun. Romance is great fun. But the higher love of husband and wife, expressed through submission and sacrifice—this is the love on which the engine of marriage runs—for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish. Because Jesus has pledged you His faithfulness forever.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Monday, August 13, 2018
Bread from Heaven
In Nomine Iesu
St. John 6:35-51
August 12, 2018
Proper 14B
Dear Saints of Our Savior~
There’s a nice little restaurant in Shorewood where they come around to your table with a big platter filled with three different kinds of bread. They ask you if you want the ciabatta, or if you want the sourdough, or if you want the French peasant. I’m not sure why they bother to ask! My response is always the same: Yes! Yes! And yes! Who can say “no” to fresh bread? Who but the most disciplined counter of carbs can turn down that warm, crusty goodness, and just sit around waiting for the main entrée to show up?
Not everyone shares my enthusiasm for bread. But what about bread from heaven? What about a bread so amazing that you could eat of it and never die—bread that promises eternal life—bread eaten today that will raise you from your grave on the last day? Imagine the
demand—the lines that would form just to get a morsel of this bread. Think of how this bread would go viral on social media as people snapchatted and instagrammed and facebooked this bread from heaven 24/7.
Then again, maybe not. Or at least, not yet. For when I got here this morning there was nobody camped out on the front lawn or lined up at the door—no satellite trucks on Santa Monica, and no helicopters hovering overhead. Just a sleepy, summer, Sunday morning.
But here—in the church and in the liturgy of the Divine Service—here the bread of life—bread from heaven—is being given out. Here the Lord feeds us like a shepherd feeds his flock in green pastures. Here the Lord fills the hungry with good things—with the Bread of Life that is Jesus Himself—a bread greater than the manna that rained down on Israel for forty years in the wilderness—a bread greater than the angel’s bread that raised up Elijah and sustained him for forty days across the desert (and kept him from the clutches of Queen Jezebel).
Jesus Christ is that bread—living bread, bread from heaven, the bread of life. Jesus is the one living loaf, alive with the life of the Father—a thick, crusty, Palestinian peasant bread—baked in Bethlehem, broken on Calvary, raised from the dead, ascended in glory.
This Jesus is completely unique—one of a kind. But He chooses to come to us in the way of plain, ordinary bread. You don’t have to go to the North Star Bistro for bread—it’s available at practically every restaurant and grocery story on the face of the earth. Bread is what the server tosses on your table to appease carb-cravers like me. Bread is what you use to soak up the last of the tomato sauce. In fact, in first century Palestine, where everyone ate with their hands, bread served as your fork and spoon and napkin. There was nothing more basic—more utilitarian—than bread.
But when Jesus began to say that He Himself was the bread that came down from heaven—well, that got the Jews grumbling. Who does this guy think He is? They knew His mother. They thought they knew His father. They probably remembered that He grew up in Nazareth (which was kind of like the Fond du Lac of Galilee). How can this traveling rabbi call Himself bread from heaven? Their questions reeked of unbelief.
Unbelief is our inherited eating disorder—a refusal to eat the food of life . . . and a desire for the delicacies of death. Adam and Eve could eat from any tree in the garden, including the tree of life. Only one tree was off limits. Only one tree would make an enemy out of God. Only one tree would bring death to them and to all their descendants. But that’s the tree for which they hungered. That’s the tree that made their mouths water (carried along by a satanic sales pitch). They didn’t fear God. They didn’t love Him. They didn’t trust Him . . . and neither do we.
We share in their eating disorder. We too have a disordered appetite that makes us hungry for the delicacies of death. Sin has left us empty and famished. And we find all kinds of creative ways to make that emptiness go away. Some of the deadliest poisons we crave were mentioned by St. Paul in today’s epistle from Ephesians: a greedy eagerness to practice every kind of impurity, bitterness and wrath, anger and slander, theft and malice. These are just a sampling of the disordered ways we try to appease the nagging hunger that nothing in this world can fill.
But we keep trying to fill that emptiness with something. We fill it with work, hoping that achievement and success will leave us feeling satisfied. We fill it with play and entertainment, with travel and recreation. We try relationships, hoping to find in somebody else what’s lacking in us. We find causes to dive into—whether it be relief for refugees or environmental justice or the promises of your favorite politician. But the hunger remains unfilled. The appetite remains disordered.
But the good news for today is hard to miss: God has food for you—soul-satisfying food! He will not leave you to starve in this wilderness of sin. God gives living bread in the person of His Son. On your own, you’ll never get this bread. By nature we don’t know where to find it or how to get it. Jesus said, “No one can come to me—no one!—unless the Father who sent me draws him.”
God takes the initiative. First He sends His beloved Son to be our bread of life by giving His life on the cross. Then He draws us to this bread by bringing us to the water of baptism, to the preaching of His Word, to the Holy Supper, to confession and absolution. There, in these ways, He continually, richly, daily feeds us with Christ—urging us, bidding us, inviting us to “taste and see that the Lord is good,” that from His open hand our deepest desires are satisfied. Nothing delights the Father more than that we should be hungry (and even greedy) for the gifts of forgiveness we have in His Son. Here in this place God gives us the richest of fare, a feast for our salvation, a banquet of blessings!
But do you know what I see when I look around? I see skinny Christians—(they’re everywhere)—Christians with their ribs sticking out—Christians who only pick and nibble at the bread of life as if they were afraid of overdoing it and getting fat on the forgiveness of sins—of putting on pounds from the rich promises of God’s Word. And so we only show up here every so often—as though the bread of life should only be received in moderation—as though we can get by without it—as though the devil, the world, and our own sinful flesh don’t really pose a threat to us.
Beloved in the Lord, you need Jesus. You need the bread of life. You don’t have to go up to heaven to get it because Jesus calls Himself the bread that “comes down from heaven.” Jesus comes down to meet us where we are, where we eat, where we sin, here and now. He reaches down to feed us with the true manna of His death and resurrection—with bread that we may eat and not die. Luther wrote that we treat the forgiveness of sins in two ways—1) how it was won, and 2) how it gets delivered. It was won two thousand years ago on the cross of Calvary when the living bread from heaven was broken for the life of the world. There the Bread was broken; but here, here in the liturgy, here in the church, here in the Word and sacrament—here that Bread is distributed to those who hunger for it. Here the forgiveness of sins gets delivered.
The bread of life comes with a promise and a guarantee to the eater: I will raise him up on the last day. Jesus says that four times in John chapter six. Four times He promises what no other food in this world can deliver—resurrection from the dead. Every other food we eat goes with us to the grave and dies. But this food goes with us to the grave and raises us to life.
This present life still has its pains and its problems. And even those who delight to dine on the bread of life are not spared the troubles and the tragedies of life in a fallen world. It’s not magic bread. It’s not the bread of success and happiness. Jesus is the bread of life—resurrection life. But eating this bread—scarfing it, devouring it, receiving it in all of its humble forms—this bread will give you the strength you need to live each day in the peace that passes understanding and in the joy of Jesus—even when “the journey is too great for you.” It may not be until the Last Day that you will be able to look back and see what you cannot always see now—that you are loved by the Lord Jesus, fed by Him, forgiven by Him, protected by Him. He is the bread of life. And He will raise you up on the last day.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
St. John 6:35-51
August 12, 2018
Proper 14B
Dear Saints of Our Savior~
There’s a nice little restaurant in Shorewood where they come around to your table with a big platter filled with three different kinds of bread. They ask you if you want the ciabatta, or if you want the sourdough, or if you want the French peasant. I’m not sure why they bother to ask! My response is always the same: Yes! Yes! And yes! Who can say “no” to fresh bread? Who but the most disciplined counter of carbs can turn down that warm, crusty goodness, and just sit around waiting for the main entrée to show up?
Not everyone shares my enthusiasm for bread. But what about bread from heaven? What about a bread so amazing that you could eat of it and never die—bread that promises eternal life—bread eaten today that will raise you from your grave on the last day? Imagine the
Then again, maybe not. Or at least, not yet. For when I got here this morning there was nobody camped out on the front lawn or lined up at the door—no satellite trucks on Santa Monica, and no helicopters hovering overhead. Just a sleepy, summer, Sunday morning.
But here—in the church and in the liturgy of the Divine Service—here the bread of life—bread from heaven—is being given out. Here the Lord feeds us like a shepherd feeds his flock in green pastures. Here the Lord fills the hungry with good things—with the Bread of Life that is Jesus Himself—a bread greater than the manna that rained down on Israel for forty years in the wilderness—a bread greater than the angel’s bread that raised up Elijah and sustained him for forty days across the desert (and kept him from the clutches of Queen Jezebel).
Jesus Christ is that bread—living bread, bread from heaven, the bread of life. Jesus is the one living loaf, alive with the life of the Father—a thick, crusty, Palestinian peasant bread—baked in Bethlehem, broken on Calvary, raised from the dead, ascended in glory.
This Jesus is completely unique—one of a kind. But He chooses to come to us in the way of plain, ordinary bread. You don’t have to go to the North Star Bistro for bread—it’s available at practically every restaurant and grocery story on the face of the earth. Bread is what the server tosses on your table to appease carb-cravers like me. Bread is what you use to soak up the last of the tomato sauce. In fact, in first century Palestine, where everyone ate with their hands, bread served as your fork and spoon and napkin. There was nothing more basic—more utilitarian—than bread.
But when Jesus began to say that He Himself was the bread that came down from heaven—well, that got the Jews grumbling. Who does this guy think He is? They knew His mother. They thought they knew His father. They probably remembered that He grew up in Nazareth (which was kind of like the Fond du Lac of Galilee). How can this traveling rabbi call Himself bread from heaven? Their questions reeked of unbelief.
Unbelief is our inherited eating disorder—a refusal to eat the food of life . . . and a desire for the delicacies of death. Adam and Eve could eat from any tree in the garden, including the tree of life. Only one tree was off limits. Only one tree would make an enemy out of God. Only one tree would bring death to them and to all their descendants. But that’s the tree for which they hungered. That’s the tree that made their mouths water (carried along by a satanic sales pitch). They didn’t fear God. They didn’t love Him. They didn’t trust Him . . . and neither do we.
We share in their eating disorder. We too have a disordered appetite that makes us hungry for the delicacies of death. Sin has left us empty and famished. And we find all kinds of creative ways to make that emptiness go away. Some of the deadliest poisons we crave were mentioned by St. Paul in today’s epistle from Ephesians: a greedy eagerness to practice every kind of impurity, bitterness and wrath, anger and slander, theft and malice. These are just a sampling of the disordered ways we try to appease the nagging hunger that nothing in this world can fill.
But we keep trying to fill that emptiness with something. We fill it with work, hoping that achievement and success will leave us feeling satisfied. We fill it with play and entertainment, with travel and recreation. We try relationships, hoping to find in somebody else what’s lacking in us. We find causes to dive into—whether it be relief for refugees or environmental justice or the promises of your favorite politician. But the hunger remains unfilled. The appetite remains disordered.
But the good news for today is hard to miss: God has food for you—soul-satisfying food! He will not leave you to starve in this wilderness of sin. God gives living bread in the person of His Son. On your own, you’ll never get this bread. By nature we don’t know where to find it or how to get it. Jesus said, “No one can come to me—no one!—unless the Father who sent me draws him.”
God takes the initiative. First He sends His beloved Son to be our bread of life by giving His life on the cross. Then He draws us to this bread by bringing us to the water of baptism, to the preaching of His Word, to the Holy Supper, to confession and absolution. There, in these ways, He continually, richly, daily feeds us with Christ—urging us, bidding us, inviting us to “taste and see that the Lord is good,” that from His open hand our deepest desires are satisfied. Nothing delights the Father more than that we should be hungry (and even greedy) for the gifts of forgiveness we have in His Son. Here in this place God gives us the richest of fare, a feast for our salvation, a banquet of blessings!
But do you know what I see when I look around? I see skinny Christians—(they’re everywhere)—Christians with their ribs sticking out—Christians who only pick and nibble at the bread of life as if they were afraid of overdoing it and getting fat on the forgiveness of sins—of putting on pounds from the rich promises of God’s Word. And so we only show up here every so often—as though the bread of life should only be received in moderation—as though we can get by without it—as though the devil, the world, and our own sinful flesh don’t really pose a threat to us.
Beloved in the Lord, you need Jesus. You need the bread of life. You don’t have to go up to heaven to get it because Jesus calls Himself the bread that “comes down from heaven.” Jesus comes down to meet us where we are, where we eat, where we sin, here and now. He reaches down to feed us with the true manna of His death and resurrection—with bread that we may eat and not die. Luther wrote that we treat the forgiveness of sins in two ways—1) how it was won, and 2) how it gets delivered. It was won two thousand years ago on the cross of Calvary when the living bread from heaven was broken for the life of the world. There the Bread was broken; but here, here in the liturgy, here in the church, here in the Word and sacrament—here that Bread is distributed to those who hunger for it. Here the forgiveness of sins gets delivered.
The bread of life comes with a promise and a guarantee to the eater: I will raise him up on the last day. Jesus says that four times in John chapter six. Four times He promises what no other food in this world can deliver—resurrection from the dead. Every other food we eat goes with us to the grave and dies. But this food goes with us to the grave and raises us to life.
This present life still has its pains and its problems. And even those who delight to dine on the bread of life are not spared the troubles and the tragedies of life in a fallen world. It’s not magic bread. It’s not the bread of success and happiness. Jesus is the bread of life—resurrection life. But eating this bread—scarfing it, devouring it, receiving it in all of its humble forms—this bread will give you the strength you need to live each day in the peace that passes understanding and in the joy of Jesus—even when “the journey is too great for you.” It may not be until the Last Day that you will be able to look back and see what you cannot always see now—that you are loved by the Lord Jesus, fed by Him, forgiven by Him, protected by Him. He is the bread of life. And He will raise you up on the last day.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Monday, August 6, 2018
Speaking the Truth in Love
In Nomine Iesu
Ephesians 4:1-16
August 5, 2018
Proper 13B
Dear Saints of Our Savior~
When it comes to risk and danger, parents and children see things differently. Children—especially younger children—are kind of oblivious to risk and danger. They are blissfully unaware of all the ways that things can go bad in a hurry. Someone’s walking their pit bull down the street? Let’s go pet the doggie! Recent rains have turned the drainage ditch into a raging torrent? Let’s go right up to the edge for a closer look! Did that stranger just offer me candy? I think I’ve made a new friend!
This is why children need moms and dads. Parents possess the maturity that children lack by nature. Where risk and danger are concerned, parents are always calculating, always evaluating, always warning: hold my hand, wear your helmet, buckle your seat belt, stay away from strangers and strange dogs, and don’t eat that cookie until mom evaluates the allergens it contains.
At its core, today’s Epistle reading from Ephesians four is a call for Christian maturity. It’s an invitation to grow up—to stop living as mere children in the faith, but to step into a life of mature manhood and womanhood—to accurately assess danger and risk, and to carefully separate truth from error. This is what we are called to in our baptism. This is why our Lord gives us pastors. St. Paul’s expresses the hope and expectation that “we may no longer be children, tossed to and fro by the waves and carried about by every wind of doctrine, by human cunning, by craftiness in deceitful schemes. Rather, speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ . . .”
St. Paul describes a Christian whose faith is living and growing—a Christian who walks the walk with maturity and conviction. The mature Christian lives each day in humility, gentleness and patience. In contrast to the immature Christian who can so easily be deceived, the mature Christian—the one who is growing up into the fullness of Christ—the mature Christian understands that his job description each day can be summarized in five simple words: speaking the truth in love. Those five words stand at the heart of what it means to live the Christian life.
How well do you speak the truth in love? By nature, we don’t know how to do it. In our culture today there are plenty of people speaking the truth in loveless ways. And there are plenty of people prattling on about love who have no concept of the truth. To speak the truth means, first of all, knowing what the truth is—the truth as God reveals it to us in the Scriptures. The truth has nothing to do with your feelings and everything to do with the Word of God. If you refuse to listen to the Scriptures—if you’re not hearing the Word of God—then the truth will always elude you. But with the Word of God, Jesus said, “you will know the truth and the truth will set you free.”
Our culture is increasingly rejecting God’s truth in all sorts of ways. God’s truth about human life is that every life is precious and valuable—including the lives of the pre-born who are being knit together by God in their mothers’ wombs. But many reject God’s truth about human life and claim for themselves the so-called “right” to murder the pre-born through the silent massacre of abortion. Another truth from God is that sex and marriage belong together. God’s gift of sex is meant only to find expression within the marriage relationship—between a husband and wife. But God’s truth about sex is routinely rejected by those who allow their feelings to be their guide. God’s gift of marriage was also instituted as the lifelong union of one man and one woman—one male and one female. But even that basic, biological truth has now been rejected by increasing numbers of influential people.
But as Christians who aim to speak the truth in love, we need to be reminded that God’s truth does not change. God’s truth isn’t something we decide for ourselves. It doesn’t change when our culture changes. It doesn’t change even when our feelings tell us something different. Truth doesn’t evolve into something different. The truth comes from God. And God’s truth is that murder—including abortion—is wrong, that sexual relationships outside of marriage are wrong, that same-sex marriage is a rejection of God and His good gifts.
Beloved in the Lord, that’s the truth. God gives us His truth because He loves us and wants the best for us. Now, to know the truth and to defend the truth is a very good thing—but it’s not the only thing. We are called to speak the truth in love. And what a world of difference those two words make. If we didn’t have to speak the truth in love then our predicament might be like that of a character in a movie I saw several years ago. This man was forced to tell the truth at all times. As a lawyer arguing a court case, he found that speaking the truth didn’t always go over too well with the judge, the jury, or his client. He told his boss what he really thought of him in very truthful—very unflattering—terms. He told it like it was. He told the unvarnished, unfiltered, unedited truth to anybody and everybody.
But it cannot be that way for us. We are to speak the truth in love. Speaking the truth in love means saying things that would be easier left unsaid—but saying them anyway because only God’s truth has the power to set us free from sin and death. Speaking the truth in love means saying things that would be easier left unsaid—but saying them anyway because we can see the danger to which a brother or sister has been blinded. Speaking the truth can sometimes be easily done. But speaking the truth in love is always difficult. It is rarely appreciated—rarely applauded. Speaking the truth in love might put you on the receiving end of hatred or insults or anger or something worse.
But the alternative is to say nothing—to protect yourself and keep quiet. Now, I think there are some occasions when it’s okay to stay silent. There are some settings where the truth cannot be heard—where speaking the truth in love would probably be counter-productive. But if I don’t speak the truth in love to my family members—if I refuse to speak the truth in love to my church family here at Our Savior—if I keep quiet while a loved one dangles dangerously in spiritual peril, then I have done a loveless thing. It’s a sin of omission—a sin of which we’ve all been guilty.
But you have a Savior--a Savior who always spoke the truth in love. And He did it for you—as your substitute. When Jesus encountered the Samaritan woman at the well (John 4), He spoke the truth in love. And the truth was that this woman was leading a life of sin. Jesus told her to go and call her husband. When she replied that she had no husband, Jesus spoke the truth: “You are right that you have no husband. The fact is you have had five husbands, and the man you have now is not your husband.” Yet what Jesus said, He said in love with gentleness. Her sin needed to be confronted so that she could know how much she needed the full and free forgiveness of Jesus.
Jesus always spoke the truth in love. Even on trial—when speaking the truth meant that His hands and feet would be impaled to a cross—that He would be executed as your sacred substitute. And because of the truth He spoke—because of the death He died—you now have life in Him. For every time you’ve failed to speak the truth in love, there is forgiveness for you. The doors of heaven are open for you and all believers.
Learning how to speak the truth in love begins here in the Divine Service. This is where we hear and speak the truth—in the confession of sins, in the absolution, as we confess the Creed, as we hear God’s Word preached and proclaimed and sung. This is the place where—by God’s grace—we learn to speak the truth in love, as our merciful God speaks the truth in love to us.
It’s what happens here that allows us to grow up and mature as children of God. The gifts of Jesus we receive here lead us to grow in faith and good works. We grow up in our ability to speak the truth in love to one another. Fed and nourished here in the Divine Service, we grow and mature so as to no longer be children tossed to and fro . . . and carried about by every wind of doctrine. But speaking the truth in love, we will in every way grow into Him who is the head, Christ Jesus our Lord.
In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Ephesians 4:1-16
August 5, 2018
Proper 13B
Dear Saints of Our Savior~
When it comes to risk and danger, parents and children see things differently. Children—especially younger children—are kind of oblivious to risk and danger. They are blissfully unaware of all the ways that things can go bad in a hurry. Someone’s walking their pit bull down the street? Let’s go pet the doggie! Recent rains have turned the drainage ditch into a raging torrent? Let’s go right up to the edge for a closer look! Did that stranger just offer me candy? I think I’ve made a new friend!
This is why children need moms and dads. Parents possess the maturity that children lack by nature. Where risk and danger are concerned, parents are always calculating, always evaluating, always warning: hold my hand, wear your helmet, buckle your seat belt, stay away from strangers and strange dogs, and don’t eat that cookie until mom evaluates the allergens it contains.
At its core, today’s Epistle reading from Ephesians four is a call for Christian maturity. It’s an invitation to grow up—to stop living as mere children in the faith, but to step into a life of mature manhood and womanhood—to accurately assess danger and risk, and to carefully separate truth from error. This is what we are called to in our baptism. This is why our Lord gives us pastors. St. Paul’s expresses the hope and expectation that “we may no longer be children, tossed to and fro by the waves and carried about by every wind of doctrine, by human cunning, by craftiness in deceitful schemes. Rather, speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ . . .”
St. Paul describes a Christian whose faith is living and growing—a Christian who walks the walk with maturity and conviction. The mature Christian lives each day in humility, gentleness and patience. In contrast to the immature Christian who can so easily be deceived, the mature Christian—the one who is growing up into the fullness of Christ—the mature Christian understands that his job description each day can be summarized in five simple words: speaking the truth in love. Those five words stand at the heart of what it means to live the Christian life.
How well do you speak the truth in love? By nature, we don’t know how to do it. In our culture today there are plenty of people speaking the truth in loveless ways. And there are plenty of people prattling on about love who have no concept of the truth. To speak the truth means, first of all, knowing what the truth is—the truth as God reveals it to us in the Scriptures. The truth has nothing to do with your feelings and everything to do with the Word of God. If you refuse to listen to the Scriptures—if you’re not hearing the Word of God—then the truth will always elude you. But with the Word of God, Jesus said, “you will know the truth and the truth will set you free.”
Our culture is increasingly rejecting God’s truth in all sorts of ways. God’s truth about human life is that every life is precious and valuable—including the lives of the pre-born who are being knit together by God in their mothers’ wombs. But many reject God’s truth about human life and claim for themselves the so-called “right” to murder the pre-born through the silent massacre of abortion. Another truth from God is that sex and marriage belong together. God’s gift of sex is meant only to find expression within the marriage relationship—between a husband and wife. But God’s truth about sex is routinely rejected by those who allow their feelings to be their guide. God’s gift of marriage was also instituted as the lifelong union of one man and one woman—one male and one female. But even that basic, biological truth has now been rejected by increasing numbers of influential people.
But as Christians who aim to speak the truth in love, we need to be reminded that God’s truth does not change. God’s truth isn’t something we decide for ourselves. It doesn’t change when our culture changes. It doesn’t change even when our feelings tell us something different. Truth doesn’t evolve into something different. The truth comes from God. And God’s truth is that murder—including abortion—is wrong, that sexual relationships outside of marriage are wrong, that same-sex marriage is a rejection of God and His good gifts.
Beloved in the Lord, that’s the truth. God gives us His truth because He loves us and wants the best for us. Now, to know the truth and to defend the truth is a very good thing—but it’s not the only thing. We are called to speak the truth in love. And what a world of difference those two words make. If we didn’t have to speak the truth in love then our predicament might be like that of a character in a movie I saw several years ago. This man was forced to tell the truth at all times. As a lawyer arguing a court case, he found that speaking the truth didn’t always go over too well with the judge, the jury, or his client. He told his boss what he really thought of him in very truthful—very unflattering—terms. He told it like it was. He told the unvarnished, unfiltered, unedited truth to anybody and everybody.
But it cannot be that way for us. We are to speak the truth in love. Speaking the truth in love means saying things that would be easier left unsaid—but saying them anyway because only God’s truth has the power to set us free from sin and death. Speaking the truth in love means saying things that would be easier left unsaid—but saying them anyway because we can see the danger to which a brother or sister has been blinded. Speaking the truth can sometimes be easily done. But speaking the truth in love is always difficult. It is rarely appreciated—rarely applauded. Speaking the truth in love might put you on the receiving end of hatred or insults or anger or something worse.
But the alternative is to say nothing—to protect yourself and keep quiet. Now, I think there are some occasions when it’s okay to stay silent. There are some settings where the truth cannot be heard—where speaking the truth in love would probably be counter-productive. But if I don’t speak the truth in love to my family members—if I refuse to speak the truth in love to my church family here at Our Savior—if I keep quiet while a loved one dangles dangerously in spiritual peril, then I have done a loveless thing. It’s a sin of omission—a sin of which we’ve all been guilty.
But you have a Savior--a Savior who always spoke the truth in love. And He did it for you—as your substitute. When Jesus encountered the Samaritan woman at the well (John 4), He spoke the truth in love. And the truth was that this woman was leading a life of sin. Jesus told her to go and call her husband. When she replied that she had no husband, Jesus spoke the truth: “You are right that you have no husband. The fact is you have had five husbands, and the man you have now is not your husband.” Yet what Jesus said, He said in love with gentleness. Her sin needed to be confronted so that she could know how much she needed the full and free forgiveness of Jesus.
Jesus always spoke the truth in love. Even on trial—when speaking the truth meant that His hands and feet would be impaled to a cross—that He would be executed as your sacred substitute. And because of the truth He spoke—because of the death He died—you now have life in Him. For every time you’ve failed to speak the truth in love, there is forgiveness for you. The doors of heaven are open for you and all believers.
Learning how to speak the truth in love begins here in the Divine Service. This is where we hear and speak the truth—in the confession of sins, in the absolution, as we confess the Creed, as we hear God’s Word preached and proclaimed and sung. This is the place where—by God’s grace—we learn to speak the truth in love, as our merciful God speaks the truth in love to us.
It’s what happens here that allows us to grow up and mature as children of God. The gifts of Jesus we receive here lead us to grow in faith and good works. We grow up in our ability to speak the truth in love to one another. Fed and nourished here in the Divine Service, we grow and mature so as to no longer be children tossed to and fro . . . and carried about by every wind of doctrine. But speaking the truth in love, we will in every way grow into Him who is the head, Christ Jesus our Lord.
In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
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