Be Merciful

Jesu Juva

St. Luke 6:27-38                                                             

February 20, 2022

Epiphany 7C                                               

 Dear Saints of Our Savior~

          Mercy is the main course on today’s menu.  In fact, today’s Holy Gospel can be simply summarized with a single sentence from the lips of our Lord:  Be merciful, even as your Father is merciful. 

          All the imperatives—all the commands—spoken by the Savior today are really just different expressions of mercy—different ways of doing mercy:  Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you, turn the other cheek, do unto others as you wish others would do to you.  Judge not; condemn not; forgive all. It’s all mercy.  If you can muster the strength to show kindness and do good where it is least deserved, then you are on your way to mastering mercy.

          The liturgy teaches us our great need for mercy.  And the liturgy leads us to pray for mercy—as we do in the Kyrie—nearly every Sunday:  Lord, have mercy upon us.  Christ, have mercy upon us.  Lord, have mercy upon us.  That’s how we normally think about mercy—how much mercy we need to receive for ourselves.  But praying for mercy and receiving mercy is one thing.  Actually showing mercy—extending mercy to another person—that’s something altogether different.  Actually being merciful is a tall order indeed.  To paraphrase Shakespeare, to receive mercy is human; to be merciful is divine.

          Showing mercy to others is so difficult that it’s led some Bible scholars to water down these words of Jesus.  Loving your enemies, doing good to those who hate you, blessing those who curse you, praying for those who abuse you, turning the other cheek—it all sounds so utterly preposterous that some people have decided that Jesus was just exaggerating.  He didn’t really mean it!  Jesus was just using hyperbole—a rhetorical technique to make people sit up and pay attention.  Like when He said to cut off your hand if it causes you to sin.  But the Savior’s mandate for mercy is not optional.  You can’t opt out of this mandate.  He said it.  He meant it.  It applies to your life literally, not just figuratively:  Be merciful, even as your Father is merciful. 

          Today’s Old Testament reading gives us a great illustration of mercy.  What does it mean to be merciful?  What does it look like?  To be merciful is to be like Joseph.  You remember Joseph, don’t you?—how he was hated by his older

brothers, how he was stripped of his colorful robe, cast into a pit, sold into slavery and, how because he refused to sleep with another man’s wife, ended up in a dank, dark, Egyptian dungeon?  Mercy is years later—now as the most powerful man in all of Egypt—to have these same brothers standing before you—able to do to them anything you want, to take any kind of revenge your heart desires—but then to forgive them, kiss them, shed tears of joy, and embrace them as your long-lost family.  That is mercy.

          If only Jesus had said, “Be merciful, just as Joseph was merciful.”  For then we could have something to shoot for—something to aspire to—a goal on which we could set our sights.  But what Jesus said was, “Be merciful, even as your Father is merciful.”  To be merciful, then, is to be like God.  God shows mercy by sending His Son to gather up all His wayward children, only to have them reject His Son and spit in His face.  God shows mercy by sending His Son into the world—by opening His hands to sinners and offering them the treasures of heaven—only to have them pierce those hands with nails, crown His head with thorns, and watch with anticipation as blood and oxygen drain away into death.  That is the mercy of our heavenly Father.

          Be merciful, Jesus says, just as your Father is merciful.  But you won’t do it.  You refuse to do it.  Loving your enemies, doing good to those who hate you, turning the other cheek—none of this is hardwired into the content of your character.  What is hardwired into your DNA is a boundless love for yourself.  You can’t be merciful to others, ultimately, because you love yourself too much.  You think you have to defend your honor.  You think you have to protect your future.  You think it’s not fair for people to walk all over you like some doormat.  You think people will take advantage of you if you start showing mercy like some saint.  You think . . . well, you think primarily of yourself.  And that’s a problem.

          Who needs mercy from you?  It’s not those who love you and do good to you.  It’s your enemies who need your mercy.  It’s those who aim to make you miserable—those who, if given the chance, will drive you to despair and sometimes even to tears.  They work overtime to bring out the worst in you.  They cause you pain.  They cost you sleep.  They have used you and abused you.  They have taken advantage of you and would likely do so again.  And to them, Jesus says, be merciful, even as your Father is merciful.  Martin Luther, preaching on this text, said that “the mercy of Christians must . . . be complete and comprehensive, regarding friend and foe alike, just as our Father in heaven does.”  And then Luther spoke the Law in its full severity in one short sentence:  Where this mercy is absent, faith also is absent.

          All we can do is repent.  All we can do is confess that we cannot free ourselves from our sinful condition.  It’s true that we are far, far from showing mercy as our Father in heaven does.  But what is truer still is that your heavenly Father is still merciful to you.  His mercy endures forever!  On us—who are much more like Joseph’s brothers than Joseph—on us our gracious God lavishes forgiveness, pardon for sin, and embraces us with tears of joy as His own dear family. 

          Jesus is our brother indeed.  He’s the new and greater Joseph—who for us men and for our salvation was stripped of His robe by the soldiers and was cast into the pit of the tomb.  Your sin is no match for His mercy.  He was crucified for your transgressions.  No matter how hot the flames of your sin may burn, He has more than enough mercy to douse those flames.

          Luther said it this way:  If [God] should give to us according to our merit, He could give us nothing but hell fire and eternal condemnation.  Therefore, whatever good and honor He gives us, it is out of sheer mercy.  He sees that we are stuck in death, and He has mercy upon us and gives us life.  He sees that we are children of hell, and He has mercy upon us and gives us heaven (Day by Day, p.258).

          Jesus Christ has done it all for you.  Jesus is God’s mercy in human flesh.  What sounds impossible and preposterous to us was actually the beating heart of Jesus’ earthly ministry.  It was Jesus who turned the other cheek again and again—who wound up broken and bruised, beaten and bloody.  It was Jesus who gave the tunic off His back, to have that back stripped of skin by the soldiers, who forgave His enemies from the cross, who died in nakedness and shame.  It was Jesus who gave away all He had and all He was—who lived in such a recklessly generous way that He poured out His life unto death.  Jesus Christ was merciful to all the enemies of God—including you and me.

          All that would condemn us before God has been attached to the bloody wood of Jesus’ cross.  Our idolatries and infidelities, our greed and our sad love of self—they are forgiven.  Jesus is judged that you might be acquitted.  Jesus is condemned so that you might be justified.  His mercy comes down like gentle raindrops from heaven, falling into the font, and washing you clean in your baptism.  His mercy seasons your life as your lips receive His most precious body and blood.  In this meal His perfect mercy is made manifest in you.

          Finally, a question:  Who needs mercy from you?  Who has judged you and condemned you and cursed you?  Which ungrateful, unforgiving soul needs mercy from you?  You are perfectly positioned to show them the miracle of God’s mercy—to do the divine thing—to do unto others what Jesus Christ has done for you.

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

 

The Pursuit of Happiness

 Jesu Juva

St. Luke 6:17-26                                                             

February 13, 2022

Epiphany 6C                                    

 Dear saints of our Savior~

          Today’s Holy Gospel reminds us that while Jesus often pleased the crowds, He was no crowd-pleaser.  He wasn’t very good at back-slapping and glad-handing. He doesn’t seem to know the proper techniques for winning friends and stroking egos.  Jesus probably wouldn’t have been a very appealing after-dinner speaker either.  Imagine it:  Woe to you who are full now, for you shall be hungry.  Woe to you who laugh now, for you shall mourn and weep.  Jesus was certainly provocative, but He wasn’t very entertaining.  For there’s really nothing entertaining about the kingdom of God.  Satisfying?  Yes.  Life-giving?  Yes.  But entertaining?  No.  Jesus didn’t come to entertain us or make us feel good.  He did not come to make us happy.

          Are you happy?  And what does it mean to be happy?  As Americans, we take happiness very seriously.  We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all people are endowed by their Creator with the unalienable rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of . . . happiness.  We have the right to chase around after happiness; and no one can take that away from us.  Notice we have the right to pursue happiness, but not necessarily to be happy.

          People chase after happiness in lots of different ways—in buying and accumulating stuff, only to find there’s never enough to make us happy. Some people pursue happiness in their career, in achievement and accomplishment, in their school work.  I was one of those “A” students, but that was a long time ago.  Past accomplishment is no guarantee of future happiness.  Some people pursue happiness in relationships or hobbies or sports.  Others look for happiness in religion.  If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands, I used to sing in Sunday school.  But what if you’re not happy and you know it?  Can you still clap your hands and shout “amen?”

          Think about the amazing men of faith, like Martin Luther.  Do you think he was happy?  He’s certainly not depicted that way in books and movies, where he’s cursing the devil, slinging ink wells at him, and becoming ever more distressed over the condition of the church.  And then there was St. Paul.  I don’t think he was especially happy either.  Yes, he often writes about his joy; but that joy was always mixed with a lot of frustration and hardship. 

          In today’s epistle St. Paul makes an indirect point about happiness.  He wrote that if it’s only for this present life that we have hoped in Christ, then we are the most pitiful bunch of people on the face of the earth.  In other words, if the pursuit of happiness in this earthly life is as good as it gets—if this is all there is—then prepare to be pitied. 

          But the good news—the hard fact of history—is that Christ has been raised

from the dead; and He is the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep.  That word, firstfruits, means that Jesus’ resurrection is the first of many resurrections.  His rising foreshadows your rising.  Because He lives, you shall live also.  If by chance you aren’t “happy” now, you will be—thanks to Jesus.  Only this is a happiness you cannot pursue.  No, this is a happiness that pursues you, and finds you—a happiness that can only be received by you as a gift—that comes exclusively from Jesus—a happiness ultimately fulfilled in the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting.

          Jesus was on a roll that day when He preached the words of this morning’s Holy Gospel.  He was healing the sick, casting out demons.  All kinds of good things were happening.  St. Luke reports that divine power was just pouring out of Jesus that day.  And you can be sure that there were lots of very happy people that day—people who found relief and recovery and hope and peace.  And Jesus could have used that opportunity to preach a Gospel of happiness—to announce Himself as the secret to happiness—the quick fix to all the trouble and turmoil you face.  That’s the kind of thing you often hear from TV preachers—who promise prosperity and success and happiness all around.

          But Jesus—He didn’t come to preach happiness.  Instead, He lifted up His eyes, locked them on His disciples, and said:  Blessed are you who are poor. . . . Blessed are you who are hungry—you who weep—you who are hated on account of the Son of Man.  Poverty?  Hunger?  Tears and hatred?  I don’t think that’s what the founding fathers had in mind when they risked their sacred honor and took up arms to defend the right to the pursuit of happiness.

          But listen carefully to Jesus.  Who are these blessed, happy people?  What is it about their poverty, their hunger, their tears and rejection that makes them so blessed?  Jesus tells them that what they don’t have now—what they lack now—they will have in abundance.  He tells the poor that the kingdom of God is already theirs!  He tells the hungry that they will be satisfied—tells those who are weeping that they will laugh out loud—tells those who are hated here on earth that they have a great reward awaiting them in heaven.

          All of this, of course, requires faith.  Faith is key.  Faith is the key to both blessedness and to happiness.  You are most blessed and most happy when you believe that Jesus is at work in, with, and under every circumstance in your life—good and bad, pain and pleasure, riches and poverty, laughter and sorrow.  To have faith is to believe this:  Jesus Christ is not the way around suffering and sorrow.  But He is the only way through suffering and sorrow to eternal life and a great reward in heaven.  That is happiness, Jesus-style.  That’s happiness stamped with the cross of Christ.

          You may be poor today; but blessed are you because the kingdom of heaven is yours (present tense).  You may be hungry today; but blessed are you as one who is fed with the body and blood of Jesus in His Holy Supper—a foretaste of the heavenly feast where you will lack nothing.  You may be weeping today, mourning your sin and its wages; but blessed are you as one whose tears will turn to joy on the day when your Savior welcomes you to paradise.  Today you may be hated.  Tomorrow you may be labeled as a disinformation-spouting, extremist.  But Jesus?  He says:  Blessed are you—you poor, hungry, teary-eyed, despised disciples.

          But do you know who you look like?  You look like Jesus!  You look like Jesus who was rich, but who became poor for your sake, so that you might be rich in the grace of God.  You look like Jesus who hungered and fasted for forty days, so that you might be fed with the bread of life forever.  You look like Jesus who wept—a man of sorrows and familiar with suffering.  He was despised.  He was beaten and rejected by the religious and the powerful.  He was crucified.  And this Jesus—the poor, hungry, weeping, despised man on the center cross—HE is your acceptance.  He is your justification—your righteousness—your salvation—your substitute—your brother.  Blessed are you.

          But we can’t ignore Jesus’ words of woe, either.  Woe to you who are rich and well-fed and who are living only for a good laugh.  Your riches can’t save you.  Food fills you temporarily; but you’ll be hungry again, soon enough.  Laughter is short-lived in this world.  But the real punch line will come on the Last Day, when Christ appears to judge the living and the dead—when the real laugh of genuine happiness is that your sins are forgiven and forgotten in His death—and that your death is undone in His resurrection.

          If today you happen to have riches or food and drink or laughter and popularity, be thankful.  But don’t forget, these are not the keys to pursuing and finding happiness and blessedness.  If we look for happiness in these things, then these things become our idols.  We will pursue them until we die, and never come close to realizing the happiness that Jesus has in store for those who trust in Him.

          Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, whose trust is in the Lord.  He is like a tree planted by water.  Happy is he whose transgressions are forgiven, whose sins are covered.  Happy is the man whose sin the Lord does not count against him and in whose spirit is no deceit (Ps. 32).  Now that’s a happiness worth pursuing.  Of course, you can’t pursue this happiness.  It pursues you.  It tracks you down.  It finds you . . . through faith in Jesus, our Savior.

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

At the Word of Jesus

Jesu Juva

St. Luke 5:1-11                                                                 

February 6, 2022

Epiphany 5C                                       

Dear saints of our Savior~

          It was a boat-sinking, net-breaking load of fish—a once in a lifetime catch—the kind of catch every fisherman dreams of.  But in the end, these fishermen just walked away from their miraculous catch.  In fact, they left everything behind and followed Jesus.  Today’s holy gospel is a whopper of a fishing tale; but there’s something more here for you too, even if you don’t care for fishing.  This is ultimately a story about how disciples are called and caught—disciples like Simon Peter, James and John . . . and you and me.

          Jesus was at the Sea of Galilee, preaching to crowds of people.  Because the crowds were so great, Jesus decided to use a fishing boat as His pulpit.  That boat belonged to Simon Peter.  He and his fishing partners were washing their nets after a long night of nothing—which is often how it goes in the fishing business.  Lots of time spent without much to show for it.  St. Luke doesn’t tell us exactly what Jesus preached from the fishing boat; but He concluded with this command to Peter:  Put out into the deep and let down your nets for a catch.

          Now, Peter knew this wasn’t how you catch fish in the Sea of Galilee.  These fishermen fished at night, when the fish came closer to the shore.  But Jesus tells them to go out to the deep water in broad daylight.  It’s an exercise in faith and trust.  Peter, James and John must have wondered what this Rabbi knew about fishing.  After all, they were professionals—card-carrying members of the local fisherman’s union.  Just imagine if I, your pastor, showed up at your workplace this week and started telling you how to do your job.  I’m guessing you’d find a polite way to show me the exit.

          But Jesus is conducting an exercise in faith—a fisherman’s object lesson.  Peter states the obvious:  Master, we toiled all night and took nothing.  But [he says] at Your Word I will let down the nets.  That’s faith talk.  Faith says, “I’m going to take your word on this one, Lord.”  Over and against his own good judgment and common sense and years of experience, Peter trusts the word of Jesus.  He sails out to deep water, lets down his nets in the middle of the day; and the result . . . is a net-breaking, boat-sinking load of fish.

          When Simon Peter makes it back to shore—soggy and surrounded by flopping fish—he is filled with fear and awe and amazement.  Who is this Jesus who casts out demons with a word, who heals fevers with a touch, who knows exactly when and where the fish are swimming?  Peter knows who he himself is:  a sinful man, a breaker of commandments, whose thoughts, words, and deeds are filled with damnable disobedience.  Peter is amazed and terrified at the same time—overwhelmed by the darkness of his sin in the bright light of Jesus’ glory.  At that, this tough, burly cuss of a fisherman falls down on his knees and says: Depart from me, O Lord, for I am a sinful man.

          Peter sounds a lot like Isaiah in today’s Old Testament reading.  Like Peter, Isaiah found himself in God’s holy presence.  He saw the Lord on His holy throne—beheld six-winged seraphs flying and singing “holy, holy, holy,” in the shaking and smoking temple of God.  Like Peter, Isaiah says, “Woe is me . . . for I am a sinful man . . . and my eyes have seen the Lord.”  Both men knew the truth that no one is good enough—no one is holy enough—to stand in the presence of God based on their own merit or strength.

          Do you also feel and believe what Isaiah and Peter felt and believed?  It can be an awful feeling—a shameful, sobering recognition that we are each poor, miserable sinners as we stand before the Lord.  But, beloved in the Lord, this uncomfortable spot is also where faith begins!  And, typically, this is also how the Divine Service begins each Lord’s Day—with the somber and solemn confession that we are sinful and unclean—that we deserve nothing but temporal and eternal punishment.  Kneeling before the Lord, we cannot pretend otherwise.

          Peter wanted Jesus to go away.  He knew he didn’t qualify to stand in the presence of God; and Peter was right about that.  But most of this world’s religions see it differently.  Apart from Christianity, nearly every other religion is all about trying to convince God that you are clean enough, that you are worthy enough, that you are holy enough to come into His presence.  You can give that a shot, if you want; although I don’t recommend it.  For Jesus Himself said that He came not to call the righteous, but sinners—broken people—fishermen, tax collectors, prostitutes—the unclean, the unworthy, the unholy.

          But here’s a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance:  Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.  The Lord sent an angel to purify the lips of Isaiah; and told him what every man of unclean lips longs to hear:  Your guilt is taken away, and your sin atoned for.  I think that’s also what Simon Peter longed to hear; but he couldn’t bring himself to ask for it.  So he told Jesus to depart.  But Jesus would not depart—would not leave Peter, broken and fearful.  Note that Jesus didn’t dismiss Peter’s confession of sin.  He didn’t tell Peter, “Oh, you’re not that bad.”  Instead, Jesus said, “Do not be afraid.”

          Today the Lord Jesus says the same to you:  Do not be afraid.  The world will delight to remind you of just how awful you are—of all the bad things you’ve done to others—of all the ways you’ve fallen short.  The world will never forgive you.  The Law of God doesn’t tell you anything different, and won’t let you off the hook for even a second.  But Jesus—He says, “Do not be afraid.”  You—yes, you—can hop into the boat with Jesus, just as you are without one plea—even with a sinful record that stinks worse than a boatload of dead fish in the afternoon sun.  You are perfect disciple material.  You’ll fit right in with the rest of us.

          Peter and company learned a lot that day on the seashore.  They learned that when it came to catching people for the kingdom, it would not happen by their skill or ingenuity.  It would happen only by the Word of Jesus.  We too need to learn this lesson.  It’s our goal as a congregation to catch people for the kingdom.  I thank God for this congregation—for your love and your faithfulness—for how dedicated and conscientious you are when it comes to receiving Jesus’ Words and taking them to heart.  But in all of our planning and decision-making, we can never lose sight of this:  When it comes to growing the church and catching people for the kingdom, it doesn’t happen because of our love or our dedication or determination.  It happens by the Word—by the Word of the Lord carried along by the Holy Spirit.  The Word of God gets the job done.  We can fish all night with nothing to show for it; but, at the Word of Jesus, prepare to be surprised.

          Lastly, please notice that today’s text is about net fishing, not bait fishing.  Bait fishing is a form of deception.  It’s where we get the phrase “bait and switch.”  You trick the fish into biting onto something that looks like food, but then hook them to ultimately become your food.  Bait fishing is also discriminatory:  certain kinds of bait and certain kinds of lures are for certain kinds of fish.  If you catch what you don’t want, you just throw it back.  Lots of churches follow that strategy for catching people.  They cast out a well-baited line hoping that a desirable prospect will bite down hard enough and long enough to get reeled in.

          But net fishing—the kind of fishing Simon Peter and his crew were up to—net fishing is indiscriminate and all-inclusive.  Nets grab anything and everything in their path—perch, bass, cod, old tennis shoes—you name it.  When you’re fishing with a net, you just haul everything in and sort it out later.

          That’s also how the death and resurrection of Jesus works in this world.  The big, broad net of that Good News gets cast into the darkest depths of this sinful world; and it hauls in people of all nations, tribes, languages and skin colors.  It is a net-breaking, boat-sinking load of sinners, scooped up in the good news that God was reconciling the world to Himself in Christ, not counting your trespasses against you.

          Your God didn’t dangle a tantalizing lure in front of you to bring you into His kingdom.  That’s not how He operates.  Instead He sent His Son, born of woman, born under the Law, to redeem all of us under the Law.  That Son received a sinners’ baptism.  He was tempted, rejected, and crucified, and on the third day was raised in resurrection glory.  And as that good news goes into your ears and into your heart—at the Word of Jesus—you’re caught!  No fisherman asks the fish to “decide” if they’d like to be caught.  He just catches them.  So it is with the Master fisherman—who promises to build His church. 

          Beloved in the Lord, you’ve been caught—caught by the Word of Jesus.  Your guilt is taken away, and your sin atoned for.  Do not be afraid.  You’ve been scooped-up in the net of our Lord’s love and forgiveness.  There’s really not a better place to be on this, the fifth Sunday after the Epiphany, in the year of our Lord 2022.

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