A Strange Faithfulness

Jesu Juva

Ruth 1:1-19a                                                                       

October 9, 2022

Proper 23C                                        

 Dear saints of our Savior~

          On one Sunday—just once every three years—we get to hear the story of Ruth.  (Or, at least the first part of that story.)  Now, the story of Ruth is a beautiful story—a heartwarming story.  If the book of Ruth were a made-for-tv movie, I suspect it would air on the Hallmark channel.  The story of Ruth would fit right into the Hallmark Channel line-up—where tearful tragedies almost always end up with a heart-warming and happy ending—perhaps with a dash of romance tossed in.

          Now, the irony is that Ruth’s story takes place during the time of the Judges.  And if you’ve read through the book of Judges, then you know that wasn’t Israel’s finest period.  In fact, those centuries were some of Israel’s darkest, bloodiest times.  If the book of Judges were a made-for-tv movie, I suspect it would air on one of those stations where you can watch all those cop shows with car chases, and wrestling, and zombies, and men behaving badly.  But the story of Ruth features none of that.

          The story of Ruth features faithfulness—heartwarming, inspirational faithfulness.  It starts out with a lovely family of four living in Bethlehem.  But a famine forces the family to move east to Moab (which was Gentile territory).  In Moab, the story takes a terrible turn.  One tragedy strikes on the heels of another.  The father of the family dies.  Meanwhile, the two sons of the family get married to local Moabite women—one of whom is Ruth.  But when those two sons also die, all that’s left of the family are the women—the mother-in-law, Naomi, and her two daughters-in-law, Ruth and Orpah.  One old widow and two young widows—all pictured on the cover of today’s bulletin.

          These women comprise a tragic and tearful trio.  Not only have they lost the loves of their lives, but in the culture of those days, they had also lost their income, their security, their entire future.  They were destitute.  Naomi, the mother-in-law, resolves to go back home to Bethlehem.  She has kin back home who will take care of her.  Naomi urges her two daughters-in-law to go back to their families in Moab.  There would be money and security and perhaps the chance to marry again.  It was the logical thing to do under the circumstances.  Orpah does what makes sense and leaves Naomi.  But Ruth, with tears in her eyes, holds tight to Naomi saying, “Your people shall be my people, and your God my God.”  In effect, Ruth says to Naomi, “I will never leave you.”

          This is faithfulness, but it’s a strange kind of faithfulness.  It can only be explained by the fact that Ruth—a gentile from Moab—had come to faith in the God of Israel.  Naomi had become for her more than just a mother-in-law.  She had now become a sister in the faith.  Rather than make the safe choice and go back to her own family in Moab—where there would be honor and security and food and shelter—Ruth chooses to be faithful to Naomi—a bitter and broken woman.  With the death of her husband and the death of her sons, Naomi herself was as good as dead.  By all appearances God had forsaken her.  But Ruth would not forsake her.  In Bethlehem Ruth would be a foreigner with no family, no status, no nothing.  Yet, she chose to go with Naomi.  She chose a strange kind of faithfulness—a faithfulness that promised no reward, no benefits, no happy endings, but only years of emptiness and struggle.

          I wonder how many of us would ever show that kind of faithfulness to others—a strange faithfulness—a sacrificial faithfulness?  And remember, it was Ruth’s faith in God that led her to be faithful to Naomi.  Who is your Naomi?  The world is full of Naomi’s—people who are bitter and broken, difficult or depressed.  These people usually get written off.  These are the kids at school who are unpopular and different and friendless.  These are your co-workers and neighbors—living empty lives, dealing with divorce or death, depression or dysfunction.  These are members of your own family, brothers and sisters in Christ perhaps—who by the world’s standards are unsuccessful and unlucky.  Who is your Naomi?  Who needs your faithfulness?

          It’s always easier not to get involved with these kinds of people.  It’s far safer to keep your distance.  Their problems, like Naomi’s problems, seem insurmountable.  By nature we would much rather spend our social energy on friendly, like-minded people—well-to-do people—popular people who have their act together—people who make us feel good about ourselves—people who might mentor us and nurture us and help us to shine with success.  We’ll hitch our wagons to people like that any day.

          But Ruth teaches us a different way—a different and strange kind of faithfulness.  Her devotion to a bitter and broken old widow like Naomi makes no sense.  It’s outrageously illogical and strange.  In fact, Ruth’s behavior reminds me of one of her descendants.  This fellow—this descendant of Ruth’s—He had the strange habit of going around and displaying a similar, strange faithfulness—a crazy compassion—for people who were going nowhere—people with no future and no hope.  This morning, in fact, you heard about how He got involved with ten hopeless, helpless lepers.  The blind, the lame, the deaf, the disordered and dysfunctional and demon-possessed—the very people that everyone else had written off—Jesus Christ devoted Himself to them.  To tax collectors and prostitutes—the unpopular and un-religious—to them Jesus showed this same strange faithfulness.

          And to us—to us poor, miserable sinners who, like Naomi, were as good as dead.  To us Jesus comes.  To us who were cursed by God because of our sin.  To us whose daily lives are filled with emptiness and despair.  To us who are bitter and broken by nature—selfish and self-serving, sinners one and all—to YOU Jesus comes with His strange kind of faithfulness.  He left the glories of His home on high to live among us and for us.  The very sins that have left us so broken and bitter, are the very same sins that He took upon Himself and carried to Calvary’s holy mountain.  Your sins became His sins at the cross.  Your punishment and death became His.  And now, by faith, His righteousness becomes your righteousness.  The strange faithfulness Jesus shows to each of us is undeserved, unmerited, unheard of in the ways of this world.

          This is why St. Paul minced no words in his final letter to Timothy, but plainly reminded him and us:  “Remember Jesus Christ.”  Remember Jesus Christ—the descendant of David—the Jesus who descended from that foreigner named Ruth.  If we have died with Him [in holy baptism], we will also live with Him. . . . [and even] if we are faithless, He remains faithful.  And that strange faithfulness—it endures forever, for you.

          In your baptism the strange faithfulness of Jesus was first applied to you.  In your baptism Jesus embraced you with the same faithfulness that bound Ruth to poor, old, empty Naomi.  Come hell or high water, come feast or famine, Jesus will never let go of you.  The nail scars in His holy hands bear witness to the strength of His grip and the depth of His love for you.

          And because Jesus is holding onto you, your hands are free.  Your hands are free for acts of faithfulness—strange faithfulness—radical, illogical, self-sacrificial acts of faithfulness.  You can’t solve all the problems of all the hurting people around you.  As a pastor I learned that a long time ago.  I can’t fix the brokenness in people’s lives.  Ruth knew that she couldn’t make everything better for Naomi.  But what Ruth could do—and what you can do in Christ—is to show faithfulness, compassion, undeserved love.  That’s why you are here.  That’s why God hasn’t yet closed the curtain on the story of your earthly life.  He needs you still—needs you to faithfully love and serve the broken, empty people He places in your path.  God Himself will give the healing—as with the ten lepers.  God Himself will get the results.  God Himself will provide a happy ending that will far surpass anything you might ever see on the Hallmark channel.

          And speaking of happy endings, your homework assignment for this week is to read the rest of the story of Ruth—the final three chapters—to see just how the Lord blessed Ruth and Naomi.  In Jesus, there is a “happily ever after” in store for you as well—a resurrection ending where the music swells and the happy hugs begin.  Only it’s no movie.  It’s reality—resurrection life that has no end.  Because the Lord’s faithfulness endures forever. 

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

Mustard Seed Faith

 

Jesu Juva

St. Luke 17:1-10                                                                 

October 2, 2022

Proper 22C                                                

Dear saints of our Savior~

          There’s no doubt about it; the theme for today is faith.  The prophet Habakkuk reminds us that the righteous shall live by faith.  St. Paul tells Timothy to fan into flame the faith he had been given, and to guard that faith carefully.  And right in the middle of a sermon from Jesus, the apostles exclaim, Lord, “Increase our faith!”  Jesus tells them that even a mustard seed-sized faith can do great things.

          Would you say that your faith is great, or small?  Is your faith strong and steadfast? Or weak and wobbly?  Donald Deffner who taught preaching at the Fort Wayne seminary tells the story of a woman who was known far and wide for her great faith.  She had endured all kinds of loss and tragedy and disappointment in her life.  And yet, her faith in Christ remained steadfast.  But whenever anyone would say something to her about her great faith, she would always respond by saying, “I don’t have a great faith.  My faith is just little—the size of a mustard seed.  I have but a little faith in my great Savior, Jesus Christ.”  Perhaps you have known someone like that.  I certainly have.

          In today’s Holy Gospel the apostles were feeling like their faith was too small, too weak, completely insufficient.  What got them to that point was Jesus.  Jesus was teaching them, giving them a heavy dose of the Law.  His first topic was temptation.  Temptations to sin are sure to come, Jesus said, but woe to the one through whom [those temptations] come.  Wherever there is faith, there are going to be stumbling blocks that trip people up.  Whether false teaching, false preaching, false hearing, false thinking, false religion, whatever.  The road of faith is always littered with potholes of temptation that threaten to twist your ankle and bring you down.

          But woe to those who are responsible for those pot holes.  Woe to those who would mislead the little ones who believe in Jesus to turn their eyes away from Him.  Woe to those who would rather entertain than proclaim the gospel.  Woe to those who choose to give those little ones what they want instead of giving them what they need.  Woe to those who would rather preach anything but Jesus Christ and Him crucified.  It would be better for him if a millstone were hung around his neck and he were cast into the sea.  That’s how seriously Jesus takes the faith of His little ones who trust in Him.

          Pay attention to yourselves! Jesus warns.  As surely as Jesus is risen from the dead, your faith will be challenged and tempted.  Likely sources of this temptation might be:  The teacher or professor who is deliberately determined to destroy the faith of his or her believing students.  The pastor who preaches on the dangers of global warming instead of the Gospel.  Your fellow Christian who causes you to doubt the power of your baptism, and who leads you to question the forgiveness of your sins, or the body and blood of Jesus in the Lord’s Supper.  Let’s be clear:  Jesus has zero-tolerance for those who try to weaken or destroy the faith of His little ones.

          With that stern warning still hanging in the air, Jesus lets loose with another bit of unvarnished truth sure to humble His hearers.  This time the topic is forgiveness:  If your brother sins, rebuke him.  Tell him he’s wrong.  Show him his fault.  Name the sin.  Bring it out into the open.  And do this for one reason:  Not for your own smug satisfaction and not to prove your spiritual superiority.  Do it for this reason:  If he repents, forgive him.  And—even if he sins against you and repents seven times in one day—you must forgive him.

          That’s a tall order!  Are you up to the challenge?  One time, of course, I forgive you.  Two times?  Probably.  Three times?  Well, okay.  But I think most of us operate by the three-strike rule.  Three strikes and you’re out.  That’s it.  But seven times in one day?  It’s much easier said than done; but frankly, I’m not sure who’s capable of doing it at all.

          Apparently the apostles felt the same way; because it was just at this point where the Twelve cried out to the Lord: Increase our faith!  They felt their faith was too small, too weak.  Increase our faith!  Super-size our faith!  But Jesus

declines to deal with faith in those terms.  Instead, He says, If you had faith like a grain of mustard seed, you could say to a Mulberry tree ‘Go jump in Lake Michigan,’ and it would obey you.  Can you do that?  Do Mulberry trees take orders from you?  Perhaps your faith is even smaller than a mustard seed.

          This might be a good moment to clarify a few things about faith.  The Bible really describes faith in two ways.  First of all, there’s saving faith—trust in Jesus.  You either have that faith and the salvation that goes with it, or you don’t.  Saving faith is all or nothing.  God sees it and recognizes it even when we don’t.  In fact, we can’t.  Saving faith is all God’s doing in us—not our own doing; it is the gift of God, so that no one can boast.  But on the other hand, the Bible also describes faith as something we can perceive and feel—something that can been seen and heard that might cause others to sit up and take notice—something that might lead you to conclude, “She really has a great faith.”

          Martin Luther had a great way of teaching about the two ways faith is described in the Scriptures.  Luther was quick to point out that when God gives saving faith, He gives the same amount to you, me, and all believers.  The faith that God gave St. Paul—the faith that God gave Luther—that’s the same faith that God has given to you.  What they had, you have.  The difference is that we don’t believe it quite as firmly and fervently as they did.  Luther compared faith to holding a bag of money.  It’s the same amount of money regardless of who’s holding it.  The difference is in the hand that grasps it.  One hand may be strong and have a firm hold on the bag.  Another hand may be weak and shaky.  This means that when we pray with the apostles, “Lord, increase our faith,” what we’re really asking for is a firmer grip—a tighter hold—on the gospel promises of our gracious God.

          Faith is as great and as strong as the Savior to which it clings.  And even faith the size of a mustard seed clings to Jesus—with all of His devil-crushing, death-destroying, grave-opening, life-restoring power.  The righteous shall live by faith—by faith in the Jesus who abolished death and brought life and immortality to light through the gospel—the Jesus who was crucified for our sins and raised again for our justification.

          And what happens when our grip on Jesus and His promises is strengthened?  Faith gets busy.  Faith gets to work.  Strong faith doesn’t lead a person to sit around like little Jack Horner who sat in a corner eating his Christmas pie only to declare, “What a good boy am I” or “What a big faith have I.”  Not at all.  Faith works.  The faithful are busy.  This is what Jesus had in mind with the short parable He told about the servants who are busy working all day and well into the evening before they sit down at the table.  Faith doesn’t kick back in some padded pew and say, “I ain’t gotta do nothin’.”  Even faith the size of a mustard seed is busy moving Mulberry trees, if that’s what the orders are. 

          But more likely than moving Mulberry trees, your faith leads you to the work of your vocations and callings in this life.  Here’s what great faith looks like among us:  Children obey their parents.  Husbands and wives love, honor, and forgive each other.  We speak the truth in love to those around us.  We forgive those who sin against us.  In those everyday relationships and conversations is where your great faith does great things.  And at the end of the day (or perhaps at the end of all of our days), we will simply say, We are unworthy servants; we have only done what was our duty.

          You don’t need to claim any credit for yourself because you’ve already been given the perfect record of Jesus.  His sinless life has been credited to you through faith.  Jesus made Himself the servant of all, doing the hard duty His Father had laid upon Him—all the way to Calvary’s cross.  “The Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve, and to give His life as a ransom for many.”  Still today He comes to serve you with faith and forgiveness, life and salvation.

          Your score in God’s grade-book couldn’t be any higher than it already is.  Why?  Because you’ve got faith—faith in Jesus Christ, given and sustained by the Holy Spirit.  Your grip on the gospel is tightening because the risen Christ has a firm grip on you.  It takes faith to believe that.  Thank God, He gives faith to believe just that. 

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

A Vision of Violence & Victory

 Jesu Juva

Revelation 12:7-12                                                      

 September 28, 2022

Eve of St. Michael & All Angels   

Dear saints of our Savior~

          Berlin is a beautiful, modern city.  This once-divided city has been reunited, renovated and rebuilt into what many now call the new capital of Europe.  And yet, you can’t walk for even one block in Berlin without being reminded:  Something violent—something terrible—has happened here.

          Everywhere you look in Berlin there are reminders of violence and terror.  As you look down at the cobblestone sidewalks in front of certain buildings, you will see little memorial stones, giving the names of Jewish families who once lived at that address, but who were arrested and who died at places like Auschwitz and Dachau.  And as you inspect the grand old buildings of Berlin like the Reichstag, you can still see bullet holes made by Russian machine guns in April 1945.  Or, just walking across a simple, nondescript parking lot, a little sign informs you that, right beneath your feet was the bunker of Adolph Hitler, from which demonic and horrific evil was once carried out.  These memorials are a sobering reminder that something violent—something terrible—has happened.

          Tomorrow is the feast of St. Michael and All Angels.  It’s a day which serves as a memorial—a reminder—of something violent and terrible.  Tonight’s reading from Revelation tells us.  It presents a vision of heavenly violence—of terrible trauma—of a war . . . in heaven!  It’s almost unthinkable.  Heaven is a place of peace and joy.  That war should erupt there is unimaginable!  But St. John tells us plainly:  Michael and his angels fighting against the dragon who is called the devil and Satan—the deceiver of the whole world.  We learn that the devil and his angels have been cast down from heaven to earth:  Woe to you, o earth and sea, for the devil has come down to you in great wrath, because he knows that his time is short.  And that devilish dragon is now making war on the church—on those who keep the commandments of God and hold to the testimony of Jesus Christ.

          From this complex passage from Revelation with all of its apocalyptic imagery, two truths emerge.  You can be certain of two things:  First, there is a war—a war against God’s people, including you.  And second, you know that God enables His people to participate in the victory of Jesus—that you are more than conquerors in Jesus.  Thanks be to God who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

          Even Michael—the great warrior archangel—even Michael participates in the victory of Christ.  Think about how strange this account is.  There’s a war in heaven, and Michael is fighting, and the devil is cast out of heaven.  The devil gets his butt kicked.  Fair enough.  But if we were directing this account, it wouldn’t be Michael who demotes the devil.  It would be Jesus!  That would fit better—if it were Christ who did this.

          But it is Michael . . . because Michael participates in the victory of Christ.  How do we know?  Because when Michael casts Satan out, the heavens break out into song; only they don’t sing about Michael, but about the Christ—about His rule, His authority, His salvation, His power, His blood that conquers Satan.  Because Christ in His resurrection has defeated the power of death and sin and Satan over all creation.  Michael shows it.  Michael demonstrates it.  God enables all His creatures—angels, archangels, and you—to participate in His victory.

          This vision of violence and victory helps to put things in perspective for us today.  For even our own struggles are not against flesh and blood . . . but against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places (Eph. 6:12).  How often we forget that.  And when we forget about that spiritual warfare, we become small-minded and thin-skinned.  We get all offended when somebody disrespects us, when our toes get stepped on, when we get gossiped about.  Tonight’s account of heavenly battle reminds us just how casual and careless we are about our faith—how petty our concerns are—how cranky we get if church runs too long, or if the music doesn’t suit our taste.  Or how practically anything at all can be a great excuse just to skip the divine service all together—work, play, sports, hobbies, stress, you name it. 

          Jesus knows.  Christ Jesus knows your situation—knows where you are right now.  And today—in grace and mercy—He gives you a little memorial—a vision of violence and victory—to remind you of what is happening—so that you lift up your eyes and lift up your hearts to realize that Satan is doing what Satan does—attacking God’s people—and that you are in his crosshairs. 

          And what Satan does best is accuse.  Satan is hell’s prosecuting attorney.  And we, sadly, give him a ton of evidence to use against us.  His charges against us all ring true:  adulterer, idolater, gossip, murderer, thief, drunkard, liar.  But when you hear Satan’s accusations against you, know this:  Christ has conquered him.  Jesus Christ has defeated him.  These accusations do not sound in heaven.  For these sins—your sins—the blood of the Lamb atones.  These sins were nailed to the cross with Jesus.  And in the death of Jesus you are forever declared “not guilty.”  You are not collateral damage in this war.  You have not been abandoned to stagger and stumble through a never ending battlefield.  No!  You are not forgotten.  God has chosen you in the waters of holy Baptism to participate in His victory over Satan.  And in your weakness and weariness, there remains His strength, His peace, His victory.

          St. Michael fought against Satan by the strength of our Savior—and so do you.  I don’t know exactly what you’re battling against.  I don’t know exactly what kinds of weaponized words and accusations and temptations Satan is hurling at you tonight.  But I do know that you and I, we’re on our way home from earth to heaven; and every step is taken in the strength of our Savior.  And once in a while on this long homeward journey, the Lord sets before our eyes a little memorial marker—a vision of violence and victory—that stiffens our spine and strengthens our faith as we look to Jesus and His victory.

          If you want to know what that heavenly victory will sound like, Johann Sebastian Bach is about to take us there.  The chorus we are about to hear presents all the sound and fury of that heavenly warfare when St. Michael and his angels fought against that dragon called “Satan.”  They say that Bach often demanded the impossible from his choir—expected their voices to move in the same way he could move his fingers on the organ keyboard.

          The first two minutes of the chorus depicts serpents and dragons slithering upward to engage St. Michael and his host in heavenly battle.  But at the words “Aber Michael bezwingt/but Michael conquers,” right there Bach inverts the music downward, depicting Satan and his minions thrown back down to earth—defeated by the power of Jesus.  It is a musical vision of violence and victory—a monumental musical memorial.  May it strengthen you for your battles against the devil, and give you joy as you ponder one day taking your place around the throne of the Lamb—with angels, archangels, and all the company of heaven.

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