No Introduction Necessary

 

Jesu Juva

Psalm 46                                                                           

October 26, 2022

Reformationtide

 Dear saints of our Savior~

          The Reformation came late to Leipzig.  The Reformation had spread like wildfire throughout the German territories in the years that followed Luther’s posting of the 95 theses in 1517.  And yet over two decades would go by before the Reformation was embraced in Leipzig—just forty-some miles from Wittenberg—due to a stubborn Roman Catholic royal family.

          But in 1539 a change in Leipzig’s leadership meant that Luther himself could come for a visit on the Day of Pentecost.  Leipzigers filled the St. Thomas church to capacity to hear Luther preach the pure Gospel of Jesus Christ.  So hungry were the people of Leipzig for the pure Word of God that they broke out the church windows and raised ladders so that the thousands gathered outside the church could hear the words of Luther’s sermon.  And the rest, they say, is history, as Leipzig became a part of what we tourists now call “Lutherland.”

          Leipzig was practically a “Lutheran Utopia” when Johann Sebastian Bach lived and worked there, two centuries later.  In 1739, the 200^th Anniversary of the

Reformation in Leipzig had been marked with celebration and song—pomp, pageantry, and reverent thanksgiving to God.  Some of Bach’s most deeply theological compositions were created around this anniversary—including the one we will hear tonight.

          It was in 1740—the very next year—when Bach (now in his mid-50s) decided to create a new opening chorus for a cantata he had first composed decades earlier.  The entire cantata was built around the most famous of Martin Luther’s Reformation Hymns:  A Mighty Fortress Is Our God, or, in German:  Ein Feste Burg ist unser Gott.  It wouldn’t be stretching the truth by much to say that every Lutheran in Leipzig knew every word of A Mighty Fortress by heart.  It had been, after all, the battle hymn of the Reformation—a hymn by which Lutherans had lived, fought, and died for 200 years.

          Luther’s hymn is based on Psalm 46 which we sang earlier.  Both Psalm and hymn remind us that the battle is ongoing—that the church of Jesus Christ is under constant attack.  We have an enemy—the Old Evil Foe—who never gives up or gives in or surrenders.  The Psalm speaks of raging nations, tottering kingdoms, broken bows, shattered spears, and chariots burning with fire.  But the Lord—He is our refuge and strength—our defense and offense—our trusty shield and weapon.  He helps us free from every need—whether we are advancing or retreating.  The Lord of hosts is with us.

          But do you really need me to tell you this?  Do you not sense and see that you are under attack?  Do you not feel the poison sting of Satan’s arrows and temptations being flung your way day and night?  The old evil Foe has been carpet bombing your position since the day you were baptized.  He’s been advancing against you like Hitler’s Stormtroopers marching through Poland.  He now means deadly woe.  He means to destroy your faith in Jesus—to weaken it, starve it, and lay siege to it. 

          Are you ready to fight back?  Are you ready to rumble?  Are you ready to take up God’s good gifts and Spirit—to sacrifice goods, fame, child, and wife—to maintain your hold on the faith once delivered to the saints? 

          By nature we would rather retreat—and not fight.  By nature we are all quitters in the fight of the faith.  Surrendering without a fight is what we do best.  When it comes to this spiritual war, our slogan is:  War, what is it good for?  Absolutely nothing.  It’s easier to keep you head down, go along with the crowd, shirk your duty, dessert your post.  It’s easier to pretend that there isn’t any war going on—that you’re not in Satan’s crosshairs.  A lot of Christians, it seems to me, are like Neville Chamberlain returning from Munich in 1939, claiming to have found “peace in our time.”  In reality, we are only appeasing the enemy—giving up and giving in to his plans for world domination.

          To save you from this fate, God Himself speaks in Psalm 46:  Be still, and know that I am God.  To save you from this fate, God Himself was exalted among the nations—was exalted in the earth—was exalted on a cross for your forgiveness.  All the weaponry of this sinful world was arrayed against Jesus.  Jesus was subjected to this world’s finest tool of torture:  nails and spear, whips and thorns—all these He endured for you, to save you.  The seeming defeat of Good Friday was eclipsed by resurrection victory three days later.  Christ is risen.  He is living.  Jesus lives; the victory’s won!  The war has been won; though our battles continue.

          Think for a moment about those brave men who stormed the beaches of Normandy on D-Day, 1944.  The only thing those men knew as they crawled ashore and scaled those well-fortified cliffs was that the chance of survival was not good.  They didn’t know if they would succeed or fail—whether they would lose the battle and lose the war, or whether they would win the battle and win the war.  We know.  We know they won—and by their sacrifice our entire nation was victorious.  But what if they had known that going in?  What if they had a way of foreseeing how it would all turn out?  That victory was a certainty—just over the horizon?  Had they know that, isn’t it possible they would have fought harder and braver?  Wouldn’t they have been bolstered in the fight—made more confident and more courageous knowing that victory was a certainty?

          Beloved in the Lord, your victory is a certainty.  For the Lord of Hosts is with us.  The God of Jacob is our fortress.  In Jesus you are justified.  In Jesus your sins are forgiven.  In Jesus death is defeated and you will live forever!  Your battles against sin and temptation are not pointless and uncertain.  For your destiny is victory in Jesus Christ our Lord.

          To encourage you to take up the fight, and not grow weary, Johann Sebastian Bach composed the magnificent chorus you are about to hear.  A mighty fortress is our God; Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott.  And part of the surprise here is that there’s no instrumental introduction—no setting the musical stage.  Bach begins by just launching the tenors into the fray of this fugue:  (sing) Ein Fe---ste Burg ist unser Gott.  And right behind those tenors come wave after wave of reinforcements:  then come the altos and then come the sopranos and then come the basses—and then you and me—and all who have fought the good fight of the faith.  This is our fight.  This is our victory in Jesus.  And it needs no introduction.

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

The Two Religions

Jesu Juva

St. Luke 18:9-17                                                               

October 23, 2022

Proper 25C                                            

 Dear saints of our Savior~

          There are certainly a lot of religions in the world.  There seems to be no end of options, choices, and flavors.  Traditionally, historically, you’ve got your big three:  Christianity, Judaism, and Islam.  Expand the circle just a bit and you can add Hinduism, Buddhism, and Sikhism.  Moving on from there, the possibilities are limitless:  Baha’i and Taoism, Mormonism and Paganism, Shinto and Scientology.  Getting a handle on all the world’s religions can be kind of a daunting task.

          So let’s simplify.  If you struggle to differentiate dozens and dozens of religions, then let’s limit ourselves to two.  Because when you get right down to it, there are only two religions in the whole wide world.  Let’s call these two religions the religion of the Law and the religion of the Gospel.  In the religion of the Law, you work your way up to God.  In the religion of the Gospel, God comes down to you.  In the religion of the Law, you must earn God’s favor; in the religion of the Gospel, God’s favor is an unearned gift.  Under the religion of the Law, you justify yourself; in the religion of the Gospel God Himself justifies you and shares with you His holiness.

          When it comes to world religions, there are really only two.  Under the religion of the Law, your salvation is up to you—your works, your fasting, your prayers, your piety.  And you’d better get it all right.  Last week I got in on part of my 35^th high school class reunion.  And I was reminded of a classmate whose last name was “Goodenough,” Mark Goodenough, spelled just like it sounds.  And whenever Mark Goodenough stepped out of line, our 5^th grade teacher would inevitably say, “Goodenough, not good enough.”  And that’s the ultimate verdict for every person trapped in the religion of the Law:  not good enough.  Try harder.  Do better.

          The religion of the gospel is totally different.  Under the Gospel, you approach God not by works, but by faith in Jesus—not on the basis of what you have done, but on the basis of what Jesus has done—and not with commandment keeping, but with promise believing.  Under the gospel you don’t aspire to be “good enough,” but to be made righteous through faith in the Son of God.  From a simple standpoint, those are the world’s two religions:  the religion of the Law and the religion of the Gospel—also known as the Christian faith.

          Now, in case you’re still confused, we have the simple parable Jesus told in this morning’s Holy Gospel.  It’s a tale of two religions.  It concerns two men—a

Pharisee and a tax collector—who went up to the temple to pray.  Now, on the surface, both men worshiped the same God in the very same temple.  They are seemingly adherents of the very same religion.  But all is not as it seems.  In fact, their religions are very different.

          The danger with this simple parable is that we oversimplify it—that the Pharisee and the tax collector become one-dimensional stereotypes—that this is a black-and-white portrayal that requires almost no thought whatsoever to interpret.  Tax collector good:  Be like the tax collector.  Pharisee bad:  Don’t be the Pharisee.  But until you can see some of yourself in both men, I don’t think you’ve let these words of God have their way with you.  So let’s dig a bit deeper.

          Both men went up to the temple to pray.  Both men sought out God’s fellowship and favor.  And for that, they both went to the right place.  Both recognized and revered God’s holy presence in His temple.  They didn’t go looking for God in other places.  Regardless of how full their calendars may have been—or how many activities they had going on—both men sought the Lord in His temple.  It was a priority.  We each have priorities too—priorities that often lead us to this temple, and other priorities that sometimes keep us away from this temple.

          The Pharisee can be easily faulted for his pride.  He’s proud that he’s not like “other men,” and he’s proud of his fasting and tithing.  But also consider this:  the Pharisee was a devout and conservative man.  He was respected and admired in the community for his good works.  He worked hard to do the works God required.  He was pious and disciplined.  In fact, he was so pious and disciplined that he fasted twice a week—went without food—deprived himself—denied himself the pleasure of mouthwatering meals.  When was the last time you fasted—or, at least, denied yourself something out of devotion to your Savior?

          The Pharisee also tithed.  That means he returned to God a tenth of all his income—more than that, he gave the Lord a tenth of everything he took in, right down to the herbs and the produce that grew in his garden.  Now these days, under the New Testament, we’re quick to point out that God doesn’t require us to tithe.  That was just an Old Testament requirement.  But if that was God’s standard for the people of the Old Covenant, how much more reason do we have to give to God generously and sacrificially—we who have seen and experienced the fullness of God’s love and mercy in the person of His Son, Jesus Christ, who loved us and gave Himself for us?  Despite his faults, the Pharisee took his religion seriously.  He had the receipts to show for it.  Do we? 

          Now, the tax collector also had receipts—lots of them.  Other people’s money was his business.  Money was his idol.  Because Jesus went out of His way to associate with tax collectors, we sometimes subconsciously place a halo above their heads.  In reality, nothing could be further from the truth.  Tax collectors were awful—rogue rebels with unlimited potential to hurt you.  Imagine that the US economy collapsed; and that the USA became a wholly-owned subsidiary of China.  And then imagine that your neighbor went to work for our new Chinese overlords—a man who collaborated with the enemy—who regularly stopped by your house to carefully audit your finances—a man who, all by himself, could single-handedly serve as your prosecutor, judge, and jury.  Think of someone like that when you think “tax collector.”

          Both men were sinners.  Both were broken in different ways.  We are like them.  Each of us is part Pharisee, part tax collector.  Each of us is eager, like the Pharisee, to compare ourselves to others.  And like the tax collector, there’s very little we wouldn’t do to boost our financial situation.

          What makes these two men different is their religion.  And this difference is everything.  The tax collector stood alone at the temple.  He couldn’t even lift up His eyes.  He could only beat his breast and pray, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”  In the Pharisee’s prayer, he didn’t ask God for a single thing.  The tax collector in his prayer asked for nothing but mercy.  The Pharisee came with his impressive record of good works.  The tax collector came with his sin.  The Pharisee offered God a tenth of everything; the tax collector offered God his entire, sinful, broken life:  God, be merciful to me, a sinner.

          Jesus tells us that this man—the tax collector—went home justified—declared righteous.  This man, who was despised by everyone, was loved by God.  The Pharisee who was admired by everyone—well, he had no need of God; and God, therefore, had no need of him.  The tax collector had the right religion—the only right religion on God’s green earth.  The tax collector worshiped God in the way of the Gospel—through faith in God’s goodness and mercy.  And God justified him.

          If you attempt to worship God according to the religion of the Law, you will be humbled.  If you attempt to earn His favor by your commandment keeping, your good works, your witnessing and your offerings, you will not be justified, but condemned.  If you attempt to use the Law as your ladder to heaven, it will not end well.

          But here’s the best of news:  If you are humbled under the law—if you accept the law’s verdict that you are a sinner deserving of punishment, you will be exalted.  You will be raised up like the tax collector who went home justified.  God justifies the ungodly, not the already godly.  He forgives sinners, not saints.  He acquits the guilty, not the guiltless.  Don’t hide your sins.  Don’t look down on others.  Don’t make excuses for what you’ve done.  Instead, confess your sins.  Own them; they’re yours.  And only Jesus Christ, your Savior, can bear them all away.  Only His blood cries out for your eternal pardon.

          Today’s gospel reading concludes with babies.  People were bringing even infants to Jesus that He might touch them.  What did those crying, squirming, diapered infants have to offer Jesus?  They had nothing to offer.  They could only receive.  They are utterly “giveable to.”  And this is why we baptize infants—why infant baptism has been going on from the get-go.  The baptism of an infant is the perfect picture of our salvation—the perfect illustration of how one is joined to the religion of the Gospel:  the child does nothing; the Lord does it all.

          You have also been baptized into the religion of the Gospel.  Your worship is like that of the tax collector who came empty handed, seeking only God’s mercy.  You are like one of those tiny infants in the arms of Jesus—receiving the kingdom of God just like a little child.  And in this religion of the Gospel, you, today, get to go home justified in Jesus.

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

Here Comes the Judge

 

Jesu Juva

St. Luke 18:1-8                                                                

 October 16, 2022

Proper 24C                                                   

 Dear saints of our Savior~

          Jesus told them a parable to the effect that they ought always to pray and not lose heart.  When you’re losing heart—when discouragements are mounting—when the events of your life seem to be moving consistently in the wrong direction—prayer can become a struggle.  Now, many of you, no doubt, are doing great.  You had a fantastic week! You are brimming with positivity and optimism.  You are praying like a saint.  But some are losing heart.

          Just who is losing heart, you ask?  Well, some of you must deal every day with a chronic disease, an incurable disability.  Perhaps someone you love is being devoured by addiction.  And so you pray.  You turn to Jesus, the Great Physician.  But when healing doesn’t come—or when conditions worsen—it’s easy to lose heart. 

          Who else is losing heart, you ask?  Well, nearly all of us have loved ones who have left the faith—people for whom you care deeply who have turned away from Jesus and His Word and His gifts.  And so, you pray.  But when there’s no change—or when they tell you in no uncertain terms to keep your faith to yourself—it’s easy to lose heart—to give up, cut your losses, and just quit—quit praying about the matter.

          The sad truth is that we’re all quitters when it comes to prayer.  We are so easily discouraged.  When the going gets tough, we check out.  When God doesn’t deliver on our terms, we hang up and stop talking.  We all suffer from spiritual ADD.  Our attention wanders.  Our focus falters.  Our prayers simply stop.  There probably isn’t a single person here today who hasn’t thought at one low point, “What’s the point of prayer?  If God does what He wants anyway—if He never seems to answer my prayers—then why even bother?

          To save us from that kind of despair—to keep us from losing heart—Jesus tells a parable.  In a certain city there was a corrupt judge—a rogue judge who cared nothing about justice or the law or right or wrong.  His rulings were simply for sale to the highest bidder.  And a judge like that is especially bad news for a poor and penniless old widow.  She had no standing, no influence, no status, no power.  She was completely ignorable from the judge’s perspective.  And that’s exactly what he did.  He ignored her.

          But this poor, old widow, she just kept coming before the corrupt judge, seeking justice against her adversary.  He tried to swat her away like a fly, but she just kept coming back because that judge was the only way things could be set right.  She would not take no for an answer.  She grinds away at him with her persistent petitions.  And what happens?  The corrupt judge finally rules in her favor and grants her justice—simply to get her off his back.  And that widow, my friends, gives us a picture of faith—faith expressing itself in persistent, patient prayer.

          Jesus tells us to “hear” what the unrighteous judge says.  Pay attention.  This is an example from lesser to greater.  Our prayers are addressed to Jesus; and Jesus is no corrupt and crooked judge.  Jesus is righteous and holy and infinitely wise and just.  So, if a poor old widow can eventually get a rogue judge to rule in her favor, how much better will it be for us—for Jesus to hear our prayers and rule in our best interests?  Jesus delights in forgiving sin.  Jesus loves to answer prayer.  Will not God give justice to his elect, who cry out to him day and night? Will he delay long over them?  I tell you, he will give justice to them speedily.

          Our gracious God did not send His Son to hang dead on a cross to save you . . . just so that He could ignore you and your requests.  Our gracious God doesn’t invite you to pray with persistence . . . just so that He can turn a deaf ear to your prayers.  You are His child—His chosen—His elect.  You are baptized—joined to Jesus in death and life.  You have the privilege of calling upon God as our “Father.”

          Jesus said that God will answer our prayers “speedily.”  How fast is “speedily?”  This is another reason why we so often lose heart and quit praying—because our Old Adam is inherently impatient.  It’s now or never.  A slowdown in traffic—a slow WiFi connection—a long line in the Culver’s drive-thru.  It doesn’t take much to try our patience.  The Old Adam demands instant gratification.  But prayer prompted by faith is always an exercise in patience.  We need much more of that fruit of the Spirit called patience.

          We also need to stop looking at prayer in terms of favors asked for and favors granted.  We subconsciously like to keep score on these things—to see what our percentage is.  It’s kind of like a batting average.  If God gives you what you ask for, it’s like a hit.  What’s your praying percentage this month?  Are you praying over .300?  Or are you slumping somewhere around .220?  But God never promises to give us exactly what we ask for.  But He does promise that your prayers will be answered by His giving you the Holy Spirit and peace—peace that passes understanding—and that in the end, He will do justice for you by forgiving you all of your sins.  “Call upon me in the day of trouble,” God says, “and I will deliver you.”  That doesn’t mean that He will bail you out of every trouble in just the way that you dictate.  But it does mean that God will always hear—God will always act—on your behalf.

          Jacob wrestling with God in today’s OT reading is a great illustration of persistent prayer.  As Jacob camped alone in the wilderness he was mugged by a

guy who turned out to be the Lord—who also wrestled with him until sunrise.  And Jacob manages to pin down the Lord and demand a blessing.  That’s sort of how faith prays.  It wrestles with the Lord and pins Him down, holding Him to His promises.

          Please notice that Jacob didn’t come away unscathed.  With a touch, God threw Jacob’s hip out of joint to remind Jacob of who he was wrestling with.  The One Jacob pinned down was considerably stronger.  The One we wrestle with and pin down in prayer is considerably stronger and wiser than we are.  When I was a very little boy, I used to wrestle with my dad.  We would “rough house” right in the middle of the living room.  And he would let me win.  In prayer, the Lord lets us wrestle with Him a bit, lets us pin Him down—so that we learn, prayer-by-prayer, to trust Him with everything.

          But if I simply tell you to pray persistently like the widow—or to wrestle with God like Jacob—I haven’t yet given you what you need so that you don’t lose heart.  I need to direct you to the Judge.  Not the corrupt judge in the parable, but to the One who will come again to judge the living and the dead.  Jesus is the judge in whose name all our prayers are prayed.  Jesus is the judge who will always rule in your favor.  Jesus is the judge who bears such love and concern for you that He stands in your stead and takes your guilt and punishment upon Himself.  Your sin—your impatience—your angry demands—your failure to pray, praise and give thanks—those sins can no longer condemn you.  There is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.  The One who was crucified for you—who shed His blood for you in love—He alone will be your judge.  He is the Son of Man and, when He returns, He will find faith in you—faith that He has given, faith that He has nourished, sustained and strengthened through decades of prayers and years of tears.

          This parable ends on a strange note.  Jesus fast forwards to the Last Day when He comes again:  When the Son of Man comes, will He find faith on earth?  What does the Last Day have to do with our prayers on this day?  Well, on the Last Day it will all become clear.  On the Last Day it will become clear just how tenderly—how generously—Jesus has carried us along through all those dark times when we were losing heart—when everything went wrong, and when our prayers went unanswered, and when our lives seemed so widowed and worthless.  Then (on the Last Day) it will be clear how God’s delaying—how His slowness—is really part of His wanting our good, preparing us for larger gifts, building your faith not on short term satisfaction and on quick, easy solutions—but teaching you to rely completely on His grace, His mercy, His love.

          And knowing that, we will not lose heart.  We will not give up.  We will not quit.  We will pray persistently to the one and only Judge who loves us and gave Himself for us. 

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