The Day Is Coming

Jesu Juva

St. Luke 21:5-28                                                           

November 13, 2022

Proper 28C                             

Dear saints of our Savior~

          Last week, on All Saints’ Sunday, we set our sights on Paradise.  We took our place with that white-robed multitude around the throne of God.  We gave thanks for all the saints who from their labors rest.  We were comforted and consoled by the sure and certain promise of the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting—when death will be undone and God will wipe away every tear from our eyes.

          But today the comfort of last Sunday gives way to a vision of fiery judgment, cosmic chaos, and destruction.  We’d much rather just skip over the end of the world and center our thoughts on Paradise the blest.  But the Lord won’t let us.  The day—the Last Day—is coming.  Malachi tells us:  It will “burn like an oven, when all the arrogant and all evildoers will be stubble.”  As we just sang: Then fright shall banish idle mirth, And flames on flames shall ravage earth.  And Jesus tells us:  The heavens will be shaken.  And they will see the Son of Man coming in a cloud with power and great glory.

          We can’t begin to imagine the end of the world.  We just can’t.  But that doesn’t mean it won’t happen.  It will.  But I suspect you haven’t given this much thought for a while.  The end of the world is, for most of us, the last thing we’re concerned about.  We’ve got deadlines to meet.  Thanksgiving is just eleven days away.  For most people who enjoy good mental health, thoughts about the end of the world don’t regularly occur.  But that’s precisely why we have a church year—a church calendar—a lectionary—which always concludes with a reminder that the day is coming—and that it’s nearer than you might imagine.

          Jesus’ own disciples couldn’t even begin to imagine that Jerusalem would be destroyed.  Jerusalem was God’s city—the City of David—Mount Zion.  Jerusalem’s high and holy temple was God’s dwelling place on earth.  But Jesus predicted that the walls would come a’tumbling down:  The day will come when there will not be left here one stone upon another that will not be thrown down.  This sounded crazy when Jesus said it.  Herod’s temple was one of the wonders of the world—a massive public works project.  Say something similar about one of our national monuments in Washington; and then see how long it takes before the FBI shows up on your doorstep.  But what Jesus said about Jerusalem all came true in the year 70 AD when Roman armies leveled it all, including the temple.  There was nothing left.

          Jesus used that catastrophic event to help prepare His people for the all-consuming catastrophe of the Last Day.  What happened in Jerusalem in 70 AD foreshadowed what will happen at the end of days.

          If talking about the end of the world makes you uneasy, that’s good.  It should.  Jesus warned that His faithful followers of every age would at least get a taste of the coming chaos.  He said they would be persecuted, arrested, imprisoned, and put on trial.  Never does Jesus tell His followers that they will be spared from all this—only that He would see them through it all—that He would supply them with words and wisdom so that they could bear witness to Him.

          When His followers feel the squeeze of persecution—when this world’s hatred of Christ and His people gets intense—Jesus says, “Don’t worry.”  In fact, Jesus calls such times an “opportunity to bear witness.”  Jesus promises to give His people words and wisdom when they need it most.  But don’t think of it as God magically putting words in your mouth.  No, those words and wisdom are already being implanted in you every time you gather here for the Divine Service—every time you hear God’s Word—every time you sing His praises from the hymnal.  The Holy Spirit is using all of that—every Scripture, every devotion, every sermon, every Creed confessed, every Psalm, hymn, and spiritual song—that will be your treasury of resources for when your time of trial will come.  The Lord’s words and the Lord’s wisdom will not fail you.  Nothing will prepare you better for persecution than receiving God’s gifts here and now.  Being prepared for the end . . . begins here.

          The Christian faith has a cross at its center—Jesus Christ and Him crucified.  That means you can expect suffering, hardship, loss, and persecution.  As the world hated Jesus, so it will hate His followers.  Jesus told His disciples that some of them would be put to death.  And yet, in the very next sentence He adds:  But not a hair of your head will perish.  By your endurance you will gain your lives.  It sounds like a contradiction.  Which is it?  Will your beautifully quaffed hairs remain numbered and intact?  Or will the head to which they are attached get lopped off for following Jesus?  The answer is “yes.”  Yes, death will come to those who follow Jesus—maybe even martyr’s death; and “yes” again, you will live.  In the resurrection all those beautiful hairs will be accounted for.  Though you die; yet shall you live.  And living and believing in Jesus, your death will be but the entrance into the Father’s house, where the Savior already has a place prepared for you.

          But as for the world around us, it has an expiration date.  It is passing away.  That Jerusalem temple eventually did topple at the hands of the Romans.  But the end of the temple would be signaled even more profoundly on Good Friday, when the curtain in the temple was torn in two at the moment Jesus died.  At that moment, the time of the temple was over.  Access to God is now found through the body of His Son, Jesus—no longer through a building—no longer through the blood of goats and bulls, but only through the shed blood of Jesus.  In that blood is your cleansing and forgiveness.

          In practically one breath Jesus covers the destruction of Jerusalem—and shows how that destruction will be a prelude to the end of all things—when the sun is darkened and the moon turns to blood and the stars fall from the sky, and the sea will roar with the intensity of ten thousand tsunamis.  Jesus is telling you now, so that you won’t be caught unaware just in case it all begins to unravel later today or perhaps tomorrow.  Global warming and climate change—don’t worry about it.  Rising oil prices—deal with it.  Divided government and a polarized electorate—you can survive it with the help of God.  Another pandemic—just take some vitamin D. 

          But be ever aware—be ever mindful of this truth:  The end of all things is

coming.  On that day your faith will be vindicated.  Every promise ever made by Jesus will be proven true.  Your patient endurance through times of tears and trouble will give way to the thrill of hope as the Savior returns.  Then you will see with your own two eyes what you can now only hear and believe.  Just when things are at their worst, lift up your heads because your redemption is drawing near.  Already now, Jesus is near—in His Word preached and proclaimed, in His baptism, in His holy Supper.  And sooner than you might think, you will see the Savior face to face.

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

Blessed Are the Dead

 

Jesu Juva

Matt. 5:3, Rev. 14:13                                                     

 November 6, 2022

All Saints’ Sunday                                           

 Dear saints of our Savior~

          It’s All Saints’ Sunday—that day on the Christian calendar when we name our dead before the Lord, and give Him thanks for all the saints who from their

labors rest.  We call them “saints” because they had faith in Jesus; and by that faith they were covered with the Savior’s perfect righteousness.  We feebly struggle; they in glory shine. 

          But the thing about these saints is that they were also sinners.  They didn’t always talk and act in saintly ways.  At the funeral home all you ever hear are things like:  He was always such a good man.  She was always so nice and kind.  He never had a bad word to say about anybody.  Her smile lit up the room.  But the thing is—it’s not true—not altogether accurate.  But on All Saints’ Day we don’t have to pretend that the saints we remember were always saintly.  Nor do we have to pretend that they were perfect.  They may have disappointed us at times.  They may have been difficult to live with at times.  We don’t have to pretend otherwise.  We can face the facts.

          We can accept the truth about ourselves and our fellow saints because we accept the truth about Jesus.  We can face the facts about the death of loved ones because we have faced the facts about the death of Jesus on Calvary.  Jesus was different.  Jesus was, in fact, always a good man.  He was a good man who died between two bad men.  Jesus was executed along with two evil-doers, but His death was far worse than theirs.  Jesus’ death was more than just physical death—the death of no more heartbeats or brainwaves.  Jesus’ death was the ultimate death—the death of being forsaken by God, abandoned by God, and rejected by God.

          That death was for you—for all the saints . . . and for all the sinners.  Jesus endured it as your sacred substitute.  His death was the bloody payment for all of your sins—for all of your unsaintly living and thinking and speaking.  You see, it’s only in seeing the death of Jesus rightly that we can see the death of His saints rightly.  Those saints we each remember today—they weren’t perfect.  In fact, they were poor, miserable sinners.  But in Jesus—through faith in Jesus—they are forgiven.  They have come out of the great tribulation.  They have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. 

          So I hope you will join me in this dying wish.  I hope that you view your funeral the way I view mine:  Because I don’t want anyone saying, “He was always such a nice man.”  Don’t call me nice or kind or faithful.  Don’t eulogize me and make me out to be something I’m not.  Let the preacher simply say, “He was a sinner redeemed and loved by Christ the crucified.”  Or, at least have the decency to say, “He was blessed.”

          Call me “blessed” because that’s what Jesus calls His saints—over and over again.  We hear it clearly in today’s Holy Gospel:  “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”  In these beatitudes Jesus gives us a glimpse—a snapshot—of what the lives of His earthly saints look like.  They are poor in spirit.  They mourn, they are meek, they hunger and thirst for righteousness, they are peacemakers, they are persecuted.  Blessed are you, dear baptized believer, when others revile you, make fun of you, kick you, exclude you, insult you, and slander you because you bear the name of Christ.

          You are blessed, are you not?  Or, are you not blessed?  Most of us would probably say, “Yes, I am blessed.”  Some folks will literally hang signs in their homes or by their front doors that say, “Blessed.”  “Blessed” is also a popular hashtag on social media:  Great weekend at the lake cabin, brats on the grill, golden sunset, #blessed. OR, Junior just accepted at his top 3 college picks, scholarships abound, #blessed.  OR, Enjoying a weekend get away with my besties, wine flowing, friends forever, #blessed.  Those are all things to be thankful for.  You can even call them “blessings” if you want.  But they have little to do with what it means to be “blessed” by God.  To be blessed in Jesus is much different than the world’s idea of being blessed.    

          For God’s way of blessing is more often upside down, inside out, backwards, and hidden. God doesn’t always bless quite so blatantly.  In God’s book, to be “blessed” is to be poor—poor in spirit.  God’s blessedness is defined by what you don’t have, by what you lack, by your own personal poverty and emptiness.  The poor in spirit—the saints of God—are beggars when you get right down to it.  They don’t say, “I thank Thee, God, that I am not as other men.”  But in their emptiness they pray, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”  And to that prayer our God cannot help but respond, “Blessed are you.”

          Today’s gospel reading is full of these beatitudes—ultimately statements that describe Jesus and who we are in Him.  But there’s one additional beatitude you need to hear—the clincher—the best of all the beatitudes—from the book of Revelation:  “And I heard a voice from heaven saying, ‘Write this:  Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on.’ ‘Blessed indeed,’ says the Spirit, ‘that they may rest from their labors, for their deeds follow them’” (Rev. 14:13).  Did you catch that?  Blessed are the dead.  But not simply any dead, because all indeed do die.  But blessed are the dead who die in the Lord.  For the Lord Jesus has traveled that path ahead of them.  Jesus has already gone to death and the grave, and those who follow Him, trusting Him, are called “blessed” in their death.

          Death is the wages of sin.  Death is the tragic, intrinsic consequence of sin.  We die because we sin.  And there is nothing—nothing!—“blessed” about death in and of itself.  Death is the last enemy.  But Jesus has done something remarkable with death.  He Himself has taken death—our worst enemy—the thing we fear and dread the most—and He has made it a source of blessing.  Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on.  “From now on” refers to the times following Jesus’ death and resurrection—the last days, the end times in which you and I now live.  Christ has conquered.  Christ has become death’s undoing.

          But wait, there’s more!  The dead are blessed in the Lord, but that’s not all.  Their work is done . . . but their works are not forgotten.  Last week, on Reformation Sunday, we were reminded that our works do not save us.  But for those who are blessed, their works do matter.  Their deeds do follow them.  Hear that correctly:  the deeds of the blessed dead “follow them,” as in, “come after them.”  Their works don’t precede them, as though they needed their works to get into heaven.  That would not be the way of the poor in spirit.  Instead, their deeds follow them. 

          Better yet, let’s put this in the second person singular:  YOUR deeds will follow YOU.  Your good works will follow you like the long train of a bride in her wedding dress.  All the works that God has done through you, all the fruit the Holy Spirit has produced in you, all your self-sacrifice, all your self-giving, all the peace you have made, and all the mercy you have shown.  All the wonderfully good things that Jesus has worked in you as a fruitful branch joined to Him—those deeds will follow you in all their shining splendor.  Remember that the next time you are tempted to say, “My good works don’t matter.”

          “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”  “Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on.”  Blessed are you!  By now you know that God’s blessedness doesn’t equate happiness or a life free from pain, trouble or tears.  But to be blessed means that the God who loves you will place into your empty hands everything that you need: a way out of every temptation, strength to bear every cross, absolution for every sin, and a crown of glory that will not fade away.

          So happy All Saints’ Sunday.  Rejoice and be glad.  Blessed are the poor in spirit.  Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on.  Blessed are you. 

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

Not a Spectator Sport

Jesu Juva

St. Luke 19:1-10                                                               

October 30, 2022

Reformation Sunday                     

 Dear saints of our Savior~

          Next Sunday our Sunday school children will be singing right here during the Divine Service.  Whenever I think about the value of teaching hymns to little children, I’m reminded of Zacchaeus.  Fifty years ago, as a little boy, I learned a song about Zacchaeus in Sunday school.  I was still too young to read or write; but I was not too young to sing.  And that song is still with me all these years later:  Zacchaeus was a wee, little man—a wee, little man was he.  He climbed up in a sycamore tree for the Lord he wanted to see.  And as the Savior passed that way he looked up in the tree.  And he said, “Zacchaeus, you come down, for I’m going to your house today . . .”

          As I got a little older—and as I got a lot taller—it seemed that I had less in common with “wee, little” Zacchaeus.  But now, as an older man, I know that Zacchaeus wasn’t defined by his diminutive stature.  No, the life of Zacchaeus is defined by the grace of God in Jesus Christ, and by the repentance that flowed from that grace.  And it just so happens, that grace and repentance are the main themes of this Reformation Sunday. 

          Zacchaeus was a tax collector; and there was perhaps no better place to be a tax collector than in Jericho.  Jericho was (and is) the oldest city in the world.  It was a prime spot for collecting customs, levies, surcharges, fees, tariffs and all other manner of taxes on goods and produce being shipped east and west.  Mind you, Zacchaeus was a chief tax collector.  That probably meant that Zacchaeus’ line of work wasn’t all that different from the typical mafia crime boss of today.  Graft and corruption, kick-backs, money laundering, bribes, extortion—it was all in a day’s work when you worked as the chief tax collector in Jericho.

          Then, one day the word on the streets of Jericho was that Jesus of Nazareth was coming to town.  What Zacchaeus had heard about Jesus we don’t know, but it was evidently enough to trigger his curiosity.  So Zacchaeus set out that day to be a spectator.  He simply sought to catch a glimpse of the Savior as he passed that way.  But being small of stature, he would have to perch himself above the crowd in the branches of a sycamore tree.  From there he could take it all in as a spectator.  But as the Savior passed that way He looked up in the tree—looked up at one little fan sitting in the stands.  And Jesus did what every spectator in Wisconsin dreams about—did what can almost be described as a “Lambeau Leap,” only better! 

          Imagine it!  Jesus hurtles a verbal volley directly up at Zacchaeus—draws him down—calls him out—from his safe and secure perch above the fray—announces that He MUST go to the house of Zacchaeus immediately.  St. Luke tells us that Zacchaeus came down immediately and welcomed Jesus gladly into his home. 

          And as a result of this surprise visit, Zacchaeus—greedy Zacchaeus, organized crime boss Zacchaeus, unclean, sinful Zacchaeus—he is made a new man, transformed by the amazing grace of God.  He repents of his crimes, renounces his shameful ways, and promises restitution to those he has wronged above and beyond what the Law of God required.  And Jesus gets the last word, declaring Zacchaeus to be a “son of Abraham,” saved by grace through faith alone.

          Zacchaeus teaches us that Christianity is not a spectator sport.  Zacchaeus would have been content to be just a spectator that day—perhaps to see Jesus from afar, perhaps to overhear a parable, or possibly even witness a miracle.  But at the end of the day, Zacchaeus the spectator would have returned to being Zacchaeus the tax collector on the road to hell.  And nothing would have changed.  Filthy rich Zacchaeus would have continued living in spiritual poverty.

          Every Sunday the Savior passes right this way, here among us; and every Sunday we are tempted to see ourselves simply as spectators.  We love being spectators.  We pay good money to be spectators of sports and the arts in all kinds of beautiful venues.  But this space is no place for spectators.  What do I mean?  Well, spectators come here hoping to glean a little good news, to be inspired, to hear beautiful music, to connect with friends—but with no serious thought about what needs to change in their lives—maintaining a safe distance from that.

          It would have been unthinkable that Jesus should personally visit the home of Zacchaeus, only for Zacchaeus to go right back to his life of crime afterward.  There was a part of Zacchaeus that needed to be changed—that needed reformation.  More accurately, there was a part of Zacchaeus that needed to be put to death.  He was a lover of money who lined his pockets with all his ill-gotten gain.  That pocket-lining could no longer continue.  It had to be stopped.  It had to be put to death.

          Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a Lutheran pastor executed by the Nazis, put it more succinctly than I ever could.  Bonhoeffer famously wrote, “When Christ calls a man He bids him to come and die.”  That striking sentence sounds a lot like the very first of those 95 Theses that Martin Luther nailed to the Castle Church doors at Wittenberg.  Luther wrote, “When our Lord and Master, Jesus Christ, said ‘Repent’, He called for the entire life of believers to be one of repentance.”  The grace of God leads to this repentance.  The grace of God leads us to put to death in us whatever will not conform to the Lordship of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. 

          The account of Zacchaeus leaves us with but two choices—you can go on being a spectator, enjoying your carefully crafted complacency, living at ease with the normalcy of your sin—OR you can welcome the presence and power of Jesus into your life and radically reform your life through repentance.  What is there in your life that needs to die?  Where does your Old Adam express himself best?  Is it your constant need to be in control and be the boss?  Is it the simmering anger that boils over far too often?  Is it your love of money that causes you to be stingy and tight fisted—even toward God?  What needs to die in you?  Your gift for gossip?  Your refusal to flee from sexual immorality?

          Saying goodbye to the comfort of old sinful ways is never easy, but your help comes from the Lord—an ever present help in time of trouble.  You can’t do it alone.  Zacchaeus couldn’t do it alone.  It takes the power and presence of Jesus to

root out the rot for a meaningful reformation of life.  You see, the parts of your life that need to be put to death have already been died for by Jesus.  As we heard today in Romans 3, “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus.”  The blood that Jesus shed on the cross—that blood means that your scarlet sins can be made snow-white.  In Jesus you are forgiven.  In Jesus you are a son of Abraham.  In Jesus you are justified.

          Today what happened to Zacchaeus can happen to you.  You may have come here today simply out of habit, to be a spectator.  But your motive doesn’t matter now.  What matters is that Jesus Himself is passing this way.  Think of your padded pew as being a big branch of a sycamore tree.  And here and now today, Jesus does a Lambeau leap into your life.  He engages the spectators, drawing us in, connecting His life to our lives.  In the waters of your baptism.  In the comforting cadence of Holy Absolution.  In the preaching and proclamation of His Word.  In the bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood—Jesus Christ is here FOR YOU.  You are not just one of the crowd—not just a spectator in the nosebleed seats.  You have a one-on-one encounter today with Jesus the Christ.  He comes to our house today.  He transforms sleepy spectators into saints who lead holy lives of service.  He seeks out sinners.  He eats with sinners.  He forgives sinners.  The sinners gathered in this house will one day be welcomed into His heavenly house.

          Don’t think you can have this forgiveness without repentance.  You can’t.  Don’t think you have this grace while remaining a mere coffee-sipping, donut-munching spectator of the Christian faith.  You can’t.  Don’t think that Jesus’ forgiveness is permission to go on living the same old sinful patterns.  It doesn’t work that way.  “When Christ calls a man He bids him come and die.”  The Christian life is one of repentance and cross-bearing.  Just ask Zacchaeus.  His net worth dropped like a rock after his encounter with Jesus.

          His net worth dropped, but His Grinch-like heart grew three sizes that day.  He was “a wee, little man,” but Jesus made Zacchaeus a giant in the faith.  He went looking for Jesus, but Jesus found him and called him and loved him and saved him.  And today, He is doing the same for you.  Happy Reformation Day.  Amen.