A Matter of Authority

 

Jesu Juva

St. Matthew 21:23-32                                                    

 October 1, 2023

Proper 21A                                  

 Dear saints of our Savior~

       There are two very different scenes in today’s Holy Gospel.  In scene one, Jesus is getting jaw-boned by the Jewish authorities yet again.  They’re challenging Him, testing Him—looking for some way eliminate Him.  As always, Jesus turns the tables on His attackers, and sends them away licking their wounds.  And then, in scene two, Jesus tells a parable about two very different sons—each ordered into the vineyard by his father.  I think there might be something more here than meets the ear.  So, let’s dig a little deeper.  

 “By what authority are you doing these things, and who gave you this authority?”  That was the question the Chief Priests and the elders posed to Jesus.  They were challenging His authority.  Who did Jesus think He was?  He had just ridden into Jerusalem like some kind of Messiah—with palm branches and “hosannas” lining His path.  From there He had marched into the temple as if He owned the place, turning the tables of the money changers, putting pigeons to flight, and referring to the temple as “His” house (which was supposed to be a house of prayer).  Where did Jesus get the authority to do these things?

The word of the day is “authority.”  We often confuse authority with power.  You can exert your power—you can make a power play—even when you have no authority.  But authority is always a matter of permission—permission granted by someone greater to say and do certain things.  Legislators have authority.  Judges have authority.  Parents have authority.  Police have authority. 

Pastors, too, have authority.  It’s indicated by the stole I wear.  When I forgive sins in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, I do so in the stead, by the command, and under the authority of my Lord Jesus Christ.  He has authorized me to absolve repentant sinners.  He approves of it. He delights in it. He recognizes it.  He stands behind it.  He gives this special authority to forgive sins to the church; and when you called me to be your pastor, you authorized me to exercise that authority publicly on your behalf.  Authority is a big deal.

For some time now in Matthew’s gospel, the religious superstars had noticed that their authority was slipping away.  First it was John the Baptist who had drawn crowds of thousands.  He had referred to the religious elites as a brood of vipers.  And then Jesus came along.  He taught the people as one who had authority in Himself.  What’s more, Jesus demonstrated His authority—healing the sick, casting out demons, stilling storms, walking on water, raising the dead.  Only someone with authority from God could do such things.

By the time Palm Sunday rolled around, there was no one in Jerusalem who hadn’t heard about the astounding authority of Jesus.  Today’s challenge to Jesus’ authority happened during holy week—just days before Jesus would die on the cross and rise again.  It was late in the season—almost time for the playoffs.  Jesus’ authority had been on the table for nearly three years, going back to when He was baptized by John, and the Spirit descended, and the Father declared, “This is my beloved Son with whom I am well pleased.”  Authority granted.

But the religious establishment would have none of it.  As the authority of Jesus increased, their authority shriveled and shrank down to nothing.  Their questioning of Jesus’ authority was a last ditch attempt to trap Him—to make Him stumble—to make Him say something that could and would be used against Him in a kangaroo court.  As usual, Jesus turned the tables on them, requiring them to give a “thumbs up” or a “thumbs down” on the baptizing John had done.  It was a question they couldn’t and wouldn’t answer.  Like so many politicians, they had “no comment.”  And their authority sank to new levels of shrinkage. 

There’s no middle ground where the authority of Jesus is concerned.  Either He is the Son of God or He isn’t.  Either His Word is the truth or it isn’t.  Either all authority in heaven and earth has been given to Him or it hasn’t.  And you would think that, among baptized believers, the authority of Jesus would not be up for debate.  After all, we recognize His authority.  We honor His authority—at least when it suits us, and when it agrees with our savvy sensibilities.

The truth is that our sinful nature delights in chipping away at the authority of Jesus—carving out a few exceptions to the Law—looking for loopholes which will allow us to live as we please—to subtly shrink the authority of Jesus down to a more manageable size.

Consider the two sons in the parable Jesus told.  Sons are always under the authority of their fathers.  Fathers (and mothers) have authority from God—enshrined in the Ten Commandments.

The father in the parable gave both of his sons the same command:  Son, go and work in the vineyard today.  Son number one said, “No, I will not.”  But

afterward he changed his mind and went to work.  He eventually did what his father requested.  But son number two—he does the exact opposite of his brother.  When he’s told to work in the vineyard, he responds with a pious-sounding, fourth-commandment-keeping, “I go, sir.”  But, actually, in reality, he did not go.  And he did not work.

What do you think? Jesus asks. Which of the two did the will of his father?  Which son respected and delighted in the authority of his father?  And to those questions I’m going to add another:  Which son are you? 

I think that’s a fair question.  For God Himself has claimed you as His own dear son or daughter in Holy Baptism.  With that water and the Word the Holy Trinity placed you beneath His holy authority.  God adopted you into His family.  He promised you an amazing, heavenly inheritance; and He bids you go and work.  Go and love God above all other things.  Go and love your neighbor as yourself.  Repent of your sins and believe the good news.  Those are your marching orders.  Now get to work.

Like the sons in the parable, we can either live under the authority of God, or we look to evade that authority.  Sometimes we are openly rebellious against God’s authority.  God says, “Go and work,” and we say, “No.”  God says, “Go and lead a sexually pure and decent life in what you say and do,” and we say, “No.”  God says, “Be content with what you have,” and we say, “No.”  God tells husbands and wives to love and honor each other—tells children to obey their parents—invites us to forgive others as we are forgiven—asks us to return to Him a first-fruit percentage of all our income.  And all of us, from the greatest to the least, have said, “No.  I will not.”  And for that there is hell to pay.

At other times we are twins with the second son—the son who said, “I will, sir,” but did not go.  He said the right thing.  He talked the talk.  He outwardly acknowledged his father’s authority.  We’re very good at that too.  But then we start thinking about what we’re supposed to do.  We study.  We reflect.  We ponder and procrastinate.  We deliberate.  But as day turns to night, we realize that we haven’t gone and done what the Father has asked of us.  No change.  No repentance.  No obedience.  Just the same old lukewarm lip service to our Father in heaven.  And for that there is hell to pay.

What do you think?  I think both sons need God’s Son.  For when the Father surveyed this world of rebels and hypocrites and disobedient children, He asked, “Who?  Who will go and buy them back?  Who will pay the awful price?  Who will bear the bloody cross?  And His one and only Son said, “I will, sir.”  And He went and did it.

God’s Son set aside His royal robes, rolled up His sleeves, and put on the uniform of a servant.  He humbled Himself and became obedient to death—even death on a cross.  The hard work of this Son counts for every wayward son and daughter.  He labors, He toils, He works Himself to death on the cross, bearing the sin of the world.  And by faith you get all the credit.  His blood has the power to cleanse every sinful son and daughter.  And by His Holy Spirit He gives repentance to every rebel, and hope for every hypocrite.

What do you think?  I think this sounds like good news.  From the cross our Lord said, “It is finished.”  At that moment, the sins of the world had been taken away.  At that moment, the road to heaven was blasted wide open for rebels and hypocrites and tax collectors and prostitutes and sinful sons and daughters, including you and me—all who confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of God the Father.

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

To Die Is Gain

 

Jesu Juva

Philippians 1:19-26                                                  

September 24, 2023

Proper 20A                                     

 Dear saints of our Savior~

          We believe that the Bible is the Word of God.  We believe that the Scriptures are always truthful and accurate.  But that doesn’t mean that there aren’t some things in the Bible that are hard to swallow.  We sometimes have to wrestle with what the Word says, because what the Word says is so contrary to what our reason and our senses tell us.

          The four-word epitaph on the cover of today’s bulletin is one of the most hard-to-swallow phrases in all the Scriptures:  “To die is gain.”  It makes for a great epitaph.  And those four words are the Word of the Lord (Philippians

chapter one).  But . . . do we believe it—we who have watched loved ones die—we who do what we can every day to delay our ultimate demise?  Do we believe that “to die . . . is gain?” 

          Now, before we go any further, let’s be clear on one thing.  The Bible doesn’t say, “Death is good;” or that death is a natural part of the circle of life.  That is not the Word of the Lord. (That’s the Lion King.)  God’s Word tells us that death is the wages of our sin.  Death is the final “enemy” that God sent His Son to destroy.  When God created the heavens and the earth and after six days declared that everything was “very good,” death was not part of that picture.  So let’s not pretend (and don’t you hear me saying) that death is a good thing.  But do—do hear the Word of the Lord:  “To die is gain.”

          It takes a lot of effort just to talk about death.  It’s such an unpleasant subject that people generally try to avoid it.  Our culture denies death.  It’s difficult even for us simply to say that so-and-so died.  We prefer the euphemisms (and there are so many to choose from):  “He passed away, he passed on, expired, kicked the bucket, bought the farm, bit the dust, met his Maker.”  And the list goes on.  Euphemisms about death aren’t a bad thing.  They afford a gentler way to broach a tough subject.

          In fact, St. Paul employed a euphemism to describe death in today’s reading from Philippians.  When Paul wrote these words to the church at Philippi, things were not going well for him.  He wasn’t preaching to packed pews.  Nor was he out planting new congregations and winning new converts.  He was in prison.  His future was grim.  But to hear Paul describe his situation, you’d think that he had nothing but good options and pleasant possibilities on the horizon:  It is my eager expectation and hope . . . that with full courage now as always Christ will be honored in my body, whether by life or by death. For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain. . . . My desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better. But to remain in the flesh is more necessary on your account. Convinced of this, I know that I will remain and continue with you.  

          Did you catch the euphemism?  Paul didn’t say, “I desire to die.”  What he said was, “My desire is to depart and be with Christ.”  Now, there’s a euphemism that tells it like it is.  There’s good news in that description of death.  Straight talk about death never sounded so good.  I desire to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better.  Beloved in the Lord, you could read a hundred books on death and dying—you could digest a dozen best-sellers by people claiming to have been to heaven and back again.  But here in the pages of your New Testament is the heart of what you need to know about death and dying.

          What happens when you die?  Here’s what happens when you die:  You will be immediately with Christ.  You will stand in the Savior’s presence.  You will not be alone.  You will not be afraid.  You will not be asleep.  “Sleep” is another euphemism for death that you sometimes find in the Scriptures.  And based on that, some Christians have mistakenly concluded that at death the soul just goes to sleep—a kind of holy hibernation—until the day of resurrection.  But it ain’t so; for the Bible tells us otherwise.  When we depart this life—when we die—we are immediately with Christ.  And with Christ, you will lack nothing.  You will have everything—far more than you deserve and more than you can even desire.  (Even the body you temporarily leave behind is destined to be raised, resurrected and glorified.)  And this is why.  This is why Paul could write those four little words that sound so foreign—so alien—to our usual way of thinking:  “To die is gain.”

          Do you believe it?  Many of us, I think it’s safe to say, fear dying.  And I think it’s more than just the fear of the unknown.  I think we fear death because death is a reminder of our sin.  “The wages of sin is death.”  “The soul that sins will die.”  And when it comes to sin, we each have a record that runs long and deep:  the good things we have failed to do and the bad things we have so eagerly engaged in.  Over the years, it adds up.  And the dying person can no longer hide from that sobering reality of sin.

          But you don’t have to hide! Jesus came to save you from that sobering reality of sin.  He came into the world to save sinners.  For this very reason, Jesus was born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died and was buried.  Jesus took your sins all the way to His tomb.  He was your stand-in beneath the wrath of God—your sacred substitute.  He confronted death head-on, and by His resurrection Jesus defeated that terrifying enemy.  Death couldn’t hold on to Jesus and it won’t hold onto you either.  For you, death is just a doorway.  Depart through that doorway and you will be with Christ.

          And this is why we believe those four little words:  “to die is gain.”  So often when a loved ones dies, the comfort we speak centers on all the bad things that the deceased no longer has to deal with.  And it is comforting to realize that there’s no more pain, no more suffering, no more tears, no more sinning.  But don’t stop there.  Dying isn’t just leaving the bad stuff behind.  It is gain.  It is receiving—receiving the fullness of all that our God has to give. 

          And while I’d love to go into great detail about all of that, I can’t.  For the Bible also says concerning the life of the world to come: “No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him” (1 Cor. 2:9).  Don’t base your hopes for the afterlife on human authors who claim to have been there and back again.  Don’t even set your sights on streets of gold or pearly gates—halos and harps on fluffy white clouds.  Think Jesus.  You will be with Him.  You will see Him as He is—true God and true man.  He loves you and He’s got the scars to prove it.  In Him is life and forgiveness and peace that passes understanding.  To die is gain.

          Do you believe that?  If you do, then I’m sure that you will want the people who come to your funeral to know that too—that in Christ, “to die is gain.”  Have you given any thought to your funeral?  Have you considered what Scripture, what hymns, what music you want to bear witness to the hope that you have in Christ?  I hope you’ll have your funeral here, where your faith was forged and strengthened.  I hope that you’ll choose readings and hymns and music that trumpet your faith in Christ—texts that boldly proclaim your belief in the resurrection of the body and the life of the world to come. Not sure?  Then let me make some suggestions for you to pick from.  Then write it down and give a copy to me.  We’ll give you a send-off suitable for a saint—for one redeemed by Christ the crucified.

          This is also why we Christians attend funerals.  When a brother or sister in Christ dies, it’s easy to say, “I didn’t know him or her very well.  I don’t think I’ll go to the funeral.”  Beloved in the Lord, not true!  You are more deeply united to the people gathered here in this fellowship than to any other people on earth.  If you can kneel next to someone at the altar and share together in the gifts of Christ, then you share a holy bond that cannot be broken.  And your voice is needed at the funeral to help proclaim and sing to any and all in attendance that, because Jesus Christ has destroyed death, “to die is gain.”

          But as for you, you’re not dead yet, are you?  You’re still alive and kicking—still quick and not dead.  And I can’t let you go without giving good news for this day and this hour.  To die is gain, it’s true.  You can look forward to that.  But it’s also true that to live is Christ.  Your daily labor is not in vain.  The work of your vocations, your labor in the Lord’s vineyard here, your successes and your failures—in all the humdrum, everyday stuff you do, you are not alone.  Here and now, Christ is exalted in you—in your body, in your works, in your words and deeds.  To live is Christ.  Here and now—is Christ.  You have the power of His promises preached and proclaimed.  You have His forgiveness.  You have His body and blood.  Your body is a temple of His Holy Spirit. 

          You, like Paul, have nothing but good options.  Whether you are at the top of your game or locked up in prison, (or even dying) you can’t go wrong.  For . . . to live is Christ and to die is gain. 

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

Forgiveness: A Case Study

 

Jesu Juva

Gen. 50:15-21; John 19:30ff                                    

September 17, 2023

Proper 19A                                            

 Dear Saints of Our Savior~

          Today we heard the end of Genesis—the last chapter of the first book of the Bible—Genesis chapter fifty.  A lot transpires over those fifty chapters.  For a book that begins with no sin and no need for forgiveness, Genesis ends with the focus squarely on sin and forgiveness—namely, on Joseph’s forgiveness of his brothers’ sins against him.

          On this particular Sunday, more than most, everything centers on forgiveness.  However, the emphasis seems to fall most heavily—not on the forgiveness you receive for your sins, but on the forgiveness you extend to those who sin against you.  This day accents how we treat those who trespass against us.

          In today’s Holy Gospel Peter expressed a very human understanding of forgiveness for others—there’s got to be a limit!  Lord, how many times do I have to forgive my brother when he sins against me?  Seems like a legit question, right?  I mean, there has to be a limit, doesn’t there?  At some point, enough is enough.  The rabbis of Jesus’ day would have said three times was plenty.  Peter suggested seven times, which has a nice ring to it.  Once a day, every day, for one week.  That should do it, for sure.

          But forgiveness that has limits is not real forgiveness.  Forgiveness, according to Jesus has no limits, no exclusions, no asterisks with fine print at the bottom of the page.  I tell you, not seven times, but seventy times seven, says the Savior.  And the point is not 490 times.  The point is that forgiveness doesn’t keep score.  Forgiveness keeps no record of wrongs.

          Joseph’s brothers had certainly kept a record of their wrongs.  Their guilty consciences couldn’t quite believe that Joseph had forgiven them.  After all, Joseph’s jealous brothers had conspired to murder him.  But in the end they decided it was better to make a buck by selling Joseph into slavery than to shed his blood.  These sly siblings had gone so far as to tell their dear ol’ dad that his favorite son was dead—shredded and slain by a vicious animal.  With brothers like these, who needs enemies? 

          If you know the story of Joseph, then you know how Joseph’s life was led by the Lord.  You know the happy ending of how Joseph saved his entire family from famine—and how he forgave the sins of his big brothers.  But Joseph’s brothers doubted that forgiveness.  They assumed that Joseph’s forgiveness had an expiration date.  It sounded too good to be true. 

          So when their father, Jacob, died, all bets were off.  Joseph’s brothers became filled with dread.  They thought that their father’s death signaled their doom.  Now, they figured, Joseph could get back at them without hurting their father in the process:  It may be that Joseph will hate us and pay us back for all the evil that we did to him.  Now they would surely get what they knew they deserved.

          It’s hard not to feel some sympathy for Joseph’s brothers.  In fact, if we’re honest, we can identify with them.  We share their guilt.  We share their shame.  We share their sin.  Our jealousy and hatred of others is not so different from theirs—if only perhaps more carefully concealed.  We all have enemies we would gladly get rid of, especially if we could make a buck in the process.  And we too know the pain of a prickly conscience—a conscience that relentlessly reminds us of our sin, and makes our hearts heavy with fear and guilt and shame.

          Joseph’s troubled brothers decided to take action.  They manufactured a message from beyond the grave—a dying wish from their deceased father that Joseph would forgive his brothers all their sin and evil.  And for good measure Joseph’s brothers all fell down on their knees and declared, “Behold, we are your servants.”  And with those words we can see just how their understanding of forgiveness was flawed. 

          With those words—We are your servants—the brothers were trying to bargain, hoping to cut a deal, aiming to engineer a great escape from the punishment they deserved.  We do it all the time.  We vow to make things right and work our way back into the good graces of those we have sinned against.  We promise to do better and to pay off our debt.  Like the prodigal son who, on his way home, planned to ask his father to take him back as a “hired hand” (Lk 15:19), so we think we can clean up our own mess and earn our forgiveness.

          But Joseph would have none of it.  Learn from Joseph to recognize the

sacred source of all forgiveness:  “Am I in the place of God?” he asks.  Joseph’s full and free forgiveness of his brothers was of divine origin.  If it is God’s desire and delight to forgive sins, then who was Joseph to withhold forgiveness?  By faith Joseph saw what his guilty brothers could not see:  You meant evil against me, but God meant it for good.  What Joseph’s brothers intended for evil, God used for good—that many lives should be saved.

          Can you believe this?  Can you comprehend the wonder of Joseph’s words?  Do you dare to believe the golden good news by which Joseph absolves his brothers?  Can it be that all the evil that gets thrown against us, from friend and foe alike—that God will take it up into his own hands and somehow redirect it for good?  Can you see what Joseph saw—that behind the despicable sins his brothers committed against him—God himself was at work for good?

          That good news is never so plainly depicted as it is on that dark Friday afternoon we call “good.”  On that day the good that God intended transcended the evil of man.  Look to the crucifixion cross of our Lord and you will see it plainly. Men intended that cross for evil.  They wanted to kill the Son of God—get rid of Him for good, silence Him, destroy Him.  They lied.  They gave false testimony.  They perverted justice to engineer the execution of the Son of God.  It was evil upon evil—evil to the “Nth” degree—bloody, blasphemous evil.  But God used it all for good—for your good—to save you and a world full of sinners, and to open the kingdom of heaven to you and all believers.

          It is finished.  Every sin ever committed against you is atoned for in the death of Jesus.  Every sin you have ever committed against another person is atoned for in the death of Jesus.  It is finished.  In Christ God was reconciling the whole world to Himself, not counting their trespasses against them (2 Cor 5:19a).  In Christ God was working all things for your eternal good.  Sin and evil do not get the last word where you are concerned.  Jesus does.  And our Lord’s last word is the best of news:  It is finished.

          Believe it and receive it.  Don’t let a guilty conscience deceive you into doubting God’s full and free forgiveness.  Who are we to deny the forgiveness our Lord won for us on the cross?  Are we in the place of God?  No, but God in Christ has taken our place, and borne our griefs and carried our sorrows. And the forgiveness He earns and extends to us is the defining feature of the faith we confess. 

          The book of Genesis concludes with a tender and moving scene.  It’s Joseph’s last interaction with his forgiven brothers.  It’s a case study in forgiveness. Joseph, his eyes wet with tears, gives his beloved brothers the comfort they craved:  “So do not fear; I will provide for you and your little ones.”  Thus he comforted them and spoke kindly to them.  Joseph demonstrated in both words and actions his ongoing love and affection for his family.  Joseph wanted to remove all doubts his brothers may have harbored about his forgiveness. 

          The Lord Jesus does the same for you.  Today in the church the Lord Jesus not only forgives our sins, but demonstrates that forgiveness with clarity and comfort, with ongoing love and affection.  Jesus removes all doubt.  Every sin committed against you (and by you) is atoned for in the death of Jesus.  When you look at that person who has sinned against you—cheated you, cheated on you, hurt, harmed and abused you—see that person as one for whom Christ died.  Does he or she know that?  Will he or she know that from you?  Certainly not if you’ve got your hands clenched around his throat.  Certainly not if you regularly remind him of what a terrible person he is—or shun him as if he doesn’t exist.  But he or she may yet come to know the mighty power of God’s love for sinners with your hand on his shoulder and by your speaking the three most powerful words in the English language:  I forgive you.

          You leave here today like Joseph’s brothers—forgiven, assured, comforted.  The score against you has been settled by the blood our Savior shed.  In His name and with His own words we will continue to pray this petition until our Savior comes again:  Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.

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