Hidden Power

 Jesu Juva

St. Mark 6:1-13                                                    

 July 7, 2024

Proper 9B                        

 Dear saints of our Savior~

        Familiarity breeds contempt—so the saying goes.  The closer you are to people—the more time you spend with them—the more space you share—the more likely you will end up being annoyed with them.  You get a taste of this when you go on a family vacation.  You love your family, right?  But after a week of sharing the same hotel room, driving in the same car, breathing the same air, being up in each other’s business—that familiarity often devolves into contempt, or worse. 

        You may notice something similar when you return to the place where you were born and raised—the place where they knew you when you were just a whipper-snapper.   And those folks (God bless ‘em!) they still remember all the windows you broke, all the times you got sent to the principal’s office, all the things you tried to burn-down and blow up with fireworks right about this time every summer.  This is why the Psalmist prays, “Lord, remember not the sins of my youth.”  And while the Lord does indeed choose to forget your youthful misdemeanors, the folks from the old neighborhood—they sure don’t forget.  They know too much (which is why I could never be a pastor in my old hometown).

        In Mark chapter 6 Jesus goes home to Nazareth to hang out in the old neighborhood. And He brings His disciples along.  It’s the Sabbath so, of course, Jesus is in the synagogue.  And seeing as how He’s the local boy made good, a real rising start among the rabbis, the synagogue is packed to the rafters.  Expectations are high.  Maybe a miracle or two will be performed.  But as Jesus begins to teach, you start to pick up on a negative vibe coming from the hometown crowd:  Who does this guy think he is?  Isn’t this the carpenter who used to fix our tables and chairs? Isn’t this just Mary’s son?

        Mark says they “took offense” at Him.  Their familiarity with Jesus bred contempt for Jesus.  They were offended.  “Scandalized” is the literal term.  Jesus tripped them up—caused them to stumble.  He came to His own, but His own did not receive Him.  They said, “Hey, that’s just little Yeshua, Mary’s kid.” In Jerusalem they had said, “Can anything good come from Nazareth?”  But it seems that not even the people of Nazareth thought that the Messiah could come from there—and certainly not the kid who grew up down the street.  They stumbled because Jesus was just too ordinary—too much like them.  He didn’t glow.  He didn’t have a shiny halo.  He was just plain, old, ordinary Yeshua—the son of Mary. Seeing Him step into the pulpit scandalized the hometown crowd. 

        The whole idea of the incarnation—that God should become a man—is scandalous.  It’s just not how a respectable God ought to do things—that He should be born of a virgin, grow up in a small town, work as an obscure carpenter, be baptized by His cousin, John, and then announce to the world that He’s the Messiah, the Son of God.  Really?  And as if that’s not hard enough to swallow, His moment of glory—His hour of power—comes when He hangs from a cross on a dark Friday afternoon and rises from the dead three days later.  And if that doesn’t trip you up, then try to swallow the fact that this Jesus now comes to you, through time and space, to give you His forgiveness and love—all through the ridiculously unspectacular forms of water and words, bread and wine—and through mortal, fallible messengers like me.

        Do you see what’s going on here?  God hides His power.  You can’t go by what you see.  Seeing is not believing.  Faith comes by hearing.  We walk by faith, not by sight.  If you judge Jesus by what you see—if you judge what happens in the Divine Service by what you see—you too will stumble and be scandalized.  Or, you can hear and believe.  Trust in the hidden power of God.

        Few people have understood the hidden power of God better than St. Paul.  That’s why Paul could boast about his weaknesses, as he does in today’s reading from 2 Corinthians.  He actually boasts about how badly things were going for him.  How many preachers have you heard recently who were willing to brag about how God didn’t answer their prayers?  Three times Paul pleaded with the Lord to remove that thorn in his flesh—that painful affliction that harassed him day and night.  But Jesus did not remove that thorn.  Paul could see that thorn and feel the pain of that thorn.  But what mattered more were the words Jesus put into his ears—words that could only be believed:  My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.

        There it is:  God hides His power.  It’s there!  It’s perfect! It’s working all things for your eternal good!  That power will one day steer you right through the valley of the shadow of death.  But for now, it’s hidden.  You can’t see it.  You can’t always feel it.  You can only believe and trust that the power of God is for you—for you, and not against you.  Let the thorns in your flesh remind you of the thorns and the nails that Jesus endured for you, as your substitute, bearing all your sin, leaving behind sacred scars of love.

        But as you know, it’s hard to overlook those thorns in our flesh—our weaknesses, our frailties, our pain and suffering.  When we feel the pain of those thorns it’s often tempting to question God—to doubt His power, to doubt His mercy and love.  It’s tempting to conclude that either God is working against us, or, that there is no God.  Few things challenge a baptized believer more than when our repeated prayers for relief go unanswered—and all we have left to fall back on is the promise of Jesus:  My grace is sufficient for you; my power is made perfect in weakness.

        The church needs to remember these words of her Lord.  For everywhere you look the church of Jesus Christ appears to be getting weaker and weaker.  Everywhere you look it seems that the faithful are being swept away by the lies of our culture, trumpeted by the media, taught in classrooms, enshrined by our courts.  Everywhere you look, persecution is increasing.  Freedom of religion is decreasing.  It’s so easy to become discouraged—to be scandalized by despair and hopelessness. 

This is why.  This is why we must always remember:  God hides His power.  That power is made perfect in weakness.  His power over sin and death—His power over darkness and the devil—His power to save you and raise you from the dead—is hidden—cloaked under the cover of weakness and darkness.  “It is finished.”  But as sure as Jesus is risen from the dead, we know:  We are more than conquerors through Him who loved us.

What was true for Jesus on the cross—what was true for Paul with his thorn—is also true for us:  When I am weak, then I am strong.  When we are at our weakest, God’s power is at its greatest.  The crucifix behind me tells the whole story.  For it shows the glorious hidden power of God, a power made perfect in suffering and weakness, a power that conquers sin by becoming sin, that conquers death by dying, a power that keeps on praying, “My God, my God,” trusting that His grace is sufficient.

God’s grace is sufficient for you.  It’s truly all you need.  It is enough.  It overcomes your sin, your death, the devil, the world, and your own sin-filled flesh.  That power of God is hidden.  We can’t see it; but, we can hear it and we can believe it.

Right after His rejection at Nazareth—just as His ministry seemed to dead-end—just as His popularity plummeted—Jesus sent out the Twelve two by two.  Just when Jesus’ power seemed most hidden—that’s the moment He chose to send them off on a journey with no food, no luggage, and no money.  The timing here was no accident.  This timing was to teach the Twelve.  They would have nothing—nothing but the Words of Jesus on which to stand.  Their only “power” would be the promises of Jesus.  That’s how it is for every pastor and missionary sent by the Lord.  That’s how it is for you, too.  His grace is sufficient.  His hidden power propels and sustains us.  When we are weak, He is strong.   

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

Twelve Years ~ Two Daughters

Jesu Juva

St. Mark 5:21-43                                                

June 30, 2024

Proper 8B                 

 Dear saints of our Savior~

        In today’s Holy Gospel Jesus raises Jairus’ daughter, and heals a woman with a flow of blood.  On the surface, this account seems so random—so chaotic and messy.  It seems like nothing goes according to plan.  Jesus’ calendar for that day gets decimated by interruptions within interruptions, one after another.  I personally hate it when that happens in life and ministry.  Things always have a way of getting messy and muddled.

        But I have learned to love this account for a certain symmetry and balance that isn’t apparent at first glance.  What seems messy and chaotic on the surface is actually infused with divine design.

        It begins with the number twelve.  The daughter of Jairus is twelve years old, and she’s dying.  And, in fact, she dies.  For twelve years this lively little girl has lived life to the full—loving and being loved.  But now hers is a life cut short—too short—only twelve years!  Few things are more tragic than the death of a child.  The Lord gives and the Lord takes away—but that “taking” exacts a terrible toll.  Twelve years is too brief—not nearly enough time—a life cut short at the tender age of twelve.

        But for as long as Jairus’ daughter had been alive—for twelve long, arduous years—a certain woman had suffered with a continual discharge of blood.  What began as a routine, monthly occurrence . . . continued occurring, on and on and on, for twelve insufferable years.  Doctors had done nothing but drain her bank account.  In our culture a disorder like this would be a private matter.  But in that culture, this woman was rendered as a perpetual outcast—always unclean, always defiled, always infertile—likely never knowing a husband’s love or the blessing of mothering—for twelve, long years of agony.  She wasn’t dying, but, make no mistake, she was bereft of life.  For her, twelve years was forever long.

        Do you see the symmetry?  How a twelve-year timeline frames and balances this otherwise messy, chaotic chain of events?

        Jesus is on His way to help Jairus’ daughter.  Help is on the way.  But there’s a traffic delay (Just like in Milwaukee).  Crowds press in on Jesus.  He can barely navigate the narrow city streets.  The woman with the discharge of blood sneaks up behind Jesus.  She believes that Jesus can heal her:  If I touch even his garments, I will be made well.  And with one touch, she felt healing come into her bleeding body.  (The flow of blood immediately dried up.)  Jesus, too, felt that power had gone out from Him.  But Jesus doesn’t do anonymous, drive-by healings.  He stops to connect with the woman.  He indulges in this interruption, even in the middle of an emergency call to Jairus’ house.  Jesus wants to see this woman, look her in the eye, and hear her confession of faith.

        That faith is what made her different.  That’s why power went out from Jesus.  Faith receives what Jesus has to give.  She knew full well just how defiled and unclean she was.  No one would ever want to touch her.  But she believed that if she could only touch Jesus it would all be better.  Jesus says as much:  Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace and be healed of your disease.  A happy ending.

        But notice what Jesus calls her:  Daughter.  Daughter, your faith has made you well.  It’s another bit of surprising symmetry.  Even as He’s on His way to help the dying daughter of Jairus, Jesus designates this unlikely woman as His “daughter.”  She who likely had no family—or who had been exiled from whatever family she had—she is welcomed into the family of faith with one word from Jesus:  Daughter.  And with that word she knew beyond all doubt—she was loved by Jesus.  She—the perpetual outcast—she was precious to Jesus.

        No sooner does Jesus call her “daughter,” than word reaches them from Jairus’ house:  Your daughter is dead.  No sooner does Jesus restore the life of one daughter, than the life of Jairus’ daughter slips away.  And, everyone knows, dead is dead.  No one can change that.  Why trouble the teacher any further?  Why?  Because Jesus came to be troubled with this very thing.  Jesus came to be bothered by our death.  Jesus came to do something about it.

        Everything hinges on what Jesus tells Jairus at that moment of devastation:  Do not fear, only believe.  And Jesus says that for your benefit too.  Through this symmetrical story Jesus breathes faith into your messy, chaotic, troubled heart.  Do not fear, only believe. 

        Like Jairus, you may feel that your prayers have gone unanswered.  You may feel that your problems have been put “on hold” by a distracted Savior.  Do not fear, only believe.  You may be in despair for yourself or others.  Your suffering may stretch for a span of years even greater than twelve.  You may be trapped by your own sinful addictions, or victimized by the sins of others.  You may have lost all faith in doctors and institutions, in government and politicians, or in your fellow man.  You may be grieving the death of a child.  Jesus Christ knows what you shoulder.  And He says:  Don’t be afraid, only believe.

        There’s a lot going on here.  Are you keeping up with the chaos confronted by the Christ?  Do you see the symmetry?  This account is framed and balanced by twelve years . . . and two daughters . . . and one Savior.

        Jesus came to save one and all—the daughter with the discharge of blood, Jairus and his daughter.  He came for them and for you too.  He came to bring healing from the sickness of sin, to bring order to your disordered life, to make you clean, to give you light in your darkness.  For the joy of your salvation, Jesus endured the cross and scorned its shame. 

        Jesus does His saving work one sinner at a time.  In Holy Baptism He began that work in you—He touched you—just as He did with the two “daughters” in today’s text.  He touched you, cleansed you, claimed you as His own dear daughter or son.  One sinner at a time, Jesus gives His body to eat and His blood to drink.  Jesus doesn’t get any closer or more personal than that.  The hem of His robe is nothing compared with His life-giving, sin-forgiving body and blood.  This is the body and blood that went to death for you—that was also raised to resurrection life—that conquered death and the grave—that is now glorified at the right hand of the Father—here given and shed for you.

        But let’s back up.  We have one final stop to make—at the house of Jairus.  Confronted by a chorus of weeping and wailing, Jesus declared:  The child is not dead but sleeping.  The gathered mourners laughed at Him.  Or, more accurately, they sneered and scoffed in unbelief.  Still today this sad world scoffs at the notion that Jesus can do anything about death.  Jesus said she was sleeping—not because she wasn’t dead indeed—but because waking her from death was, for Jesus, no more difficult than waking her from a nap.

        Jesus went to the bedside and took her cold little hand into His.  Talitha cumi.  Little girl, arise.  (Just like a dad waking his daughter for school.)  With those words from Jesus, the girl’s sullen eyes began to sparkle with light and life.  Lifeless lips smiled.  Death was defeated.  This is why Jairus had dared to bother Jesus.

        You too can trust this Jesus.  You can bother Him—trouble Him with your troubles—pour out your petitions.  Trouble the Savior when you are troubled by death.  Jesus knows all about it.  He’s tasted death for you.  Christ is risen and in Him you too will rise.  This is the Jesus we look to in faith—the one hanging from the cross.  He is a symmetrical Savior, whose wounds bring us healing, whose death is our life, whose shame is our glory, whose weakness is our strength.  On the cross, power went out from Him.  On the cross, life and forgiveness of sins went out from Him.  And today, by faith, all that went out from Jesus on the cross—these blessings all come into you—rich blessings received by faith.  Your faith has saved you.

        The days of our lives are often like that random day in the life of Jesus.  Interruptions, chaos, twists and turns we didn’t see coming.  But there is an unseen symmetry—a divine design—a blessed balance—that shapes all our days.  Twelve years, two daughters, one Savior.  In that one Savior your life is framed by sin and grace, Word and Sacrament, law and gospel, death and life.  Do not fear, only believe.

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

 

A Miracle of Meteorology

Jesu Juva

St. Mark 4:35-41                                                

June 23, 2024

Proper 7B     

Dear saints of our Savior~

        A great windstorm arose, and the waves were breaking into the boat, so that the boat was already filling.  Welcome to one of the most “preachable” passages in all the gospels.  It’s got a little something for everyone:  humanity and divinity, wind and waves, fear and faith, and near-calamity climaxing in a great calm.  Even the wind and the sea obey him.

        Such a lively account always makes for a great sermon.  I preach this text at every opportunity.  But I do think that we preachers often move a little too quickly past the most important part—the weather, and our Lord’s ability to control it.  The meteorology matters.  We can talk about the “storms of life” in just a bit.  But let’s not skip over that storm on that night—those winds and those waves—and the weary Savior who nearly slept through it all.

        Atmospheric forces were at work which we can scarcely imagine.  Barometric pressure dropping, deepening low pressure, clashing air masses, updrafts ascending, and downdrafts that turned the Sea of Galilee into a roaring, ravenous monster. 

        But for Jesus, it was no big deal.  He rebuked the wind and said to the sea, “Peace!  Be still!”  And there was a great calm.  What does this mean?  It means first and foremost that Jesus is God.  Jesus is God; and we are not.  All we can do is complain about the weather, or try to predict it.  But Jesus?  Even the wind and the sea obey him. He is God; and we are not.

        I personally would have no problem following a messiah who calls the shots when it comes to weather.  Hey, Jesus, can you do something about the dew point?  Hey, Jesus, do I need to be concerned about this tornado watch?  Hey, Jesus, will the rain hold off for our picnic today?  Even the cold fronts and warm fronts obey Him.  Because He is God.

        Or is He?  Because for much of this harrowing account Jesus isn’t acting very god-like at all.  His humanity is on full display.  Jesus Himself gives the command to set sail in the gathering darkness.  Did He forget to check the forecast?  And this so-called Savior doesn’t make for much of a skipper.  In fact, as the weather started getting rough and the tiny ship was tossed, Jesus was snoozing—snoring in the stern.  A very human thing to do.

        St. Mark, as always, gives us the raw facts—no matter how awkward they may be.  Mark is a truth-telling evangelist.  And the truth is that when the boat starting sinking—when the cry went out, All hands on deck!—Jesus was unresponsive.  And the disciples were not calmly trusting Jesus as King of kings and Lord of lords.  No, those elite, hand-picked apostles were panicking like faithless cowards.

        But St. Mark records all these untidy, unflattering details for your sake—so that you might have hope—so that you might be encouraged, especially when you are flailing, faithless, and fearful.  The question posed by the alarmed apostles is telling:  Teacher, don’t you care?

        Perhaps that prayer or one like it has passed through your lips a time or two.  It’s easy to trust Jesus when your life is smooth sailing.  It’s easy to trust Jesus when your health is good, and when you are universally loved and admired, and the wind is at your back.  But it’s not so easy to trust Him when your life feels like the Edmund Fitzgerald on the big lake they call Gitche Gumee.  Do you trust Him?  Do you trust this Jesus who sleeps through the storm—this Jesus who seems a little too comfortable with chaos?

        But it’s precisely in the chaos that Jesus teaches us who’s in control.  It’s precisely when Jesus seems most distant that we discover Him to be right by our side—a very present help in trouble.  While we crave quick fixes and spectacular special effects, Jesus simply speaks:  Peace!  Be still!  It’s only two words in the Greek.  It was nothing more than what you or I might yell at a barking dog in the middle of the night.  Be still.  But as soon as those words left His lips, the wind ceased and there was a great calm.  Within seconds, roaring, foamy waters became smooth as glass.

        In this miracle everything hinges on the words that Jesus speaks.  His Words get results.  His Words accomplish what He desires.  And those same powerful words of His are preserved right on the very pages of your Bible.  Those same words of His are preached and proclaimed by pastors right from this very pulpit.  When you feel like you are sinking in a sea of chaos, listen—listen to Jesus.  Trust what He says.  Don’t despise preaching and His Word.  Don’t ignore it—but hold it sacred and gladly hear and learn it.

        What are you so afraid of?  Don’t you trust me?  That’s what Jesus asked the Twelve as they marveled at the Savior’s divine power.  Those are good questions for us too:  Why are you so afraid?  Why do you live each day in fear and anxiety?  Why do act like your Savior is sleeping and distant?    Why do you live as if a Jesus you can’t see is a Jesus who can’t help you? 

        If Jesus single-handedly conquered sin and death and Satan by dying on the cross and rising again—if Jesus chose the whip and the thorns and the nails for you—if He was willing to suffer as your substitute under God’s wrath against sin—don’t you think that He also has a plan and a purpose for your life—that He will supply the help you need? 

        It takes faith to believe that.  And that’s why we’re here this morning—to hear the Words and eat the meal designed to strengthen our faith and to forgive our faithlessness.  The same powerful Word that stills the storm is also the Word that forgives all your sins and declares you to be justified in Jesus.  In that Word is your safety—in life and in death—when storms are raging, and when all is calm.

        As that great calm settled over the waters, the disciples were no longer asking, “Teacher, don’t you care?”  That question had now been replaced by a different question:  Who is this guy?  Who is this that even the wind and the sea obey Him?  You know the answer.  He is Jesus the Christ, true God begotten of the Father from eternity, and true man, born of the Virgin Mary—your Lord, our Savior.  No one else can still the storm.  No one else can order around the wind and the sea and have them obey.  Jesus is one of a kind.  Salvation is found in no one else.

        This miracle, like every miracle, is the exception rather than the rule.  There are plenty of ships that go down in the storm—some of them not too far east of here.  Airplanes crash, even with plenty of Christians on board.  Flood waters typically don’t bypass churches as they do their destructive work.  So where is Jesus when all this happens?  Is He asleep at the wheel?  Does He care?

        Beloved in the Lord, today’s miracle teaches that Jesus is right here in the middle of it all.  He is God; and we are not.  But He is not just God; He is God-with-Us—Emmanuel.  God-with-us in the preaching and proclamation of His promises.  God-with-us in the wet, watery waves of Holy Baptism.  God-with-us in the bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood.  Jesus is an ever-present help in times of trouble. 

        As the disciples set sail into those evening waters, they were not alone.  Jesus was with them—in the boat with them.  And right here, in this sacred space, is where Jesus joins you on your earthly journey.  The fact that you’re sitting in the “nave” this morning is no accident.  By design most churches have a “nave.”  And “nave,” well, it’s just the Latin word for “boat.”  Beloved in the Lord, you are in the boat with Jesus.  Jesus is in the boat with you. And there’s just no better place to be.  Bon Voyage!

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

 

Crazy Talk

 Jesu Juva

St. Mark 3:20-35                                                  

June 9, 2024

Proper 5B                                                       

 Dear saints of our Savior~

        He’s just like Hitler.  Our public discourse has degraded to such an extent that comparing people to Hitler has become commonplace.  You remember Hitler—the worst person who ever lived, responsible for the deaths of millions.  Calling someone Hitler is pretty much the worst thing that can be said about anyone.  And yet, that Hitler card is getting played with routine regularity these days. 

        Today’s reading from Mark three shows that there are, in fact, worse things that can be said about a person.  Today two terrible accusations get leveled against Jesus.  And it all begins, surprisingly, with the family of Jesus—with His mother and His brothers.  Jesus had been healing people all over Galilee—casting out demons, preaching the kingdom of God, calling disciples to follow Him.  The crowds were constant.  But when Jesus’ family heard about this, they thought Jesus must be crazy—beside Himself—out of His mind—not playing with a full deck.  So with the best of intentions, Jesus’ own family showed up with a strait jacket to take Him into protective custody.

        You have to appreciate the brutal honesty of this account.  The gospels tell the whole truth even when it’s not very pretty.  That’s one of the earmarks of accurate historical narrative.  You write down the embarrassing stuff right along with all the good stuff.  If you were just writing a propaganda piece to sway public opinion in favor of Jesus, you wouldn’t include this part about how His own family thought He was crazy.  No, you’d include quotes from His mother and His siblings about how they always knew Jesus was special and was destined to do great things.  But that’s not how it happened.  Jesus’ own family thought He was mentally ill.

        If that wasn’t bad enough, the religious elite from Jerusalem had a decidedly harsher take on Jesus:  “He’s possessed by Beelzebub,” they said, “and He casts out demons by the prince of demons.”  He’s just a demon disguised as the Messiah—a starting shortstop for Team Satan.  He’s not the Christ, but the anti-Christ.  Jesus’ opponents demonized Him much like we see today in the world of politics.

        On one level it makes sense.  This was the only card the opponents of Jesus had left to play.  I mean, Jesus had been going around doing good—healing scores of people including lepers and paralytics, the fevered and the disabled.  Jesus was restoring life and health to all who were oppressed and suffering.  And if you accepted that those healings were from God, then you also had to accept that Jesus’ teachings were the Words of God.  You had to accept that the kingdom of God had come in His coming—that He just might be the Son of God in human flesh, the Messiah sent from the Father to save the world from sin, death, and the devil.  But to the enemies of Jesus that was crazy talk.  It was much easier to assert that Jesus was just a demon-possessed deceiver.

        As it was for Jesus, so it is for His Church of every age.  For two thousand years the one holy Christian and apostolic church has been a force for good in this fallen world:  caring for the poor, setting up orphanages and hospitals—including hospitals for the mentally ill.  The church has affirmed the dignity and value of all human life, including the unborn, the aged, and the disabled.  The church of Jesus Christ has reached out in love to educate and elevate women and children, to protect the family, to clothe the poor, to feed the hungry, to minister to the dying, to point the way to heaven for all people of all nations.

        We Christians are engaged in a battle to help save the world.  But the world looks at the church today in her good fight—a campaign based on love for the Lord and the truth of His Word . . . and the world doesn’t understand. The world assumes the worst about the church just as it did about Jesus. 

        Speak the truth in love today and don’t be surprised when the world calls you crazy and evil.  Speak the truth in love today about God’s gift of marriage and family, about maleness and femaleness, about the value of sexual purity and the sanctity of life in the womb, about the great value of fathers and mothers.  Do this and you can expect to be judged like Jesus was judged.  Expect to be slandered like the Savior.  Expect to be told that you’re crazy or evil—or just like Hitler.

        Don’t believe it.  When you hear the teachings of Jesus constantly ridiculed as crazy and evil—when you hear your own deeply held beliefs about Jesus and His Word constantly labeled as crazy and evil—well, you just might start to wonder.  It would be easy enough to give in and go along with the world—to jump on the bandwagon and go down to celebrate Pridefest. 

        There’s no denying that some of our beliefs do seem somewhat crazy:  Forgiving those who sin against us?  Sounds crazy.  Praying for our enemies?  Sounds crazy.  Leading a sexually pure and decent life in what we say and do?  Crazy talk. 

        And even if the whole world, including your mother and brothers and sisters thinks you’re crazy or even demon-possessed for believing all of that, well, welcome to the asylum.  You’re in good company.  Remember, they said it all about Jesus first. 

        Jesus came to do battle with the devil—to bind that strong man and to liberate what is rightfully His—the souls He died to save.  That’s us!  We’re the Savior’s stolen property now rightfully returned to the One who loved us and gave Himself for us.  Jesus is the woman’s offspring who bruised the serpent’s head and defeated the devil forever by dying on the cross.  He takes all of our bad—all of our crazy—and He gives us all of His good—His love, His forgiveness, His peace, and life that lasts forever.

        That’s what we call the “gospel,” and it sounds really crazy—how Jesus defeated the devil by dying.  Who could have imagined a love so strong?  Who would have scripted a story like this?  That Jesus would take our death—the wages of our sin—and make it His own?  That Jesus would bind the devil by being bound Himself to a Roman tool of torture?  And that by His resurrection He would ransack the devil’s domain and rescue a world of sinners?  And the result of all this is that your sins are forgiven and the kingdom of heaven is wide open to all believers?  Really?

        And all of this is God’s free gift to all who trust in Him.  And there’s no sin so terrible that the blood of Jesus cannot wash it away.  Listen to Jesus: Truly, I say to you, all sins will be forgiven the children of man, and whatever blasphemies they utter.  Did you hear that?  All sins bar none.  Nothing so horrible, so messy or messed-up that Jesus doesn’t have it covered.  Name your worst.  Confess your “crazy.”  Jesus Christ has answered for it.  All the crazy stuff that we do to others and all the crazy they do to us—it has all been addressed in the death and resurrection of Jesus.

        What can possibly go wrong?  Nothing on God’s part.  One possibility is that we just refuse to trust and believe this good news.  This is what Jesus meant when He spoke of the sin of blasphemy against the Holy Spirit.  To refuse the gift of Jesus and to call His work the work of the devil—well, that’s unpardonable.  Not because it’s so bad, but because it refuses to be given to.  It refuses to receive.

        In the end, look who gets it right this morning.  Not the mother and brothers of Jesus.  Not the super-religious scribes.  It was all those desperate, broken, crazy people who wouldn’t leave Jesus alone—who kept after Him—who kept receiving what He was giving, such that Jesus could hardly scarf down a sandwich.  It was that bunch of misfits who had nothing better to do than follow Jesus, and listen to Jesus, and look to Jesus for help and healing and hope and forgiveness.

        Jesus looked at them and called them His family.  And Jesus says that about you too.  Right here this morning we have the Lord’s mother and brothers and sisters.  The world may call you crazy.  The world may call you Hitler.  But Jesus calls you kin.  Here the family of faith gathers together tightly around our Lord to hear His Word, to eat the bread that is His body and to drink the wine that is His blood—to pray, praise and give thanks to a God we cannot see, for a salvation that we can only receive by faith.  That may indeed be crazy.  But it’s true.  It’s what we believe.  It’s who we are in Jesus, our Brother.

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