The Feast for the Least

In Nomine Iesu
St. Luke 14:1-14
August 28, 2016
Proper 17C

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

This morning we get two party parables from Jesus. The party parables help to dispel all the lame ideas we have about the life of the world to come—such as, heaven being populated by a

bunch of chubby cherubs sitting around on fluffy clouds strumming harps for all eternity. I honestly don’t know anyone who would look forward to something like that, especially in the younger generation. Some teenagers area actually afraid that heaven will be little more than a Precious Moments collection with really bad music playing in the background. But the party parables invite us to picture heaven as a big dinner party—a wedding feast of fine wines and rich foods. Eating and drinking are the main activities. Eating without the weight gain and drinking without the drunkenness.

Jesus regularly engaged in such eating and drinking, so much so that his enemies labeled Him as a glutton and a drunkard. Jesus regularly sat down to eat and drink with tax collectors, sinners, and others rejected by the ruling religious elites. Jesus would even go so far as to invite His followers to proclaim His death through their participation in a holy meal of bread and wine—bread that is His body and wine that is His blood. The eating and drinking we do in this sacrament of the altar is a foretaste of the feast—a preview of the party—to come.

Jesus told these party parables while He was eating and drinking at the home of a Pharisee, along with other Pharisees and lawyers. It was a Sabbath day. Mix together Jesus with a few Pharisees on a Sabbath day and there’s sure to be fireworks. They were watching Jesus carefully, waiting for Him to slip up somehow. Sure enough, as if on cue, a man with dropsy crashes the dinner party. Jesus heals him and sends him on his way. And while the host is trying to get things back in order, Jesus decides to teach a few things about etiquette in the kingdom of God. And what we get are two party parables about the feast for the least.

Jesus had noticed how all the dinner guests scrambled and elbowed each other to get the best seats next to the host. But Jesus warned them that when you presume to take the place of honor, someone more honorable—more distinguished than you—may show up. And then you get booted out. It’s kind of like at Miller Park when those guys with tickets for the bleachers decide to try and slip into unoccupied seats behind home plate. I’ve never tried that, of course, because it’s a good bet that the ushers will humble you and eject you from your place of pride behind home plate.

That’s what happens when we presume upon God’s mercy—when we act as if God owes us one—when we’re convinced that we belong in the place of honor because of what we’ve done. Far better, says Jesus, to be humble—to start out in the back row—out in the bleachers—among the least and the lowly—and then be honored with an invitation from the host to step on up to one of the luxury boxes. Better to start out in the back row and be invited by grace to move on up.

Now contrary to what most of you Lutherans think, this parable has nothing to do with where you should sit in church—as though snagging one of the back pews makes you more humble and lowly—at least compared to the proud, pretentious types who always gravitate toward the front row like some über-religious version of Bob Eucker in those old commercials, always assuming a spot “in the front row.”

The party parables have nothing to do with pew selection, but everything to do with how we should come into the presence of the living God. We should come here into God’s presence not thoughtlessly or carelessly or casually, but lamenting our sin—like the tax collector in the temple who hung his head and beat his breast, barely able to breathe out a prayer of repentance, “Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner.” We should come here into God’s presence in the footsteps of St. Paul, who wrote to Timothy, “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners—of whom I am the worst.” Beloved in the Lord, it’s in that last seat in the back row marked “chief of sinners” that you will find God’s mercy—God’s inviting grace and forgiveness which pulls you onward and upward saying, “Friend, move up higher; come unto me, and I will give you rest.”

Here in the church of Jesus Christ, no one has a right—no one is entitled to anything—not to baptism, not to absolution, not to the body and blood of Jesus, not to eternal life. None of us deserves any of that. Because all of it is a gift—a precious and priceless gift, purchased and won for us by Jesus hanging dead on a cross. The cross is where all talk of what we deserve comes to a screeching halt—and where all talk of grace and gifts and mercies begins. In Philippians chapter two Paul writes that all the baptized have been given the “mind of Christ.” To have the mind of Christ means that we consider others better than ourselves. Having the mind of Christ means that we don’t look down on anyone, no matter how weak or how broken they might be. We are nothing, and Christ is everything.

Jesus is the one who humbled Himself—who did not consider equality with God something to be grasped—but made Himself nothing, taking the very nature of a slave. He humbled Himself and became obedient to death—even death on a cross. In Jesus, the Lord of all creation rolled up His sleeves and became a foot-washing, cross-bearing slave for you. He was executed as your sacred, sin-bearing substitute. It was our sinful pride that pounded the nails that pierced His hands and feet. But as an unmistakable sign of the success of that sacrifice, God the Father exalted Him—highly exalted Him. He approved of His work. He raised Him from the dead, so that one day Jesus might raise you and all those laid low by sin and death.

When you live by faith in Jesus—when by His grace you take up your cross daily and follow Him—you will be humbled. If it hasn’t happened yet, it will. We will be humbled. Our pedestals will be pushed over, our thrones toppled, our egos deflated, our sinful natures crucified. We will be humbled by the Law of God. That Law exposes how helpless we are to save ourselves from the sinful messes we’ve made. That Law drives us down to the grave. There’s nothing more humbling than the grave. Death is the great equalizer: the rich, the poor, the good, the bad—it’s the same for all of us. The wages of sin is death and that’s a payday that none of us can dodge for long.

But God humbles us for our good. He has His reasons. God puts sinners like us in our place . . . precisely so that He might call you up to a better place—right up to the front row of resurrection glory. What a day that will be when Jesus calls you from your grave to join Him on the 50-yardline of the feast for the least—when He says to you, “Friend, move up higher. Come up to the place I have prepared for you since the foundation of the world.”

The second little party parable Jesus tells has to do with the guest list—with who gets invited and welcomed to the feast for the least. Jesus invites us to reflect His generosity by how we select others to serve in His name. The next time you host a luncheon or a backyard barbeque or a dinner party, don’t invite your friends. Don’t invite your relatives. Don’t invite your clients or your rich neighbors to schmooze with. Don’t invite those who will reciprocate quid pro quo. Instead, invite those who will never have the means to repay you—those who can’t give you a thing: the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, the disabled. Serve and love those who cannot serve and love you back. That is the mind of Christ, to be sure.

The same thing holds true for this feast we call the Divine Service. Jesus is telling us who we should invite to join us here in the presence of Jesus. And it isn’t just that nice, neat, North Shore family with the above average everything. Who ought we invite to this place? It’s every single person—but especially those who won’t add much to the bottom line, those who won’t pull their own weight, those who might just make things uncomfortable and inconvenient (like that man afflicted with dropsy who crashed a Pharisee’s dinner party seeking the Savior). But the church—like her Lord—never asks what she’s going to get in return. All we do is dish out the invitations to the party, and then wait to see who shows up. When was the last time you invited someone to join you here? In the long history of the church, most converts converted because someone cared enough to invite them to come to church—to come to the feast, to move on up to this holy place where Jesus serves as the Host with the most in this feast for the least.

That’s always how it is with Jesus. Jesus invites and serves those who can’t repay Him. Jesus invites you to hear His Word, to receive His holy meal—to live it up in His lavish grace—knowing full well there’s nothing you can offer Him in return. In the grand scheme of things, we are all beggars, it’s true. Fully aware of that, Jesus invites you anyway. He gives you a front row seat, in the luxury box of His love, and a place of honor at His altar. Amen.

Savoring the Savior's Wedding Wine

In Nomine Iesu
St. John 2:1-11
January 20, 2013
Epiphany 2C

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

I am not what you would call a wine connoisseur, or a wine aficionado. I don’t subscribe to Wine Spectator. My palette isn’t too discriminating and I sometimes can’t tell the difference between merlot and cabernet. But there’s something about uncorking a bottle of wine that’s a little bit exciting. With wine you can never be completely certain what you’re going to get. Even if you’ve done your homework and studied the label carefully, wine has a way of surprising you. Each bottle has its own unique characteristics. Pour yourself a glass of Mountain Dew and it will taste just like the Mountain Dew you drank last year. But wine is never quite so predictable.

Preaching a sermon on the wedding at Cana is a little bit like opening a bottle of fine wine. It’s a vintage you know as well as the back of your hand. You know its bold, tasty flavors as well as its more subtle surprises. The wedding at Cana isn’t something new, but something familiar—something worth going back to year after year—like a good wine. So let’s savor this vintage from John chapter 2. Let’s sniff the cork, twirl the glass, let the wine breathe, and prepare to be a little surprised—as we imbibe some of the wonderful flavors in this very first of Jesus’ miracles.

But before we imbibe too freely I need to warn you about imbibing too freely. Since Milwaukee has been described as America’s drunkest city—since binge drinking is now becoming socially acceptable, I need to remind you that this miracle is not about divine approval for drunkenness. It is true that Jesus miraculously supplied 180 gallons of very fine wine after the wedding guests had already gone through a fair amount of wine. Jesus was definitely not a teetotaler. In fact, the Pharisees would later call Jesus a glutton and a drunkard—probably with this wedding in mind. But this miracle isn’t about the wine. It’s about Jesus and the joy of His salvation. Christians need to keep two things in mind when it comes to alcoholic beverages. On the one hand, they are good gifts from God to be used by those of legal age in moderation. And on the other hand, drunkenness is as much a sin as is adultery or stealing. God calls His baptized children to be sober and self-controlled at all times. He calls us never to hurt or harm our bodies by what we consume—but always to remember that our bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit.

St. John calls this miracle of water turned into wine the first of Jesus’ "signs." It’s not just a miracle, but a sign. This isn’t a cute parlor trick to show off Jesus’ divine power. A sign is much more. A sign reveals something otherwise unknown. A sign given by Jesus is intended primarily to create faith. In fact, St. John summed up the whole event like this: “Jesus . . . manifested his glory. And his disciples believed in him.” The goal of this sign isn’t for you to say, “Wow, Jesus sure is powerful,” but to say, “I believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God.”

It’s interesting that this first miracle occurred at a wedding. Wedding feasts at that time were often week-long affairs to which the whole town was invited; and food and drink were expected to be provided for all the guests. Toss in a few unexpected guests, a handful of wedding crashers, some cousins from up north—these could quickly put a dent in the food and wine. Running out of either would have been a terrible embarrassment for both families.

Since weddings are family affairs it should come as no surprise that Jesus’ mother, Mary, is also at this wedding. It’s Mary who first tells Jesus that the wine had run out. And at first, Jesus doesn’t seem eager to do anything about it. “What does this have to do with me?” he asks. Besides, he says, “My hour has not yet come.” Jesus’ “hour” was a reference to His death on the cross. That was why He came. That’s also why the artwork on the cover of this morning’s bulletin has a wooden cross hidden in the background, even as Jesus is manifesting His glory. Jesus seems almost irritated at his mother for hinting that He should do something to rectify the situation.

But Mary is a model of faith; and she forges ahead in faith, confident that Jesus will act. She says to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” Those happen to be the last recorded words of Mary in the Scriptures. And we really can’t go wrong listening to those words of Mary: “Do whatever my Son tells you.” After all, He’s the one who died on the cross and rose from the dead to save you. If Jesus says to love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, then we should do it. If Jesus says to forgive those who sin against us, then we should do it. If Jesus says give to Caesar what is Caesar’s, then we should pay our taxes. Do whatever He tells you.

It starts to get interesting when Jesus tells the servants to fill up six stone water jars. Now these big water jars were used for the Jewish rites of purification. And that fact is important. In other words, the Jews washed with this water for reasons of godliness, not cleanliness. By washing with that water they thought they could make themselves more acceptable to God (more on that in a minute). Well, you know what happens next. The master of the feast takes a sip of the new wine and immediately calls the groom over. Listen, he says, someone’s made a mistake here. You’re supposed to serve the fine wine first. Then, after everyone’s senses are a little dulled, then you slip in the cheap stuff (the two buck Chuck). But, says the bartender, “you have kept the good wine until now.” You have saved the best for last!

Now, remember, this text is like fine wine. So let’s savor what’s going on here. When Mary says, “They have no more wine,” she might just as well have been talking about the Jews of the Old Covenant. Their time was just about up. The time for a new covenant was drawing near. They were hopelessly mired in the law—in keeping rules and regulations and ceremonies—with nothing to show for it but six stone jars of water. That’s about as far as the law of God can take you. At best, it can only give you clean hands; but it can’t purify the heart of a sinner. And that’s where the problem lies for us. “The law came through Moses,” St. John wrote in chapter one, “but grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.”

Beloved in the Lord, savor the flavor of what this sign means. Drink deeply of the new joy He brings. In Jesus the old has gone, and the new creation has come. In Jesus, Old Testament bath water becomes New Testament wedding wine. Jesus fills up the commandments of Moses with His own perfect obedience. That’s why He came—to fill it up to the brim with Himself, and then to die an innocent death on the cross, to pour out His blood like fine wine from heaven to make glad every heart with the joy of His forgiveness, life and salvation.

When the bartender says, “You’ve saved the best until now,” that’s more than a comment on the wine. It’s a comment on Jesus. God has truly saved the best for last in His Son, Jesus Christ. In many and various ways God spoke to His people of old by the prophets, but now in these last days He has spoken to us by His Son. The promises, the prophets, the priests and the ceremonial laws of the OT—they were good gifts of our good God. But something far better comes our way in Jesus. He is truly the best vintage, God’s private reserve, set aside from before the foundation of the world and appointed to be poured out generously in the fullness of time.

Savor this wonderful wedding wine! Jesus is the fulfillment of the Law for all who believe. He’s the end of using the law to get in good with God. He’s the end of all hand-scrubbing religion—the end of all attempts to wash ourselves up and clean up the mess of our own sin. You can’t do it no matter how much you wash and bathe and soak and scrub yourself. You’ll never be pure enough. But Jesus does it for you in His dying and rising. He takes you sin and gives you His purity. All who believe in Him are completely cleansed and purified by grace. And that’s something worth celebrating and, I’m sorry, but grape juice just doesn’t cut it. Jesus has come and brings pleasure eternal. In Jesus you have a place at the wedding feast of the Lamb in His kingdom, where the meat is richly marbled and the where the wine never runs out.

Have we made too much of this first sign of Jesus at Cana? No way. In fact, there are a few drops more of this text left to enjoy. We can’t quit until you recognize this: that what goes on right here at Our Savior every Sunday is more marvelous and more meaningful than what happened at the wedding at Cana. Here Jesus takes water and makes water a sign—a baptism—a sacrament of His death and resurrection life which is given to you in the splash of your own baptism. Here Jesus takes bread and gives it as His body; here Jesus takes wine and gives it to you as His blood. Right here every Sunday we have a wedding feast where Jesus is the groom, Jesus is bartender, Jesus is even the food and drink. And best of all, you are His honored guests.

One day it will all be clear—how our God always saves the best for last. And, He has one more vintage yet to uncork—you. You are still aging in the bottle, so to speak. God isn’t finished with you yet. Your hour has not yet come. It will come soon enough, at a time when the world’s party will have run dry, when Jesus appears in glory to raise the dead to life. And then, with a new, resurrected body and joy overflowing, you will fully experience what today you can only believe: God has saved the best for last, and the best always comes with Jesus. Amen.

Baptized into Christ

In Nomine Iesu
St. Luke 3:21-22; Rom. 6
January 13, 2013
The Baptism of Our Lord-C

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Now when all the people were baptized . . . Jesus also had been baptized
and was praying, [and] the heavens were opened, and the Holy Spirit descended on him
in bodily form, like a dove; and a voice came from heaven, “You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased.”

Right about this time, every year, we remember and reflect on the fact that Jesus was baptized. In fact, we hear about it so often that it starts to sound somewhat scripted and expected and ordinary. But the Baptism of Our Lord ought to strike you as something incredibly extraordinary. Think about it. John’s baptism was a baptism of repentance. What reason did the sinless Son of God have to repent? John’s baptism was for the forgiveness of sins. For what did the sinless Son of God need to be forgiven? Jesus was greater than John. Yet, here in the baptism of our Lord, the greater is baptized by the lesser. In short, the sinless one is treated like a sinner. And when you start to understand it that way, you start to understand the gospel. The sinless one is treated just like a sinner.

The baptism of Jesus should lead us to think about our own baptism. After all, this was no private, quiet, secluded affair. When all three persons of the Holy Trinity are revealed, when the heavens are opened wide, when the Holy Spirit flutters down in the form of a dove, when the very voice of God rings out from heaven—there can be no doubt that we ought to sit up and take notice. In the Large Catechism, Luther writes, “You must honor Baptism and consider it glorious . . . . For God Himself has honored it both by words and deeds. Furthermore, He confirmed it with miracles from heaven. Do you think it was a joke that, when Christ was baptized, the heavens were opened and the Holy Spirit descended visibly, and everything was divine glory and majesty?” (LC 21) In other words, pay attention to this, and learn what it means about your own baptism.

Jesus’ baptism and our baptism is not the same thing. And yet, what happens to Jesus in His baptism also happens to you. The heavens opened when Jesus was baptized; and heaven was opened to you when you were baptized—for then and there, through water and the Word, you were justified in Jesus. The Holy Spirit descended on Jesus; and the Spirit descended upon you in your baptism—not visibly as with Jesus, but with power to transform you into a child of God and an heir of salvation. The voice of the Father spoke from heaven when Jesus was baptized; and the Father also speaks to you in your own baptism, declaring you a beloved son or daughter with whom He is well pleased.

The Baptism of Jesus (and your own baptism) is so deep—so profound—so richly theological that it’s easy to forget about what it means here, and now, today—for you. This is why it’s so good to have today’s epistle from Romans 6. In Romans six St. Paul takes baptism and makes it practical. He takes baptism from the lofty theological heights and places it squarely in the arena of our daily lives. And he does it by means of a question.

I read last week that one of every four sentences in the book of Romans is a question. You probably even know a few of these questions without even opening your Bible. Questions like, “If God is for us, who can be against us?” Or this one a few verses later, “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?” These are well-known, inspiring questions. But while the question in today’s reading sounds familiar, it’s not very inspiring. You’ve asked it yourself many, many times (and so have I); but it’s nothing to be proud of: “Are we to continue in sin that grace may abound?”

Shall we? Shall we go on sinning since God promises grace and forgiveness for every sin? This question is one that our sinful nature never gets tired of asking. And it even has a certain cool, reasonable logic behind it. Since God is slow to anger and quick to forgive—and since I’m saved by grace and not by works—why not just go ahead and sin since I know that God will forgive me anyway? Why not go ahead and break a few commandments here and there since God promises to forgive any and all sins? I’ll sin. Then I’ll ask forgiveness. Then God will forgive me and all will be well again. Don’t tell me you’ve never crafted a scheme like that inside your head.

Oh, how we love to use and abuse that cool, clever, satanic logic. It works so well with so many sins: Shall I go on sinning so that I can be forgiven? Shall I cheat on this test? Shall I broadcast that juicy gossip? Shall I view the porn? Shall I have sex with the one I’m not married to? Shall I take the money and run? Such questions run death deep. Such questions invite us to take the precious, priceless, blood-bought grace of Jesus . . . and trash it, flush it, squander it. Such questions imply that our baptism doesn’t matter—that what happened all those years ago was a quaint ceremony with no significance at all.

Are we to continue in sin so that grace may abound? God Himself supplies that question with the only answer that will suffice for you and me and all the baptized children of God: Are we to continue in sin? BY NO MEANS! Under no circumstances! Wake up and remember who you are (and whose you are)!

Why not? Why can’t we go on abusing and misusing the grace of God? Because we died to sin. You died—died to sin, and therefore you can’t go on living in it any longer. Not that you can stop sinning completely, BUT sin can no longer be the compelling, controlling impulse of your life. Where sin is concerned you are dead—dead and buried—unresponsive and cold as a corpse. Sin is not the boss of you any longer.

But when? When did this death to sin occur? When and how did this radical reordering of your life take place? Don’t you know? “Don’t you know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were therefore buried with him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life.” Newness of life—a whole new life is what your baptism works in you—a life given and shaped and directed and produced by Jesus.

Your baptism tells the whole story of who you really are. Your identity is not primarily established by your parents, not by your place of residence, not by the football team you cheer for, not by anything that might appear on your transcript or your resume. No, it’s your baptism that defines who you are—child of God, born again by water and the Spirit.

I remember once sitting down with two grieving parents. We had to come up with an obituary for their baby boy. Little Logan had gone down for an afternoon nap, only to awaken in the arms of Jesus. How do you write an obituary for a baby? Once you list the survivors, what more is there to say? Praise God that we could say this: Logan was baptized. Logan was baptized into Christ on October 20th. Those words—that simple sentence—told the whole story about Logan—a story of blessings and forgiveness and salvation. With little Logan God was well pleased! And your own baptism tells the whole story about you. Your baptism put you on the cross with Jesus. Your baptism put you in the tomb with Jesus. Your baptism raises you up to a whole new life—with Jesus. “Now if we died with Christ, we believe that we will also live with him.”

Your baptism was the defining moment of your life—and it defines you each day, and empowers you each day. When Satan comes calling with his carefully crafted questions, determined to make you into something you are not, it is the power of your baptism that helps you to drown those sinful desires, so that you can live as the person you are in Christ. You are new. You are holy. You are forgiven through the body and blood of Jesus Christ, crucified on Calvary, given today for sinners to eat and drink. That’s who you are—new and holy in Christ—forgiven, loved, precious, honored, died-for. And with that on your resume, nothing else matters.

For some of us this news sounds too good to be true. We’ve all but forgotten our baptismal identity, and we’ve forged alternate identities—guilty, shame-filled, insecure identities. We’ve fallen prey too many times to the invitation to go on sinning. We’ve bought the lie and we’re living with the results. Well, I have very good news for you. Hear me and hear me well: God doesn’t define you by what you’ve done wrong. God defines you by what Jesus has done right—and that is everything. Jesus’ sinless life, His sacrificial death, His glorious resurrection—that’s what counts for you! That’s what defines you, because you are baptized! Amen.

The Widow's Might

In Nomine Iesu
St. Mark 12:38-44
November 11, 2012
Pentecost 24/Proper 27B

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

You know about the widow’s mite, don’t you? Today’s message centers on this antiquated coinage; so we’d better be perfectly clear as to what we’re talking about. For people who didn’t grow up hearing the King James Version of the Bible, the widow’s “mite”. . . is a mystery. We could just as well talk about the widow’s ice box, or the widow’s water closet, or the time the widow stepped into a phone booth. Times change. Language changes. The once familiar is now outdated and obsolete. For most of the under-twenty crowd, the only available definition for “mite” (m-i-t-e) is a tiny, biting insect.

So let’s set the record straight: Mite is an old English word for a copper coin. The two copper coins given away by the widow were mites—the most worthless of all coins. It took two mites just to equal one penny. It is a pure coincidence that today there just happens to be a “mite box” in the narthex—because today we recognize the work of the Lutheran Women’s Missionary League. For longer than most of us have been alive, these Lutheran women have been hoarding their pennies, nickels and dimes, faithfully filling their own personal mite boxes with these nearly worthless coins. But from these meager mites Christian missions have been fueled and funded, the Word of God has been proclaimed, and the Savior’s love has been shared in Word and deed around the world. Through these mites, the LWML has been busy nickeling and diming the world to life.

In today’s Holy Gospel Jesus does two things: He warns his disciples about the scribes, and He commends and memorializes a widow’s penny-sized offering. “Beware of the scribes,” Jesus warned. They like to put on a show with their pretend piety. And they like to prey on gullible, rich widows. Then along came a poor widow with her mite-sized offering. She didn’t put on a show. And the little she gave was all she had to live on. At the temple, they didn’t use offering plates. No, there were thirteen offering boxes made of metal. The tops of these money boxes were shaped like the bell of a horn. And as coins were dropped into these metallic money boxes, the sound of money on metal reverberated throughout the temple courtyard. When the rich emptied their money bags, everyone heard it. Everyone noticed. Everyone turned and looked. But the plink, plink of the poor widow’s coins were almost inaudible. No one noticed her meager gift—no one, that is, but Jesus. For Jesus always notices what we do not notice. Faith always gets His attention.

It would be easy enough to make a two part sermon out of this text: Part One: Don’t be like the scribes. Part Two: Be like the widow. She gave one hundred percent and so should you. But that’s not exactly what Jesus is teaching in this passage. So let’s aim for a slightly different angle.

Beware of the scribes, Jesus warns, because they are everything the poor widow is not. For they love attention; they love applause; they love the places of honor; and even though they blush with fake humility, yet in their heart of hearts they love living in the limelight. Yes, beware of the scribes, for the scribes are in you and me. If only we could see it as clearly in ourselves as we can see it in other people. Some of you are old enough to recall a time when it was the practice of many congregations to post publicly the annual offering amount given by each member. I can’t think of a better, more efficient way to turn a family of believers into a den of scribes, each person jealous of those who gave more and judgmental of those who gave less. What a breeding ground for pride and prejudice. We really have no business looking at how much others give or don’t give; but we ought to carefully examine what we give—and why we give what we give.

Jesus certainly notices the offerings we give. After all, He noticed the widow’s offering; and He is the intended recipient of every offering we give. So now let’s consider the widow and the gift she gave. From a worldly standpoint, the widow’s offering did not matter. Those two copper coins comprised an offering so small that it almost wasn’t worth counting. The widow’s offering would do nothing to pay down the temple debt. It would not impact work on the mission field. It fed no hungry, clothed no poor, paid no utility bill. To the eyes of the world, that widow’s offering was probably the least significant thing that transpired that day at the temple.

But to the eyes of Jesus, who sees deep into the heart—that poor widow’s penny-sized offering was worth more than all the gold in King Herod’s treasury. Jesus said that this poor widow had given more—more than all the others who gave out of their abundance. For she, out of her poverty, gave everything she had. The wealthy put in large amounts to be sure; but even larger amounts remained in their pockets. The widow put in a microscopic amount; but the amount that remained in her purse was zero. Her gift totaled one hundred percent.

And a quick reminder about widows in Jesus’ day: Most of them were not "merry" widows, living large on their husband’s pensions and life insurance policies. Nor were they enjoying even the modest benefits of social security, Medicare or Medicaid. No, most of them, like this widow, had only pennies to their name. And did you notice that Jesus calls her “poor,” but nowhere is she called “old” or “elderly?” I noticed that when I was viewing how artists and painters have depicted this widow down through the ages. I was shocked to see several paintings where the widow wasn’t old and gray, but very young, and some depictions had her even holding a baby on her hip while also holding a toddler’s hand. And actually, for those times, a young widow was probably almost as common as an older widow. How does it change your understanding of this passage to see the widow as a twenty-year-old mother of little ones, and not as an aging octogenarian?

This account doesn’t give us the whole story of stewardship, but it does teach us a few crucially important points. Jesus notices what we do not notice. He noticed the widow’s offering. He notices your offering. He notices the offerings given by teens, and by pre-teens and even the kindergarten crowd. And it’s not unheard of for someone in that crowd occasionally to give a few pennies for Jesus—often in a carefully folded envelope, maybe with a unicorn sticker attached for good measure. But make no mistake, those pennies are precious to Jesus. And if we don’t teach our children about this grace of giving, they will never learn it from anyone else.

This widow should cause us to question our own offerings—to evaluate not just the amount, but the percentage we return to the Lord. The point is not that we turn over every last penny to Jesus. But I think it’s also safe to say that this widow didn’t just give what she felt “comfortable” giving. She didn’t just give what she could spare. She didn’t just give what was left over after she paid the mortgage and the utilities and the cable TV and the car payment. She gave sacrificially. She gave off the top without fear of hitting rock bottom. You can do that too.

Or consider the other widow we heard about today—the widow of Zarephath. The Lord directed Elijah to go to her for food because there was a terrible famine in the land. Elijah must have assumed that this was going to be a widow of means—the Jackie Onasis of widows. Turns out she and her son were destitute. Their kitchen cabinets contained nothing but a little flour and a little oil. But by the grace of God (who loves especially the widow and the fatherless), the oil and the flour did not run out. There was always enough. There was always more. The Lord always provides. You know that too. You believe that too. “He who did not spare His own Son, but gave Him up for us all—how will He not also . . . graciously give us all things” (Rom. 8:32)? And the offering you give is a chance to show that you believe it—that with our gracious God, there is always more, always enough, always abundance. The Lord always provides.

These widows show us what faith looks like. But it would be a mistake to see these two widows merely as teachers of the law. That dear widow with her two mites wasn’t merely singled out by Jesus to show us what do do—or just to make us feel guilty about the offerings we give. No, this dear widow is showing us the Savior—pointing ahead to the crucifixion cross of Jesus—to the greatest offering ever given in the history of the world. This widow gave everything—all she had—in an act of pure love and devotion. Her pennies preach a sermon more powerful than any preacher could ever proclaim. For just as she gave away all she had, so Jesus gave all He had for you on Calvary’s cross. Only there was not the plink, plink of gold or silver coins, but only the steady dripping of His life’s blood, for your sin, securing your salvation, cleansing you from every stain. Jesus gave away all He had and all He was for you. He held nothing back as your sacred substitute.

That offering—the offering given by Jesus on Good Friday—that offering makes you rich. By faith in Jesus, you enjoy the riches of God’s grace, forgiveness for your sins, comfort in your sorrow, peace that passes understanding. Today you are invited to an extravagant meal that money can’t buy. On the menu is the body and blood of Jesus, shed for you, for the forgiveness of sins. Unlike any other meal, we come to this meal with empty pockets, empty hands, empty hearts. And Jesus fills us with His very life.

We trust Jesus with the big things—forgiveness, salvation, the life everlasting. Why not also trust Him with the small things? Why not trust Him with our coins and currency? Sometimes the oil and flour may run low. Sometimes your account balance might not register much more than the widow’s two mites. But you are never outside the Lord’s notice—never beyond the reach of His care and His love. He will never leave you or forsake you. “Let not your hearts be troubled,” He says. Seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and He will take care of everything else. Amen.

One of the Crowd

In Nomine Iesu
Rev. 7:9-17
November 4, 2012
All Saints’ Sunday

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

It is All Saints’ Sunday—a day which I look forward to every year—and especially this year. As the rest of the world around us plunges into darkness and petty partisanship this week, we are privileged (we are blessed) to set our minds on things above. All Saints’ Sunday is the church’s Memorial Day—the day on which we remember with deep thanksgiving all the saints who from their labors rest—all who by faith before the world confessed—including those dear saints from our fellowship who, during the year past, have departed this life to be with Christ. "We feebly struggle; they in glory shine."

I read recently about the final words spoken by one of the great theological minds of the last century. Laying on his deathbed, he reached an astoundingly simple conclusion: “If Christ is risen, then nothing else matters. If Christ is not risen, then nothing else matters.” In other words, everything hinges on Jesus’ resurrection. And that resurrection puts everything else in proper perspective. The results of this week’s elections, the tribulations and persecutions you face, the burdens you bear—All Saints’ Day leads us to say together with Saint Paul, “I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing to the glory that will be revealed in us” (Rom. 8:18).

In today’s reading from Revelation, we are given a glimpse of that glory. The curtain that separates the church on earth from the church in heaven is lifted, and we are given a sneak peek at what is transpiring around the throne of God. St. John is our tour guide. And the first thing he points out is a crowd—a crowd of unimaginable size and scope: “After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands.” On the one hand, to think about such a crowd is awe-inspiring—a reminder that no Christian is ever alone—that we are constantly surrounded by what the writer of Hebrews calls “so great a cloud of witnesses” (12:1). The martyr burned at the stake, the prophet sawn in two, the confessing Christian on the receiving end of a firing squad—they were never alone, for we are one with them in the body of Jesus Christ. This crowd can be a comfort.

But on the other hand, I’ve always been a little leery of big crowds. Where I grew up in Kansas there weren’t all that many big crowds. Crowds—especially big ones—were not to be trusted. “Going along with the crowd” was always a risky road to travel. My parents (and, I think, almost all parents) were quick to point out the perils of adopting an “everybody else is doing it” mentality. For whenever I would argue that all of my friends were getting to do it, or that everybody else had some particular item I coveting, my parents would just say, “Well, if everybody else was jumping off of a cliff, would you be jumping too?” And while that pearl of parental wisdom can sometimes be overused, it’s hard to deny the truth it teaches: What everybody else is doing—what the crowd is doing—is often the wrong thing, the dangerous thing, the thing that leads you away from Jesus.

That white-robed crowd in heaven is a crowd that we can’t yet see—very different from the crowd we do see each day. I’m here to tell you that going along with the crowd here on earth is risky business, and you shouldn’t be doing it. The crowd on earth is a deadening crowd that wants to swallow you up. We often warn our teenagers about the perils of peer pressure; but peer pressure isn’t just a teenage problem. The push to follow the crowd is powerful; and you must resist it. For that crowd will suck the life right out of you. The crowds that swarm around you welcome sexual immorality in all its deadening manifestations. That crowd wants you to view your body as a mere instrument for the pursuit of personal pleasure, rather than as a temple of the Holy Spirit which is destined for resurrection glory. The crowd wants you to live as if this life is all that matters—to live a life of pride and selfishness—rather than to walk the way of humility, service, and self-sacrifice. The crowd wants you to view your suffering as a sign that God doesn’t exist (or if He does exist, that He is unfair, unjust, uncaring), rather than to see your suffering as a place where the power of God and the grace of God will prove all-sufficient.

Beloved in the Lord, we’ve all followed the wrong crowd often enough to know that it has the power to draw us into a lifeless existence—to transform us into spiritual zombies—without purpose, without hope, without joy.

But rejoice and be glad, for Jesus Christ has called you from this world’s crowd of walking dead and has made you a member of that great heavenly multitude. That’s who you are in Christ already today! All Saints’ Day calls us to live today in light of the glorious future that awaits us. I compare the Christian life to the last day of elementary school. For me, it was always near the end of May. I went to school on the last day, but it was different than any other day. Why? Because I was thinking about summer vacation. In my mind, I was already there—thinking about swimming and baseball and sleeping late and ice cream sundaes at Dairy Queen. It was still technically a school day and I was present for it; but I was living that day in the future—full of plans and hope and joy.

All Saints’ Day is given to re-orient us to live today in the promise of the future—to live today with purpose and hope and joy because we belong to the right crowd—the crowd created in Jesus Christ. This crowd is different from every other crowd. Notice how, on one hand, this crowd is uncountable and endless. But notice also how every single member of this crowd receives gentle, tender, individual attention: "The Lamb,” it says, “will wipe away every tear from their eyes.” Think about that. Whatever tears of tribulation still stain your face, Jesus will wipe them away. And the only way to wipe another’s tears is to be right there, up close and personal—face to face. With a touch of His nail-scarred hand, Jesus will wipe away your tears and you will never weep again. “We shall see Him as He is.”

And those nail-scarred hands will remind us of why we poor sinners are there in the Savior’s presence—because our tattered and sin-stained robes have been washed and made white in the blood of the Lamb. All of our sin—all that should rightly keep us out of heaven—has been answered for in the blood of Jesus, shed on the cross, as our sacred substitute. But again, that washing and that blood were applied to you individually and personally. You became a part of that heavenly multitude in the washing of Holy Baptism. You didn’t join this crowd; you were born again into this crowd belonging to Christ. And the blood He shed on the cross He here and now offers to you: “Drink of it all of you, this is my blood of the new testament, shed for you, for the forgiveness of sins.”

The church of Jesus Christ—the body of Christ—this crowd of those redeemed by Christ the crucified—it is so big and so vast that no one can even count that high. But God can and does. He knows you by name—you individually—you in particular—you matter to Him. Your life has eternal significance. In a few minutes the chimes will toll for four sisters in Christ who are today with Christ. Let each chime remind you of how precious each one is to Jesus. Your life, also, is precious to Jesus. And one day a chime will toll for you, too. “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints” (Ps. 116).

Right now your life has its fair share of trouble and turmoil and tribulation—and sin that so easily entangles. But don’t get too accustomed to that tribulation. For you are on your way out—out of the great tribulation. Tribulation is just for a little while; life with the Lamb is forever. He has called you to be a member of His crowd. On the day of resurrection He will call you from your grave. Your white robe will be waiting. And your voice will be strong to join in that delightfully deafening chorus: Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever. Amen.

What God Has Joined Together

In Nomine Iesu
St. Mark 10:2-16
October 7, 2012
Pentecost 19-Proper 22B

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Dear husbands and wives, congratulations on your marriage! It’s no small accomplishment—getting married, and staying married. You deserve a pat on the back and a whole lot more. But I’m afraid we can’t give you all the credit. Even those of you who have been married for upwards of fifty or sixty years—even you need to realize this wonderful truth about your marriage. You may have done the wooing and the wowing. You decided on the dating. You did the proposing and the accepting. You purchased the rings. You reserved the church. You rented the hall. You sent the invitations. You ordered the cake, bought the dress, rented the tux, hired the photographer, and planned the honeymoon. You did all that and more. But it was God who joined you together.

It was God who joined you to your spouse—for better for worse, for richer for poorer, until death parts you. In, with and under the courtship and dating, the engagement and wedding—God Himself was at work, drawing you and your spouse together. Behind your promises and your pledges to one another, stand God’s promises and pledges to you and your spouse. God’s fingerprints are all over your marriage. Yours is truly a match made in heaven. And even if you don’t believe that or feel that to be the case, then at least take Jesus at His Word. For today Jesus describes your marriage and every marriage as, “What God has joined together.”

If you are married, then know that God Himself has joined you to your spouse. Your marriage is a work of God—maybe even a miracle of God. At the very least, we ought to recognize that marriage—your marriage—is holy. It matters to God. God is using your marriage to change the world. He wants your marriage to proper and flourish. When the marital waters get rough, your God wants to still the storm and bring you peace. Couples facing conflict often feel isolated and alone. But those couples are not isolated or alone! The God who joined them will never leave them or forsake them.

That’s part of the good news from God’s Word today about marriage; and I thought it important to start there, since other parts of today’s text are perhaps a bit more troubling. God’s Word about marriage is challenging, first of all, because a good portion of you here today are not married. There’s nothing wrong with that. Marriage isn’t for everyone. But marriage is God’s gift to the whole world. In many ways, marriage is the God-given glue that holds the world together. It’s challenging to preach about marriage and adultery—about divorce and the “one flesh” relationship between husbands and wives. After all, I don’t want to increase the guilt of the guilty or make the complacent more comfortable. But I do want to give you God’s truth about His gift of marriage. And if you don’t get that truth here, then I don’t know where you’ll get it. So I’m going to trust that God’s Word about marriage will accomplish what God desires—and in whom God desires to accomplish it.

It’s important to remember why Jesus said what He said about marriage and divorce in today’s Holy Gospel. He was responding to a question tossed out by some Pharisees. And they weren’t asking out of a desire to build better marriages; no, they were trying to trip Jesus up with a gotcha question. “Is it lawful,” they asked, “for a man to divorce his wife?” However Jesus answered, He was sure to offend someone. Back in those days, the conservative rabbis taught that a man could only divorce his wife if she had been unfaithful. But the liberal rabbis taught that a man could divorce his wife for practically any reason at all. Even the slightest shortcoming—just burning the roast beef—was grounds for divorce.

Jesus responded by leading the Pharisees back to the beginning—back to Genesis chapter 2. There we see that God is the Giver of marriage—how it was not good for the man to be alone, how God made a woman out of the man’s side and then brought her to the man as a gift, and how the man rejoiced over the woman, declaring, “This at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh.” God’s giving and man’s receiving is the basis for marriage. Jesus sums it up by quoting directly from Genesis: “Therefore a man shall leave his father and mother and hold fast to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.” And then Jesus adds, “What God has joined together, let not man separate.”

But ever since the fall into sin one chapter later, human beings have been busy working to separate what God has joined, rejecting what God has given, and revising and re-defining God’s gift of marriage to suit our sinful desires. And nowhere have human beings sought to change things up more, than when it comes to the phrase, “one flesh.”

“[Husbands and wives] are no longer two but one flesh,” said Jesus. That phrase “one flesh” is more than just a figure of speech. It describes how marriage is the closest communion that can possibly exist between two people. It is the union of a man and woman—physically, emotionally, spiritually. And this communion between husband and wife is a closed communion. No one is permitted to drive a wedge between a husband and wife. Anyone who dares to do so—anyone who dares adultery—who subtly seeks to separate what God has joined together—that person will be answerable to God.

That phrase, “one flesh” also tells us another truth about marriage: Marriage is the only proper and God-pleasing place for sexual love to be expressed. Only within marriage can two people, like Adam and Eve, stand before one another naked and without shame. Any sexual relationship between people who are not married is destructive, harmful, and sinful. It separates sex from marriage—separates what God has joined together for our good. Couples who live together without the benefits and blessings of marriage are dishonoring marriage—and dishonoring the God who gives marriage (not to mention setting themselves up for all sorts of marital troubles in the future). And by the way, God’s truth about living together and sex and adultery—it’s just as true for teenagers as it is for senior citizens. No one gets a pass. God gives us His truth about marriage because He loves us and wants the best for us. And His truth about marriage contains no loopholes, no exceptions or exclusions.

In fact, God’s truth about marriage condemns us all. For we’ve all dishonored marriage in our thoughts, words or deeds. And in every marriage, every day, husbands and wives sin against one another and against the God who joined them together. We can go on excusing our sin or hiding our sin, or blaming someone else for our sin, or claiming that everybody else is doing it. Or, we can confess our sin to God, receive His full and free forgiveness, and then make the changes we need to make. God’s forgiveness is always total and complete. But God’s forgiveness is never the permission to go on living in our sins.

In the Scriptures, God gives us a perfect picture of marriage. In this picture, Jesus is the groom and the church is His bride. We are the bride of Christ. But it could have been otherwise. For Jesus could have divorced us. God could have put us all away for our countless spiritual adulteries and infidelities. He could have sent us away for good, and with just cause. Instead, Jesus Christ bore our adulteries on the cross. Our sin was joined to His body. His body was joined to the cross. All of our sin was laid with Him in His tomb. Whatever your personal adulteries and infidelities—whatever the ways you have sought to separate what God has joined together—see that shameful load buried forever in the tomb of Jesus. See it all washed away in the cleansing splash of your baptism.

Husbands and wives, God has joined you to your marriage partner; and God doesn’t make mistakes. That doesn’t mean that your spouse will always be your best friend, or that your spouse will always make you happy. No one can be that spouse. Men are not from Mars and women are not from Venus. We’re just struggling sinners, cleansed and redeemed by the blood of Jesus. But as we confess our sins to God and one another, we have an ever-present help. For the God who joins husbands and wives together is surely willing, ready and able to provide your marriage with help and healing and hope and joy. Are you willing to look for that help and receive that help?

Beloved in the Lord, it’s not just a matter of “marriage is good” and “divorce is bad.” It’s a matter of “marriage is holy, and we must all keep it holy with the help of God.” Apart from His help, there’s not much we can do. “Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain.” But with the Lord—with His mercy, help, and forgiveness—all things are possible. Amen.

Ancient Prayers Answered

In Nomine Iesu
Numbers 11:4-6, 10-16, 24-29
September 30, 2012
Pentecost 18-Proper 21B

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

Is it possible that a prayer prayed years ago is somehow being answered in your life today? Thomas Merton, a 20th Century theologian, includes a very touching scene in his autobiography. He is standing outside the ruins of a 13th century French monastery. A fascinating thought crossed his mind as he viewed the empty, abandoned monastery. He wondered whether the prayers of those monks—who had been dead and gone for hundreds of years—whether some of their prayers were being answered by God in his life on that day.

Does God answer ancient prayers in a way that shapes our lives today? After all, God is in eternity. He stands outside of time as we know it. His “inbox” is not at all like my e-mail inbox. As I go through my inbox I can recall e-mails that I’ve received in recent weeks and months; but if you sent me an e-mail back in September of 2009 I can assure you that I have no recollection of it whatsoever. But with God, every prayer and every petition ever received is just as fresh and new today as ever.

Is it possible that God answers ancient prayers, long forgotten by us, in a way that impacts us today? Is it possible that a prayer offered for you by a parent or grandparent way back when you were just a tiny baby is shaping your life today—that a prayer offered for you by a godparent on the day of your baptism is guiding your decisions and your steps today—that the prayer of someone you never even knew is making a difference in your life this day? And if so, it is possible that God could answer a prayer you speak today much later in your lifetime—or even long after you are dead and gone? Is it possible that our lives today could be shaped by ancient prayers?

In today’s Old Testament reading we have just such a prayer—a prayer that God is answering here and now to shape your life. I’m guessing that you probably missed it. It is admittedly hard to hear that prayer because as you listen to Numbers chapter eleven, the things that really jump out are the grumblings. Now, grumblings can sound a lot like prayers. And sometimes our prayers to God do include complaints. But you must understand that grumblings are not prayers. Grumblings are not spoken to God. Grumblings are spoken to the world—to anyone who will listen.

The grumbling in Numbers 11 got its start like this: The tribes of Israel were encamped in the wilderness. At the center of the camp was the tabernacle, the tent of meeting, the place where God dwelled among His people. That tabernacle was like the hub of a wheel, and spread out around it were tents as far as the eye could see. The grumble began perhaps when one man stepped out of his tent early one morning. He looks and he sees what’s wrong. He used to love to get up in the morning—to go outside and see manna covering the ground as far as the eye could see—precious, mysterious food from God. The name “manna” literally meant “What is it?” The very name of this food expressed wonder and amazement, as it reminded you that it was a gift from the hand of God—that it was the bread of angels.

Who knew you could get so sick of the bread of angels? Baked, battered, boiled, pickled or fried—it didn’t matter. Just the sight of that manna now made him sick. Manna yesterday, manna today, manna tomorrow for years on end. So, rather than gather up that gift of God, the man let out a beautiful grumble. He let loose his longing to go back to Egypt. Only he conveniently forgot about the hardships and slavery; and all he could recall was the veritable smorgasbord of meat and fish and cucumbers and melons and leeks and onions and garlic. And his mouth watered and his neighbors’ mouths watered, and all too soon that one grumble had spread throughout the entire camp. That grumble—that awful, beautiful grumble had a terrible power to shape the world.

You know the power of a good grumble, don’t you? Like when you’re driving home from church, after you’ve had your sins forgiven and you’ve been fed and nourished with the precious, priceless body and blood of Jesus, and the Word of God is still ringing in your ears and you let loose with a good grumble about how the sanctuary was too warm (or too cold), or how the choir sounded flat, or that the distribution took too long or the organ was too loud or how it seemed like pastor just “mailed in” the sermon this week. And suddenly the precious, powerful gifts God gives in this place fade away—just disappear—erased by the power of a good grumble.

Or it’s like in marriage, when you are sacrificing of yourself for the sake of your spouse. And that sacrificial love for your spouse is Christ-like. It is holy. It makes the angels in heaven rejoice because that’s the hard work husbands and wives are called to do. But in your frustration, you let loose with a good grumble about how lazy and unthankful your spouse is—about how you are taken for granted day in and day out, and about if only you knew back then what you know now. And suddenly—suddenly—the gift of God that is your spouse is despised and what God has joined together you have ripped apart by the power of a good grumble.

The grumbling of the Israelites drove Moses to his knees. Moses took all those grumbles and gave them to God—made them into a prayer. Only it’s not a prayer for wisdom or strength or faith. Moses prays a prayer for himself—that God would annihilate him! Because Moses was sick of these people! Moses takes it all and throws it up to God. God has a leader who doesn’t want to lead and people who don’t want to follow. The people are looking at the past in a way that takes away the gift of the present. Moses is looking at the present in a way that takes away the gift of the future. And Moses prays a terrible prayer, “Kill me now!” But God doesn’t kill Moses.

Instead God looked ahead to the future—and in the future God would indeed kill the leader of His flock—the Good Shepherd of His sheep. The punishment His grumbling people deserved would be heaped up upon the One God sent to save them. God didn’t kill and God didn’t punish that day because of His mercy. The mercy of God was hidden right there in their midst—behind the curtain in the Holy of Holies in the tabernacle. God must have longed to pull back that curtain and dwell among His people in the flesh—to gather them as a mother hen gathers her chicks beneath her wings. But when that time had fully come—when the Word became flesh and dwelt among us in the person of Jesus the Christ—God’s grumbling people grabbed Him and grasped Him and nailed Him to the cross. Jesus was beaten and battered and crucified—and this was the desire of God—to offer His life for you. This is the merciful heart of God—that He does not punish us as our grumbling hearts deserve; but shows us mercy instead.

It was because of that mercy that God answered Moses’ prayer in an unexpected, undeserved fashion. Instead of gathering manna, the Lord told Moses to gather men—seventy men of the elders of the people. And the Lord Himself came down in the cloud and took some of the Spirit that was on Moses and put that same Spirit on the seventy elders. And they began to prophesy. And that Spirit was so full and so strong and so powerful that even two men who were way out on the far edges of the camp—Eldad and Medad—even they began to prophesy. Joshua came running to Moses to make them stop. But Moses responded with a prayer—a prayer which doesn’t sound like much more than a footnote to the whole episode. Moses prayed, “Would that all the Lord’s people were prophets, that the Lord would put His Spirit on them all!”

That’s the ancient prayer I want you to hear today. “Would that all the Lord’s people were prophets, that the Lord would put His Spirit on them all!” That prayer went unanswered for centuries. It sat in God’s “inbox” year after year. But God began to answer it when He raised Jesus Christ from the dead and lifted Him up in glory to be seated at His Right Hand in the heavenly realms, and then sent His Holy Spirit into this world to call and gather for Himself a holy people, filled with His Spirit—each one a little temple—a temple of the Holy Spirit.

And do you know what this means? It means that that ancient prayer of Moses is today, here and now, being answered. It is being answered in all of you, here, in this place. It is being answered in the members of our choir and musicians, as they use their voices and instruments to lift up our hearts and to set our minds on things above, not on earthly things. That ancient prayer is being answered by our organist, Benjamin, who rings out the praises of God each week with discipline, dedication and humility. That ancient prayer is being answered in our midst by our Sunday school teachers who week after week welcome our little ones in Jesus’ name and teach them God’s Word—in Marcy Angeli who, even though her own girls are gone and graduated, continues to lead the opening each week and oversee the all-important snack distribution. That ancient prayer is being answered in those of you who fix things—in Matt and Jerry and Jim who keep this place up and running, and do it on-time and under budget. And speaking of the budget, we have a treasurer in Curt Steinhaus who quietly and fearlessly crunches the numbers each week so that none of us has to give it a second thought—in the counters who count the offerings and in you givers who give the offerings—in you who serve at the Bethany soup kitchen, who labor at Blessed Again, in you who put your arm around that one who is hurting and mourning, in all those who do good works in this congregation—those who toil, those who sing, and in all the people here present who await from the Lord great and abundant mercy, ancient prayers are being answered in you and through you.

God’s answers shape our life together here at Our Savior. It’s not easy—what you do. What is easy is the grumbling. I know because I do it all the time. But I also know that that grumbling takes away God’s gift of the present. So when you feel the urge to let out a good grumble, give it to God. Because God will hear and answer. And He will answer not according to what we deserve, but according to His grace. He will forgive us for Jesus’ sake. And He will continue to put His Spirit in you so that you might always be an answer to prayer. Amen.