In Nomine Iesu
Psalm 95:1-7
November 26, 2009
Thanksgiving Day
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
Psalm 95 teaches us that Thanksgiving comes in two sizes: big and small. But unlike the clothes that some of you shoppers will be trying on tomorrow morning, when it comes to thanksgiving, both sizes fit all. It’s not either big thanksgiving or small thanksgiving; it’s both and. For now, just remember, thanksgiving comes in two sizes: big and small.
Psalm 95 begins with big thanksgiving: O come, let us sing to the Lord, let us make a joyful noise to the rock of our salvation. Let us come into His presence with thanksgiving, let us make a joyful noise to Him with songs of praise. With those opening verses the Psalmist encourages us to be big and bold with the thanks we bring. We are to be assertive and exuberant and unafraid in our thanksgiving to God. And the primary expression of big thanksgiving is singing and songs of praise. And even if you can’t sing, you can at least “make a joyful noise to the rock of our salvation.”
But have you noticed that people don’t sing as much as they used to? Outside of the singing we do together here in this place, where else do you sing together with others? I think it’s happening less and less. Songs today are all in digital format. Songs today are downloaded. Songs today are listened to privately on headphones. Songs today are watched on Youtube and those links are e-mailed and facebooked and twittered. But if you yourself are opening your mouth to boldly belt out a tune, you stick out and stand out. That kind of big thanksgiving makes people sit up and take notice.
When we Christians unite our voices to sing the praises of our great God, that’s big thanksgiving. That’s why there’s so much singing here for every service. Those who feel guilty have a hard time singing. Those who are ashamed find it hard to carry a tune. Those who are weighted down by fear and anxiety are too timid to sound out their praises to God. But those whose sins are forgiven, they can’t help but sing. Those who’ve been redeemed by Christ the crucified, they can’t keep their mouths shut. Those who have turned over their worry and anxiety to the God who loves them, they’re ready to make music in their hearts. Those who are looking forward to the life of the world to come, they sing with boldness and beauty because they have been led to praise God with BIG thanksgiving.
But we have a reason for the singing we do. And our songs spell out the reason for that singing. We don’t sing to entertain or to be entertained. We don’t make music for music’s sake. Psalm 95 tells us why we sing with big and bold voices: For the Lord is a great God and a great king above all gods. The deep places of the earth are in His hand the strength of the hills is His also. The sea is His for He made it and His hand formed the dry land. Big thanksgiving always declares what God has done. Big thanksgiving is all about Him—that He’s a great God, that everything is in His hands, that He made the sea and the dry land. Big thanksgiving is third-person praise. It’s all about Him and not about me or you.
But we each have an Old Adam who knows the power of song and big thanksgiving. His chief aim is to make the music less about our great God and more about me and you—our feelings, our emotions, our likes, our dislikes, our tastes and preferences. Satan would love to take a congregation full of thankful singers and turn it into a congregation of customers and consumers, all demanding to have their personal tastes catered to. We all have our individual preferences. But it’s the degree of importance we attach to our preferences that can lead down a slippery slope to where worship revolves around me and my fellow customers, instead of around the God who is the Savior of sinners.
Big thanksgiving is bigger than any one of us individuals. And I’m guessing that the biggest thing the Psalmist ever saw was the ocean. The ocean is big and makes you feel small. In fact for most ancient people, the sea was big and scary. Those crashing waves and roaring waters came to symbolize all the things that threaten us—all the things that scare us—all the things that are way beyond our control. Our big thanksgiving might get interrupted today by all the threatening things that loom large over you. I know there’s something that scares you—something that strikes fear and worry in your heart—something that you can’t control or fix.
Psalm 95 remedies our fear with one simple phrase: “The sea is His for He made it.” In other words, the waves that threaten to wash you away, the frightening things, the things that keep you awake at night—know that your great God controls them. If He could make the sea and everything in it—if He could calm the wind and the waves with a word from His mouth, then this day you can shrink your fear and enlarge your thanksgiving to where it’s big and bold and un-afraid.
But remember, thanksgiving comes in two sizes: big and small. And if big thanksgiving is expressed by exuberantly and joyfully singing our heads off, then small thanksgiving must look and sound different. The Psalmist describes small thanksgiving like this: O come, let us worship and bow down, let us kneel before the Lord, our maker. If big thanksgiving involves our voices, small thanksgiving involves our entire body from head to toe. This little verse about worshiping and bowing and kneeling is teaching us about small thanksgiving. Small thanksgiving doesn’t mean unimportant or insignificant Thanksgiving—far from it.
Small thanksgiving happens when we make ourselves small—when we set aside our big egos and our greedy appetites, and seek to serve the needs of others—when we literally do the little things that make all the difference. Let me demonstrate. The Psalm tells us to bow down and to kneel before the Lord. You know what it means to bow down. And you know what it means to kneel. But the word for worship in Psalm 95 makes us even smaller. The Hebrew word for worship literally means to prostrate oneself. To make yourself prostrate means to go down low like this . . . . When I’m lying prostrate I go from about six feet four inches all the way down to about 8 inches. That’s small thanksgiving.
I can tell you that when you get down on your hands and knees—when you make yourself small like that—you get dirty. And getting dirty is the essence of small thanksgiving. Small thanksgiving gets expressed when we aren’t afraid to get our hands dirtied in the nitty-gritty of the vocations God has given us. When you make yourself small to do the hard work that you’d rather not do—when you yourself do the dirty jobs that you’d rather not do—when you bend down to help your neighbor—when you work to forgive the person who has sinned against you—when you sacrifice for your spouse . . . that’s small thanksgiving. It’s small in the sense that no one may even notice—certainly not the way people notice when you sing out loud. But your God notices—sees all that you do in faith and in thanks to Him. And He delights in both your big and your small thanksgiving.
For He is our God, and we are the people of His pasture and the sheep of His hand. He is yours. And you are His. It’s Jesus who makes that possible, of course. He’s the One who purchased and won you, not with gold or silver, but with His holy precious blood and His innocent suffering and death so that you might be His own. And later today, as you do your grazing on turkey and stuffing and potatoes, don’t forget that we are the people of His pasture. The plenty we enjoy is the plenty He supplies. Food and drink, house and home, wife and children—they are all good gifts from our giving God. As the sheep of His hand we know and believe that those hands have nail-scars in them—the deep marks of His deep love for us. Jesus made Himself small on the cross, but He promises to make us big and bold and unafraid in the joy of His resurrection life, which has no end.
Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit; as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever. Amen.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
The Gospel According to Daniel
In Nomine Iesu
Daniel 12:1-3
November 15, 2009
Pentecost 24/Proper 28B
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
When it comes to the book of Daniel, I have a theory. Like most theories this one needs to be tested. I don’t know if it’s true. Right now it’s just a hunch. My theory is this: When it comes to the book of Daniel, I suspect that most members of this congregation can recall two major events from this major prophet. If I took a poll asking you to tell me about the contents of the book of Daniel, I suspect most of you would tell me about two things. At the top of the list: Daniel in the lions’ den. And a close runner up would be the account of the three men who get thrown into the fiery furnace. A fair share of you could even tell me that those three were named Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego.
We know those stories from Daniel because those are the stories that editors are sure to include in the children’s Bibles. Those are the stories that get rhymed and illustrated in the Arch book series. Those are the stories that will get taught in our very own Sunday school classrooms this Sunday and next. But this morning I want to expand your Daniel horizons. From now on, whenever you pull up the Daniel file, I want to be sure that it also includes the good news that we heard minutes ago in Daniel chapter twelve. For the next few minutes, allow me to acquaint you with the Gospel according to Daniel.
As a whole, the book of Daniel is challenging. Much of Daniel is what’s called “apocalyptic” literature. Like the New Testament book of Revelation, Daniel contains lots of unusual symbolic imagery, dreams and visions, with a heavy emphasis on the events of the End Times. But the three verses at the center of our attention today are clear and comforting, sure and certain. If you’re wondering what the end of the world will be like, Daniel—in these three verses—tells us almost everything we need to know.
“At that time Michael, the great prince who protects your people, will arise.” The Michael here called a “prince” is perhaps better known as Michael the Archangel. The archangels are sort of like the five-star generals of the armies of heaven. Michael the Archangel is perhaps best known for slaying the satanic serpent in Revelation chapter twelve, which is reflected in the artwork on the cover of today’s bulletin. The name Michael means “one who is like God.” And at the end of days, this mighty warrior archangel will be fighting for and protecting the people of God.
This mention of Michael is a wonderful reminder that God is working for you and for the benefit of His church even in ways that are mostly unseen. The Bible tells us, for instance, that angels are here among us this morning, in this place, as we gather around the Lord Jesus and His gifts. The words of the proper preface remind us of the unseen guests who join us for every Divine Service: angels, archangels and all the company of heaven. Martin Luther saw fit to remind us that we should begin and end each day asking God, “Let Your holy angel be with me that the wicked foe have no power over me.”
The angels of God are a daily reality in our lives. But because their presence is largely unseen, we tend to ignore and forget about this gracious dimension of God’s care for us. When tragedy is narrowly averted—when we walk away unscathed from twisted wreckage—when we turn away from shameful sin and vice at the last minute—does it even cross our minds that the holy angels of God may be at work on our behalf? Or are we more likely to conclude that dumb luck and chance simply landed in our favor?
Dumb luck and chance will get you nothing when it comes to the end of the world as we know it. You’ll be glad for the assistance of the angels at that time. Just how bad will it be? Daniel tells us: “There will be a time of distress such as has not been from the beginning of nations until then.” Just think of all the distressing times we read about in the history books: wars, famines, pandemics, natural disasters, revolutions, ethnic cleansing and mass murder. Daniel reminds us, “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” In short, as the end approaches, know that things in the world and in the church will get worse, not better. Distress will increase, not decrease. We’re not evolving into a better world, but devolving into days of distress.
And do not be deceived—your government will not be there to rescue you. The false god of government will be rendered impotent as the end draws near. I love my country. I treasure the freedoms we enjoy because of those who pledged their sacred honor and their very lives to battle against tyranny. The United States Constitution is perhaps one of the finest documents ever penned by human authors. But big government is quickly replacing our great God in the hearts of many. Do we fear, love and trust in God above all things? Or is it Washington we look to for deliverance and rescue? Whether it be the economy or the flu pandemic or climate change or healthcare—the prevailing sentiment today seems to be that our government will bless us and keep us safe from all harm and danger.
To that Daniel would say, “Do not be deceived. Don’t bow down to that idol.” Daniel himself had been a citizen of Jerusalem—God’s holy city. But God Himself used the Babylonians to destroy it and burn it. And this is why Daniel found himself in Babylon. God’s people will be delivered, even as earthly kingdoms rise and fall. In fact, Daniel reminds us that it’s not your earthly citizenship that matters. Instead, “Everyone whose name is found written in the book will be delivered.” That’s a reference to the Lamb’s book of life, mentioned many times in the Bible.
There’s a great multitude of people whose names are in that book, who are saved by grace through faith for the sake of Jesus. It’s comforting to me that it’s always referred to as the “book” of life. The names of those who belong to the Lord are written down in a book. I like this metaphor because whenever something is written down and published as a book, there’s an air of finality about it. I routinely write things down on post-its. Post-its are colorful and sticky and I use them to record some fairly important names and numbers. But post-its aren’t perfect. They aren’t made to last forever. I lose them sometimes. I also write down important information in electronic format and store it on my laptop. I’m sure nothing bad will ever happen to the information I’ve got stored on my laptop (knock, knock, knock!).
But books have a little more staying power, don’t they? In God’s book, the names of those who trust in Jesus are written down, recorded, preserved. It shows that God means business when it comes to your salvation. He will never forget the promises He first made to you in your baptism. It doesn’t mean “once saved, always saved,” but it does mean that your salvation has been in the works since before the world began. And when your days in this world are winding down—or when this world itself is flaming out—what comfort and joy it will be to know that your name is inscribed in the Lamb’s book of life.
I told you moments ago that Daniel’s words about the end of time were clear and comforting. How’s this for clarity? “Multitudes who sleep in the dust of the earth will awake: some to everlasting life, others to shame and everlasting contempt.” On the Last Day God is going to raise up you and all the dead. Please note that all will be raised—believers and unbelievers—no exclusions. The believers in Christ will awaken to everlasting life; the unbelievers to shame and everlasting contempt. Or to put it in the language of the New Testament, “Whoever believes and is baptized will be saved, but whoever does not believe will be condemned.” Some of you have been listening to my sermons for several years. You know that I’m not what you might call a “fire and brimstone” preacher. God hasn’t called me to scare people into heaven. But make no mistake. Those who foolishly reject God’s gracious gift of salvation through faith in Jesus Christ will face an eternity of shame and regret.
But those who are wise will shine, Daniel tells us. In the Bible to be “wise,” doesn’t necessarily mean to be smart or even highly intelligent. Those who are wise are those who hear the Word of God and keep it. Those who are wise are not perfect. They daily sin much and deserve nothing but punishment. Those who are wise believe that Jesus is their Savior—that His blood has cleansed them from all guilt and sin. Those who are wise view Jesus as their substitute—who kept God’s law perfectly on their behalf, and took the punishment they deserve.
Those who are wise will enjoy an eternity in God’s presence. They will shine like the brightness of the heavens. You are wise because you’ve got your eyes fixed on Jesus. And Daniel declares that by your words and by your witness, you can bring others along with you. “Those who lead many to righteousness [will shine] like the stars forever and ever.” You are wise and you enjoy the righteousness of Christ because someone cared enough about you to bring you to church, to teach you about Jesus, to bring you to baptism. Sinners can’t become wise on their own. They must be led. They must be brought. They must be invited, just as you were. Your God loves it when more are taught and more are brought to join in His feast of victory.
Here’s the good news from Daniel this day. God’s angels are watching over you today, and all the more as the Last Day draws near. Your name is written in the Lamb’s book of life. On the Last Day God will raise up you and all the dead, and will give eternal life to you and all believers in Christ. That faith you’ve been given in Christ makes you wise. That wisdom isn’t always apparent today. Today you might feel like you’re in the lions’ den or about to get burned up in a furnace of fire. But that’s not the last word. God gets the last word. And according to Him, for all eternity you will shine like the stars, reflecting the glory of your great God. Here ends the Gospel according to Daniel. Amen.
Daniel 12:1-3
November 15, 2009
Pentecost 24/Proper 28B
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
When it comes to the book of Daniel, I have a theory. Like most theories this one needs to be tested. I don’t know if it’s true. Right now it’s just a hunch. My theory is this: When it comes to the book of Daniel, I suspect that most members of this congregation can recall two major events from this major prophet. If I took a poll asking you to tell me about the contents of the book of Daniel, I suspect most of you would tell me about two things. At the top of the list: Daniel in the lions’ den. And a close runner up would be the account of the three men who get thrown into the fiery furnace. A fair share of you could even tell me that those three were named Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego.
We know those stories from Daniel because those are the stories that editors are sure to include in the children’s Bibles. Those are the stories that get rhymed and illustrated in the Arch book series. Those are the stories that will get taught in our very own Sunday school classrooms this Sunday and next. But this morning I want to expand your Daniel horizons. From now on, whenever you pull up the Daniel file, I want to be sure that it also includes the good news that we heard minutes ago in Daniel chapter twelve. For the next few minutes, allow me to acquaint you with the Gospel according to Daniel.
As a whole, the book of Daniel is challenging. Much of Daniel is what’s called “apocalyptic” literature. Like the New Testament book of Revelation, Daniel contains lots of unusual symbolic imagery, dreams and visions, with a heavy emphasis on the events of the End Times. But the three verses at the center of our attention today are clear and comforting, sure and certain. If you’re wondering what the end of the world will be like, Daniel—in these three verses—tells us almost everything we need to know.
“At that time Michael, the great prince who protects your people, will arise.” The Michael here called a “prince” is perhaps better known as Michael the Archangel. The archangels are sort of like the five-star generals of the armies of heaven. Michael the Archangel is perhaps best known for slaying the satanic serpent in Revelation chapter twelve, which is reflected in the artwork on the cover of today’s bulletin. The name Michael means “one who is like God.” And at the end of days, this mighty warrior archangel will be fighting for and protecting the people of God.
This mention of Michael is a wonderful reminder that God is working for you and for the benefit of His church even in ways that are mostly unseen. The Bible tells us, for instance, that angels are here among us this morning, in this place, as we gather around the Lord Jesus and His gifts. The words of the proper preface remind us of the unseen guests who join us for every Divine Service: angels, archangels and all the company of heaven. Martin Luther saw fit to remind us that we should begin and end each day asking God, “Let Your holy angel be with me that the wicked foe have no power over me.”
The angels of God are a daily reality in our lives. But because their presence is largely unseen, we tend to ignore and forget about this gracious dimension of God’s care for us. When tragedy is narrowly averted—when we walk away unscathed from twisted wreckage—when we turn away from shameful sin and vice at the last minute—does it even cross our minds that the holy angels of God may be at work on our behalf? Or are we more likely to conclude that dumb luck and chance simply landed in our favor?
Dumb luck and chance will get you nothing when it comes to the end of the world as we know it. You’ll be glad for the assistance of the angels at that time. Just how bad will it be? Daniel tells us: “There will be a time of distress such as has not been from the beginning of nations until then.” Just think of all the distressing times we read about in the history books: wars, famines, pandemics, natural disasters, revolutions, ethnic cleansing and mass murder. Daniel reminds us, “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” In short, as the end approaches, know that things in the world and in the church will get worse, not better. Distress will increase, not decrease. We’re not evolving into a better world, but devolving into days of distress.
And do not be deceived—your government will not be there to rescue you. The false god of government will be rendered impotent as the end draws near. I love my country. I treasure the freedoms we enjoy because of those who pledged their sacred honor and their very lives to battle against tyranny. The United States Constitution is perhaps one of the finest documents ever penned by human authors. But big government is quickly replacing our great God in the hearts of many. Do we fear, love and trust in God above all things? Or is it Washington we look to for deliverance and rescue? Whether it be the economy or the flu pandemic or climate change or healthcare—the prevailing sentiment today seems to be that our government will bless us and keep us safe from all harm and danger.
To that Daniel would say, “Do not be deceived. Don’t bow down to that idol.” Daniel himself had been a citizen of Jerusalem—God’s holy city. But God Himself used the Babylonians to destroy it and burn it. And this is why Daniel found himself in Babylon. God’s people will be delivered, even as earthly kingdoms rise and fall. In fact, Daniel reminds us that it’s not your earthly citizenship that matters. Instead, “Everyone whose name is found written in the book will be delivered.” That’s a reference to the Lamb’s book of life, mentioned many times in the Bible.
There’s a great multitude of people whose names are in that book, who are saved by grace through faith for the sake of Jesus. It’s comforting to me that it’s always referred to as the “book” of life. The names of those who belong to the Lord are written down in a book. I like this metaphor because whenever something is written down and published as a book, there’s an air of finality about it. I routinely write things down on post-its. Post-its are colorful and sticky and I use them to record some fairly important names and numbers. But post-its aren’t perfect. They aren’t made to last forever. I lose them sometimes. I also write down important information in electronic format and store it on my laptop. I’m sure nothing bad will ever happen to the information I’ve got stored on my laptop (knock, knock, knock!).
But books have a little more staying power, don’t they? In God’s book, the names of those who trust in Jesus are written down, recorded, preserved. It shows that God means business when it comes to your salvation. He will never forget the promises He first made to you in your baptism. It doesn’t mean “once saved, always saved,” but it does mean that your salvation has been in the works since before the world began. And when your days in this world are winding down—or when this world itself is flaming out—what comfort and joy it will be to know that your name is inscribed in the Lamb’s book of life.
I told you moments ago that Daniel’s words about the end of time were clear and comforting. How’s this for clarity? “Multitudes who sleep in the dust of the earth will awake: some to everlasting life, others to shame and everlasting contempt.” On the Last Day God is going to raise up you and all the dead. Please note that all will be raised—believers and unbelievers—no exclusions. The believers in Christ will awaken to everlasting life; the unbelievers to shame and everlasting contempt. Or to put it in the language of the New Testament, “Whoever believes and is baptized will be saved, but whoever does not believe will be condemned.” Some of you have been listening to my sermons for several years. You know that I’m not what you might call a “fire and brimstone” preacher. God hasn’t called me to scare people into heaven. But make no mistake. Those who foolishly reject God’s gracious gift of salvation through faith in Jesus Christ will face an eternity of shame and regret.
But those who are wise will shine, Daniel tells us. In the Bible to be “wise,” doesn’t necessarily mean to be smart or even highly intelligent. Those who are wise are those who hear the Word of God and keep it. Those who are wise are not perfect. They daily sin much and deserve nothing but punishment. Those who are wise believe that Jesus is their Savior—that His blood has cleansed them from all guilt and sin. Those who are wise view Jesus as their substitute—who kept God’s law perfectly on their behalf, and took the punishment they deserve.
Those who are wise will enjoy an eternity in God’s presence. They will shine like the brightness of the heavens. You are wise because you’ve got your eyes fixed on Jesus. And Daniel declares that by your words and by your witness, you can bring others along with you. “Those who lead many to righteousness [will shine] like the stars forever and ever.” You are wise and you enjoy the righteousness of Christ because someone cared enough about you to bring you to church, to teach you about Jesus, to bring you to baptism. Sinners can’t become wise on their own. They must be led. They must be brought. They must be invited, just as you were. Your God loves it when more are taught and more are brought to join in His feast of victory.
Here’s the good news from Daniel this day. God’s angels are watching over you today, and all the more as the Last Day draws near. Your name is written in the Lamb’s book of life. On the Last Day God will raise up you and all the dead, and will give eternal life to you and all believers in Christ. That faith you’ve been given in Christ makes you wise. That wisdom isn’t always apparent today. Today you might feel like you’re in the lions’ den or about to get burned up in a furnace of fire. But that’s not the last word. God gets the last word. And according to Him, for all eternity you will shine like the stars, reflecting the glory of your great God. Here ends the Gospel according to Daniel. Amen.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Pennies for Heaven
In Nomine Iesu
St. Mark 12:38-44
November 8, 2009
Pentecost 23/Proper 27B
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
From a practical standpoint, the widow’s offering did not matter. The two copper coins she tossed into the temple treasury would have amounted to less than a penny. It was an offering so small that it almost wasn’t worth the trouble of counting. The widow’s offering would do nothing to help pay down the temple debt. It would do nothing to impact work on the mission field. It would feed no hungry and clothe no poor. It would do nothing to help meet the temple working plan. It wouldn’t buy music for the choir or help improve the acoustics. To the eyes of the world, that widow’s offering was probably the least significant thing that transpired at the temple that day.
But to the eyes of Jesus—to Him who sees deep into the heart—that poor widow’s penny-sized offering meant more than all the gold in King Herod’s treasury. It is a little-known truth of the Scriptures that God measures the gifts of His people not based upon the amount that is given, but based upon how much remains, after the offering is given. “I tell you the truth,” Jesus said, “this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others. They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything—all she had to live on.” The rich put in big amounts; but even bigger amounts remained in their pockets. The widow put in a microscopic amount; but the amount that remained in her purse was zero. It was a gift that totaled one hundred percent.
Most people—even most believers—would have said that the widow’s offering was foolish and foolhardy. From an investor’s perspective, you’re never supposed to put all of your eggs into one basket. But she put all she had into the offering basket. And what return would she ever get for that investment? She would never see those two copper coins again. What would she live on? How would she eat? I hate to say it, but there must have been some dementia setting in for this dear old widow. How could she do something so impractical, unwise and foolish?
But Jesus saw things differently. Jesus praised her gift. Jesus memorialized her gift. Her gift mattered to the Master. It’s because of Jesus that we’re talking about her offering today, two thousand years after it was given. Open up the pages of the Journal-Sentinel and you will regularly read about the generous gifts of local philanthropists—millionaires who give big bucks to revitalize neighborhoods and build arenas and libraries on university campuses. But the legacies of the Pettits and the Bradleys and the Zilbers and the Cudahays will not last. The brick and mortar that bear those names will disappear. But the sound of that widow’s two copper coins will echo on and on, for the Words of Jesus will never pass away.
But what, exactly, does the widow’s offering mean for us and for the gifts that we bring to this temple? Well, I would like to be able to tell you that since the widow put into the offering all the money she had, that you should put all the money that you have into the offering. She gave one hundred percent; and so should you. Be like the widow! Amen! But that’s not exactly what Jesus is teaching in this passage. And what’s more, my confirmation students doing sermon reports would be quick to remind me, “Pastor, I couldn’t find any gospel in that sermon you preached on Sunday.” And they would be correct on that. So let’s find a different angle.
Perhaps the widow’s offering leads to more questions than answers. Questions like, what percentage of my income should I return to the Lord? Because remember, it’s not the amount of the offering that matters in Jesus’ eyes; it’s the amount that remains. In other words, it’s the percentage that matters. Are we giving to the Lord out of our abundance, or are we giving out of our poverty? Or to rephrase the question, are we giving to the Lord a reasonable amount? A logical, sensible, practical, rational amount that we can spare? Or is what we’re giving unreasonable, illogical, impractical and irrational? Is our giving based on faith in the living Lord Jesus who has destroyed the power of death and the grave for us? Or is our giving based on the church budget, or worse, based upon the need to give something because that’s what’s expected? Do we give to “keep up appearances” or “for show?” Do we announce it with trumpets, or are we so discreet that our right hand doesn’t know what our left hand is doing? All of these are questions—questions that flow from the widow’s offering.
But there’s also a warning that flows from today’s text. “Watch out,” Jesus said. “Watch out for the teachers of the law.” The teachers of the law are the polar opposite of the widow who quietly gave one hundred percent. The trouble with the teachers of the law was that they did everything “for show.” Their prayers, their preaching, their piety—it was all done for popular consumption. It was all done so that other people would see it, and praise them and pay them and honor them and reward them. Watch out for them, Jesus says.
Watch out that, as you live out your faith in Jesus Christ in works of love and mercy, that you aren’t doing those things “for a show,” for other people to see and admire. The trouble is that we’re all teachers of the law in that respect. We each have an Old Adam who is a first-rate exhibitionist—saying good words and doing good deeds and giving good offerings, but only doing it for the love of the limelight—full of fake and phony humility.
The poor widow in today’s text teaches us to test our motives. She went to the temple and gave everything she had. She would get no receipt for her gift. She would get no tax deduction the following April. Nobody would praise her. Nobody would applaud her. Nobody in the world would see or recognize the incredible sacrifice she was making that day. Nobody, that is . . . except Jesus. For Jesus notices what we do not notice. Jesus always recognizes faith in action. What you and I might call irrational, illogical and unreasonable behavior—Jesus calls faithfulness.
When you stop and think about it, it really shouldn’t surprise us that the widow’s offering caught the eye of Jesus. The widow gave everything—all she had. It was an act of total devotion, motivated only for reasons of love. Do you see where this is heading? Do you see where this poor widow is pointing us? With her pennies for heaven she preaches a sermon more powerful than any preacher or teacher of the law ever could. For she is pointing us to Jesus—to the offering He Himself would give on Calvary’s cross. In the end it was Jesus who was punished most severely, for despite all the positive associations that we have for the cross, the cross was nothing but a Roman tool of torture and execution. There Jesus gave Himself for you, for your sins, in an act of total devotion, motivated only for reasons of love. Like the poor widow, Jesus gave one hundred percent. He held nothing back, but gave Himself up for your salvation.
No one can hear of what happened to the sinless Son of God on that dark Friday and not conclude that the love Jesus displayed that day was irrational, illogical and unreasonable. Nothing could justify the spillage of that innocent man’s blood. Unless of course you see that blood as an offering—an offering to God made on your behalf—for your forgiveness. In that offering is your redemption, paid out not with gold or silver or even copper coins, but with every drop of His holy, precious blood—every drop shed for you. Jesus poured into His passion ALL He owned, ALL He had to live on, ALL that He might make you rich.
Do you believe that? Do you believe that you are rich through faith in Jesus? I’m here to tell you, you are. Your every debt has been paid by Jesus. You have a pension plan to which you didn’t contribute, which will pay you eternal dividends. You are at least as rich as the poor widow whose offering was noticed by Jesus as the greatest gift given that day. If you do believe that, then watch out. That kind of faith has been known to cause irrational, illogical, unreasonable expressions of love and mercy and generosity. And each of those expressions is an offering—an offering done not for show, but out of love for Jesus who by His poverty makes us rich. Amen.
St. Mark 12:38-44
November 8, 2009
Pentecost 23/Proper 27B
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
From a practical standpoint, the widow’s offering did not matter. The two copper coins she tossed into the temple treasury would have amounted to less than a penny. It was an offering so small that it almost wasn’t worth the trouble of counting. The widow’s offering would do nothing to help pay down the temple debt. It would do nothing to impact work on the mission field. It would feed no hungry and clothe no poor. It would do nothing to help meet the temple working plan. It wouldn’t buy music for the choir or help improve the acoustics. To the eyes of the world, that widow’s offering was probably the least significant thing that transpired at the temple that day.
But to the eyes of Jesus—to Him who sees deep into the heart—that poor widow’s penny-sized offering meant more than all the gold in King Herod’s treasury. It is a little-known truth of the Scriptures that God measures the gifts of His people not based upon the amount that is given, but based upon how much remains, after the offering is given. “I tell you the truth,” Jesus said, “this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others. They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything—all she had to live on.” The rich put in big amounts; but even bigger amounts remained in their pockets. The widow put in a microscopic amount; but the amount that remained in her purse was zero. It was a gift that totaled one hundred percent.
Most people—even most believers—would have said that the widow’s offering was foolish and foolhardy. From an investor’s perspective, you’re never supposed to put all of your eggs into one basket. But she put all she had into the offering basket. And what return would she ever get for that investment? She would never see those two copper coins again. What would she live on? How would she eat? I hate to say it, but there must have been some dementia setting in for this dear old widow. How could she do something so impractical, unwise and foolish?
But Jesus saw things differently. Jesus praised her gift. Jesus memorialized her gift. Her gift mattered to the Master. It’s because of Jesus that we’re talking about her offering today, two thousand years after it was given. Open up the pages of the Journal-Sentinel and you will regularly read about the generous gifts of local philanthropists—millionaires who give big bucks to revitalize neighborhoods and build arenas and libraries on university campuses. But the legacies of the Pettits and the Bradleys and the Zilbers and the Cudahays will not last. The brick and mortar that bear those names will disappear. But the sound of that widow’s two copper coins will echo on and on, for the Words of Jesus will never pass away.
But what, exactly, does the widow’s offering mean for us and for the gifts that we bring to this temple? Well, I would like to be able to tell you that since the widow put into the offering all the money she had, that you should put all the money that you have into the offering. She gave one hundred percent; and so should you. Be like the widow! Amen! But that’s not exactly what Jesus is teaching in this passage. And what’s more, my confirmation students doing sermon reports would be quick to remind me, “Pastor, I couldn’t find any gospel in that sermon you preached on Sunday.” And they would be correct on that. So let’s find a different angle.
Perhaps the widow’s offering leads to more questions than answers. Questions like, what percentage of my income should I return to the Lord? Because remember, it’s not the amount of the offering that matters in Jesus’ eyes; it’s the amount that remains. In other words, it’s the percentage that matters. Are we giving to the Lord out of our abundance, or are we giving out of our poverty? Or to rephrase the question, are we giving to the Lord a reasonable amount? A logical, sensible, practical, rational amount that we can spare? Or is what we’re giving unreasonable, illogical, impractical and irrational? Is our giving based on faith in the living Lord Jesus who has destroyed the power of death and the grave for us? Or is our giving based on the church budget, or worse, based upon the need to give something because that’s what’s expected? Do we give to “keep up appearances” or “for show?” Do we announce it with trumpets, or are we so discreet that our right hand doesn’t know what our left hand is doing? All of these are questions—questions that flow from the widow’s offering.
But there’s also a warning that flows from today’s text. “Watch out,” Jesus said. “Watch out for the teachers of the law.” The teachers of the law are the polar opposite of the widow who quietly gave one hundred percent. The trouble with the teachers of the law was that they did everything “for show.” Their prayers, their preaching, their piety—it was all done for popular consumption. It was all done so that other people would see it, and praise them and pay them and honor them and reward them. Watch out for them, Jesus says.
Watch out that, as you live out your faith in Jesus Christ in works of love and mercy, that you aren’t doing those things “for a show,” for other people to see and admire. The trouble is that we’re all teachers of the law in that respect. We each have an Old Adam who is a first-rate exhibitionist—saying good words and doing good deeds and giving good offerings, but only doing it for the love of the limelight—full of fake and phony humility.
The poor widow in today’s text teaches us to test our motives. She went to the temple and gave everything she had. She would get no receipt for her gift. She would get no tax deduction the following April. Nobody would praise her. Nobody would applaud her. Nobody in the world would see or recognize the incredible sacrifice she was making that day. Nobody, that is . . . except Jesus. For Jesus notices what we do not notice. Jesus always recognizes faith in action. What you and I might call irrational, illogical and unreasonable behavior—Jesus calls faithfulness.
When you stop and think about it, it really shouldn’t surprise us that the widow’s offering caught the eye of Jesus. The widow gave everything—all she had. It was an act of total devotion, motivated only for reasons of love. Do you see where this is heading? Do you see where this poor widow is pointing us? With her pennies for heaven she preaches a sermon more powerful than any preacher or teacher of the law ever could. For she is pointing us to Jesus—to the offering He Himself would give on Calvary’s cross. In the end it was Jesus who was punished most severely, for despite all the positive associations that we have for the cross, the cross was nothing but a Roman tool of torture and execution. There Jesus gave Himself for you, for your sins, in an act of total devotion, motivated only for reasons of love. Like the poor widow, Jesus gave one hundred percent. He held nothing back, but gave Himself up for your salvation.
No one can hear of what happened to the sinless Son of God on that dark Friday and not conclude that the love Jesus displayed that day was irrational, illogical and unreasonable. Nothing could justify the spillage of that innocent man’s blood. Unless of course you see that blood as an offering—an offering to God made on your behalf—for your forgiveness. In that offering is your redemption, paid out not with gold or silver or even copper coins, but with every drop of His holy, precious blood—every drop shed for you. Jesus poured into His passion ALL He owned, ALL He had to live on, ALL that He might make you rich.
Do you believe that? Do you believe that you are rich through faith in Jesus? I’m here to tell you, you are. Your every debt has been paid by Jesus. You have a pension plan to which you didn’t contribute, which will pay you eternal dividends. You are at least as rich as the poor widow whose offering was noticed by Jesus as the greatest gift given that day. If you do believe that, then watch out. That kind of faith has been known to cause irrational, illogical, unreasonable expressions of love and mercy and generosity. And each of those expressions is an offering—an offering done not for show, but out of love for Jesus who by His poverty makes us rich. Amen.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
I Believe; Help My Unbelief
In Nomine Iesu
St. Mark 9:14-29
September 13, 2009
Pentecost 15
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus,
The man’s prayer was short and sweet. When your child is rolling around on the ground, convulsing uncontrollably, foaming at the mouth, under the control of a dark and demonic predator—you don’t mince words. You don’t craft your words for theological correctness and poetic piety. You simply lay it on the line: “I believe; help my unbelief.”
But what exactly do those words mean? Lots of people have taken that prayer and proceeded to run with it in a wrong direction. “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.” It’s really not the prayer of the liberal skeptic or the “almost atheist” who wants to believe in Jesus but whose intellect won’t accept all of the supernatural, miraculous things that Jesus did—like rise from the dead. It is not the prayer of those who want Jesus on their own terms—terms dictated by their reason and intellect. That’s not what this prayer is about.
Nor is this a prayer that Jesus would bolster the man’s faith so that his faith would be “strong enough” for Jesus to help his son. We hear that kind of thing all the time: If your faith is strong enough, if you banish all doubt, if you pray hard enough and often enough, then you can expect a miracle. But that’s nothing more than works-righteousness wrapped up in phony religious jargon. You supply the faith in sufficient quantity and then God rewards your faith with a miracle. Watch out! That idea has a certain appeal to it, especially for people who feel desperate and helpless.
No, this prayer is just the opposite of works righteousness. This prayer is a confession—an admission that faith is lacking. “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.” This desperate man was confessing his weakness, his frailty, his helplessness. He was asking that his tormented son would be healed anyway, despite his own weak and wobbly faith. He was asking for a healing grounded not on merit, but for a healing grounded on grace and compassion. And Jesus proceeds to show that the man’s weak faith was no obstacle for Him.
Ultimately, the question posed by this episode is simply this: Can Jesus help us or not? That question hangs in the air throughout the story. Jesus was just coming down from the mountain top where His transfiguration had been witnessed by Peter, James and John. When Jesus arrives the situation seems to border on chaos. A large crowd had gathered, including the teachers of the Law. There was the man and his son. And then there were the other nine disciples who had apparently been unsuccessful in their attempts at exorcism. For the desperate, fearful father, it must have seemed like another set back, another disappointment. It must have led him to wonder, can Jesus help us or not?
The boy’s condition and symptoms sound suspiciously like epilepsy. But there was more than epilepsy going on here. There was an evil spirit, a messenger of Satan, sent to torment a little boy. It is sad but true that Satan has designs on people of all ages, children included. He is, in every sense, a shameless predator who delights in victimizing children. And in this case, as the father reported to Jesus, the predator “often” threw the boy into fire or water to try to kill him. And by all appearances that evil predator was the one who was in control. The father must have wondered, especially after the disciples struck out, can Jesus help us or not?
All this talk about seizures and shrieking spirits of Satan might seem far removed from your situation today, but it’s not. For at the heart of today’s Gospel reading is a desperate and helpless man who needs to know, can Jesus help me or not? And I suspect that that question is never far from the lips of any one of us. We may not know much about demon possession, but we certainly do know what it is to be helpless. Sometimes the situation is not of our own doing. And other times the situation has our fingerprints all over it, along with the devil’s finger prints, only it’s hard to tell whose prints are whose. But how it happened and why it happened and who’s to blame are questions that fade away compared to the question of this day: Can Jesus help me or not?
When you’re standing in the emergency room . . . When your marriage appears to be disintegrating . . .When the job and the paycheck and the benefits are suddenly gone . . . when a trusted friend becomes your enemy . . . When there’s an addiction that controls you . . . When your child is sick and no one has the cure . . . Do you believe that Jesus can help you or not?
For the father in today’s text, whose beloved son was reduced to thrashing on the ground and foaming at the mouth, the answer was, “I do believe; help my unbelief.” He didn’t try to hide his weakness; he confessed it. He wasn’t concerned about keeping up appearances. He wasn’t afraid to be real. And Jesus is inviting you to do the same with your weakness—with your need—to place it into Jesus’ hands—because Jesus can help you!
He’s there for the helpless. He’s there for the weak. He’s there for the desperate, the scared, and the demonized. Jesus is there for sinners like us, living in a fallen world. He has come to help you. It doesn’t matter whether you’re just an innocent victim, or whether you’ve made your bed of shame and now you have to lay in it. Jesus makes it clear today that all things are possible for Him. His whole ministry revolves around helping the helpless. The father initially asked Jesus to help his son “if” He was able. To which Jesus responded, “If!?” When it comes to the Savior’s help there are no ifs, ands or buts. His compassionate help extends to all who call on Him.
How can I be so sure? How can you be confident in believing that Jesus will help you? Beloved in the Lord, the Savior has a holy history of helping. He has a track record of deliverance—a record written in blood. His crucifixion and resurrection—His dying and rising—are the unwavering testimony that with God all things are possible—that He is always ready, willing and able to help those who wait for Him. Would He undergo suffering and death for your sake, only to abandon you when you are most helpless? He is an ever-present help in time of trouble!
But know this: The Savior’s help may not be exactly what you were hoping for. It may not come according to your timetable. It may not materialize according to your exact design and plan. And if you find that discouraging or troubling, then pray. Pray. Lay it on the line and say, “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.” The Lord will answer.
Amazingly, some people choose to reject the Savior’s help. Some are too proud to ask for it. Some will not admit their weakness. Keeping up appearances is more important for some. Some prefer to take matters into their own hands. But wouldn’t it be infinitely better to place your troubles into the nail-scarred hands of Jesus?
Those nail-scarred hands mean this: They mean that your sins, no matter what they are, cannot separate you from God. Jesus Christ has done away with them, as surely as He became a crucified corpse, and rose again on the third day. That means that your weakness, your troubles, your sorrows, your demons—they have but a short season to live. They do not reign. The Lord Jesus reigns! And best of all, the Lord who reigns is your Lord. He is for you and not against you. He is working all things for your good. He can—He will—help you. And you, for your part, can believe it. Amen.
St. Mark 9:14-29
September 13, 2009
Pentecost 15
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus,
The man’s prayer was short and sweet. When your child is rolling around on the ground, convulsing uncontrollably, foaming at the mouth, under the control of a dark and demonic predator—you don’t mince words. You don’t craft your words for theological correctness and poetic piety. You simply lay it on the line: “I believe; help my unbelief.”
But what exactly do those words mean? Lots of people have taken that prayer and proceeded to run with it in a wrong direction. “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.” It’s really not the prayer of the liberal skeptic or the “almost atheist” who wants to believe in Jesus but whose intellect won’t accept all of the supernatural, miraculous things that Jesus did—like rise from the dead. It is not the prayer of those who want Jesus on their own terms—terms dictated by their reason and intellect. That’s not what this prayer is about.
Nor is this a prayer that Jesus would bolster the man’s faith so that his faith would be “strong enough” for Jesus to help his son. We hear that kind of thing all the time: If your faith is strong enough, if you banish all doubt, if you pray hard enough and often enough, then you can expect a miracle. But that’s nothing more than works-righteousness wrapped up in phony religious jargon. You supply the faith in sufficient quantity and then God rewards your faith with a miracle. Watch out! That idea has a certain appeal to it, especially for people who feel desperate and helpless.
No, this prayer is just the opposite of works righteousness. This prayer is a confession—an admission that faith is lacking. “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.” This desperate man was confessing his weakness, his frailty, his helplessness. He was asking that his tormented son would be healed anyway, despite his own weak and wobbly faith. He was asking for a healing grounded not on merit, but for a healing grounded on grace and compassion. And Jesus proceeds to show that the man’s weak faith was no obstacle for Him.
Ultimately, the question posed by this episode is simply this: Can Jesus help us or not? That question hangs in the air throughout the story. Jesus was just coming down from the mountain top where His transfiguration had been witnessed by Peter, James and John. When Jesus arrives the situation seems to border on chaos. A large crowd had gathered, including the teachers of the Law. There was the man and his son. And then there were the other nine disciples who had apparently been unsuccessful in their attempts at exorcism. For the desperate, fearful father, it must have seemed like another set back, another disappointment. It must have led him to wonder, can Jesus help us or not?
The boy’s condition and symptoms sound suspiciously like epilepsy. But there was more than epilepsy going on here. There was an evil spirit, a messenger of Satan, sent to torment a little boy. It is sad but true that Satan has designs on people of all ages, children included. He is, in every sense, a shameless predator who delights in victimizing children. And in this case, as the father reported to Jesus, the predator “often” threw the boy into fire or water to try to kill him. And by all appearances that evil predator was the one who was in control. The father must have wondered, especially after the disciples struck out, can Jesus help us or not?
All this talk about seizures and shrieking spirits of Satan might seem far removed from your situation today, but it’s not. For at the heart of today’s Gospel reading is a desperate and helpless man who needs to know, can Jesus help me or not? And I suspect that that question is never far from the lips of any one of us. We may not know much about demon possession, but we certainly do know what it is to be helpless. Sometimes the situation is not of our own doing. And other times the situation has our fingerprints all over it, along with the devil’s finger prints, only it’s hard to tell whose prints are whose. But how it happened and why it happened and who’s to blame are questions that fade away compared to the question of this day: Can Jesus help me or not?
When you’re standing in the emergency room . . . When your marriage appears to be disintegrating . . .When the job and the paycheck and the benefits are suddenly gone . . . when a trusted friend becomes your enemy . . . When there’s an addiction that controls you . . . When your child is sick and no one has the cure . . . Do you believe that Jesus can help you or not?
For the father in today’s text, whose beloved son was reduced to thrashing on the ground and foaming at the mouth, the answer was, “I do believe; help my unbelief.” He didn’t try to hide his weakness; he confessed it. He wasn’t concerned about keeping up appearances. He wasn’t afraid to be real. And Jesus is inviting you to do the same with your weakness—with your need—to place it into Jesus’ hands—because Jesus can help you!
He’s there for the helpless. He’s there for the weak. He’s there for the desperate, the scared, and the demonized. Jesus is there for sinners like us, living in a fallen world. He has come to help you. It doesn’t matter whether you’re just an innocent victim, or whether you’ve made your bed of shame and now you have to lay in it. Jesus makes it clear today that all things are possible for Him. His whole ministry revolves around helping the helpless. The father initially asked Jesus to help his son “if” He was able. To which Jesus responded, “If!?” When it comes to the Savior’s help there are no ifs, ands or buts. His compassionate help extends to all who call on Him.
How can I be so sure? How can you be confident in believing that Jesus will help you? Beloved in the Lord, the Savior has a holy history of helping. He has a track record of deliverance—a record written in blood. His crucifixion and resurrection—His dying and rising—are the unwavering testimony that with God all things are possible—that He is always ready, willing and able to help those who wait for Him. Would He undergo suffering and death for your sake, only to abandon you when you are most helpless? He is an ever-present help in time of trouble!
But know this: The Savior’s help may not be exactly what you were hoping for. It may not come according to your timetable. It may not materialize according to your exact design and plan. And if you find that discouraging or troubling, then pray. Pray. Lay it on the line and say, “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.” The Lord will answer.
Amazingly, some people choose to reject the Savior’s help. Some are too proud to ask for it. Some will not admit their weakness. Keeping up appearances is more important for some. Some prefer to take matters into their own hands. But wouldn’t it be infinitely better to place your troubles into the nail-scarred hands of Jesus?
Those nail-scarred hands mean this: They mean that your sins, no matter what they are, cannot separate you from God. Jesus Christ has done away with them, as surely as He became a crucified corpse, and rose again on the third day. That means that your weakness, your troubles, your sorrows, your demons—they have but a short season to live. They do not reign. The Lord Jesus reigns! And best of all, the Lord who reigns is your Lord. He is for you and not against you. He is working all things for your good. He can—He will—help you. And you, for your part, can believe it. Amen.
Be Opened!
In Nomine Iesu
St. Mark 7:31-37
September 6, 2009
Pentecost 14
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
I have to tell you up front that the healing of the deaf and mute man in today’s Holy Gospel is, for me, one of the most meaningful and moving moments in our Lord’s entire ministry. It’s probably because there’s not a day that goes by when I don’t interact with someone whose hearing or speaking is impaired. In some instances the ears can hear and the lips can speak, but it’s the brain that impairs and impedes the communication process. The dyslexic, the autistic, the deaf, folks with Alzheimer’s, stroke victims—all find themselves struggling with incoming or outgoing language. And because of that struggle with language these people, as a general rule, tend to be somewhat isolated—somewhat removed and remote from the people around them. That’s just how it is when you have trouble hearing and speaking. But with today’s gospel reading ringing in my ears, I envision Jesus bringing healing and blessed clarity to each one of these dear souls.
But to the average listener what probably jumps out about this healing is the method by which the man was healed. We’ll get to that in a moment. But first of all, don’t overlook how it came to pass that this deaf and mute man came to be in the presence of Jesus. Notice what got the ball rolling. Some of the man’s friends believed enough about Jesus to bring their suffering friend to the Savior. These days we call that “evangelism” (bringing people to Jesus), and we tend to assign that kind of work to committees and boards and task forces. We talk a lot about evangelism, and how we should be doing more of it. But what it boils down to in the end is bringing the people you know (here) to Jesus so that He might bless them. It’s really that simple.
And then notice how Jesus took the man aside, away from the crowd. Jesus doesn’t want to make a big production for the six o’clock news and the tabloids. Jesus’ method is entirely different from the so-called faith healers of today. Jesus never sought celebrity. And He doesn’t use the misfortune of others to draw attention to Himself. Jesus was completely there for that man at that moment. He had the Savior’s undivided attention. When you’re deaf and mute you can never be quite sure what’s going on around you. But that man at that moment knew that he mattered—knew that he was loved—by Jesus.
And what do you think of the Savior’s medical methodology? Jesus put His fingers into the man’s ears. Then he spits on his fingers and touches the man’s tongue. How would you like it if your physician did that to you? (There’s a medical malpractice lawsuit just waiting to happen.) Spit that belongs to somebody else is generally regarded these days as gross—a bio-hazard. I know it always makes me feel kind of bad when I go to get my teeth cleaned by the first-rate dental hygienists at Dr. Dowsett’s office and the hygienist walks into the room dressed in enough protective gear to be working at a toxic waste dump (gloves, shield, mask, apron, etc.). I try not to take it personally. It’s not just me, right? It’s all done for the sake of spit!
But for just a moment let’s put aside all our presuppositions about saliva and look at what’s going on here. Jesus is using a kind of sign language. He was communicating a message that couldn’t be missed, even by this deaf and mute man—who missed so many important messages. As Jesus touched him—touched his ears and his tongue—and then as Jesus looked up to heaven, Jesus was saying to this poor man, “I know. I know. I understand your problem, brother. You’ve got ears that don’t hear and a tongue that doesn’t work and I’m going to do something about it. I’m lifting up my eyes to heaven ‘from whence cometh our help.’ That’s my Father’s home. But I’ve left that place to come here and to be with you and with all those who lives have been disordered and destroyed in this sin-filled, God-forsaking world.”
Perhaps it was the thought of this sin-filled, God-forsaking world that caused Jesus to sigh. The NIV says that he “sighed deeply,” but an alternate translation would be that Jesus “groaned.” Why would Jesus groan as He gave back to this man the ability to hear and speak perfectly? St. Mark doesn’t tell us why Jesus groaned. Perhaps it was because human sinfulness has no more effective means of expression than human ears and human tongues—our ears and our tongues. Ears that hear are a great gift from God. But what do we do? We who can hear close our ears to God’s Word and God’s will for our lives. His commandments routinely fall on our deaf ears. On the flip side, our ears work exceptionally well—our hearing is never so acute—as when we tune into gossip and slander and the voice of temptation. We use our ears to hear what we want to hear, while tuning out the needs of those closest to us, those whom God has given us to love.
And then there are tongues. Tongues that speak and sing and pray are a great gift from God. But we who can speak—we are experts at closing our mouths when it comes to prayer, praise, and thanksgiving. We by nature prefer to use our tongues for careless words of complaining, for harsh words of anger, for cutting words of gossip, inflicting more pain than any weapon ever could. Human tongues have the hardest time defending our neighbor, speaking well of him, and explaining his actions in the kindest way. And so I ask, with all the misuse and abuse carried out by our tongues and by our ears, is it any wonder that Jesus groaned?
But then comes the best part, when Jesus speaks His Word: “Ephphatha,” He says in Aramaic, “Be opened!” Did the deaf man hear this word? Were these the first sound waves to make their way into his newly opened ears? Or did he read the Savior’s lips and “see” the word as it was spoken? We don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. What matters is that the Word of Jesus gets results. The Word of Jesus get results in human ears and human hearts—even in ears that don’t hear and even in hearts that are hard and crusted over with sin. That word, “ephphatha,” and its results, show that Jesus can open whatever is closed, free whatever is bound, resurrect what is lifeless, dead and hopeless.
The people in that place were amazed beyond all measure, declaring of Jesus, “He has done all things well.” But the English word “well” doesn’t go far enough. This is the same word spoken by the creator God back in Genesis chapter one as He surveyed all that He had created, and called it “very good.” It was wonderfully beautiful, only to be decimated by sin and its wages. But in Jesus Christ God has come in human flesh to make all things new—to make deaf ears hear and cause mute tongues to sing and shout for joy. Jesus has indeed done all things exceptionally well—beautifully, wonderfully and perfectly.
“Ephphatha. Be opened,” said the Savior. With that word Jesus said a mouthful. For Jesus came to do more than open the ears of one afflicted man. Jesus came to open the kingdom of heaven—and to do it for all believers—for sinners who could never make their way to heaven on their own. His Word alone would not be enough to open heaven for you. It would require His very life. The Savior who groaned as He healed one afflicted man, would groan again on a dark Friday afternoon, as He bore the curse of our sinful ears and sinful tongues. Nails and thorns and whips would apply the punishment to which He surrendered as your substitute. On that day He would be covered not only with blood, but with spit—the spit of those who accused Him and mocked Him. But from the cross of Christ on that dark day, one word still rings out: “Ephphatha, be opened.” The blood of Jesus still cries out on your behalf, “Let heaven be opened for every soul redeemed by Christ the crucified.” There at the cross God was reconciling the world to Himself in Christ, not counting your sins against you.
Today Jesus is dealing with you just as He did the deaf and mute man. Here in the Divine Service Jesus takes you aside, leaving the craziness of the world behind. The forgiveness and faith He gives isn’t addressed “to whom it may concern,” but to you personally: “This is my body, given into death for you. This is my blood shed for you.” In the Baptism of Caroline Marcelle just minutes ago we witnessed another of our Lord’s grand openings. In that gentle splash of water, Caroline’s ears were opened to hear of the Savior’ love, her tongue was loosened to sing His praises, her sins were washed away, her little body became a dwelling place of the Holy Spirit, and the gates of heaven were thrown wide open for this dear child of God, redeemed by Christ the crucified.
We haven’t heard the last of this word, “ephphatha.” It echoes on until that glorious day when Christ shall call you from your grave. “Ephphatha,” He shall say again. “Be opened.” And then, miracle of miracles, you and I will be gathered around the throne of God in robes washed white in the blood of the Lamb. And wonder of wonders, we poor sinners will hear Jesus say, “Through the merits of my blood-bought redemption all these precious souls—THEY have done all things well.” And then all of us, from the greatest to the least—those once called dyslexic, and autistic, and deaf and mute—all of them with all of us will join in singing the everlasting song, “Worthy is the Lamb who was slain. For He has indeed done all things well.” Amen.
St. Mark 7:31-37
September 6, 2009
Pentecost 14
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
I have to tell you up front that the healing of the deaf and mute man in today’s Holy Gospel is, for me, one of the most meaningful and moving moments in our Lord’s entire ministry. It’s probably because there’s not a day that goes by when I don’t interact with someone whose hearing or speaking is impaired. In some instances the ears can hear and the lips can speak, but it’s the brain that impairs and impedes the communication process. The dyslexic, the autistic, the deaf, folks with Alzheimer’s, stroke victims—all find themselves struggling with incoming or outgoing language. And because of that struggle with language these people, as a general rule, tend to be somewhat isolated—somewhat removed and remote from the people around them. That’s just how it is when you have trouble hearing and speaking. But with today’s gospel reading ringing in my ears, I envision Jesus bringing healing and blessed clarity to each one of these dear souls.
But to the average listener what probably jumps out about this healing is the method by which the man was healed. We’ll get to that in a moment. But first of all, don’t overlook how it came to pass that this deaf and mute man came to be in the presence of Jesus. Notice what got the ball rolling. Some of the man’s friends believed enough about Jesus to bring their suffering friend to the Savior. These days we call that “evangelism” (bringing people to Jesus), and we tend to assign that kind of work to committees and boards and task forces. We talk a lot about evangelism, and how we should be doing more of it. But what it boils down to in the end is bringing the people you know (here) to Jesus so that He might bless them. It’s really that simple.
And then notice how Jesus took the man aside, away from the crowd. Jesus doesn’t want to make a big production for the six o’clock news and the tabloids. Jesus’ method is entirely different from the so-called faith healers of today. Jesus never sought celebrity. And He doesn’t use the misfortune of others to draw attention to Himself. Jesus was completely there for that man at that moment. He had the Savior’s undivided attention. When you’re deaf and mute you can never be quite sure what’s going on around you. But that man at that moment knew that he mattered—knew that he was loved—by Jesus.
And what do you think of the Savior’s medical methodology? Jesus put His fingers into the man’s ears. Then he spits on his fingers and touches the man’s tongue. How would you like it if your physician did that to you? (There’s a medical malpractice lawsuit just waiting to happen.) Spit that belongs to somebody else is generally regarded these days as gross—a bio-hazard. I know it always makes me feel kind of bad when I go to get my teeth cleaned by the first-rate dental hygienists at Dr. Dowsett’s office and the hygienist walks into the room dressed in enough protective gear to be working at a toxic waste dump (gloves, shield, mask, apron, etc.). I try not to take it personally. It’s not just me, right? It’s all done for the sake of spit!
But for just a moment let’s put aside all our presuppositions about saliva and look at what’s going on here. Jesus is using a kind of sign language. He was communicating a message that couldn’t be missed, even by this deaf and mute man—who missed so many important messages. As Jesus touched him—touched his ears and his tongue—and then as Jesus looked up to heaven, Jesus was saying to this poor man, “I know. I know. I understand your problem, brother. You’ve got ears that don’t hear and a tongue that doesn’t work and I’m going to do something about it. I’m lifting up my eyes to heaven ‘from whence cometh our help.’ That’s my Father’s home. But I’ve left that place to come here and to be with you and with all those who lives have been disordered and destroyed in this sin-filled, God-forsaking world.”
Perhaps it was the thought of this sin-filled, God-forsaking world that caused Jesus to sigh. The NIV says that he “sighed deeply,” but an alternate translation would be that Jesus “groaned.” Why would Jesus groan as He gave back to this man the ability to hear and speak perfectly? St. Mark doesn’t tell us why Jesus groaned. Perhaps it was because human sinfulness has no more effective means of expression than human ears and human tongues—our ears and our tongues. Ears that hear are a great gift from God. But what do we do? We who can hear close our ears to God’s Word and God’s will for our lives. His commandments routinely fall on our deaf ears. On the flip side, our ears work exceptionally well—our hearing is never so acute—as when we tune into gossip and slander and the voice of temptation. We use our ears to hear what we want to hear, while tuning out the needs of those closest to us, those whom God has given us to love.
And then there are tongues. Tongues that speak and sing and pray are a great gift from God. But we who can speak—we are experts at closing our mouths when it comes to prayer, praise, and thanksgiving. We by nature prefer to use our tongues for careless words of complaining, for harsh words of anger, for cutting words of gossip, inflicting more pain than any weapon ever could. Human tongues have the hardest time defending our neighbor, speaking well of him, and explaining his actions in the kindest way. And so I ask, with all the misuse and abuse carried out by our tongues and by our ears, is it any wonder that Jesus groaned?
But then comes the best part, when Jesus speaks His Word: “Ephphatha,” He says in Aramaic, “Be opened!” Did the deaf man hear this word? Were these the first sound waves to make their way into his newly opened ears? Or did he read the Savior’s lips and “see” the word as it was spoken? We don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. What matters is that the Word of Jesus gets results. The Word of Jesus get results in human ears and human hearts—even in ears that don’t hear and even in hearts that are hard and crusted over with sin. That word, “ephphatha,” and its results, show that Jesus can open whatever is closed, free whatever is bound, resurrect what is lifeless, dead and hopeless.
The people in that place were amazed beyond all measure, declaring of Jesus, “He has done all things well.” But the English word “well” doesn’t go far enough. This is the same word spoken by the creator God back in Genesis chapter one as He surveyed all that He had created, and called it “very good.” It was wonderfully beautiful, only to be decimated by sin and its wages. But in Jesus Christ God has come in human flesh to make all things new—to make deaf ears hear and cause mute tongues to sing and shout for joy. Jesus has indeed done all things exceptionally well—beautifully, wonderfully and perfectly.
“Ephphatha. Be opened,” said the Savior. With that word Jesus said a mouthful. For Jesus came to do more than open the ears of one afflicted man. Jesus came to open the kingdom of heaven—and to do it for all believers—for sinners who could never make their way to heaven on their own. His Word alone would not be enough to open heaven for you. It would require His very life. The Savior who groaned as He healed one afflicted man, would groan again on a dark Friday afternoon, as He bore the curse of our sinful ears and sinful tongues. Nails and thorns and whips would apply the punishment to which He surrendered as your substitute. On that day He would be covered not only with blood, but with spit—the spit of those who accused Him and mocked Him. But from the cross of Christ on that dark day, one word still rings out: “Ephphatha, be opened.” The blood of Jesus still cries out on your behalf, “Let heaven be opened for every soul redeemed by Christ the crucified.” There at the cross God was reconciling the world to Himself in Christ, not counting your sins against you.
Today Jesus is dealing with you just as He did the deaf and mute man. Here in the Divine Service Jesus takes you aside, leaving the craziness of the world behind. The forgiveness and faith He gives isn’t addressed “to whom it may concern,” but to you personally: “This is my body, given into death for you. This is my blood shed for you.” In the Baptism of Caroline Marcelle just minutes ago we witnessed another of our Lord’s grand openings. In that gentle splash of water, Caroline’s ears were opened to hear of the Savior’ love, her tongue was loosened to sing His praises, her sins were washed away, her little body became a dwelling place of the Holy Spirit, and the gates of heaven were thrown wide open for this dear child of God, redeemed by Christ the crucified.
We haven’t heard the last of this word, “ephphatha.” It echoes on until that glorious day when Christ shall call you from your grave. “Ephphatha,” He shall say again. “Be opened.” And then, miracle of miracles, you and I will be gathered around the throne of God in robes washed white in the blood of the Lamb. And wonder of wonders, we poor sinners will hear Jesus say, “Through the merits of my blood-bought redemption all these precious souls—THEY have done all things well.” And then all of us, from the greatest to the least—those once called dyslexic, and autistic, and deaf and mute—all of them with all of us will join in singing the everlasting song, “Worthy is the Lamb who was slain. For He has indeed done all things well.” Amen.
Monday, July 6, 2009
When I am Weak
In Nomine Iesu
2 Cor. 12:7-10
July 5, 2009
Pentecost 5
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
When we moved to Whitefish Bay, I was glad to see that there were no rose bushes in our new yard. You see, before we lived here, we lived in a home that had six rose bushes in the front yard. Rose bushes are not my favorite shrub. Roses are pretty flowers, to be sure. But rose bushes require too much attention. They need to be watered and fertilized. They need to be pruned every so often. They need to be covered and protected during harsh winter weather. What’s more, rose bushes are susceptible to hungry bugs and all kinds of fungus and disease. The roses themselves don’t last long. And then there’s my least favorite feature of the rose bush—the thorns—thorns perfectly designed to burrow into human hands.
Nobody likes thorns. Their prick is painful. They have a way of reaching out and impaling us when we least expect it. Even the most cautious, careful and steady-handed gardener cannot avoid the pain inflicted by thorns.
That pain is so common, in fact, that St. Paul used the thorn as a metaphor in today’s reading from 2 Corinthians. “There was given me a thorn in my flesh,” he writes. And the Greek word Paul chose for “thorn” can also be translated as “sharpened stake” or “spike.” From this we can gather that Paul wasn’t merely describing a slight prick or scratch, but rather a deep and painful puncture.
What was Paul’s thorn? What caused him such pain? Epileptic seizures, poor vision, malaria, stuttering, migraines, a disorder of the nervous system—these are just a sampling of the guesses that Bible scholars have made over the years as to exactly what this malady was—this malady Paul describes as his thorn. But these are really nothing more than educated guesses. One pastor I read last week suggested that Paul’s thorn wasn’t a physical affliction at all, but a person, an antagonist—literally a messenger of Satan who tormented him by working twenty-four-seven to undermine his teaching. But whatever it was (the Holy Spirit has left it intentionally ambiguous), Paul’s thorn was painful. It impeded the important work Paul had been given to do—or so it seemed.
So debilitating was this thorn in Paul’s flesh that on three separate occasions he pleaded with the Lord to take it away. Three times Paul the Apostle—the one who was called by the glorified Christ on the road to Damascus—three times he got down on his knees and prayed for relief. And on three separate occasions the Lord did not do as Paul requested. The Lord did not remove Paul’s thorn. Instead, the Lord gave Paul the strength to bear it—the strength to carry on despite the thorn in his flesh.
But the Lord did not leave Paul empty-handed in his suffering. He didn’t tell Paul to toughen up or just “rub some dirt on it.” He gave him a wonderful promise—a promise from which Christians have drawn strength and comfort for two thousand years: Jesus said, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” The grace of Jesus Christ is sufficient. The grace of God that flows from the cross of Christ into your life is sufficient. It is enough. Nothing more is needed. The power of Jesus is perfected when you are at your weakest. “When I am weak,” Paul writes, “then I am strong.”
What about you? Do you believe that? Do you believe that the grace of Jesus Christ is sufficient—or is there something more that’s needed? When Paul heard those words from Jesus, all he had to do was reflect on the events of his own life to see that what Jesus said was true—to see that when he was at his weakest, Jesus was at His strongest. Paul had been beaten, flogged, stoned, shipwrecked, hungry, thirsty, naked, imprisoned and exhausted. But through it all, the grace and forgiveness of Jesus Christ had sustained him—compelled him—to keep on going.
What about you? What about your life? What’s the thorn in your flesh? What is it that causes you such pain that it threatens to prevent you from carrying out your callings in this life? If God gave you the “magic wand of thorn removal,” what malady would you wish away? As I look around this morning, there’s no shortage of thorns that need removal: cancer, autism, mental illness, addictions—things that seem to suck all the joy out of life—burdens in which there appears to be no silver lining, nothing positive—obstacles that seem to hinder even your faith in Jesus at times. Can’t the Lord Jesus see how much better things would be if those thorns were taken away and removed?
Part of the problem is our aversion to weakness. We don’t want to be weak. We don’t want to appear weak. If we’re weak that shows that we’re needy and dependent. Instead, we like power and success and independence. We want to be healthy and strong. To accomplish this we eat right. We exercise. We take vitamins. I myself get up very early most mornings to exercise and lift weights in an attempt to increase my strength. And what do I have to show for it? Nothing but the physique of a robust pencil! (And that’s being generous.)
There’s nothing wrong with exercising for strength, but know this: Our God does His best work in human weakness—when you’re flat on your back with no choice but to “be still and know that He is God.” “My power is made perfect in weakness,” He says. The power of Jesus is made perfect in cancer, in autism, in mental illness, in addictions, in all the thorny maladies that cause you pain—Jesus says, “There am I. There is my power. There am I teaching you to live and be completely reliant upon my all-sufficient grace.” “His grace has brought you safe thus far, His grace will lead you home.”
Jesus isn’t just lecturing us when He speaks of power made perfect in weakness. Jesus is pointing us to His cross. For in the crucifixion of Jesus, God’s power was perfected. Jesus’ death was God’s most powerful act—by which He forgives your sins and swallows up your death. St. Paul could write metaphorically about the “thorn” in his flesh. But for Jesus, thorns were no metaphor. The thorns and the sharpened spikes in His flesh were the very real payment for your very real sins.
“My power is made perfect in weakness,” says Jesus. That power is perfected in you here in this place, in the Divine Service. As you confess your sins and receive absolution, as you hear the promises of Jesus and eat and drink His body and blood, the hidden power of Jesus is given to you. Here you learn about His grace, and how all-sufficient it really is. You’d never know it just by looking (we’ve got no fireworks to announce it), but the power of God is at work here, buried under weakness. It is the power of Jesus’ death and resurrection to save you.
The good news for us this morning is, you don’t have to be strong. Let me say it again: You don’t have to be strong—because Jesus is strong. He’s your Savior. His grace is sufficient for you. His power is made perfect in your weakness. In Christ, even our weaknesses can be cause for joy as they teach us to depend more and more—not upon our own strength—but upon the amazing grace of Jesus. So that together with Paul we too can say with thankful hearts, “When I am weak, then I am strong.” Amen.
2 Cor. 12:7-10
July 5, 2009
Pentecost 5
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
When we moved to Whitefish Bay, I was glad to see that there were no rose bushes in our new yard. You see, before we lived here, we lived in a home that had six rose bushes in the front yard. Rose bushes are not my favorite shrub. Roses are pretty flowers, to be sure. But rose bushes require too much attention. They need to be watered and fertilized. They need to be pruned every so often. They need to be covered and protected during harsh winter weather. What’s more, rose bushes are susceptible to hungry bugs and all kinds of fungus and disease. The roses themselves don’t last long. And then there’s my least favorite feature of the rose bush—the thorns—thorns perfectly designed to burrow into human hands.
Nobody likes thorns. Their prick is painful. They have a way of reaching out and impaling us when we least expect it. Even the most cautious, careful and steady-handed gardener cannot avoid the pain inflicted by thorns.
That pain is so common, in fact, that St. Paul used the thorn as a metaphor in today’s reading from 2 Corinthians. “There was given me a thorn in my flesh,” he writes. And the Greek word Paul chose for “thorn” can also be translated as “sharpened stake” or “spike.” From this we can gather that Paul wasn’t merely describing a slight prick or scratch, but rather a deep and painful puncture.
What was Paul’s thorn? What caused him such pain? Epileptic seizures, poor vision, malaria, stuttering, migraines, a disorder of the nervous system—these are just a sampling of the guesses that Bible scholars have made over the years as to exactly what this malady was—this malady Paul describes as his thorn. But these are really nothing more than educated guesses. One pastor I read last week suggested that Paul’s thorn wasn’t a physical affliction at all, but a person, an antagonist—literally a messenger of Satan who tormented him by working twenty-four-seven to undermine his teaching. But whatever it was (the Holy Spirit has left it intentionally ambiguous), Paul’s thorn was painful. It impeded the important work Paul had been given to do—or so it seemed.
So debilitating was this thorn in Paul’s flesh that on three separate occasions he pleaded with the Lord to take it away. Three times Paul the Apostle—the one who was called by the glorified Christ on the road to Damascus—three times he got down on his knees and prayed for relief. And on three separate occasions the Lord did not do as Paul requested. The Lord did not remove Paul’s thorn. Instead, the Lord gave Paul the strength to bear it—the strength to carry on despite the thorn in his flesh.
But the Lord did not leave Paul empty-handed in his suffering. He didn’t tell Paul to toughen up or just “rub some dirt on it.” He gave him a wonderful promise—a promise from which Christians have drawn strength and comfort for two thousand years: Jesus said, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” The grace of Jesus Christ is sufficient. The grace of God that flows from the cross of Christ into your life is sufficient. It is enough. Nothing more is needed. The power of Jesus is perfected when you are at your weakest. “When I am weak,” Paul writes, “then I am strong.”
What about you? Do you believe that? Do you believe that the grace of Jesus Christ is sufficient—or is there something more that’s needed? When Paul heard those words from Jesus, all he had to do was reflect on the events of his own life to see that what Jesus said was true—to see that when he was at his weakest, Jesus was at His strongest. Paul had been beaten, flogged, stoned, shipwrecked, hungry, thirsty, naked, imprisoned and exhausted. But through it all, the grace and forgiveness of Jesus Christ had sustained him—compelled him—to keep on going.
What about you? What about your life? What’s the thorn in your flesh? What is it that causes you such pain that it threatens to prevent you from carrying out your callings in this life? If God gave you the “magic wand of thorn removal,” what malady would you wish away? As I look around this morning, there’s no shortage of thorns that need removal: cancer, autism, mental illness, addictions—things that seem to suck all the joy out of life—burdens in which there appears to be no silver lining, nothing positive—obstacles that seem to hinder even your faith in Jesus at times. Can’t the Lord Jesus see how much better things would be if those thorns were taken away and removed?
Part of the problem is our aversion to weakness. We don’t want to be weak. We don’t want to appear weak. If we’re weak that shows that we’re needy and dependent. Instead, we like power and success and independence. We want to be healthy and strong. To accomplish this we eat right. We exercise. We take vitamins. I myself get up very early most mornings to exercise and lift weights in an attempt to increase my strength. And what do I have to show for it? Nothing but the physique of a robust pencil! (And that’s being generous.)
There’s nothing wrong with exercising for strength, but know this: Our God does His best work in human weakness—when you’re flat on your back with no choice but to “be still and know that He is God.” “My power is made perfect in weakness,” He says. The power of Jesus is made perfect in cancer, in autism, in mental illness, in addictions, in all the thorny maladies that cause you pain—Jesus says, “There am I. There is my power. There am I teaching you to live and be completely reliant upon my all-sufficient grace.” “His grace has brought you safe thus far, His grace will lead you home.”
Jesus isn’t just lecturing us when He speaks of power made perfect in weakness. Jesus is pointing us to His cross. For in the crucifixion of Jesus, God’s power was perfected. Jesus’ death was God’s most powerful act—by which He forgives your sins and swallows up your death. St. Paul could write metaphorically about the “thorn” in his flesh. But for Jesus, thorns were no metaphor. The thorns and the sharpened spikes in His flesh were the very real payment for your very real sins.
“My power is made perfect in weakness,” says Jesus. That power is perfected in you here in this place, in the Divine Service. As you confess your sins and receive absolution, as you hear the promises of Jesus and eat and drink His body and blood, the hidden power of Jesus is given to you. Here you learn about His grace, and how all-sufficient it really is. You’d never know it just by looking (we’ve got no fireworks to announce it), but the power of God is at work here, buried under weakness. It is the power of Jesus’ death and resurrection to save you.
The good news for us this morning is, you don’t have to be strong. Let me say it again: You don’t have to be strong—because Jesus is strong. He’s your Savior. His grace is sufficient for you. His power is made perfect in your weakness. In Christ, even our weaknesses can be cause for joy as they teach us to depend more and more—not upon our own strength—but upon the amazing grace of Jesus. So that together with Paul we too can say with thankful hearts, “When I am weak, then I am strong.” Amen.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Friends of Jesus
In Nomine Iesu
St. John 15:9-17
May 17, 2009
Easter 6B
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
You’ve got a friend . . . in Jesus. Jesus says so. Jesus decrees it. You and He . . . are friends. “I no longer call you servants,” He says. “Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you.” It certainly sounds nice, and it is nice to be a friend of Jesus. But what does it mean?
Friend, after all, is one of those words that can have a very broad or a very narrow meaning. There are friends in whom we can confide, and with whom we can share our most honest feelings—friends who are there through thick and thin. But we also have social friends—people who attend the same social functions as we do, who work in the same office, who sit in the same classroom, who have children the same age as our own. We know these people. We like these people. We say “hi” to them at the grocery story, but we don’t do a significant amount of emotional sharing with them. But we call them our friends. And then there are Facebook friends—people we’re connected to through social networking websites, but people we rarely if ever see or interact with on a personal level. And yet all of these people fall within the broad category of friends.
But to be a friend of Jesus means so much more than anything I’ve just described. So let me tell you what it means that Jesus calls you His friend. Back in ancient times, when kings and queens ruled the world, the person who was closest to the king, his personal confidant and advisor, was called the friend of the king. Friends of the king were something like the cabinet secretaries of today who work with the president to develop and implement policy. If you were a friend of the king you didn’t toil away in some windowless cubicle in a government office building. No, the friends of the king always worked with the king. They were involved in discussions and decisions. They had a say in what was decided. They knew their master’s business. What’s more, they were authorized to speak for the king, and to act on his behalf. Friends of the king didn’t only work with the king, but they also shared in his rule.
When Jesus calls you His friend, therefore, what He means is that you are His advisor. You are His personal confidant. You are His cabinet secretary. The servants of the king only do what they’re told. They have no say regarding policy and decision-making. But you are not a servant. Jesus calls you His friend. You, of course, receive everything from Him. He is the vine; you are but the branches. It’s not that you chose Him, but that He chose you—chose you to be His friend and to bear fruit that will last. He honors you. He values your opinions. He wants to hear what you have to say.
This, then, leads us to the first responsibility for those who are called friends of Jesus—the responsibility of prayer. If you are His advisor—if you are His confidant—if you are His cabinet secretary—then He surely desires to hear from you. Did you catch that point concerning prayer from Jesus? He says, “I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit—fruit that will last. Then,” He says, “the Father will give you whatever you ask in my name.” Your asking, therefore, your prayers, are a part of your work in the Jesus administration. As a friend of Jesus, you’ve got access to the Father. And because Jesus backs you and stands with you and confides in you, God the Father listens—listens to you—takes your prayers into account.
So why are you so quiet? Why are you so reluctant and shy to speak up in prayer? You’ve got a seat at the table with the King. You are a friend of Jesus. Your words and recommendations matter to Him. But most of us aren’t so good about exercising the privilege of prayer. Perhaps some of us think it’s pointless—that God has already decided everything—that the future has been set in cement and my prayers won’t make a bit of difference. But that’s not what the Bible tells us. We are not living in a closed universe in which the blueprint for your life has been unalterably fixed. Don’t believe that for a minute! While it’s true that God Himself does not and will not change His gracious purpose to save you through His Son, yet the Bible frequently speaks of God changing His mind on other matters. Abraham prayed to God for Sodom and Gomorrah. Moses prayed to God that He would reverse course and not destroy His people. And God listened and responded.
As a friend of Jesus, you stand shoulder to shoulder with Abraham and Moses. Your prayers matter as much as theirs. The outcome of world events—and the outcome of personal events that matter most to you—these outcomes will be different based upon your prayers according to God’s Word, in the name of Jesus. Oh, things may not turn out exactly as you might hope. But that doesn’t change the fact that when you pray as a friend of Jesus, you may be doing far more to shape the course of the human race than anything that may transpire at the United Nations or the Nation’s Capitol or the other capitols of the world. Friends of Jesus pray—with boldness and confidence.
As a friend of Jesus, you are authorized to speak and act on His behalf. You are His representative to the world. And your marching orders are simple: “Love one another as I have loved you.” Friends of Jesus carry out their work both as they pray, and as they love one another. Love is the second responsibility for the friends of Jesus.
When Jesus says, “Love one another,” He isn’t saying that we always have to like one another, or that we should always feel affectionate toward everyone around us. You can’t legislate feelings and emotions. Jesus isn’t telling us to feel warm and fuzzy toward others. He tells us to love them. This love means being patient and kind. It means that we refrain from being boastful, arrogant and rude toward others. It means that we don’t rejoice in what is wrong with each other, but that we rejoice over what is right and true. This love bears all things, trusts all things, hopes all things. This love sacrifices and suffers all things for the sake of others. It keeps no record of wrongs.
No friend of Jesus can say, “I don’t have this love to give.” You have it. You may or may not use it, but it’s there. It’s there because Jesus puts it there. Nor can you say, “I don’t feel like it.” This love overrules your feelings. Love one another. Husbands, love your wives as Christ loved the church and gave Himself up for her. Parents, love your children. Children, love your parents. Friends of Jesus—chosen, baptized, believing—love one another.
This is how the world knows that you are a friend of Jesus. This love is what caused the world to sit up and take notice of those first Christians back in the First Century. It wasn’t their impressive buildings; they didn’t have any. It wasn’t their body of doctrine; that hadn’t been completely developed yet. It wasn’t their fancy worship; the pagan temples were far more impressive. What caused the world to sit up and take notice was love—the love that the first Christians had for each other in spite of all their differences—in spite of how they suffered. “See how they love one another,” they said. The world had never seen anything like it before.
Jesus has chosen you to be His friend. Why? For reasons of joy. “I have told you this,” He says, “so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete.” There is joy in being called friends of Jesus. The joy of being chosen and loved. We didn’t choose Jesus; He chose us. And all the praying and all the loving we do along the way simply flow from His decision to die for our sins and bear them all away.
“Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down His life for His friends.” Jesus’ life laid down for you. That’s the joy of being Jesus’ friend—that’s why you can be His friend, that’s why you have access to the Father, that’s why your prayers are heard, that’s why you will live and reign forever with Jesus. “Love one another,” He says, “as I have loved you.” Don’t miss that last part: “as I have loved you.” Jesus’ love comes first. He first goes all the way to the cross and the tomb. He first dies for our sin and forgives us. It’s only when we are loved by God in Jesus that we can love. And then the love is not our own. It doesn’t come from within us, but from Jesus. And this love lasts forever.
You are chosen. You are loved in Jesus. Jesus calls you His friend. Living each day as a friend of Jesus, you are free to love as you have been loved, free to pray for the whole people of God in Christ Jesus and for all people according to their needs. It’s all part of the privilege of being a friend of Jesus. Amen.
St. John 15:9-17
May 17, 2009
Easter 6B
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
You’ve got a friend . . . in Jesus. Jesus says so. Jesus decrees it. You and He . . . are friends. “I no longer call you servants,” He says. “Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you.” It certainly sounds nice, and it is nice to be a friend of Jesus. But what does it mean?
Friend, after all, is one of those words that can have a very broad or a very narrow meaning. There are friends in whom we can confide, and with whom we can share our most honest feelings—friends who are there through thick and thin. But we also have social friends—people who attend the same social functions as we do, who work in the same office, who sit in the same classroom, who have children the same age as our own. We know these people. We like these people. We say “hi” to them at the grocery story, but we don’t do a significant amount of emotional sharing with them. But we call them our friends. And then there are Facebook friends—people we’re connected to through social networking websites, but people we rarely if ever see or interact with on a personal level. And yet all of these people fall within the broad category of friends.
But to be a friend of Jesus means so much more than anything I’ve just described. So let me tell you what it means that Jesus calls you His friend. Back in ancient times, when kings and queens ruled the world, the person who was closest to the king, his personal confidant and advisor, was called the friend of the king. Friends of the king were something like the cabinet secretaries of today who work with the president to develop and implement policy. If you were a friend of the king you didn’t toil away in some windowless cubicle in a government office building. No, the friends of the king always worked with the king. They were involved in discussions and decisions. They had a say in what was decided. They knew their master’s business. What’s more, they were authorized to speak for the king, and to act on his behalf. Friends of the king didn’t only work with the king, but they also shared in his rule.
When Jesus calls you His friend, therefore, what He means is that you are His advisor. You are His personal confidant. You are His cabinet secretary. The servants of the king only do what they’re told. They have no say regarding policy and decision-making. But you are not a servant. Jesus calls you His friend. You, of course, receive everything from Him. He is the vine; you are but the branches. It’s not that you chose Him, but that He chose you—chose you to be His friend and to bear fruit that will last. He honors you. He values your opinions. He wants to hear what you have to say.
This, then, leads us to the first responsibility for those who are called friends of Jesus—the responsibility of prayer. If you are His advisor—if you are His confidant—if you are His cabinet secretary—then He surely desires to hear from you. Did you catch that point concerning prayer from Jesus? He says, “I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit—fruit that will last. Then,” He says, “the Father will give you whatever you ask in my name.” Your asking, therefore, your prayers, are a part of your work in the Jesus administration. As a friend of Jesus, you’ve got access to the Father. And because Jesus backs you and stands with you and confides in you, God the Father listens—listens to you—takes your prayers into account.
So why are you so quiet? Why are you so reluctant and shy to speak up in prayer? You’ve got a seat at the table with the King. You are a friend of Jesus. Your words and recommendations matter to Him. But most of us aren’t so good about exercising the privilege of prayer. Perhaps some of us think it’s pointless—that God has already decided everything—that the future has been set in cement and my prayers won’t make a bit of difference. But that’s not what the Bible tells us. We are not living in a closed universe in which the blueprint for your life has been unalterably fixed. Don’t believe that for a minute! While it’s true that God Himself does not and will not change His gracious purpose to save you through His Son, yet the Bible frequently speaks of God changing His mind on other matters. Abraham prayed to God for Sodom and Gomorrah. Moses prayed to God that He would reverse course and not destroy His people. And God listened and responded.
As a friend of Jesus, you stand shoulder to shoulder with Abraham and Moses. Your prayers matter as much as theirs. The outcome of world events—and the outcome of personal events that matter most to you—these outcomes will be different based upon your prayers according to God’s Word, in the name of Jesus. Oh, things may not turn out exactly as you might hope. But that doesn’t change the fact that when you pray as a friend of Jesus, you may be doing far more to shape the course of the human race than anything that may transpire at the United Nations or the Nation’s Capitol or the other capitols of the world. Friends of Jesus pray—with boldness and confidence.
As a friend of Jesus, you are authorized to speak and act on His behalf. You are His representative to the world. And your marching orders are simple: “Love one another as I have loved you.” Friends of Jesus carry out their work both as they pray, and as they love one another. Love is the second responsibility for the friends of Jesus.
When Jesus says, “Love one another,” He isn’t saying that we always have to like one another, or that we should always feel affectionate toward everyone around us. You can’t legislate feelings and emotions. Jesus isn’t telling us to feel warm and fuzzy toward others. He tells us to love them. This love means being patient and kind. It means that we refrain from being boastful, arrogant and rude toward others. It means that we don’t rejoice in what is wrong with each other, but that we rejoice over what is right and true. This love bears all things, trusts all things, hopes all things. This love sacrifices and suffers all things for the sake of others. It keeps no record of wrongs.
No friend of Jesus can say, “I don’t have this love to give.” You have it. You may or may not use it, but it’s there. It’s there because Jesus puts it there. Nor can you say, “I don’t feel like it.” This love overrules your feelings. Love one another. Husbands, love your wives as Christ loved the church and gave Himself up for her. Parents, love your children. Children, love your parents. Friends of Jesus—chosen, baptized, believing—love one another.
This is how the world knows that you are a friend of Jesus. This love is what caused the world to sit up and take notice of those first Christians back in the First Century. It wasn’t their impressive buildings; they didn’t have any. It wasn’t their body of doctrine; that hadn’t been completely developed yet. It wasn’t their fancy worship; the pagan temples were far more impressive. What caused the world to sit up and take notice was love—the love that the first Christians had for each other in spite of all their differences—in spite of how they suffered. “See how they love one another,” they said. The world had never seen anything like it before.
Jesus has chosen you to be His friend. Why? For reasons of joy. “I have told you this,” He says, “so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete.” There is joy in being called friends of Jesus. The joy of being chosen and loved. We didn’t choose Jesus; He chose us. And all the praying and all the loving we do along the way simply flow from His decision to die for our sins and bear them all away.
“Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down His life for His friends.” Jesus’ life laid down for you. That’s the joy of being Jesus’ friend—that’s why you can be His friend, that’s why you have access to the Father, that’s why your prayers are heard, that’s why you will live and reign forever with Jesus. “Love one another,” He says, “as I have loved you.” Don’t miss that last part: “as I have loved you.” Jesus’ love comes first. He first goes all the way to the cross and the tomb. He first dies for our sin and forgives us. It’s only when we are loved by God in Jesus that we can love. And then the love is not our own. It doesn’t come from within us, but from Jesus. And this love lasts forever.
You are chosen. You are loved in Jesus. Jesus calls you His friend. Living each day as a friend of Jesus, you are free to love as you have been loved, free to pray for the whole people of God in Christ Jesus and for all people according to their needs. It’s all part of the privilege of being a friend of Jesus. Amen.
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