Holy Week isn’t a reenactment of the last days of Christ’s life. Holy Week isn’t a drama or a passion play. Instead, Holy Week is something much more. It is the gifts that Christ won on the cross coming near to us. Salvation was won and accomplished on the cross; in the worship services of Holy Week, salvation is delivered to us through the Word and the Sacraments. Our remembrance of Christ’s Passion isn’t us traveling to the cross, but the cross coming near to us, with all of its great gifts.
Nowhere is this more apparent than when we celebrate the Lord’s Supper. Jesus commanded, “Do this in remembrance of me,” but this remembrance isn’t simply a nice memory or a reenactment of what happened that night. In the Lord’s Supper Christ actually brings His Passion to us. He gives us His Body, the same Body that hung upon the cross for our salvation; He gives us His Blood, the same Blood that was poured out there to atone for our sin. On Maundy Thursday, we celebrate the institution of the Sacrament that brings the cross to our lips. Much happened on that night on which Christ was betrayed, and the action moved from the tension of the upper room to the anguish of the garden, and from there to the courtroom, but the focus of this night is on the great gift that Christ gave as they supped. This is the medicine of immortality, it is the antidote to death, because it brings to us forgiveness, life and salvation, all that Christ won given into our mouths and open hands. The miracle of the Lord’s Supper is the miracle of the Incarnation, it is the miracle of the cross, it is Christ Himself coming near to you with salvation. We remember Christ’s passion, and He remembers us, giving us every good gift, physical food for the journey that nourishes to eternity. What better way to remember Christ’s cross than to receive the gifts that He won for us there!
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Wednesday of Holy Week
Someone once called the four gospels: “Passion narratives with long introductions.” There is much truth in those words. The rest of the Gospel narrative moves fairly quickly through the birth and three year ministry of Christ, but when we arrive at Palm Sunday, the narrative slows down, taking us day by day through that most holy of weeks. Then, when we come to Maundy Thursday, the events are described in even more detail, as the evangelists present us with an hour-by-hour account of the sufferings and death of our Lord. This use of time shows us that these events are the very fulcrum on which time itself turns, the culmination, climax, and center of all history. Today, on Wednesday, we look to Luke.
Luke presents Jesus as the holy and innocent martyr. He is shown as dying unjustly, but willingly; He doesn’t seek death, but when it comes, He accepts it as the Father’s will. Jesus is declared innocent by the civil authorities, as Pilate says, “I find no guilt in this man,” but yet He is still crucified, victim to the mob’s thirst for blood. Jesus goes bravely, honorably to His death. He is a prophet, speaking words of warning to the women who followed after Him. “Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children.” He is gracious even to His persecutors, praying, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” Jesus even gives forth everlasting life, declaring to the penitent thief, “Truly I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” Finally, Jesus gives Himself into the Father’s hands, declaring, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit” before He breathes His last. Jesus nobly, honorably gives His life into death, the innocent in place of the guilty, the Son of God in your place and mine. His death wins what He bestowed even upon the cross: forgiveness, paradise, to you, me, and all who believe.
Luke presents Jesus as the holy and innocent martyr. He is shown as dying unjustly, but willingly; He doesn’t seek death, but when it comes, He accepts it as the Father’s will. Jesus is declared innocent by the civil authorities, as Pilate says, “I find no guilt in this man,” but yet He is still crucified, victim to the mob’s thirst for blood. Jesus goes bravely, honorably to His death. He is a prophet, speaking words of warning to the women who followed after Him. “Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children.” He is gracious even to His persecutors, praying, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” Jesus even gives forth everlasting life, declaring to the penitent thief, “Truly I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” Finally, Jesus gives Himself into the Father’s hands, declaring, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit” before He breathes His last. Jesus nobly, honorably gives His life into death, the innocent in place of the guilty, the Son of God in your place and mine. His death wins what He bestowed even upon the cross: forgiveness, paradise, to you, me, and all who believe.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Tuesday of Holy Week
Some people think that the fact that we have four Gospels is a great problem. They compare the narratives with a fine-tooth comb, looking for contradictions, for problems that they can exploit. To them, the existence of four different Gospels is perhaps Christianity’s greatest weakness. I couldn’t disagree more. The four Gospels are a great gift from God to His Church. Together, they don’t give contradictions; they give a full picture of the work and teachings of Christ. Each evangelist brings a different perspective, they pick up on different details, giving each of their narratives a richness that deserves to be explored on their own terms. That is what we are doing this Holy Week, and today, we look at the Passion of our Lord according to Saint Mark.
Mark is concerned with identity, specifically the identity of this Jesus. His Gospel opens with these words, “The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” Mark makes it quite clear where his allegiances lie. His narrative is about this Jesus, who Mark believes is the very Son of God. The only problem is, no one in his gospel agrees with him! At least, no human agrees with him. The Father’s voice at Christ’s baptism calls Him “my beloved Son,” and the demons call Him “Son of the Most High God,” but no human makes such a confession; that is, until the cross. Mark tells us, “And when the centurion, who stood facing Him, saw that in this way He breathed His last, he said, ‘Truly this man was the Son of God!’” The only human in Mark’s Gospel to confess Jesus as the Son of God is a Roman centurion at the cross. In this way, Mark is teaching us a powerful lesson. It is only in the death of Christ that we can fully understand and confess Him to be the Son of God, and this death is for all. He is revealed at the cross; there is where we look to see our God, for there He is suffering, He is dying, in His great love and compassion for you and for me. While we were still sinners, Christ died for us!
Mark is concerned with identity, specifically the identity of this Jesus. His Gospel opens with these words, “The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” Mark makes it quite clear where his allegiances lie. His narrative is about this Jesus, who Mark believes is the very Son of God. The only problem is, no one in his gospel agrees with him! At least, no human agrees with him. The Father’s voice at Christ’s baptism calls Him “my beloved Son,” and the demons call Him “Son of the Most High God,” but no human makes such a confession; that is, until the cross. Mark tells us, “And when the centurion, who stood facing Him, saw that in this way He breathed His last, he said, ‘Truly this man was the Son of God!’” The only human in Mark’s Gospel to confess Jesus as the Son of God is a Roman centurion at the cross. In this way, Mark is teaching us a powerful lesson. It is only in the death of Christ that we can fully understand and confess Him to be the Son of God, and this death is for all. He is revealed at the cross; there is where we look to see our God, for there He is suffering, He is dying, in His great love and compassion for you and for me. While we were still sinners, Christ died for us!
Monday, March 25, 2013
Monday of Holy Week
Yesterday was Palm Sunday; we lined the streets of Jerusalem with the adoring crowds and acclaimed our coming Lord. “Hosanna! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!” We waved the palms, we rejoiced that salvation had come, we rejoiced that Holy Week had come. Today is Monday, Holy Monday, the second day in this most holy of weeks. Christ is in Jerusalem, the lamb awaiting slaughter, and we wait with Him. We wait, and we pray, we meditate on God’s Word. In the three-year Lutheran lectionary, the first three days of Holy Week are dedicated to reading a passion narrative in its entirety. Today, on Monday, we read from Saint Matthew
Matthew is a catechist, a teacher. His Gospel is organized around five great discourses of Jesus, each intended to lead us to understand the truths of the faith. When it comes to the Passion of our Lord, the discourses are over, but Matthew ever remains the teacher. He gives us signposts, events and words from Jesus and from His enemies that teach us what this suffering and death means. The first is the most important: the institution of the Lord’s Supper. Jesus wants us to view His suffering and death through the lens of the Lord’s Supper. Specifically, the Lord’s Supper teaches us why Christ died. “Drink of it, all of you, for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.” The next signpost is Barabbas, the murderer who is freed in Pilate’s attempt to placate the crowd. Barabbas is you and me; he was condemned to death, but Jesus dies in his place, just as He died in your place and mine. Finally, when Pilate declares himself innocent of Christ’s blood, the people cry out, “His blood be on us and on our children!” In their violent hate, they express a great truth; Christ’s blood does cover them, it covers you and me, forgiving all our sins and presenting us before His Father clothed in His righteousness. That is the gift of the cross; that is what Holy Week is all about.
Matthew is a catechist, a teacher. His Gospel is organized around five great discourses of Jesus, each intended to lead us to understand the truths of the faith. When it comes to the Passion of our Lord, the discourses are over, but Matthew ever remains the teacher. He gives us signposts, events and words from Jesus and from His enemies that teach us what this suffering and death means. The first is the most important: the institution of the Lord’s Supper. Jesus wants us to view His suffering and death through the lens of the Lord’s Supper. Specifically, the Lord’s Supper teaches us why Christ died. “Drink of it, all of you, for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.” The next signpost is Barabbas, the murderer who is freed in Pilate’s attempt to placate the crowd. Barabbas is you and me; he was condemned to death, but Jesus dies in his place, just as He died in your place and mine. Finally, when Pilate declares himself innocent of Christ’s blood, the people cry out, “His blood be on us and on our children!” In their violent hate, they express a great truth; Christ’s blood does cover them, it covers you and me, forgiving all our sins and presenting us before His Father clothed in His righteousness. That is the gift of the cross; that is what Holy Week is all about.
Palm Sunday/Sunday of the Passion (Deuteronomy 32:36-39)
“See now that I, even I, am He, and there is no god beside me; I kill and I make alive; I wound and I heal; and there is none that can deliver out of my hand.” Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God our Father and from our Lord and our Savior Jesus Christ, Amen. The text for our sermon this morning comes from the Old Testament lesson read a few moments ago from the thirty-second chapter of Deuteronomy. Dear friends in Christ, God gives us all things. Every good gift comes only from above, from our Creator, our sustainer, the only true God, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the God of you and me. He created all things, and He has not abandoned His creation. He still provides for us; nothing comes to us except through Him. Martin Luther teaches us to confess in the Small Catechism: “I believe that God has made me and all creatures; that He has given me my body and soul, eyes, ears, and all my members, my reason and all my senses, and still takes care of them. He also gives me clothing and shoes, food and drink, house and home, wife and children, land, animals, and all I have. He richly and daily provides me with all that I need to support this body and life.” Our God is a giver God, the giver of everything we need for this body and life. He delights to give, He rejoices to shower His abundance upon us. That is why He made us, so that He could give us every good thing, so that His hand could be open toward us.
We receive this abundant bounty from our Creator and immediately set to work forming it into idols. Not idols of wood or stone, but idols of everything else. This is a fundamental violation of the First Commandment, the foundation of the other nine: “You shall have no other Gods.” We learned the explanation from the Small Catechism: “We should fear, love, and trust in God above all things.” We don’t bow down before statues, but we bow down before our money, our reputation, our car, our home, our family. We bow down before ourselves. We worship the gift rather than the giver; we worship the things of this earth rather than the One who created them. We make them our gods. Martin Luther says in the Large Catechism, “A god means that from which we are to expect all good and in which we are to take refuge in all distress. So, to have a God is nothing other than trusting and believing Him with the heart.”
We depend on our idols to bring us good; we trust in them to provide for us, to protect us. We seek our good from them. Satan has made quite a career of convincing people to make the good gifts of God into idols, to worship the gift in place of the giver. The Lord gives us work, an income, money in our pocket; we form our checkbook into an idol, the place in which we put our trust, where we expect all good, our work becomes our life. The Lord gives the gift of family; we make families into idols, looking for them to satisfy our own needs and not receiving them as gift, loving them more than the God who gave them to us. The Lord gives us a body, physical abilities that allow us to work and to play; we think that this strength and ability is our own, and we derive our identity and self-worth from what we are able to do with our bodies. The Lord gives us government and medicine; we think that they can even conquer sin’s effects in society and in us. And we do the same with every other gift that God gives, from the air we breathe to the house we live in. All gods require sacrifices, and we are ready to give whatever they demand, for we believe that they will help us, that they can provide all that we need.
Idols promise great things; they promise to help us through this life, they promise to protect us, to be a rock of refuge in any storm. If we give the right worship, if we offer the right sacrifices, they will respond, and we will never live in want. They promise us the world. But they are liars. When we are faced with adversity, it is the idols that fall. A fire consumes a home, an accident destroys a car. Death attacks a family, disease assaults your body, joints and ligaments wear out and break. Suffering reveals that your idols have no power. They cannot even protect themselves, much less you. And no idol can reach beyond the grave. They may have some limited power in this life to care for you and protect you, but when death comes, there is nothing they can do. I’ve never seen a hearse pulling a U-Haul trailer; our idols crumble when confronted with the tomb.
Every obituary, every accident report, every diagnosis of cancer is a declaration that our idols are worthless. God mocks our idols, saying in our text: “Where are their gods, the rock in which they took refuge, who ate the fat of their sacrifices and drank the wine of their drink offering? Let them rise up and help you; let them be your protection!” It is in suffering, and especially in death, that idols are shown for what they are: empty, worthless, promising the world but giving nothing. They cannot rise up and help us, they cannot be our protection. They have no power, and we, who have trusted in them, who took refuge in them, are left with nothing. Worshipping idols leaves you powerless, empty, without any means to save yourself.
But it is precisely at that moment, when you are at your weakest, abandoned by your idols, that God takes action. “For the Lord will vindicate His people and have compassion on His servants, when He sees that their power is gone and there is none remaining, bond or free.” Idols cannot save; God does! He sees that our strength is gone, that our idols have failed us, that we are in desperate need of salvation, and He comes down to save. He enters this world in humility, as Saint Paul says, “[Jesus] made Himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men.” He enters Jerusalem in triumph, as the crowd waves palm branches, acclaiming their arriving King. “Hosanna! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord, even the King of Israel!” ‘Hosanna!’ they cried, ‘Save us, please!’ Our idols have left us naked, unprotected, unable to deal with sin and death on our own. Save us, please!
Jesus enters Jerusalem in triumph to response to our cries. He comes in compassion; He has seen our miserable condition and he has felt great sorrow for us. He looks on us with love, He seeks to comfort us. This compassion led Him to take our flesh; it led Him to heal the sick, to drive out demons, to feed the multitudes. Now this same compassion leads Him to sit upon a donkey and enter the Holy City. Compassion never stands alone, as simply a nice feeling on the part of Jesus; it always leads to action. Jesus will act to vindicate His people. Only He can bring judgment on their enemies; only He can defeat sin, death, and hell. No idol can do that; only Jesus, Jesus alone. Jesus comes to be the advocate of His suffering people, to judge their foes and set them free. But He can only do this by standing in their place, even unto death itself.
This week begins in triumph; it will end in death. God has entered Jerusalem to shouts of acclamation; by Friday the mob will lead Him to Pilate with shouts of anger. Today we hear “Hosanna!” On Friday we will hear “Crucify!” Only Jesus can vindicate us, and only by being given into death in our place. For He is the sinless Son of God, and He bears our sin as the perfect atoning sacrifice; living the life we couldn’t and dying the death we deserved. Only Jesus can do away with sin and death by bearing the sin of the world to the cross. As God Himself says in our text: “See now that I, even I, am He, and there is no God beside me; I kill and I make alive; I wound and I heal; and there is none that can deliver out of my hand.” Idols cannot save; God does! He put His Son to death upon the cross; He wounded Him with the scourge, the nails, and the spear of the Roman soldiers. God kills and makes alive, He wounds and He heals. He put Christ to death, but He made Him alive again; beyond Good Friday stands Easter. He wounded Christ, but He healed Him; Jesus would walk this earth again before taking His seat at the right hand of the throne of God.
Isaiah says: “He was wounded for our transgressions; He was crushed for our iniquities; upon Him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with His stripes we are healed.” God kills and makes alive, He wounds and He heals. He puts Christ to death to make you alive, to remove the curse of death from you. He wounds His only begotten Son to bring you healing, to restore you to perfect health from the ravages of sin. But first He must put you to death. “See now that I, even I, am He, and there is no god beside me; I kill and I make alive; I wound and I heal, and there is none that can deliver out of my hand.” He kills you, He wounds you, through the stern proclamation of His holy Law, which points out and condemns your sins. He puts your sinful nature to death in repentance. He drowns the old evil Adam in the font. He sweeps away the idols that you have surrounded yourself with, leaving you powerless, with nowhere else to turn. But God only puts to death with His Law in order to make alive with His Gospel. The sweet proclamation of Christ’s death for your sake, the ‘for you’ of the Gospel that will ring in your ears on this most holy of weeks, creates faith within you that makes you alive, eternally alive. Your sinful nature was drowned in the font, crucified with Christ; God raises up a new man with Christ, to live before Him in righteousness and purity forever.
God kills and makes alive; He wounds and He heals. He is doing this work constantly, each and every day, as He points out your sin and destroys your idols, then speaks the life-giving words of the Gospel to forgive that sin. Christ enters this day in triumph to die in humiliation for you. God made Him alive as the seal and guarantee that death will have no hold upon you, that you will receive perfect healing in the halls of the New Jerusalem. He entered the old Jerusalem in triumph to the waving of palm branches; one day you will enter the New Jerusalem celebrating the same victory. Christ’s death means your resurrection; Christ’s wounds mean your healing; God intends to make you alive, now and forevermore. No idol can defeat death; Christ already has, and His victory is for you, for your forgiveness, for your life, for your salvation. In the name of Jesus, who entered Jerusalem this day with shouts of ‘Hosanna!’ to depart on Friday with shouts of ‘Crucify!’ showing compassion to you, me, and all people. Amen.
We receive this abundant bounty from our Creator and immediately set to work forming it into idols. Not idols of wood or stone, but idols of everything else. This is a fundamental violation of the First Commandment, the foundation of the other nine: “You shall have no other Gods.” We learned the explanation from the Small Catechism: “We should fear, love, and trust in God above all things.” We don’t bow down before statues, but we bow down before our money, our reputation, our car, our home, our family. We bow down before ourselves. We worship the gift rather than the giver; we worship the things of this earth rather than the One who created them. We make them our gods. Martin Luther says in the Large Catechism, “A god means that from which we are to expect all good and in which we are to take refuge in all distress. So, to have a God is nothing other than trusting and believing Him with the heart.”
We depend on our idols to bring us good; we trust in them to provide for us, to protect us. We seek our good from them. Satan has made quite a career of convincing people to make the good gifts of God into idols, to worship the gift in place of the giver. The Lord gives us work, an income, money in our pocket; we form our checkbook into an idol, the place in which we put our trust, where we expect all good, our work becomes our life. The Lord gives the gift of family; we make families into idols, looking for them to satisfy our own needs and not receiving them as gift, loving them more than the God who gave them to us. The Lord gives us a body, physical abilities that allow us to work and to play; we think that this strength and ability is our own, and we derive our identity and self-worth from what we are able to do with our bodies. The Lord gives us government and medicine; we think that they can even conquer sin’s effects in society and in us. And we do the same with every other gift that God gives, from the air we breathe to the house we live in. All gods require sacrifices, and we are ready to give whatever they demand, for we believe that they will help us, that they can provide all that we need.
Idols promise great things; they promise to help us through this life, they promise to protect us, to be a rock of refuge in any storm. If we give the right worship, if we offer the right sacrifices, they will respond, and we will never live in want. They promise us the world. But they are liars. When we are faced with adversity, it is the idols that fall. A fire consumes a home, an accident destroys a car. Death attacks a family, disease assaults your body, joints and ligaments wear out and break. Suffering reveals that your idols have no power. They cannot even protect themselves, much less you. And no idol can reach beyond the grave. They may have some limited power in this life to care for you and protect you, but when death comes, there is nothing they can do. I’ve never seen a hearse pulling a U-Haul trailer; our idols crumble when confronted with the tomb.
Every obituary, every accident report, every diagnosis of cancer is a declaration that our idols are worthless. God mocks our idols, saying in our text: “Where are their gods, the rock in which they took refuge, who ate the fat of their sacrifices and drank the wine of their drink offering? Let them rise up and help you; let them be your protection!” It is in suffering, and especially in death, that idols are shown for what they are: empty, worthless, promising the world but giving nothing. They cannot rise up and help us, they cannot be our protection. They have no power, and we, who have trusted in them, who took refuge in them, are left with nothing. Worshipping idols leaves you powerless, empty, without any means to save yourself.
But it is precisely at that moment, when you are at your weakest, abandoned by your idols, that God takes action. “For the Lord will vindicate His people and have compassion on His servants, when He sees that their power is gone and there is none remaining, bond or free.” Idols cannot save; God does! He sees that our strength is gone, that our idols have failed us, that we are in desperate need of salvation, and He comes down to save. He enters this world in humility, as Saint Paul says, “[Jesus] made Himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men.” He enters Jerusalem in triumph, as the crowd waves palm branches, acclaiming their arriving King. “Hosanna! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord, even the King of Israel!” ‘Hosanna!’ they cried, ‘Save us, please!’ Our idols have left us naked, unprotected, unable to deal with sin and death on our own. Save us, please!
Jesus enters Jerusalem in triumph to response to our cries. He comes in compassion; He has seen our miserable condition and he has felt great sorrow for us. He looks on us with love, He seeks to comfort us. This compassion led Him to take our flesh; it led Him to heal the sick, to drive out demons, to feed the multitudes. Now this same compassion leads Him to sit upon a donkey and enter the Holy City. Compassion never stands alone, as simply a nice feeling on the part of Jesus; it always leads to action. Jesus will act to vindicate His people. Only He can bring judgment on their enemies; only He can defeat sin, death, and hell. No idol can do that; only Jesus, Jesus alone. Jesus comes to be the advocate of His suffering people, to judge their foes and set them free. But He can only do this by standing in their place, even unto death itself.
This week begins in triumph; it will end in death. God has entered Jerusalem to shouts of acclamation; by Friday the mob will lead Him to Pilate with shouts of anger. Today we hear “Hosanna!” On Friday we will hear “Crucify!” Only Jesus can vindicate us, and only by being given into death in our place. For He is the sinless Son of God, and He bears our sin as the perfect atoning sacrifice; living the life we couldn’t and dying the death we deserved. Only Jesus can do away with sin and death by bearing the sin of the world to the cross. As God Himself says in our text: “See now that I, even I, am He, and there is no God beside me; I kill and I make alive; I wound and I heal; and there is none that can deliver out of my hand.” Idols cannot save; God does! He put His Son to death upon the cross; He wounded Him with the scourge, the nails, and the spear of the Roman soldiers. God kills and makes alive, He wounds and He heals. He put Christ to death, but He made Him alive again; beyond Good Friday stands Easter. He wounded Christ, but He healed Him; Jesus would walk this earth again before taking His seat at the right hand of the throne of God.
Isaiah says: “He was wounded for our transgressions; He was crushed for our iniquities; upon Him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with His stripes we are healed.” God kills and makes alive, He wounds and He heals. He puts Christ to death to make you alive, to remove the curse of death from you. He wounds His only begotten Son to bring you healing, to restore you to perfect health from the ravages of sin. But first He must put you to death. “See now that I, even I, am He, and there is no god beside me; I kill and I make alive; I wound and I heal, and there is none that can deliver out of my hand.” He kills you, He wounds you, through the stern proclamation of His holy Law, which points out and condemns your sins. He puts your sinful nature to death in repentance. He drowns the old evil Adam in the font. He sweeps away the idols that you have surrounded yourself with, leaving you powerless, with nowhere else to turn. But God only puts to death with His Law in order to make alive with His Gospel. The sweet proclamation of Christ’s death for your sake, the ‘for you’ of the Gospel that will ring in your ears on this most holy of weeks, creates faith within you that makes you alive, eternally alive. Your sinful nature was drowned in the font, crucified with Christ; God raises up a new man with Christ, to live before Him in righteousness and purity forever.
God kills and makes alive; He wounds and He heals. He is doing this work constantly, each and every day, as He points out your sin and destroys your idols, then speaks the life-giving words of the Gospel to forgive that sin. Christ enters this day in triumph to die in humiliation for you. God made Him alive as the seal and guarantee that death will have no hold upon you, that you will receive perfect healing in the halls of the New Jerusalem. He entered the old Jerusalem in triumph to the waving of palm branches; one day you will enter the New Jerusalem celebrating the same victory. Christ’s death means your resurrection; Christ’s wounds mean your healing; God intends to make you alive, now and forevermore. No idol can defeat death; Christ already has, and His victory is for you, for your forgiveness, for your life, for your salvation. In the name of Jesus, who entered Jerusalem this day with shouts of ‘Hosanna!’ to depart on Friday with shouts of ‘Crucify!’ showing compassion to you, me, and all people. Amen.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Lenten Midweek Service (Luke 22:39-46)
Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God our Father and from our Lord and our Savior Jesus Christ, Amen. The text for our sermon this evening comes from the text just read from Luke chapter twenty-two. Dear friends in Christ, one of the more popular biblical scenes to paint or enshrine in stained glass is the image of Christ praying in the Garden of Gethsemane; in fact, if I’m remembering correctly, there are at least four different renditions of this event at St. John’s. In 1730 the Italian painter Sebastiano Ricci tried his hand at this familiar scene, painting the work that you have as a bulletin insert this evening. His brushstrokes illuminate both the angel and Jesus with heavenly light: our Lord is on His knees, His head bowed to the ground, the angel floating between earth and heaven, covered in glory. First-century Jews typically prayed standing up, but Jesus is so weighed down by the burden of this world’s sin that He falls to the ground, He cannot find the strength even to stand. The disciples are there, shrouded by the darkness of that evening. In short, all the characters of our text for tonight are in this painting, except one: Satan.
It isn’t very surprising that Ricci fails to paint Satan explicitly into the scene; Luke fails to mention him, too. But make no mistake, Satan is there. His presence is acknowledged by the exhortation of Jesus, “Pray that you may not enter into temptation.” Christ wants them to pray the Lord’s Prayer, the prayer that He gave as one of His greatest gifts to them, the prayer that contains the petition, “Lead us not into temptation.” Luther gives us the explanation: “We pray in this petition that God would guard and keep us so that the devil, the world, and our sinful nature may not deceive us or mislead us into false belief, despair, and other great shame and vice.” In the Garden that night, Satan will deceive, he will mislead. He wants the disciples to be led into false belief, despair, and other great shame and vice. He wants the disciples to be scandalized by the cross. He wants them to reject the sufferings of Jesus, to reject His cross, which Satan correctly tells them will lead to their own. Satan wants to them to seek their own good, to avoid Christ’s sufferings to save their own skins.
Ricci shows us that Satan’s temptations have had their effect. Jesus called on His disciples to “Pray that you may not enter into temptation.” They should be in the light, praying with Jesus, fighting against Satan, asking the Father to keep them all from temptation, asking for strength to face the hours and days ahead. But instead, they are in the darkness. So much so, that on your black-and-white copy, you can barely see them. Luke tells us, “And when [Jesus] rose from prayer, He came to the disciples, and found them sleeping for sorrow.” They fail to stay awake and pray, “Lead us not into temptation.” They are lulled to sleep by Satan, and so they will be completely unprepared for what will come; they will flee at the sight of the cross. Zechariah prophesied, “Strike the shepherd, and the sheep will be scattered.” The sheep are ready to scatter; the offense of the cross will drive them away. Satan has triumphed over the disciples; they have failed to be faithful.
But the conflict between Satan and the disciples is only a sideshow; the main event is happening in the very center of the painting. Ricci has portrayed for us the decisive moment of Christ’s passion, the moment that has the potential to change history. Luke tells us what is happening. “And [Jesus] withdrew from them about a stone’s throw, and knelt down and prayed, saying, ‘Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me.’” We cannot see Satan, but he is there, giving to Jesus the same temptation that he offered in the wilderness: ‘You can have all the glory without the cross.’ And Jesus is on the very edge of giving in. He asks for the cup to be removed, the cup of suffering, the cup of divine wrath, the cup that you deserved to drink for your sins and rebellion against God. That is what ashes upon your head declare: the cup doesn’t belong to Christ, it belongs to you! And here, in the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus asks for the cup to be given back to you, to drink down to the dregs. Jesus asks the Father to spare Him from the cross—the whole reason He became man and walked this earth in the first place. Your eternal salvation hangs in the balance. No wonder Luke tells us: “And being in agony He prayed more earnestly; and His sweat became like great drops of blood falling down to the ground.”
There is perhaps no other moment in Christ’s life that we see His human nature so clearly as when He asks to be spared the cross. But that isn’t the end of His prayer. “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but yours be done.” Sebastiano Ricci shows us the Father’s answer. The angel comes down from heaven, carrying a cup, the cup of God’s wrath over sin, the full weight of the punishment that the rebellion of all people has earned. Ricci doesn’t paint it this way, but that cup is marked with a cross of ashes, for it is your cup, and mine. And that cup is offered to Jesus to drink, down to the dregs. The angel has one finger extended to heaven; without a word, he is declaring to Jesus that yes, this is the Father’s will. He has called upon His Son to drink this cup; this is the only way that creation can be delivered from the bondage of sin and death. This cup is His will. The decisive moment has come; will Jesus take that cup, or will He leave it for us to drink? Our eyes turn toward our Lord for the answer. The angel bears the cup that fulfills the Father’s will; the open hand of Jesus tells us He has accepted that will. The angel points to the Father, Jesus points to the ground; His path lies on this earth, from the garden, to the courtroom, to the cross. He submits to the Father’s will; He will drink the cup, He will face the cross. Satan is conquered; Jesus has triumphed where His disciples failed.
You and I are also in this painting; we too are hiding in the darkness, facing the assaults of Satan. He wants us to be scandalized by the cross this Lenten season, to flee from it like the disciples did. He wants us to seek to save our own skin rather than willingly take up the cross and follow Jesus. He wants us to be timid, cowering with fear, fear that paralyzes us from serving our neighbor, from speaking the words of the Gospel, from bolding standing for Christ in a world under the sway of the anti-christ. His tune has never changed; he wants us to desire to be gods, and no god, he whispers, should bear a cross.
Like the disciples, we are lulled to sleep. We fail to pray, “Lead us not into temptation,” and instead we slumber. We fail to confess Christ when we are confronted with the cross. It’s easy to speak of Christ, to serve your neighbor, when there is no cost, when we’re safely within the borders of the Christian Church. But when confessing Jesus, when serving your neighbor in body and soul, when standing against this world all carry a hefty price tag, we cower, we fear, we fail, we flee. Like the disciples on that Maundy Thursday evening, we are scattered when the cross comes into view. That is why we are here, because we have failed, we have fallen for Satan’s lies, we have been unable to “Pray that you may not enter into temptation.” But where we have failed, Christ has overcome.
The moment that Sebastiano Ricci captures is the decisive moment; our salvation stands on the edge of a knife. But with the submission of Jesus to the Father’s will, our salvation is as good as done. Our Lord was on His knees, wrestling with the cross, wrestling with His sufferings, wrestling with the Father’s will, the plan of salvation. But then He rose. Luke tells us, “And when He rose from prayer, He came to the disciples and found them sleeping for sorrow.” This is a word of resurrection; as Jesus rose from prayer obedient to the Father’s will, so He will rise from the grave having accomplished that will. There is now no question of Christ’s obedience to the Father’s will, even unto death. He conquers where we fail; He conquers for us, in our place. His obedience is given in place of our disobedience, and He takes that cup and drains it, so that we never have to. His triumph over Satan’s attacks makes all the difference, for you, for me, for all eternity. In the Name of Jesus, who conquered temptation by submitting to the Father’s will for our salvation, Amen.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Lent 4 of Series C (Luke 15:1-3, 11-32)
“Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. It was fitting to celebrate and be glad, for this your brother was dead, and is alive; he was lost, and is found.” Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God our Father and from our Lord and our Savior Jesus Christ, Amen. The text for our sermon this morning comes from the Gospel lesson read a few moments ago from the fifteenth chapter of the Gospel according to Saint Luke. Dear friends in Christ, repentance, repentance, repentance! It seems that is all we’ve been talking about the past few weeks. Repentance isn’t a feeling, repentance isn’t living a perfect life, repentance isn’t going around being gloomy. Repentance is the mighty work of God within you through Law and Gospel, turning you away from sin and toward God in faith. Repentance is the theme of Lent, it is the theme of this day, it is the theme of your life. Repentance is the theme of the parable of the Prodigal Son. But if we call it the parable of the Prodigal Son, then we are in great danger of missing the point. The Prodigal is by no means the main character. He is only one of two rebellious sons, but the star of this show isn’t either of them, it is their father. It is his crazy antics that should draw our attention: Jesus has instead told us the parable of the Foolish Father.
This father truly is foolish. His younger son comes to him one day and says, “Father, give me the share of property that is coming to me.” His youngest son comes to him and asks for the inheritance—before he is dead! The Prodigal Son is telling his father to hurry up and die, because he wants the money. There is no love, no care or compassion there; greed fills his heart, rebellion and rejection of his father, who gave him life. The Prodigal Son deserved a beating, some would even say he deserved death, but what does this Foolish Father do? “He divided his property between them.” What a fool! He allows his son to run all over him, to insult him to his face! And then he lets him go! “Not many days later, the younger son gathered all he had and took a journey into a far country, and there he squandered his property in reckless living.” Instead of punishment, instead of death, instead of the penalties that no one would fault him for dealing out, this Foolish Father lets him leave and waste the fortune he had earned for him; his son is dead and lost to him, dead in sin and lost in depravity.
Sounds like another Father, who lovingly formed children from the dust of the ground, who formed you in your mother’s womb. And his children rebelled, they took the gifts that He had given them and squandered them. They exchanged love for lust, they exchanged hard work for greed, they traded in heavenly treasures for the fleeting pleasures of this earth. Every time that you or I sin, we are telling God to drop dead and we are taking the gifts and abilities He has given us to a far off country, far from Him, far from His love. And He is a fool to let us go. Anyone else would’ve sent us punishment, and many would’ve simply put us to death right then and there. But our Father lets us go; with tears He allows Himself to be rejected. He created us to be living beings, alive in body and soul; with sorrow he watches as we put our souls to death with sin.
In the midst of his depravity, seeing the complete emptiness in his life, the Prodigal Son comes to repentance. “I will arise and go to my father, and I will say to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.” He cannot imagine grace, he cannot conceive of forgiveness, and so his repentance is incomplete, it has a condition, a bargain: “Treat me as one of your hired servants.” The Foolish Father sees his son at a distance, but he doesn’t wait for him, instead he runs to his son to greet him. Does he bear an angry fist, a death sentence? Is he ready to bargain, to negotiate a return into the family? No, all he has is grace. “But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him.” What a fool! The Prodigal Son rejected him, squandered his wealth and was as good as dead, and the Foolish Father welcomes him back with love. The gospel overwhelms his attempts to bargain; the Prodigal can now only confess, “Father I have sinner against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.” He is unworthy to be a son; anyone can see that. But the Foolish Father doesn’t act like any normal person; he shows reckless grace. The Prodigal Son is given the best robe—the father’s robe—a ring on his finger, and sandals on his feet; he kills the fattened calf and begins to celebrate. What a fool! He doesn’t require punishment, he doesn’t want him to work his way back—he receives him with joy, no questions asked! The Prodigal is a son again; not by his good life (he has lived the worst of lives), not by his bargaining (he had no chance to bargain), but by the Foolish Father’s lavish grace. As the Foolish Father said himself, “This my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.”
Our Father doesn’t wait for us to return; He runs to us and showers us with compassion. He finds us and lavishes us with grace. Having been confronted by the Law’s grim reality and the Gospel’s free offer of rich and abundant love, we repent: “I, a poor miserable sinner…” He pours out His love upon us: “I forgive you all your sins in the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” This grace is reckless, some would even say foolish. The Father sacrifices not a calf, but His own Son to reconcile you with Him. The Father places on you His own robe, the robe of Christ’s righteousness; He puts a ring on your finger and sandals on your feet, giving you the status of sonship once again, making you His beloved child. You were Prodigal; He is gracious. You were dead; He has made you alive. It’s time to celebrate!
But some refuse to rejoice. The older brother stands far off, and when he finds out that his father has welcomed back the Prodigal Son, his anger cannot be contained. “Look, these many years I have served you, and I never disobeyed your command, yet you never gave me a young goat, that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fattened calf for him!” You fool! he says. He despises the Father’s grace, he stands aloof and self-righteously is offended by this unconditional love. He wants a bargain, he wants punishment, he wants his brother to work his way back into the family. The grace of his father is a stench in his nostrils, he rejects it, and so he rejects the celebration. He refuses to have joy.
How quickly the grace of our Father is forgotten! We were the Prodigal Son, we had rebelled, we had squandered what He had given us, but yet He receives us back to Himself. His lavish grace has overwhelmed us, making us a part of His family once again. But how do we look at the other Prodigals? Do we receive them with joy, with the same reckless love as our Father? No, so often we who have spent years or even a lifetime in the Church look down on the Prodigals. The same abundant grace that is given to us is despised when it is given to others. Do we welcome sinners into this fellowship, remembering that we are all Prodigals? Or do we self-righteously look down on them, giving them the cold shoulder? When they return to their Father, so often our reaction isn’t one of joy but instead, “About time!” or “She thinks she can call herself a Christian?” What about the Prodigals that don’t walk through these doors? We encounter Prodigals all the time; they work with us, they go to school with us, they are in our families, we see them on the street. Do we call on them to be reconciled to their Father, or do we think that some of them aren’t worth saving? I know how this works, because I fall into it all the time: you look at a person living a sinful life not as one for whom Christ died, but as a wretch not worth your time. And if we do welcome them, if we do call on them to be reconciled to their Father, it isn’t out of joy, but from a sense of duty; our motivation for evangelism and confessing the faith is of the Law and not of the Gospel. No wonder our confession is so weak and often non-existent!
In his self-righteousness the Stubborn Brother was as dead and lost as the Prodigal Son; he rejected his Foolish Father’s grace and love, and refused to join the celebration. If your child talks back to you like that and refuses to join the feast, then you probably would leave him out in the cold. But not this father. The Foolish Father doesn’t respond with punishment or anger, but with grace: “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. It was fitting to celebrate and be glad, for this your brother was dead, and is alive, he was lost, and is found.” What a fool! Instead of disinheriting this insolent and stubborn son, the Foolish Father affirms that he has all things. All that the Father has is His. The Father’s reckless love finds the Stubborn Brother; the dead one is made alive and given all things by grace. He offers to the Stubborn Brother the same rich grace that he gave to the Prodigal Son. And then he calls on him to celebrate.
Jesus doesn’t conclude this parable; the ending is left hanging. What will the Stubborn Brother do? That’s exactly the point; the Pharisees, along with you and me, will finish the parable. The call of repentance from this parable isn’t so much to Prodigal Sons, it is to Stubborn Brothers, to you and me. Repent of your self-righteousness and turn to Christ in faith! The Father doesn’t reject you, His lavish love covers both Prodigal Sons and Stubborn Brothers, it covers you and me! Despite your sin, despite your rebellion, the Father says to you, “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours.” Through the death of the obedient Son, our brother Jesus Christ, all that belongs to God is ours. We have a heavenly, eternal inheritance! The Father shows foolish, reckless love to you and to me, calling us back from prodigal living, calling us back from self-righteousness and forgiving all our sin! And God says that we are always with Him; He is ‘God with us,’ who dwells among us in grace, who celebrates when we repent. That is where we receive this inheritance, this is where we dwell with God: at the celebration, the marriage feast of the Lamb in His Kingdom. “It was fitting to celebrate and be glad, for this your brother was dead, and is alive; he was lost, and is found.” It is fitting, necessary that God would celebrate the finding of the lost, the making alive of the dead, for nothing else gives Him as much joy as making Prodigal Sons and Stubborn brothers His beloved children, to rejoice with Him forever. In the Name of Jesus, who in His reckless love reconciled us to the Father, Amen.
This father truly is foolish. His younger son comes to him one day and says, “Father, give me the share of property that is coming to me.” His youngest son comes to him and asks for the inheritance—before he is dead! The Prodigal Son is telling his father to hurry up and die, because he wants the money. There is no love, no care or compassion there; greed fills his heart, rebellion and rejection of his father, who gave him life. The Prodigal Son deserved a beating, some would even say he deserved death, but what does this Foolish Father do? “He divided his property between them.” What a fool! He allows his son to run all over him, to insult him to his face! And then he lets him go! “Not many days later, the younger son gathered all he had and took a journey into a far country, and there he squandered his property in reckless living.” Instead of punishment, instead of death, instead of the penalties that no one would fault him for dealing out, this Foolish Father lets him leave and waste the fortune he had earned for him; his son is dead and lost to him, dead in sin and lost in depravity.
Sounds like another Father, who lovingly formed children from the dust of the ground, who formed you in your mother’s womb. And his children rebelled, they took the gifts that He had given them and squandered them. They exchanged love for lust, they exchanged hard work for greed, they traded in heavenly treasures for the fleeting pleasures of this earth. Every time that you or I sin, we are telling God to drop dead and we are taking the gifts and abilities He has given us to a far off country, far from Him, far from His love. And He is a fool to let us go. Anyone else would’ve sent us punishment, and many would’ve simply put us to death right then and there. But our Father lets us go; with tears He allows Himself to be rejected. He created us to be living beings, alive in body and soul; with sorrow he watches as we put our souls to death with sin.
In the midst of his depravity, seeing the complete emptiness in his life, the Prodigal Son comes to repentance. “I will arise and go to my father, and I will say to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.” He cannot imagine grace, he cannot conceive of forgiveness, and so his repentance is incomplete, it has a condition, a bargain: “Treat me as one of your hired servants.” The Foolish Father sees his son at a distance, but he doesn’t wait for him, instead he runs to his son to greet him. Does he bear an angry fist, a death sentence? Is he ready to bargain, to negotiate a return into the family? No, all he has is grace. “But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him.” What a fool! The Prodigal Son rejected him, squandered his wealth and was as good as dead, and the Foolish Father welcomes him back with love. The gospel overwhelms his attempts to bargain; the Prodigal can now only confess, “Father I have sinner against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.” He is unworthy to be a son; anyone can see that. But the Foolish Father doesn’t act like any normal person; he shows reckless grace. The Prodigal Son is given the best robe—the father’s robe—a ring on his finger, and sandals on his feet; he kills the fattened calf and begins to celebrate. What a fool! He doesn’t require punishment, he doesn’t want him to work his way back—he receives him with joy, no questions asked! The Prodigal is a son again; not by his good life (he has lived the worst of lives), not by his bargaining (he had no chance to bargain), but by the Foolish Father’s lavish grace. As the Foolish Father said himself, “This my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.”
Our Father doesn’t wait for us to return; He runs to us and showers us with compassion. He finds us and lavishes us with grace. Having been confronted by the Law’s grim reality and the Gospel’s free offer of rich and abundant love, we repent: “I, a poor miserable sinner…” He pours out His love upon us: “I forgive you all your sins in the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” This grace is reckless, some would even say foolish. The Father sacrifices not a calf, but His own Son to reconcile you with Him. The Father places on you His own robe, the robe of Christ’s righteousness; He puts a ring on your finger and sandals on your feet, giving you the status of sonship once again, making you His beloved child. You were Prodigal; He is gracious. You were dead; He has made you alive. It’s time to celebrate!
But some refuse to rejoice. The older brother stands far off, and when he finds out that his father has welcomed back the Prodigal Son, his anger cannot be contained. “Look, these many years I have served you, and I never disobeyed your command, yet you never gave me a young goat, that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fattened calf for him!” You fool! he says. He despises the Father’s grace, he stands aloof and self-righteously is offended by this unconditional love. He wants a bargain, he wants punishment, he wants his brother to work his way back into the family. The grace of his father is a stench in his nostrils, he rejects it, and so he rejects the celebration. He refuses to have joy.
How quickly the grace of our Father is forgotten! We were the Prodigal Son, we had rebelled, we had squandered what He had given us, but yet He receives us back to Himself. His lavish grace has overwhelmed us, making us a part of His family once again. But how do we look at the other Prodigals? Do we receive them with joy, with the same reckless love as our Father? No, so often we who have spent years or even a lifetime in the Church look down on the Prodigals. The same abundant grace that is given to us is despised when it is given to others. Do we welcome sinners into this fellowship, remembering that we are all Prodigals? Or do we self-righteously look down on them, giving them the cold shoulder? When they return to their Father, so often our reaction isn’t one of joy but instead, “About time!” or “She thinks she can call herself a Christian?” What about the Prodigals that don’t walk through these doors? We encounter Prodigals all the time; they work with us, they go to school with us, they are in our families, we see them on the street. Do we call on them to be reconciled to their Father, or do we think that some of them aren’t worth saving? I know how this works, because I fall into it all the time: you look at a person living a sinful life not as one for whom Christ died, but as a wretch not worth your time. And if we do welcome them, if we do call on them to be reconciled to their Father, it isn’t out of joy, but from a sense of duty; our motivation for evangelism and confessing the faith is of the Law and not of the Gospel. No wonder our confession is so weak and often non-existent!
In his self-righteousness the Stubborn Brother was as dead and lost as the Prodigal Son; he rejected his Foolish Father’s grace and love, and refused to join the celebration. If your child talks back to you like that and refuses to join the feast, then you probably would leave him out in the cold. But not this father. The Foolish Father doesn’t respond with punishment or anger, but with grace: “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. It was fitting to celebrate and be glad, for this your brother was dead, and is alive, he was lost, and is found.” What a fool! Instead of disinheriting this insolent and stubborn son, the Foolish Father affirms that he has all things. All that the Father has is His. The Father’s reckless love finds the Stubborn Brother; the dead one is made alive and given all things by grace. He offers to the Stubborn Brother the same rich grace that he gave to the Prodigal Son. And then he calls on him to celebrate.
Jesus doesn’t conclude this parable; the ending is left hanging. What will the Stubborn Brother do? That’s exactly the point; the Pharisees, along with you and me, will finish the parable. The call of repentance from this parable isn’t so much to Prodigal Sons, it is to Stubborn Brothers, to you and me. Repent of your self-righteousness and turn to Christ in faith! The Father doesn’t reject you, His lavish love covers both Prodigal Sons and Stubborn Brothers, it covers you and me! Despite your sin, despite your rebellion, the Father says to you, “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours.” Through the death of the obedient Son, our brother Jesus Christ, all that belongs to God is ours. We have a heavenly, eternal inheritance! The Father shows foolish, reckless love to you and to me, calling us back from prodigal living, calling us back from self-righteousness and forgiving all our sin! And God says that we are always with Him; He is ‘God with us,’ who dwells among us in grace, who celebrates when we repent. That is where we receive this inheritance, this is where we dwell with God: at the celebration, the marriage feast of the Lamb in His Kingdom. “It was fitting to celebrate and be glad, for this your brother was dead, and is alive; he was lost, and is found.” It is fitting, necessary that God would celebrate the finding of the lost, the making alive of the dead, for nothing else gives Him as much joy as making Prodigal Sons and Stubborn brothers His beloved children, to rejoice with Him forever. In the Name of Jesus, who in His reckless love reconciled us to the Father, Amen.
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