Proper 19 of Series C (1 Timothy 1:12-17)

“The saying is trustworthy and deserving of full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the foremost.” 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 Epistle lesson read a few moments ago from the first chapter of Paul’s first letter to Saint Timothy. Dear friends in Christ, imagine that you are in prison. Now this prison is filled with hardened criminals, each one of them, including you, condemned to death. Let me repeat: every prisoner in that building is on death row. But there is one that is worse than others. One of the prisoners is a heinous criminal, who has committed unspeakable acts. Everyone in that prison knows who he is; everyone knows what he has done, and there is no question that of all the many prisoners in that place, he is most deserving of death. You may be condemned to death, but you know that when the warden starts carrying out those sentences, that man will be first in line. Now imagine that the governor sets forth a proclamation that every person in that prison has been set free; he has pardoned everyone. The rumor of this pardon has come into the prison: will you believe it? It seems too good to be true. And so all eyes turn to the high security cell, where that worst of criminals is kept. If he is set free, then you can know with confidence that the governor’s proclamation is true; if you watch him leave a free man, you will rejoice that you are now free, too.

That worst of prisoners has a name: Paul. His crimes? Persecution and blasphemy of God Himself, the governor who proclaimed pardon. This governor came in the flesh to win pardon and Paul refused to recognize Him. He knew of Jesus, and he rejected Him. Jesus asked His disciples, “Who do you say that I AM?” The whole world is confronted with this question, you, me, and even Paul, and he gave this answer: “You are a false teacher.” And so Paul persecuted the Church; he raged in violence against those who with Peter gave the right answer: “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” He threw Jesus’ followers in prison, he made their lives miserable. He sought them out and disrupted their gatherings. He even supervised the stoning of Stephen, holding the murderer’s cloaks. It wasn’t enough for him to simply say, “You’re wrong,” he had to persecute them, he set himself to stamp out this heresy once and for all, to eliminate the Church just as the Sanhedrin had eliminated Jesus.

Throughout His life, this Jesus made many powerful declarations of His identity, saying, “I AM the light of the world, I AM the bread of life, I AM the Good Shepherd.” Now in prison, Paul has an ‘I am’ statement of his own: “I am the foremost.” The foremost what? The foremost sinner. Paul had all the human righteousness a man could have, he followed the Law to the letter, he was a Pharisee of Pharisees. His righteous life was undeniable, an example to follow. But his righteous life couldn’t save him from prison, for he rejected Jesus, the very Son of God, he even persecuted His Church, he gave the wrong answer to Christ’s vital question, “Who do you say that I AM?” And for that he is condemned, for that he says of himself, “I am the foremost.”

If there is anyone in that prison who doesn’t deserve pardon, it’s Paul. He is lost, estranged from his Creator. But before we look down on our fellow prisoner, a little self-examination is in order. Paul may call himself the foremost sinner, he may be in the high-security cell, but remember, you are under the same condemnation as him. You, too, are under the sentence of death. Paul at least obeyed the Law to the letter, he was careful to follow all that the Lord set forth. How are you doing with that? Take a trip through the Ten Commandments and examine your life, as you should do each and every day. And don’t just look at the outward meaning; go with Jesus to the heart of the commandments. Haven’t killed anyone lately? How about hatred? Haven’t slept with someone who isn’t your spouse? What about lust? Have you hurt your neighbor’s reputation; do you gladly hear God’s Word? Or the big one: what kind of gods have you made for yourself? Why are you in the prison in the first place? You have been condemned to death because you have violated God’s Law in every way. You were conceived with the sin of your parents, and you have added to your bill ever since. Sinning isn’t a competition, God doesn’t grade on a curve; you aren’t better off because someone else seems worse than you.

You can only draw one conclusion: maybe Paul was a bit hasty in calling himself the foremost sinner. It seems like we may have a claim to that title. I am the foremost sinner, and so are you. We confessed it once again this morning as we began this service. If sinning is a competition, then it’s a strange one, because we’re all in first place; we all deserve the prize of everlasting death. Each one of us is the sheep that went astray, the coin that was lost; not one of us is righteous, no not one.

And so the governor’s proclamation of pardon has filled our prison with nervous hope. You wonder if this message of grace and mercy could possibly be true. How could you be pardoned, how could you be delivered from the sentence of death? You know who you are, you know what you’ve done, and you know that you deserve this prison, this condemnation that has been placed upon you. But then you watch the doors of the high security cell open and that hardened criminal, that worst of vile offenders, Paul himself, is set free. He has been pardoned, he has been released; the man who called himself the foremost sinner has been delivered from his condemnation! How could this happen? Paul himself, that foremost sinner, tells us in our text. “I thank him who has given me strength, Christ Jesus our Lord, because he judged me faithful, appointing me to his service, though formerly I was a blasphemer, persecutor, and insolent opponent. But I received mercy because I had acted ignorantly in unbelief, and the grace of our Lord overflowed for me with the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus.”

Jesus showed Paul mercy; He sought out His lost sheep and carried him home upon His shoulders. More than that, Jesus even makes Paul a minister of the Gospel, appointing him to proclaim the message of freedom to the rest of the prisoners condemned to death. When the prisoner is put into a palace, when he receives such a mission, there can be no doubt that he has received undeserved mercy. Paul had nothing to do with it; it is all Jesus. See who’s running the verbs in our text: it’s all Jesus! Jesus gives Paul strength, Jesus judges him faithful, Jesus appoints him to this service, Jesus shows mercy, and more than mercy: grace, faith, and love. Paul hasn’t just been spared from punishment, he has been given every good gift! His cup overflows with faith and love; he now has an eternal treasure in place of his chains, life in place of death, freedom forever in the halls of heaven!

Paul is sent to the other prisoners, you and me, with a message of hope and freedom, mercy and grace: “Because Christ has saved me, let no one doubt their salvation.” “The saying is trustworthy and deserving of full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the foremost. But I received mercy for this reason, that in me, as the foremost, Jesus Christ might display his perfect patience as an example to those who were to believe in him for eternal life.” Jesus did everything: He came, He saved, and now He displays Paul, He shows him forth as the greatest example of grace and love. If Jesus can save Paul, if He can seek out and find that lost sheep, then He can save you, me, and all people. Why? Because Christ died for all people, He died for all sins. Jesus made himself the worst of sinners; He said to the Father on Good Friday: “I AM the foremost sinner.” And He was, for on that day He carried the weight of the world’s sin upon Himself and bore it to the cross. There is not a single sin that Jesus did not die for; while many may reject His forgiveness, there is not a single sinner outside of His grace. Jesus made himself sin for us, and He nailed that sin to the cross. There He died in your place, in Paul’s place. He died the death that everyone in the prison was condemned to die, and with your penalty paid for, you are set free.

Jesus walked out of that tomb victorious over death to seek lost sheep, to open the doors of our prison and set us all free. His open tomb means an open prison and an open heaven. He left that open tomb to seek out Paul and He found him, creating faith within him on the Damascus road, making him an apostle to carry that message of release to the nations. He left that open tomb to seek out you and He found you, in no less dramatic fashion, creating faith within you through the proclamation of His powerful Word and the washing of Holy Baptism. He is the Good Shepherd who seeks out His lost sheep, and He sought out you and showed you mercy, He spared you from death. But more than that, your cup runs over with grace and favor; you have been given an eternal treasure. Take heart; if Jesus can save Paul, that hardened persecutor of the Church, He can save you, and he has saved you, carrying you upon His shoulders back to the Father’s house.

There the rejoicing will have no end, as Jesus Himself says: “Just so, I tell you, there is joy before the angels of God over one sinner who repents.” Joy is the reaction in heaven and on earth to the found sheep, the found coin, the found Paul, and the found you. That is one of the reasons that we gather here every Sunday morning: to rejoice that Christ seeks out His lost sheep, to rejoice that He has found you and me. Paul can’t contain his joy; having spoken of God’s great grace shown to him, the foremost sinner, he gives a doxology: “To the King of ages, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honor and glory forever and ever. Amen.” God was glorified when Christ put Himself in the place of sinners and bore their penalty even to death; God is glorified when this same Jesus goes out to find lost sinners and bring them back to their Creator. The doors of our cells clang open and we are set free; as we said in the Introit, “You have turned for me my mourning into dancing; O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever!” In the Name of the One who said of Himself “I AM the foremost sinner” so that He could stand in our place for our salvation, Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.

Proper 18 of Series C (Philemon 1-21)

It’s early Sunday morning; the Lord’s Day. Philemon is busily preparing for the service, getting ready his house, which is the home of the Christ’s Church in Colossae. His wife Apphia is in the other room preparing a meal, their pastor Archippus is in prayer behind him, and Philemon is in prayer as well, conversing with his Lord as he sweeps the room where they will soon celebrate the Lord’s Supper. For no particular reason at all, Philemon glances out the window, and the broom falls to the floor with a clatter. Onesimus is coming. Yes, there is no mistaking it, there is Onesimus, coming down the street, looking a bit awkward and even embarrassed. Philemon feels anger rising deep within him. Onesimus is back. Onesemius, his slave, his servant, the one he relied on, who he trusted. Onesimus, who had betrayed him, who had run away, who had even helped himself to the family treasury. Onesimus, who had wounded him so deeply that Philemon doesn’t plan to ever forget. How dare he show his face back here? How dare he come walking to the house where he once served? Doesn’t he know what kind of place this is? This is a church, the very house of God. Scum like him has no place here, especially on a Sunday morning! Surely he doesn’t think that he’s welcome here? Onesimus has no place in worship, but in prison, feeling the whip on his back. Philemon wants justice, he wants repayment, and he intends to get it, here and now.

Quivering with rage, Philemon goes to the door, with Apphia and Archippus behind him. Standing there is Onesimus, looking sheepish, perhaps even trembling. But Onesimus isn’t alone. He holds before him a letter. Without a word by either man, Philemon snatches it from his hand and opens it. This letter’s from Paul! He reluctantly begins to read it out loud. “Paul, a prisoner for Christ Jesus, and Timothy our brother, to Philemon our beloved fellow worker and Apphia our sister and Archippus our fellow soldier and the church in your house: Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.” Grace and peace—these words have such meaning for Philemon. Paul taught him of grace, the undeserved kindness and love shown to the world through Christ’s sacrificial death upon the cross. He heard of peace, the peace of the resurrection, the eternal peace between God and man when Paul first proclaimed to him the Gospel. These words proclaim to Philemon once again the great truth that he has been reconciled with God through Christ. What joy to be a Christian!

Philemon continues reading, and now it is time to blush: “I thank my God always when I remember you in my prayers, because I hear of your love and of the faith that you have toward the Lord Jesus and all the saints.” Paul remembers me in his prayers, simply for living the Christian life? Philemon knows that the Christian lives his life in two directions: toward God and toward the neighbor. Faith is oriented toward God, as we cling to the promises that He gives through Christ, and love is oriented toward the neighbor, as we serve those around us in any way that we can. Faith and love go together; our love for others flows only from faith.

“I pray that the sharing of your faith may become effective for the full knowledge of every good thing that is in us for the sake of Christ.” What a prayer! Paul wants Philemon’s sharing, his fellowship and participation in the common faith of the Church to reach full flower in a greater knowledge of the treasures of Christ. Philemon cannot help but think about the Lord’s Supper, ready to be celebrated later this morning, where the fellowship of faith finds its highest expression as the entire congregation gathers to receive the Body and Blood of Jesus together. The same Jesus, for all the saints. What a gift Christ has given! Philemon is reconciled with God, at peace through the blood of Christ, and he has fellowship with Jesus and all the saints. “I have derived much joy and comfort from your love, my brother, because the hearts of the saints have been refreshed through you.” Philemon knows that he deserves none of this praise. He knows his great sins, and thanks to Paul, he knows of Christ’s even greater grace. What else can he do but show love to others, if Christ has shown such love toward him?

Philemon feels refreshed, showed by grace and love. Such wonderful, comforting words, almost enough to make him forget about the man standing before him. Almost. What does Onesimus have to do with all this? “Accordingly, though I am bold enough in Christ to command you to do what is required, yet for love’s sake I prefer to appeal to you—I Paul, and old man and now a prisoner also for Christ Jesus—I appeal to you for my child, Onesimus, whose father I became in my imprisonment.” Philemon looks up at Onesimus, who is staring intently at the ground. He repeats the words: “my child”? Paul can only mean one thing by these words. Onesimus has been baptized. This disloyal, thieving, untrustworthy wretch ran off to Paul, and he baptized him? Doesn’t Paul know who this is? Doesn’t Paul know what he’s done? Anger fills Philemon again, but only for a moment. This day, he has been reminded of the great grace shown to him by Christ. Philemon knows the kind of sinner he is, and God has been reconciled to him through the blood of Christ. Could this same grace and peace be for Onesimus too? Is Onesimus reconciled with God, just like Philemon, just like Paul, just like all Christians?

He continues to read: “Formerly he was useless to you, but now he is useful to you and to me.” Philemon can’t help but smile. He knows Paul, and Paul is always ready to put anyone to good use for the extension of the kingdom of God. For Paul, all Christians are useful, they all have some role to play in the proclamation of the Gospel to all the nations. “I am sending him back to you, sending my very heart. I would have been glad to keep him with me, in order that he might serve me on your behalf during my imprisonment for the gospel, but I preferred to do nothing without your consent in order that your goodness might not be by compulsion but of your own free will. For this perhaps is why he was parted from you for a while, that you may have him back forever, no longer as a slave but more than a slave, as a beloved brother— especially to me, but how much more to you, both in the flesh, and in the Lord.” So that’s what you’re getting at: you want me to welcome back my slave as a brother and then send him back to you. Philemon may be a Christian, but he’s also a man of means, a man of the world. What about my rights? What about restitution, justice? How can I simply receive him back?

Philemon finds himself answered in Paul’s next words: “So if you consider me your partner, receive him as you would receive me. If he has wronged you at all, or owes you anything, charge that to my account. I, Paul, write this with my own hand: I will repay it--to say nothing of your owing me even your own self.” Philemon stares at Onesimus, amazed. Paul has taken the sins of this slave upon himself; Paul, the great apostle, the champion of the faith, to whom Philemon owes his very self, is making himself the slave to set Onesimus free. Paul will pay his debt, Paul will right his wrongs, in fact, when Philemon looks at Onesimus, he is supposed to see Paul: “receive him as you would receive me.” Paul has clothed Onesimus with himself. Philemon opens his mouth to object, but closes it just as quickly. Paul is acting toward Onesimus as Christ acted toward him. Jesus said to the Father, “receive Philemon as you would receive me.” He clothed Philemon with himself, with his own righteousness, declaring to God: “If he has wronged you at all, or owes you anything, charge that to my account—I will repay.” And Jesus did repay; He went to the cross to pay for Philemon’s sin, for the sin of the entire world—even the sin of Onesimus. Onesimus and Philemon are united together in the Gospel: both are great sinners, and both have been forgiven that sin by the blood of Christ. Jesus said of the sin of the entire world: “Charge it to my account.” 

Paul is calling on Philemon to renounce his rights, to treat Onesimus as a beloved brother, to release his hold on anger and vengeance and instead show the same forgiveness that Christ showed him. He has been shown mercy, now he is called upon to show mercy. He has a reputation for love, love that has its source in Christ, now it is time to show that love even to his slave. This is nothing else than what Jesus Himself taught about taking up the cross and following him. Philemon is to put his worldly desires to death, to nail them to the cross and leave them there, and then go forth to be reconciled with his brother. And this reconciliation will bring joy to Paul and the entire community. “Yes, brother, I want some benefit from you in the Lord. Refresh my heart in Christ.”

Paul’s final words cut to the heart: “Confident of your obedience, I write to you, knowing that you will do even more than I say.” Philemon’s hand drops to his side; there is more to this letter, greetings and instructions, but he’ll read it later. He feels exhausted, worn out; reading this short letter has meant a battle, a war between his identity as a man of means, a man of the world, and his greater identity as a Christian. He looks at Onesimus, and he sees Paul, that old apostle, languishing in chains, but more than that, he sees Jesus, who has reconciled them both to the Father. If Christ has paid the price of all Philemon’s sin, ten thousand talents of unpayable debt, then he can forgive the hundred denarii that Onesimus owed to him. With tears in his eyes, Onesimus finally speaks: “I’m so sorry, master, for all that I’ve done to hurt you.” Philemon extends the right hand of fellowship with tears in his own eyes and simply replies: “I forgive you—brother.” Then he looks beyond Onesimus and sees people coming; it’s time for worship. He looks at Apphia and Archippus and then smiles at Onesimus: “Come, brother, let us receive the gifts of Christ our Lord together.” And not long afterward, these two men who have been baptized into one Name, receive together the one Body of their Lord Jesus Christ, reconciled to God and to one another. Amen.

Proper 16 of Series C (Isaiah 66:18-23)

“For as the new heavens and the new earth that I make shall remain before me, says the Lord, so shall your offspring and your name remain. From new moon to new moon, and from Sabbath to Sabbath, all flesh shall come to worship before me, declares the Lord.” 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 final chapter of the book of Isaiah. Dear friends in Christ, last weekend, when we visited my in-laws, Bethany’s mother received a phone call. It was an automated call informing us that a prisoner had escaped in Clarinda and was now at large and potentially dangerous. He was a fugitive, an escapee, someone on the run from his captors, trying to flee from the consequences of his crimes. In just a few weeks, we will celebrate another anniversary of 9/11. Over three thousand people died that day, but many in those towers were spared; they were the survivors, the remnant, those who had escaped. In fact, I think we all felt a little like survivors that day; grateful to be alive, but yet wondering, ‘Why was I spared?’ Those of you who have survived a brush with death know that the same mixture of emotions always comes when you are a survivor. In a way, the fugitive from prison is the same as the survivor of a terror attack. They have both escaped, they have both avoided something terrible. Suffering or even death was in store for them, but they were somehow spared.

The same Hebrew word describes both fugitives from prison and survivors of calamity, and in our text for today, that word is used to describe us. We are called survivors. “I will set a sign among them. And from them I will send survivors to the nations.” This is a strange word to use for Christians, isn’t it? We are survivors, fugitives, escapees. We have been spared, we have avoided something terrible. What have we survived? God Himself tells us in the opening verse of our text. “For I know their works and their thoughts, and the time is coming to gather all nations and tongues. And they shall come and see my glory.” God declares that He knows our works and He knows our thoughts. I don’t know about you, but for me, that is absolutely terrifying, because my works and my thoughts are not something that I want anyone to see, much less the holy God of the universe. I lust, I covet, I hate, I refuse honor, I despise worship, I make other gods; my works and my thoughts are not something I’m proud of, and I’m usually pretty good at keeping them quiet. But God knows them all. There is nothing you or I can hide from Him. Our sins may be public, they may be private, but God knows them. In fact, He knows your sins better than you do. And He’s angry. In our Epistle lesson we hear of God’s wrath over sin, revealed at Mount Sinai. The command was given as Israel heard God’s holy Law: “If even a beast touches the mountain, it shall be stoned.” Death is the result when you disobey the God who created you; eternal death under His righteous wrath. There’s nothing you can do; you cannot hide, you cannot cover up your sins. God knows them all. The God of the universe is a God of wrath over sin, who punishes it forever in hell.

He gathers the nations to tell them that they cannot hide; the wages of sin is death, and it’s no use pretending that we have no sin. We are gathered together under His wrath, and His booming voice declares, “They shall come and see my glory.” The glory of God is a consuming fire, the glory of God is His holiness, His righteousness, His justice. The glory of God can only destroy those who are unholy, unrighteous, unjust, you and me who cannot hide our sin from our Creator. But this will be a completely different revelation of His glory. God proclaims through Isaiah: “They shall come and see my glory, and I will set a sign among them.” God’s glory will shine in a sign, set in the sight of the nations. This is the sign of a new covenant, a sign like the rainbow to Noah, circumcision to Abraham, and the Sabbath to Moses. This is a sign of God’s working in this world, a sign of salvation, as He saved Israel by the sign of blood on their doors. His glory shines forth, His justice, His righteousness, His holiness, from a sign in the midst of the nations, the sign of a man dying upon a cross.

The cross is God’s sign of salvation, the ultimate revelation of His glory. God is glorified when His Son dies upon the cross. His glory shines forth when Jesus Christ, true God and true man, suffers and bleeds and dies at the hands of sinful men, for He suffers and bleeds and dies in place of you and me. Jesus cries out from the cross: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” This is a cry of unspeakable suffering, this is a cry of abandonment, this is the cry of One who is facing the very wrath of God. The wrath of God over sin, your sin and mine, the wrath that we fully deserved, the very wrath of hell itself, was unleashed upon Jesus. We are the survivors; God’s wrath raged with all of its fury, but in God’s great love for you, it was spent on Jesus. The sign was set among us, the sign of the cross, and it shielded us from the punishment our sins deserved.

It doesn’t look like glory, but God’s glory never shined more clearly than in the darkness of Good Friday. God has glory simply for who He is, the Creator and Sustainer of the universe, but He is chiefly glorified for what He has done, for sending His Son to deliver us, to make us survivors of His wrath. He is glorified in saving sinners, He is glorified in showing love to you and me. He demonstrates this three days later by raising Jesus up, victorious over death. His resurrection is the proof that the sign of the cross reconciles you with your God, it demonstrates that a new covenant has been made between Creator and creation, a covenant founded in Christ’s own blood. Christ’s resurrection proves that you have truly survived the wrath of God, it has no claim on you anymore; death itself is defeated. We survived the fury of God’s wrath because He placed the sign of the cross among us on Good Friday. We survived the fury of God’s wrath when we were marked with the sign that shows forth God’s glory in all of its brilliance, baptized into Christ’s death upon the cross.

We stand around that empty tomb, around the baptismal font, around the risen Jesus, a bit dazed. Good Friday and Easter have quite literally changed us. We are no longer children of wrath, we are survivors of wrath. But survivors don’t stay put; they go forth and tell their story, and that is what Jesus sends us to do. “From them I will send survivors to the nations, to Tarshish, Pul, and Lud, who draw the bow, to Tubal and Javan, to the coastlands afar off, that have not heard my fame or seen my glory.” The survivors of God’s wrath, those who have been spared, you and me, are sent forth into the nations. We spread out from the baptismal font into every land, into every vocation, into every nook and cranny of this world, speaking what God would have us say. “They shall declare my glory among the nations.” We, the survivors, declare God’s glory among the nations. The glory of God is shown chiefly in saving sinners, it is demonstrated most importantly in the sign of the cross. In short, the glory of God is Jesus. The sum and substance of our message is therefore Jesus. We reveal Jesus, we make Him known, in fact the Hebrew word used here can also mean “to make conspicuous.” We make Jesus conspicuous in our lives and in our words, so that none of those around us could miss Him. We make no distinctions of persons; all stand under God’s wrath, and so all need to hear of salvation. And we, the survivors, bring the message of our survival to the nations, and then in joy we bring the nations to the Church.

“They shall bring all your brothers from all the nations as an offering to the Lord, on horses and in chariots and in litters and on mules and on dromedaries, to my holy mountain Jerusalem, says the Lord, just as the Israelites bring their grain offering in a clean vessel to the house of the Lord.” Christ works through His Word, creating faith in the hearts of sinners, making others survivors of God’s wrath. And the nations are brought to God; they stream in, using any and all forms of transportation, carried into the house of the Lord. The people whom the Holy Spirit calls to faith through our declaration of God’s glory are then offered to the Lord. They are a clean and pure offering, washed as we were in the waters of Holy Baptism. We offer them up before His throne in joy; the people of God no longer bring sacrifices of animals or grain, but we bring to Him people, our neighbors, those who have heard the Gospel, who are now fellow survivors. They are our brothers and sisters in every way, equally survivors with us, no matter what is their nation, language, or race. There is no distinction in the Kingdom of God; all the baptized are survivors: Jew, Gentile, black, white, Hispanic, rich, poor, young and old. All will be brought to the house of the Lord, and there all will celebrate.

The author to the Hebrews describes this celebration in our Epistle lesson: “You have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to innumerable angels in festal gathering, and to the assembly of the firstborn who are enrolled in heaven, and to God, the judge of all, and to the spirits of the righteous made perfect, and to Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel.” Jesus speaks not of a mountain, but instead of a feast in our Gospel lesson: “People will come from east and west, and from north and south, and recline at table in the kingdom of God.” This is the feast of the nations, the feast of the survivors, the feast for all the baptized, and it has a place for you and me. This is certain, for God’s sign, Christ’s cross, was set in your midst, and He spared you. God Himself guarantees it in the last verses of our text. “For as the new heavens and the new earth that I make shall remain before me, says the Lord, so shall your offspring and your name remain. From new moon to new moon, and from Sabbath to Sabbath, all flesh shall come to worship before me, declares the Lord.” Your offspring and your name remain, for you are survivors, survivors through the cross of Jesus Christ. In His name, Amen.

Lack of understanding is real understanding

This gem from Luther was cited in the Holy Trinity 2013 issue of Logia: A Journal of Lutheran Theology.  He is commenting on Psalm 32:8, giving to us God's perspective on suffering:

"You ask that I deliver you.  Then do not be uneasy about it; do not teach me, and do not teach yourself; surrender yourself to me.  I am competent to be your Master.  I will lead you in a way that is pleasing to me.  You think it wrong if things do not go as you feel they should.  But your thinking harms you and hinders me.  Things must go, not according to your understanding but above your understanding.  Submerge yourself in a lack of understanding, and I will give you my understanding.  Lack of understanding is real understanding; not knowing where you are going is really knowing where your are going.  My understanding makes you without understanding...  Behold, this is the way of the cross.  You cannot find it, but I must lead you like a blind man.  Therefore not you, not a man, not a creature, but I, through my Spirit and the Word, will teach you the way you must go." (AE 14:152)

This is the theology of the cross at its finest; our human reason understanding and will must be placed in servitude and instead in childlike faith, God calls on us to trust His understanding and His will.  When we cry on Him to save us, we give up on our own ability to save ourselves.  A lack of understanding, but yet faith in the Lord's promises, is real understanding.

Proper 15 of Series C (Hebrews 11:17-31, 12:1-3)

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith.” 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 Epistle lesson read a few moments ago from the eleventh and twelfth chapters of the book of Hebrews. Dear friends in Christ: the Christian life is a race. Not a race against other people—we are not in competition—but a race toward the finish line. And the object isn’t to get to the finish line before others, but quite simply to make it to the finish line at all. That doesn’t sound so hard—you are only called on to finish the race. But that’s where the trouble comes; there are opponents out there, those who don’t want you to finish, who are willing to do anything to stop you. 

Jesus spoke about these opponents in our Gospel lesson: “Do you think that I have come to give peace on earth? No, I tell you, but rather division.” Because you belong to Christ, because Christ loves you, because you are running the race of the Christian life, the world will hate you. And it will stop at nothing to keep you from the finish line. Christ’s love means the world’s hatred. You will be beaten down by opposition and persecution, discouraged by suffering and disease, you will be threatened by death. This world wants you to give up the race, to find it too hard, to stop anywhere short of the finish. These opponents harass you, they poke at you, they try to trip you up. But as you run, you quickly find that something else is holding you back. The author to the Hebrews calls it “the sin which clings so closely.” Your own sin is a heavy burden, holding you back, weighing you down. Your sinful nature, like the world, wants you to have nothing to do with the finish line. It distracts you with temptation, it weighs you down with guilt. Running with sin is like running with a parachute, or running with someone else on your back—eventually your legs are going to get too tired and you’re going to give up, you’re going to bow out of the race.

So cast off that burden! Throw off those weights! “Let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us.” Run the race in repentance! Only repentance and forgiveness, confession and absolution can eliminate the overwhelming burden of sin. Only the gifts that you receive here, from Jesus Christ Himself, can remove that heavy load, freeing your legs to run the race with endurance. Repent! Examine your life, see your sin, confess it to your God, and receive the freeing gift of forgiveness! Through daily repentance in a return to your baptism, through regular confession and absolution, you will learn how to run without a weight on your back, without chains wrapped around your legs. You will be set free by the blood of Christ to run with joy the race that is set before you.

But the attacks will still come. Disease will strike at your ankles, persecution will aim for your gut, fear will hold your back. Your enemies don’t give up when you unload the burden of your sin; if anything, their attacks intensify. How can they be conquered, how can you fight them off? The author to the Hebrews gives one answer: by faith. You heard it, over and over again: by faith Abraham, by faith Jacob, by faith Moses. Faith is how the saints of old ran the race in the midst of adversity; faith is what carried them to the finish line. Christians love to speak about faith; we praise it, we encourage it, we call on others to have it. The trouble is, by itself faith never saved anyone. In fact, many people with faith, who believe in something, will be knocked out of the race, and to be perfectly frank, many with a strong, powerful faith are simply running the wrong race. Fellow runners, faith doesn’t save you; you are saved by who your faith is in. Faith is only as good as its object. And the only object of faith which brings us through our enemies to the finish line is the man who was also God, Jesus Christ.

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.”

In the midst of death, fix your eyes on Jesus. Fix your eyes on the One who raises the dead. By faith, Abraham trusted in the resurrection as he lifted the knife to sacrifice his son. “He considered that God was able even to raise him from the dead, from which, figuratively speaking, he did receive him back.” Abraham trusted in the God who raises the dead; He believed in life even in the midst of death, and his son did pass from death to life. By faith, Abraham believed in the God who would one day destroy death forever through the sacrifice of Christ. By faith, Abraham believed in the God who would open Christ’s tomb to reveal it as empty and Jesus as risen. In the midst of death, God provided life. By faith, we trust that Christ’s resurrection is our own, that even though death threatens us and will one day take us, it doesn’t have the victory. Its power over us is fleeting and temporary, it is now simply the gateway to life eternal. By faith, we trust that those we love who have died in the Lord now dwell with Jesus, and we will see them again. On the Last Day they will be raised up to live in the new heavens and the new earth with us and with all the saints. Run the race in faith, faith in the resurrection, with eyes fixed on Jesus, who has conquered death with His death and victorious resurrection.

In the midst of suffering, fix your eyes on Jesus. Fix your eyes on the One who reveals the invisible God. By faith, Isaac, Jacob, and Joseph trusted that God held the future. They blessed their sons and spoke of what was to come. “By faith Joseph, at the end of his life, made mention of the exodus of the Israelites and gave directions concerning his bones.” Four hundred years before deliverance came, Joseph trusted the God who keeps His promises. By faith, Moses trusted in the invisible God rather than the visible sufferings. “By faith he left Egypt, not being afraid of the anger of the king, for he endured as seeing him who is invisible.” He didn’t see God, but he trusted him—more than the visible power and might of Pharaoh. In the midst of suffering, God provided for Moses and even appointed him to go back to Egypt and be the Lord’s instrument of deliverance. By faith, we trust in God’s promises more than what our eyes see. By faith, we trust that the invisible God has been made visible in Christ. We look to the cross, to Jesus, not to our sufferings, to know what God thinks of us. By faith, we endure all that this world throws at us, disease and persecution, even the hostility of friends and family, for we know that no suffering is worth comparing to the glories of heaven. Run the race in faith, faith in Christ’s victory over the powers of this world, with eyes fixed on Jesus, who has promised that He will never leave us nor forsake us.

In the midst of weakness, fix your eyes on Jesus. Fix your eyes on the One who made Himself weak for you. By faith, Moses trusted in God rather than in the riches and treasures of this world. He knew that He already had an eternal inheritance. “He considered the reproach of Christ greater wealth than the treasures of Egypt, for he was looking to the reward.” He exchanged the treasures of Egypt—the glory and honor that were rightfully his as the son of Pharaoh’s daughter—for service of God and the reproach of the world. By faith, we too endure weakness and deprivation, trusting in the God who emptied Himself for us. “Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.” Christ set aside His eternal glory, the joy that was rightfully His, in order to suffer the cross for you and for me. He made Himself weak to save those who were weak; He became man to save man. By faith, we face this world’s reproaches, knowing that we are only following the pattern of Christ, as Moses did. Run the race in faith, faith in the eternal reward that Christ has promised you, with eyes fixed on Jesus, who emptied Himself to deliver you from all your enemies.
Run the race with eyes fixed on Jesus. Your faith cannot save you unless its focus, its object, is Jesus. Only Jesus can save you, and He has, with His suffering, death, and resurrection. He is the founder and perfecter of your faith. He created faith within you through the power of His Word, and He will bring that faith to completion as He carries you across the finish line. Your faith is not your own; it is a creation of Christ, and He that created it nourishes it through His Word, through His Body and Blood. You have much in common with the great cloud of witnesses. None of them endured their many afflictions on their own, but only through the object of their faith—the true God, invisible but revealed in Jesus Christ. They all had faith, and the object of that faith was the same as yours: Jesus Christ. And they ran the race with eyes fixed on Jesus, whom they knew only in promise, but you know as the One who has come, who emptied Himself for you, and redeemed the entire world through His death and resurrection. Your sins cannot burden you: they have been atoned for by the blood of Christ, washed away in Baptism, forgiven in the Absolution. Your enemies cannot hinder you: despite all appearances, they have been defeated; they cannot threaten your eternal inheritance. For some of you, the finish line is closer than others, but for all of us, it is still ahead, and standing there is Jesus Himself, surrounded by all the saints, that great cloud of witnesses, to welcome you to your eternal inheritance. It is yours—by faith, faith in Jesus. In His name, Amen.

Proper 14 of Series C (Luke 12:22-34)

“Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.” 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 mission festival comes from the Gospel lesson read a few moments ago from the twelfth chapter of the Gospel according to Saint Luke. Dear friends in Christ, we fear, we worry, we are anxious. We fear the future, what tomorrow might hold, and we are almost afraid to watch the news or read the paper. We worry about the needs of our body, fretting over the budget, the grocery bill, the price of gas. We are anxious for our children and grandchildren, and we wonder what kind of world they are going to inherit. We fear, we worry, we are anxious. We fear the opinions of our peers, we worry about our looks, we are anxious about our clothes. We fear for our checking account, we worry about paychecks, we are anxious about bills. We fear the words of others, we worry what they might say about us, we are anxious for our reputation. We fear, we worry, we are anxious—all the time.

This fear, this worry, this anxiety paralyzes us, it holds us in bondage, wrapped in chains forged in the concerns of this world. Fear keeps us from speaking of Christ to friends and family. We fear for our reputation, we worry about rejection, we are anxious about what they might think of us. Fear makes us live the Christian life quietly or even in silence. We fear being labeled, we worry about being made fun of, we are anxious about not fitting in. Fear makes us compromise with the world, indulging in all of its ungodly behaviors because we’re afraid not to. Fear causes us to follow the advice of others to keep religion to ourselves. We have the only message that this world truly needs to hear; we have the proclamation that gives hope in the midst of suffering, forgiveness in the midst of sin, victory in the midst of death, and through fear we keep it to ourselves. We fear pushing others away, we worry about a changed relationship, we are anxious about losing our children and grandchildren, our siblings and friends. Fear holds us hostage, and the price it demands is silence, a price we are all too willing to pay.

Into this prison of fear, worry, and anxiety comes Christ, declaring with love, with grace, with compassion, “Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.” Fear not, little flock, for Christ has come to put an end to all fear. Jesus came to destroy fear at its source, to break its chains by removing its cause: sin, death, and Satan. Fear comes from this unholy trinity, and Christ triumphed over them all with His death and victorious resurrection. Fear not, little flock, Jesus’ suffering paid the price for sin, His death broke the power of death, and when He rose, He displayed His victory throughout the world to destroy all fear. There is nothing left to fear; this world of sin and death has been defeated, it has been conquered, Christ has risen in victory!

Fear not, little flock, God is well-pleased to give to you the kingdom, a heavenly treasure, an inheritance that will never wear out. God is well-pleased with the world because He is well-pleased with Christ, and now it is His pleasure to give to you and to me a heavenly treasure that is more than anything this world can offer. Fear not, little flock, you have the treasures of heaven because you belong to Christ. Fear not, nothing that this world can do to you can take that away. You can lose your money, your clothing, your food, your reputation, and even your life, but the world cannot take away what Christ has won for you. Fear not when you witness, when you serve, for it is the Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom; man can do nothing to you eternal treasure, and so go forth boldly to proclaim Christ to all around you. Fear not, little flock, for through Christ’s death and His victorious resurrection you are forgiven when you fear, but more than that, Good Friday and Easter have destroyed fear itself. In the Name of Jesus, who conquered all fear by destroying its source, Amen.

Proper 13 of Series C (Luke 12:13-21)

“Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.” 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 twelfth chapter of the Gospel according to Saint Luke. Dear friends in Christ, we sing it every Sunday, in fact, we will sing it not long after this sermon. Simple words, but profound words, one verse of a hymn as the gifts of God’s people are carried to the altar. “We give Thee but Thine own, whatever the gift may be; all that we have is Thine alone, a trust, O Lord, from Thee.” In our congregation, as well as in many others, these words have become a part of the fabric of our life together, an important piece of our worship each Lord’s Day. And we all know what these words mean; they aren’t a mystery, they aren’t unclear. With this hymn on our lips, we declare that all of our possessions belong to God, they are a gift from Him, and we only manage them as His stewards for the good of His kingdom and for the good of our neighbor. When we place an envelope in the offering plate, we are simply giving back to God what already belongs to Him, acknowledging Him as the giver of every good gift. By singing these words, we are declaring an important and profound truth: all things belong to God—our money, our possessions, even our own lives—not to us.

But we don’t believe it. We say the words, but our hearts are far from them. Maybe you’re someone really pious, who truly believes that “We give Thee but Thine own” as the offering plate comes around, but when you come home, you’re back to thinking of your possessions as your own. The rest of us, we aren’t even that pious. We may sing the hymn like everyone else, but deep down, we don’t believe those words; we still believe that our money, our possessions, and our lives belong to us. It’s so American: the things of this world that I have accumulated through my labor are mine. They belong to me, they are mine to possess, to use however I want to. And that belief changes how we approach the offering plate. I’m not giving God what belongs to Him already, the firstfruits of what He has graciously given to me with great thankfulness. Instead, I’m giving to God something that I earned from my own labor; its mine, and now I show God how much I love Him by giving to Him some of what I’ve earned.

The pronouns that we use are vitally important; they reveal just how we view our possessions. Did you notice how often the rich man in our text used the pronoun ‘my’? My crops, my grain, my good, my soul. In his eyes, it all belonged to him, to do with what he wanted. And what he wanted was to enjoy it. “And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.” That’s what money and possessions are for, if they belong to you alone: they are to bring you pleasure. Sure, you may put some of the leftovers in the offering plate, you may give some to charity, but the rest is to give you pleasure, to make your life better. The things that you think belong to you are to bring you joy and relaxation. Relax, eat, drink, be merry! Build bigger barns to hold your great bounty! Store it up for yourself, for your own good—you earned it! They don’t belong to anyone else but you, and so they are yours to do with whatever you want. Isn’t that how we look at our money and possessions, whether we have much or little? They belong to us, not to our neighbor or anyone else, and so they are for my good. Isn’t that how we even think of our bodies and our lives?

This is a radical individualism, encouraged by our culture and our sinful nature: what I have is my own, and no one, not even God, has a claim on them! Therefore our possessions isolate us from others, they divide and separate. Notice how the rich man, when he is blessed with a bountiful crop, doesn’t go to God in prayer, he doesn’t consult his family or speak with his friends. Instead, he actually has a conversation with himself, the only one who will listen! “He thought to himself, ‘What shall I do, for I have nowhere to store my crops?’” His wealth has isolated him from all others, because he sees it as his alone, to use however he pleases. Earthly treasure threatens to divide us from others, it threatens to separate us from our God, in fact, it threatens to become our God. No wonder St. Paul calls covetousness ‘idolatry.’

The rich man trusted in his possessions as his god; he thought they belonged to him, that he could depend on them, that they wouldn’t fail him. But God quickly shattered that illusion: “Fool! This night your soul is required of you, and the things you have prepared, whose will they be?” The rich man trusted in his possessions, but his possessions couldn’t conquer the grave. Death still sought him and claimed him, just as it does every child of Adam upon this earth, rich or poor. The psalmist declares about us all, “When he dies he will carry nothing away; his glory will not go down after him.” It is at the moment of death that our trust in our possessions, our claim that they are ours, is revealed to be foolishness. Our goods cannot save us from the grave, for as we heard in the Introit this morning, “Truly no man can ransom another, or give to God the price of his life, for the ransom of their life is costly and can never suffice, that he should live on forever and never see the pit.” Even our lives are not our own, they belong to our Creator, and they will be demanded back from us one day, and there is nothing, absolutely nothing, that all the wealth of the world can do about it. In fact, if we think that our wealth is our own, if we trust in our possessions above all else, they have the opposite effect. Far from saving us from death, earthly wealth, if we place our trust in it, if we claim it as our own, they can only deliver death.

And so Jesus doesn’t deal in earthly wealth. A man came to him and said, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the inheritance with me.” Jesus responds, “Man, who made me a judge or arbitrator over you?” He is no arbiter of earthly wealth; his kingdom is not of this world, for he has come to bring a much greater treasure. He is a judge, but not a judge over money and possessions. He is the judge of the living and the dead. His judgment is over the things of eternity, and He won’t waste His time judging property disputes, for that’s the point of His parable: earthly goods have no value when death and the final judgment come. “Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.”

The final judgment isn’t determined by the size of your pocketbook or your TV. Neither wealth nor poverty will save you from death or grant you access into God’s kingdom. While the rich may be able to afford better doctors, wealth cannot defeat death. The psalmist declares definitively, “Truly no man can ransom another, or give to God the price of his life, for the ransom of their life is costly and can never suffice, that he should live on forever and never see the pit.” Nothing we can do, no amount of wealth or possessions that we claim as ‘mine’ can offer the ransom for our soul. Only the blood of Christ can do that. Jesus came to offer the ransom price for our souls, to buy them back from the clutches of sin and death. He doesn’t deal in earthly treasure, but in heavenly, as we hear in the Small Catechism: “[He] purchased and won me from all sin, from death, and from the power of the devil; not with gold or silver, but with His holy, precious blood and with His innocent suffering and death.” Christ’s death paid the price for your sin; His cross frees you from the power of death itself. Yes, our lives are not our own; they have been purchased by Jesus’s own blood. And now He offers us a treasure beyond any that this world offers: we are given heavenly treasure, the very glories of His eternal kingdom.

This is truly a treasure worth rejoicing in! The rich man foolishly said to Himself, “Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.” The tragedy is that this rich man had the same reaction to earthly treasure that we are to have over heavenly treasure. The Scriptures call on us to relax, eat, drink, and be merry, but not over earthly treasure. Instead, the relaxation we are called to is the Sabbath rest of heaven, we are to eat and drink at the Lord’s Table here and in eternity, and the merry rejoicing is over Christ’s salvation. Yes, relax, eat, drink, and be merry in the Lord’s salvation, for He has offered the price that you couldn’t pay, He has ransomed your soul, forgiving your sins and saving you from all your enemies. You have heavenly treasure, treasure that endures, treasure that will never be taken away. Rejoice! Relax, eat, drink, and be merry in Christ’s salvation!

And as we rejoice in heavenly treasure, we seek to use earthly treasure for the good of others. We have been set free from reliance on the treasures of this world to bring us pleasure or joy; we have an eternal treasure that is beyond anything that this world can offer. So, instead of using what has been given to us for our own good, as if it belongs to us, we can in joy seek to serve God’s kingdom and our neighbors with what He has given to us. The very first line of Jesus’ parable is key: “The land of a rich man produced plentifully.” Who gave this rich man such abundance? God Himself. Everything that we have, little or much, is a gift from our Creator. Nothing belongs to us; we are simply stewards of whatever the Lord sees fit to give us, and so we truly “give Thee but Thine own” when we use what the Lord has blessed us with to support the work of the Church or to serve our neighbor. The treasure of this world isn’t for us, it’s for others, because Christ has already given us the only treasure that we need, the only treasure that will endure beyond the grave. In your baptism you already possess everything, so that when God demands back your life, He will not say, ‘Fool!’ but ‘Welcome, my beloved child.’ In the Name of Jesus, who offered the ransom for our souls by the price of His own blood, Amen.