Epiphany 6 of Series A (Deuteronomy 30:15-20)

“I call heaven and earth to witness against you today, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse. Therefore choose life, that you and your offspring may live.” 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 thirtieth chapter of the book of Deuteronomy. Dear friends in Christ, I have a problem with pro-life license plates. You know what they look like, you’ve been stuck behind people who have them: two smiling faces and the phrase ‘Choose life!’ The teaching is simple: when you are pregnant, choose life, not abortion! The trouble is, this language of choice plays right into the abortion movement’s hands. We are playing their game when we use their language, and it’s a game we won’t win with those rules. Enough focus has been placed upon a woman’s choice; the focus needs to be on the unborn. What is the unborn? The unborn is a human being, and every human being, regardless of size, level of development, environment, or degree of dependence deserves protection. When we assert the humanity of the unborn, then there really is no choice, there is a baby, and the question of how we can help and support the mother. If it’s only about a woman’s choice, then abortion will always be legal: we Americans love our freedom. But if we can convince our fellow citizens that the unborn are human beings deserving of protection, that there is only one choice, then we’ve finally won this long battle on behalf of life.

You see, when the choice between life and death is placed before sinful humans, we always choose death. When God used the language of ‘choice’ through Moses in our text today, He didn’t have much success either. “See, I have set before you life and good, death and evil. If you obey the commandments of the Lord your God that I command you today, by loving the Lord your God, by walking in His ways, and by keeping His commandments and His statutes and His rules, then you shall live and multiply in the land that you are entering to take possession of it.” How did that work out? The rest of the Old Testament is the story of Israel choosing death, rebelling again and again, refusing to keep His commandments and His statutes and His rules. His commandments promised life, but they instead chose death. Things have hardly changed; we are little different than our Israelite forefathers. Our world has allied itself with death, it has tried to make a covenant with our enemy, to wield death as a tool. Death is the solution to an unwanted child, to elderly people taking up resources, to pain and suffering. Death is chosen for those who earnestly desire it, and it is chosen for those who have no voice. Those who dwell in the womb and those who lay on hospital beds are both told that death has been chosen for them. “Choose life!” God says to us, but it is clear that our choice has been made, and the choice is death.

We chose death by walking in the paths of sin. “If your heart turns away, and you will not hear, but are drawn away to worship other gods and serve them, I declare to you today, that you shall surely perish. You shall not live long in the land that you are going over the Jordan to enter and possess.” Our choice is sin, our choice is idolatry, our choice is death. “Choose life!” God commands in His holy Law. But our choice is death. Our choice is anger, our choice is hatred of our neighbor, holding a grudge and refusing to be reconciled. “I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment; whoever insults his brother will be liable to the council; and whoever says, 'You fool!' will be liable to the hell of fire.” Our choice is lust, to exploit with our eyes, with our mind, and with our actions those who are not our spouses. “I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart.” Our choice is to seek our own way, often leading to conflict in marriage, which can even cause the dissolution of what God has brought together. “I say to you that everyone who divorces his wife, except on the ground of sexual immorality, makes her commit adultery, and whoever marries a divorced woman commits adultery.” And those are only three sins! “Choose life!” God says, but all we have chosen is death.

For God Himself tells us the penalty: “I declare to you today, that you shall surely perish.” Those who walk in the paths of death will only have death to greet them, yes, even eternal death. But even in this life, the created order calls us to account, for they are God’s witnesses against us: “I call heaven and earth to witness against you today, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse.” The creation itself witnesses against us when we walk in the paths of death. There are consequences to our actions. The woman who has an abortion lives with guilt. Both children and adults suffer when divorce or adultery enters into a family. Anger and hatred poison our minds and consume us, eventually destroying us. Heaven and earth testify against us; when we violate God’s Law, the creation gives out punishment, eventually the punishment of death.

God’s Law, on the other hand, holds out the promise of life. If we obey, if we listen to His commands, we will live, we will prosper. “You shall live and multiply, and the Lord your God will bless you in the land that you are entering to take possession of it.” We know this instinctively, we know that our lives would be better if we didn’t violate God’s Law. Life is there for the taking, but we never get our hands on it. We always choose death. The Law promises life, but it has never delivered. Every human on this planet has been given the opportunity to achieve life and escape death through obedience to the Law, but no one has ever done it, and no one ever will. The Law cannot give us the ability to do what it commands. The Law can tell us what is right and good all that it wants, but we still choose what is wrong and evil, because we are sinful to our core. And because we cannot keep the Law, we are given up to death. As Saint Paul says, “The very commandment that promised life proved to be death to me.”

We could not choose life, and so we were doomed to death. But our God is a God of life, and the word of the Law is not His final Word. He sends His Word into the flesh to do for you and me what we couldn’t do for ourselves. The Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we saw His glory, as the Word incarnate, Jesus Christ, lived a life in obedience with God’s Law. The Law promised life to the one who perfectly obeyed, and Jesus did, He obeyed to the letter every command that we violate. He was offered life, but He chose death. He chose death to bring you life. His choice was to endure your death so that you would have His life. His perfect obedience to the Law is given to you, as if you had never sinned. His death upon the cross under the penalty that the Law demands is given to you, as if you had paid it yourself. His obedience is yours, His death is yours, and so His life is yours. When He rises from the grave on Easter morning, you are given life, you are released from the shackles of death; the demands of the Law have been satisfied. God’s choice is life: for you, for me, for a humanity unable to achieve it on our own. We chose death, but God chose life, and it is His choice that makes all the difference.

He chooses you for life because Christ chose death for you. He chooses you for life by baptizing you into Christ, making you His own dear child. What He once offered through obedience to the Law He now gives freely through the Gospel. “Therefore choose life, that you and your offspring may live, loving the Lord your God, obeying His voice and holding fast to Him, for He is your life and length of days, that you may dwell in the land that the Lord swore to your fathers, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, to give them.” He gives to you all those things because He kept His promise to the people of Israel, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob. He swore to Abraham, “In your offspring shall all the nations of the earth be blessed.” The promise was given for us, for that promise is the promise of Christ Jesus, crucified and risen, to make God our life and length of days, to lengthen our days into eternity, to make us to dwell in the Promised Land of the new heavens and the new earth. God has fulfilled His promises; the Law offered life, but couldn’t deliver—not because the Law was deficient, but because we are deficient. But what the Law couldn’t give, the Gospel does. Life is found in God’s choice. Life is found in Jesus.

“Therefore choose life, that you and your offspring may live.” To choose life is to believe in Jesus, to cleave to Him in faith. And this not of yourselves, it is a gift of God, that no man may boast. Cling to Jesus, not on your own power, but through the working of the Holy Spirit, who has called you by the Gospel, enlightened you with His gifts, sanctified and kept you in the one true faith. In Jesus you are given life, eternal life. In Jesus you are given forgiveness, founded on His shed blood. Jesus chose death in order to give you life; Jesus chose death in order to wipe your sins away. You have chosen to walk in the ways of death? You are forgiven. God has sworn to wipe out your sins; His promise to Abraham is your promise, and because He kept that promise, He keeps this one too: “If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you withhold forgiveness from any, it is withheld.” To the one who has participated in divorce, to the one who has lusted or committed indecent acts, to the one who has harbored hatred in their heart, to the one who has committed an abortion or helped someone have an abortion, to those who have chosen the paths of death in any way, hear this: I forgive you all your sins in the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, Amen. Christ chose death so that you will have life. His perfect obedience is set in place of your sins. What the Law promised and couldn’t deliver the Gospel brings to you. Christ is your life, today, tomorrow, forever. “Choose life”? God did; He chose life for you in Christ. In the Name of Jesus, our life and length of days, who chose death for us, Amen.

Implications of a Lutheran theology of education

In light of the ongoing discussion about Common Core and the state of education in America, it is helpful to examine again the Lutheran theology of education.

Lutheran theology roots education in the Fourth Commandment, and so today I will focus narrowly on Luther’s explanation in the Large Catechism. Here Luther establishes that principle that not only the call to educate children, but also the call to rule over nations comes from the family, from the authority given to parents in this commandment. “All authority flows and is born from the authority of parents. Where a father is unable alone to educate his rebellious and irritable child, he uses a schoolmaster to teach the child. If he is too weak, he gets the help of his friends and neighbors. If he departs this life, he delegates and confers his authority and government upon others who are appointed for the purpose.” (LC I.141) Obedience to the schoolmaster and obedience to the king flows from the first human institution that God established: the family. This is a responsibility that should not be taken away or given up. “For this purpose He has given us children and issued this command: we should train and govern them according to His will. Otherwise, He would have no purpose for a father and a mother. Therefore, let everyone know that it is his duty, on peril of losing the divine favor, to bring up his children in the fear and knowledge of God above all things. And if the children are talented, have them learn and study something. Then they may be hired for whatever need there is.” (LC I.173-174) The primary purpose of education is to raise up children in the fear and admonition of the Lord. Second, but still vitally important, is to prepare the next generation for all the vocations that life in this world requires. “If we wish to have excellent and able persons both for civil and Church leadership, we must spare no diligence, time, or cost in teaching and educating our children, so that they may serve God and the world.” (LC I.172) Education is vital, not for the child him or herself, but for the good of the neighbors they will serve. In the Table of Duties, Luther provides a summary by citing Ephesians 6:4. “Fathers, do not provoke your children to anger, but bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord.”

We can draw two conclusions from this brief (and narrow) examination. First, we see that for Lutheran theology, education is done primarily at home by the parents. The church steps in when the parents are unable or unwilling, for a variety of reasons, to carry out all or part that task on their own. This goes for confirmation instruction as much as for reading, writing, and arithmetic. The state takes responsibility when both the Church and the parents are unwilling or unable to provide such an education, for the primary function of the state is to do what the family is unable to do on its own. This is obviously the complete opposite of how we look at things in our own country, where public education is the norm, private education is available for those who want it, and parents have some limited freedom in educating their children themselves if they so choose. Now, the point of all this isn’t to denigrate public education or the Lutheran school system—far from it, we need good educators and good education going on in those places precisely because not every parent can carry out this weighty responsibility on their own, for many different reasons. The point is that in our country we have a philosophy of education that is backwards, top down from government mandates to the parents, rather than founded on parental responsibility, and this is exemplified no more clearly than with Common Core. This Lutheran perspective on education is not a relic of the sixteenth century or bound to a particular society or age, but is theologically formed and rooted in the Fourth Commandment.

Second, regardless of whether parents educate their children themselves at home or ask the Church or state to do so on their behalf, the responsibility for education still rests upon them. This goes as much for catechesis in the truths of the faith as it does for math and science. The Church and the state are able to help, but the responsibility for the raising of children doesn’t belong to the Church or to the state, but to the family. Parents need to be teachers; they need to know what their children are being taught, and they need to be able to reinforce it at home. On the other hand, teachers, whether at a Christian school or in the public school system, need to understand this as well. For this reason, we need Lutherans in public education who understand this and champion the authority of parents. Obviously, this perspective should also be a driving force in our Lutheran schools.

For all of its downfalls and dangers, technology has provided Christian parents and Christian churches with a tremendous opportunity. It has never been easier for parents to homeschool their children, to take the responsibility for education given by the Fourth Commandment directly into their own hands. It has also never been easier for congregations (even the smallest of congregations!) to provide education on behalf of parents. Through online materials (such as Wittenberg Academy), a small congregation far from an established Lutheran school can host a ‘homeschool consortium’ to provide for the education of the children of the congregation. Technology has made it possible for an explosion of Lutheran education; we only need to see and take advantage of the opportunities given to us. We can and should promote Lutheran education, from our wonderful Lutheran school system, to encouraging homeschooling, to the more creative arrangements that congregations should explore. For the good of our neighbors, we should also be active in doing our best to improve public education, including putting Lutheran teachers in public schools, with a solid grasp of the Fourth Commandment firmly in mind. The Fourth Commandment is what a Lutheran theology of education is all about, in the home, at Lutheran schools, and even in the public school system.

Epiphany 5 of Series A (Isaiah 58:3-9a)

A town has two churches. This is a small town, typical of much of the Midwest, populated by about three hundred people. No stoplights, just a post office and a bar, a town hall and these two churches. Both are affiliated with the same denomination; they teach the same things, they confess the same faith. They may have different preachers, but they hear very similar sermons. Their children receive the same baptism, the confirmed receive the same Body and Blood. The pews in both sanctuaries are occupied by believers in Christ, those who have been claimed by His Blood, who have the faith which grasps His salvation. The crucifix is displayed prominently, reminding all who worship of the great cost of their sin, paid for by the Son of God, their Savior Jesus. The Law is heard in all of its sternness to condemn sin, and the Gospel is heard in all of its sweetness to forgive it. Neither church is bigger than the other, neither church is younger than the other; in most ways, they are mirror images. They sit on either side of this small town, placed there by chance and the will of the Lord, who puts churches where He pleases.

It is Sunday morning, the second week of February—bitterly cold. But inside the sanctuary of First Lutheran Church, on the south side of town, it is warm and cozy. They have been blessed, the council will proudly tell you, with the funds to heat this building adequately for the comfort of all the members. They are singing the hymn of the day, “Thy Strong Word,” with the gusto it demands, looking toward the Word made flesh, Jesus Christ Himself, displayed on the crucifix behind the altar. Where they don’t look is out the windows, which are thick stained glass, other than a small patch where it is clear. Looking through each pane of clear glass is a face. The needy of the town stand gathered outside First Lutheran Church, summoned by her singing, hungry for her warmth, desperate for the love displayed upon that crucifix.

There is a man, John, suffering under the bondage of addiction. Everyone in town knows what kind of man he is, they know him as one of the town drunks; what they don’t know is that he has lately been into harder and harder stuff. What they don’t know is the pain he feels, the guilt that drives his addiction, like a continuous circle, a cycle that he wants to escape, but doesn’t know how. He has some inkling that the church is the place to go, and so he is there, standing in the snow, crying for help without words.

At the next window is Andrea, with two little ones and another on the way. She has learned the hard way that feminism and the sexual revolution have simply given men the ability to shirk their responsibilities, and she is left with the wreckage. The world promised freedom, but the fathers of her children were the only ones to find it. She is left scraping by, desperately hungry, unable to adequately feed her little ones on three part-time jobs, carrying the guilt of the one that was put to death in her womb. It seems that the church is the only place left to turn, and so she keeps her babies warm and gazes in.

A man, Ryan, stands there stamping his feet. He’s cold, but he’s used to it, because he doesn’t have a home. Yes, he’s made some mistakes, he’s squandered opportunities, some could say that this situation is his own fault. And he would probably agree. But now he is at rock bottom, aware that in this cold, he probably won’t make it through the night. His pride is strong, but he is ready to ask for help, and maybe his heart is open, too, to hear of the One who had no place to lay His head.

Finally, there is Georgia. She’s elderly, widowed, lives by herself, surviving only on the little that comes each month from the government. She heats her house with two little space-heaters, because she cannot afford to run her furnace. She doesn’t have nearly enough warm clothes or blankets, so she goes around with a perpetual chill, a chill that she knows will one day take her life. She used to be a churchgoer, and now here, in her most desperate hour, she has come back, she is hungry for Christ and His gifts once again.

Four desperate, hungry faces look into the church, but no one looks out at them. The worshippers focus on Christ, as they should, but no thought is given to the world outside, to seeing Jesus in their neighbors. The preacher proclaims the love of Christ for all people, especially the poor and needy, and the people nod approvingly. They all put money for Lutheran World Relief in the offering plate this morning, they’ve done their part. Then, after the closing hymn is sung, they shuffle out to their cars. Longing faces greet them, but they take little notice. Their sole concern is to get home and relax. Even the preacher looks past them as he locks up the church; Sunday mornings are exhausting, and he has lunch and a nap on his mind. When all the people are gone, back to warm homes and warm meals, the church is dark and desolate, but to the needy gathered at its windows, it has always been dark. Yes, there was light in that warm sanctuary, but it never escaped into the world outside, it never touched the darkness of their lives.

Crushed and disappointed, the needy begin to disperse. But then John sees the steeple rising on the north side of town, and without a word, he points the way. After a long, cold walk, they are gathered around Second Lutheran Church, once again gazing through the windows. The scene is much the same. The congregation is warm, but not too warm; many of the parishioners are still wearing coats. The hymn is the same, and the gathered needy hear once again of the redeeming Light which from the cross ever beameth. Somehow, at this church, they see the reality of those words; the light does seem to flow from the crucifix into the sanctuary, and then from the sanctuary into the world. The Light shines on their faces, and despite the cold, they feel the warmth of Christ’s love.

The door opens and out comes a man. He walks directly to Georgia, standing at the first window. She expects to be shooed away, but instead the man takes off his warm jacket and puts it on her shoulders. Then he leads her inside. They chat briefly in the warmth of the narthex; he will help her apply for heating assistance, and in the meanwhile the church has a number of quilts and sweaters that will keep her warm. He invites her to join his family for the rest of the service, and with a smile and some tears, she agrees.

The sermon is half-way over when a woman emerges and approaches Ryan. She invites him in, but Ryan isn’t quite ready to step foot in a church, and so they talk in the cold. She tells him that the church isn’t as warm because part of the budget goes to a fund for housing assistance; on Monday, they will help him get into some low-income housing, and for tonight, her husband will drive him to a shelter. The rest is up to him, but the church is willing and able to give him a fresh start. She offers once again to bring him inside, but he says he’ll wait for her in the cold.

One of the elders, fresh from collecting the offering, is the next to step outside. He comes to Andrea and her two children and ushers them inside. In the bible study room, she is told about the mobile food pantry that the congregation helps to sponsor, but in the meanwhile, he gives her a voucher that can be spent at the grocery store. Then he tells her about Sunday School, and she shuffles into the sanctuary to observe, somewhat awkwardly, the communion liturgy.

After the service it is the pastor who finds John, having skipped the usual routine of shaking hands. They talk, the pastor in his robes, and John in his blue jeans, about guilt and addiction, and about the Jesus who sets the prisoners free. They will talk again; John wants out from bondage, and the pastor wants to help him. The pastor returns into the building, and there he meets Andrea. She wants to talk to him privately. They go to his office, and she collapses, sobbing about the child she didn’t allow to live. This pastor has the privilege of placing his hand on her trembling head and declaring, “I forgive you all your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.”

When all have left, the church is as dark as it was before anyone arrived that morning, but to the poor and needy of this community, it is a constant beacon of Light, shining the love of Christ into the darkness of their lives. The Light flows from this sanctuary into the world outside in a thousand different ways, carried by Christians who practice their faith as much outside the building as inside it. They can’t help it; Christ has shown them such great love and mercy within that sanctuary every Sunday morning that they can’t keep it to themselves. He has forgiven their sins, He has fed them with His Body and Blood, and now what else can they do but in joy take that love into the world?

A town has two churches, the same in almost every way. They have the same Lord, the same faith, the same Baptism. They have been shown the same love, given the same forgiveness. Neither church has earned such grace; even the congregation that showed such love has not contributed one bit toward their own salvation. Jesus declared, “Unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” The righteousness that enters the kingdom of heaven is perfect righteousness, the righteousness of Christ applied to those who believe in His perfect life, death, and resurrection for their sake. No amount of good deeds can ever outweigh the sin; man could never earn salvation for himself, and so God Himself took our human flesh to achieve it. He died for you, he died for me, he died for all.

A town has two churches; both are called by God to repentance and faith, both are called by God to remember that while good works do not earn salvation in any way, faith without works is dead, worship without love is empty. The Church is salty, the Church is light, because the Church is forgiven. [Repeat] The love and care of the neighbor in need doesn’t earn forgiveness, it flows from that forgiveness into a world in desperate need of the love that the Church has in abundance. This love is given to you, it is given to me, it is given to the world; it is for all men. In the name of Jesus, Amen.

The Purification of Mary and the Presentation of our Lord

“Lord, now you are letting your servant depart in peace, according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation that you have prepared in the presence of all people, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.” 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 on this feast of the Purification of Mary and the Presentation of our Lord comes from the Gospel lesson read a few moments ago from the second chapter of the Gospel according to Saint Luke. Dear friends in Christ: look into the temple, gaze at its sacred environs, consecrated, set apart as the place where God meets man. What do you see? You see hundreds of people gathered; peasants and princes, priests and paupers. You see animals; lambs and bulls, doves and pigeons. Your ears are assaulted by the bleating of the sheep, the bellowing of cattle; they can smell death, they know what is coming. Your nose is attacked by the stench of burning flesh; sacrifices placed on the altar, offered as a burnt offering to the Lord. And you see blood; rivers of blood, flowing from the bodies of slaughtered animals, flowing out of the temple and into the valley below. Blood on the robes of the priests, blood sprinkled on the altar, blood staining the pavement. What you see is the worship life of Israel; for thirteen hundred years the blood has flowed first from the tabernacle and now from the temple.

What you see is the price of sin. You see the cost that God required of His people; the blood of animals flowed as a substitute for their own blood. You see the price of transgression, flowing like a river from the temple, and you see live and in color what God thinks of sin and unholiness. You see that you have far been too casual about your sin. If you had to watch an animal die because you had rebelled against God, perhaps it would make you think twice about speaking those harsh words, looking at that website, or cheating your neighbor. It’s supposed to be your blood, but in grace God provides with the blood of another. Sin isn’t pardoned without blood. See the animals lined up to die; see the priests carrying the knives. If you had to stand beside a river of blood, maybe you would understand that lust, anger, and coveting aren’t just thoughts in your mind, they are offenses against God. You see the cost of your sin, and you shudder—it is nauseating to see the result of your transgressions, flowing out of the gates of the temple.

You see crowds of people who have been trained by a lifetime of sacrifices to understand the cost of sin. They are leading animals; sacrifices purchased with what money they have, animals purchased for the sole purpose of being put to death. In the crowd, you see a young couple, carrying a baby and two birds. They bring the offering of a poor mother; she was supposed to bring a lamb, but in Leviticus God allows the poor to bring “a pair of turtledoves, or two young pigeons.” She has come to be purified from her ceremonial uncleanness forty days after the birth of her son, as God has commanded her through Moses. Two pure white birds will substitute for her uncleanness; they will be put to death so that she can be brought back into the full religious life of her people. And she brings her son, to dedicate him to the Lord, “as it is written in the Law of the Lord, ‘Every male who first opens the womb shall be called holy to the Lord.’”

You see two people placing themselves in obedience under the Law. You see Mary, the virgin mother, who conceived through the powerful working of the Word of God. She is a faithful believer, and obedient to God’s Law, she offers the sacrifice. She places herself under the Law. She does the same for her Son. You see Jesus, the child born to the song of angels. You see Jesus, who the angel Gabriel says “will be called Holy—the Son of God.” You see this infant, who is greater than Moses, who spoke the words of the Law into his ear, being placed under that same Law, being presented in obedience with the command. There is only one human being in the history of the world that was not subject to the Law’s demands, and you watch as He is put under its authority.

The obedience of mother and child is a sharp contrast to your disobedience. You see the faithfulness of Mary, the humble submission of her Son, and you see as in a mirror your own rebellion. He over whom the Law had no authority was obedient to it; you over whom the Law has every right to demand everything, even your own life, live in revolt against it, refusing to see the consequences. This little child puts you to shame. In His faithfulness, you see your unfaithfulness, your chasing after other gods and other priorities. In His humility, you see your pride, arrogantly thinking you can live in sin without consequences. In His holiness, you see your impurity, as you have soiled yourself with the filth of a life lived in one transgression after another.

You look at this child and you see everything that you are not. But still, He is there, in the temple, being placed under the Law. Look closer into the face of this child. Yes, He is pure, yes He is holy, yes He is truly God, the Son of the Most High. But He is also Mary’s Son. Look at the virgin-born: is He not also true man? Yes! He is like you in every way, except without the stain of sin. The same organs, the same tissue, the same blood. This child breathes the same air, eats the same food, needs naps and nightly rest like the rest of us. You see the One who was “made like His brothers in every respect.” The Christ child is a child; the infant Jesus is an infant. He is true man, born of the virgin Mary, true man from the moment of conception; He passes through every stage that we did, from zygote to embryo to baby. He is like you in every respect, except without sin.

He who is pure is placed under the Law of sinners. He, the only human being not subject to the Law, is presented on the fortieth day in obedience with it. You look at this child in the arms of His mother, and you see your substitute. He who is like you in every respect stands in your place, the sinless One in the place of sinners, in the place of you. The Law had authority over you; you watch as He is placed under its authority in your place. You watch as He is placed under its penalty in your place. What is that penalty? You only need to turn your eyes away from the child and back to the organized chaos of the temple to remember the answer. What do you see? Blood.

Fast forward thirty years. You watch as the child Jesus, placed under the Law in your stead, grows in obedience to that Law, resisting every temptation, living the life that you could not, living a perfect life in your place. Now look upon the holy city Jerusalem once again, but not to the temple. There is a new place of sacrifice. Look at Golgotha, gaze at its cursed environs, consecrated, set apart as the place where man puts man to death. What do you see? You see a crowd of people gathered; peasants and princes, priests and paupers. You see three men, nailed to the wood of their crosses. Your ears are assaulted by the cries of the suffering, the insults of the crowd; they can smell death, they know what is coming. Your nose is attacked by the stench of death; a man nailed to the cross, offered as the innocent One in the place of sinners. The Law, which placed Him under the sentence of death on His fortieth day, is now carrying out this sentence. And you see blood; rivers of blood, flowing from the body of Christ, flowing down the cross and into the valley below. Blood on the garments of the soldiers, blood sprinkled on the dirt, blood staining the wood of the cross. What you see is the worship life of Israel coming to its fulfillment; for thirteen hundred years the blood has flowed first from the tabernacle and then from the temple, and now it flows from the hands, feet, head and side of Jesus. It flows for you; this Jesus who lived in your place also died in your place.

“Since therefore the children share in flesh and blood, He Himself likewise partook of the same things, that through death He might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and deliver all those who through fear of death were subject to lifelong slavery.”

On February 2nd, the world just sees a child, carried in the arms of his dirt-poor mother. On Good Friday, the world just sees a man, hanging upon a cross, maybe innocent, maybe guilty, but who really cares? People die every day. Perhaps the same number of people watched the presentation of Jesus as saw His crucifixion. To most of them, He was simply another person; but not to Simeon. You see an old man run to the poor mother and father, wild joy in His face. You see Mary’s expression of shock and even fear as he takes the child into his arms. But then he says, “Lord, now you are letting your servant depart in peace, according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation that you have prepared in the presence of all people, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.”

With the eyes of faith, Simeon sees what you see in the face of this child: this is the salvation long-prepared, for Jew and Gentile. He doesn’t look to heaven when He says, “Lord, now you are letting your servant depart in peace,” he is looking into the eyes of a forty-day old baby. For this child, true man, born of the virgin Mary, is also true God, begotten of the Father from eternity, and He is truly Simeon’s Lord. Look at this child, and what do you see? Your Lord. Look at the cross, and what do you see? Your victory. His holiness substituted for your impurity; His perfect life substituted for your sin; His death under God’s wrath substituted for the penalty you deserved. Where do you find salvation? In the flesh of Jesus; only as true man could He stand as our substitute. You cannot grasp God for your good unless He is grasped in creaturely forms. The deeper you submerge Jesus in the flesh, the better it is for you. That is why you eat of His Body and drink of His Blood in the Lord’s Supper; that is why you leave the table singing these words: “Lord, now you are letting your servant depart in peace…my eyes have seen your salvation that you have prepared in the presence of all people.” Your eyes have seen His salvation; at the temple on the fortieth day, at the cross on Good Friday, and at the table on the Lord’s Day. Depart in peace, according to His Word, Amen.

Epiphany 3 of Series A (Matthew 4:12-25)

“The people dwelling in darkness have seen a great light, and for those dwelling in the region and shadow of death, on them a light has dawned.” 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 fourth chapter of the Gospel according to Saint Matthew. Dear friends in Christ, two weeks ago, we watched our Lord submit to the baptism of John, the baptism of sinners. We watched as the heavens were opened, the Father spoke, and the Spirit descended as a dove. The triumph, the beauty, the glory of that day was only magnified last week when we heard John cry, “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” Jesus travels from the river to the wilderness, and there He does battle with Satan, emerging victorious. But the path of the Messiah is not to be filled with triumph and victory. “Now when [Jesus] heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew into Galilee.” This should shock us—after all this triumph, after all this glory, John—John!—is arrested, and he will not leave that prison alive. Jesus withdraws to the backwoods, and He begins His ministry far from His dangerous enemies in Jerusalem. The darkness is still deep, it lies thick over our fallen world. But our text also holds a promise: “The people dwelling in darkness have seen a great light, and for those dwelling in the region and shadow of death, on them a light has dawned.”

The darkness is overwhelming in this world of sin, it surrounds us, it fills every nook and cranny, it smothers us like a heavy blanket. There is no light in a world where people commit acts of incredibly cruelty against others, where children are bullied until they take their own lives, where people suffer from poverty of their own making or inflicted by others, where families are shattered by adultery and divorce. Two weeks ago, I stood with many others on the steps of the Iowa capitol, and we declared together that the horror of abortion must end. How deep must the darkness be when the most vulnerable are put to death in the name of ‘choice?’ No deeper than the darkness that dwells in your own heart. The mistake we often make is that we think because our sins don’t make the news, that we are somehow better off than others, that the darkness isn’t nearly as deep. But that’s a deception. Your will never understand the depth of your sin until you see that the darkness in your own heart is as deep as the darkness outside. That is what Scripture teaches us: every sin offends God, each is deserving of death, yes, even eternal death.
“The people dwelling in darkness have seen a great light, and for those dwelling in the region and shadow of death, on them a light has dawned.” Into the darkness that surrounds you, into the darkness that dwells within you, Jesus shines the Light. “From that time Jesus began to preach, saying, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.’” Jesus calls on this world, He calls on you, to repent. The Light of the Law shines in the darkness of human hearts, illuminating sin, pointing out transgressions, revealing the deeds of darkness for what they are, and calling on us to abandon them. That is His cry to a world of abuse and cruelty, where every person simply looks out for his or her own interest: Repent! Turn away from your sin, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand! That is His cry to you and me today, who self-righteously believe that we aren’t as bad as everyone else, who hide the darkness deep in our own heart: Repent! Repent, sinner! Cast the works of darkness far from you! There is an urgency to His cry: today is the day of salvation, do not tarry, do not cling to the darkness for one more moment. “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is near!”

The call to repentance echoes in the darkness. The world has been called to account, its darkness has been exposed by the powerful preaching of the Law. But few listen. The shadow of unbelief lies heavy upon our world. Some is militant unbelief, exemplified by the hardcore atheists, who spend much time and ink attacking the Scriptures. In addition, more and more people are becoming ‘agnostic,’ meaning that they claim to know nothing for certain about spiritual matters, except, of course, that Christianity is wrong. More insidious, however, is a deep apathy that infects so many. They may say that they believe in God if Gallup calls them up, but their life in this world gives the opposite answer. These are all simply different forms of the same spiritual blindness, the darkness that fills our world. But even if a person heeds the Law, there is not yet any salvation. In your spiritual blindness, you may be able to see the Law, but you cannot see any solution, you are blind to any promises, you dwell in darkness too thick to see a Savior.

“The people dwelling in darkness have seen a great light, and for those dwelling in the region and shadow of death, on them a light has dawned.” Into the darkness of spiritual blindness that fills this world, into the darkness of spiritual blindness that afflicts you, Jesus shines the Light. “While walking by the Sea of Galilee, [Jesus] saw two brothers, Simon (who is called Peter) and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea, for they were fishermen. And He said to them, ‘Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.’” The darkness that afflicts us cannot be broken by any effort of our own, any more than a blind man can make himself see. We need the intervention of another, someone with the power to shine the Light in our darkness and restore our spiritual sight. Only the power of Jesus’ call can destroy darkness in sinful human hearts and bring in the Light. Most first-century rabbis waited for disciples to join them; Jesus seeks out disciples, He calls on people to believe in Him as the Savior of the world. His call creates faith, His call overwhelms the darkness and brings forth children of light. “Immediately they left their nets and followed him.”

The darkness of sin is driven away by the call to repentance; the darkness of unbelief is driven away by the call to faith—we would expect as believers, as the redeemed, to dwell in the beauty of light. But still the darkness surrounds us. Four fishermen were called by Jesus to follow Him; only one would die a natural death. The followers of Jesus still get cancer, they still have heart attacks, they still get injured. The effects of sin do not spare those who are called by Christ; if anything, it seems that we are afflicted more than those who dwell in darkness. That is just as Christ promised us: “If the world hates you, know that it has hated me before it hated you.” And everyone, believer and non-believer alike, will eventually die. Death will claim you whether you spend Sunday mornings in worship or at home. John the fisherman turned apostle was not killed for his faith, but he still died. You are a believer, but darkness still surrounds you, choking, thick, and heavy, snuffing out life itself.

“The people dwelling in darkness have seen a great light, and for those dwelling in the region and shadow of death, on them a light has dawned.” Into the darkness of disease and death, filling our loved ones and we ourselves, which will one day claim each and every person on the face of this planet, Jesus shines the Light. “[Jesus] went throughout all Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the gospel of the kingdom and healing every disease and every affliction among the people. So his fame spread throughout all Syria, and they brought Him all the sick, those afflicted with various diseases and pains, those oppressed by demons, epileptics, and paralytics, and He healed them.” Jesus entered this world to drive back the effects of sin; to heal the sick, to restore the infirm, even to raise the dead. The power of His Light shines in the darkness of diseased lives, paralyzed limbs, and demon-possessed flesh. Jesus came as the Light of the world not only to illuminate darkened souls, but to shine upon bodies dwelling in the shadow of death. His salvation is spiritual and physical.

His Light heals all the effects of sin, in you, in me, in this entire creation. He may heal you today through the work of a surgeon or doctor, He may save you from death using the instruments He has placed in this world for that very purpose, but even if He doesn’t save your physical body today, you still have the victory for eternity. The healings in our text are the proof and guarantee that one day you will be healed, His resurrection is the proof and guarantee that Jesus has come to destroy all the effects of sin in this world, even death itself. “The people dwelling in darkness have seen a great light, and for those dwelling in the region and shadow of death, on them a light has dawned.” The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. The shadow lay thick and heavy upon us; the darkness of sin, the darkness of unbelief, the darkness of disease and death, but Christ has come to defeat them all. He is the One who shines His Light in the midst of the darkness, lifting the shadow of death, all through the power of His cross.

It is on the cross that Jesus is revealed as the Light of the world, for it is on the cross that Jesus pays for sin, conquers unbelief, and overcomes death itself. It is the bright beams of the cross that shine the light of forgiveness into your heart when you fall into sin, it is the message of the cross that you are called by Jesus Himself to believe in, and it is only through the cross that we have the guarantee that no disease, and not even death itself, has a hold upon us or any of Christ’s called saints. At the foot of the cross, the people who are dwelling in darkness see a great Light; before its sacred beams the shadow of death is chased away. With the cross, darkness has no more power over you, me, or a creation which cowered so long under its shadow. There is your light, O people of God, there is the Light of the world. In the Name of Jesus, “God of God, Light of Light, very God of very God,” Amen.

The Baptism of our Lord (Romans 6:1-11)

“So you also must consider yourselves dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus.” 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 on this Baptism of our Lord is from the Epistle lesson read a few moments ago from the sixth chapter Romans. Dear friends in Christ, the Son of Man, the Messiah, Jesus, who was called the Christ, stood in the midst of Jordan’s stream. He came to this river where the people of Judea were washing away their sins and there He submitted to the baptism of sinners. He who had no sin was baptized in the place of all sinners, in your place and mine. The Father’s voice pointed us to our Savior: “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.” The Spirit descended to anoint Him for His work, and from that river, Jesus traveled a long, winding road which led to the cross. At the Jordan that day, Jesus, declared to be the Son of God, was also declared as the One who stood in our place, the bearer of our sin. Every sin. There is no sin that you have ever committed or will ever commit that Jesus did not bear to the cross. God’s grace, shown through the death of the sin-bearer, is greater than your sin. Every sin. All sin. His grace, His forgiveness is so abundant that Saint Paul will say immediately before our text, “Where sin increased, grace abounded all the more, so that, as sin reigned in death, grace also might reign through righteousness leading to eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.”

Christ’s blood-bought forgiveness is always more abundant than our transgressions; the grace of God shines from the cross more powerfully than all the darkness of our corruption. You cannot outsin God’s grace, although we certainly try. We pray “deliver us from evil,” and we think first about those things that are outside of us; we think of terrorists and criminals, we think of injury or death, we think of Satan. But this petition is prayed first against ourselves, against our own heart. We are the evil ones, corrupted through and through. We are a “body of sin” as Saint Paul tells us, a body corrupted by sin, a body infected with evil. And nowhere is this more manifest than in how we treat God’s grace.

Paul asks the question: “What shall we say then? Are we to continue in sin that grace may abound?” The answer is obvious: ‘Yes!’ God likes to forgive, I like to sin; what better relationship could there be? You all know the grace of God; you hear it from the pulpit, from the altar, each and every week. We’re Lutherans, after all; that’s what we preach, more clearly than anyone else. You hear that you can’t outsin God’s grace, that His forgiveness is so abundant it covers every single sin, and you can’t help but take Him up on His offer. And so you turn the absolution into a license to sin, an excuse to sin. I’m going to get clean on Sunday morning, so I might as well get good and filthy on Monday through Saturday. As long as I’m a ‘good church person’ on Sunday morning, I can live my ‘other life’ the rest of the week. What a great deal! God likes to forgive, I like to sin—what more could I ask for? I can get drunk and make a fool of myself on Friday night as long as I ask for forgiveness on Sunday morning. Treating others like dirt, bullying, abusing, and speaking harsh words isn’t a big deal, because I know about God’s grace, and it’s available whenever I want it. I can sleep around and use filthy language as long as I remember to ask for forgiveness afterward. It really doesn’t matter what shows I watch, what I look up on the internet, or what magazines I read, as long as I’m in that pew once a week, looking good, hearing of forgiveness. Or, better yet, I can avoid the worship life of the Church altogether for the majority of my life, as long as I call in the pastor when I’m on my deathbed. Then I’ll square the accounts and cash in on this grace.

Are we to continue in sin that grace may abound? We answer with a resounding ‘Yes!’ Paul’s answer is a bit different: “By no means!” ‘Why?’ we ask. Paul, don’t you get it, we’ve got everything going for us! I like to sin, and so I keep sinning. God likes to forgive, and so He keeps forgiving. I’m doing what I want, and so is God. What’s the big problem? Paul’s answer is simple: “How can we who died to sin still live in it?” You have died. I have died. Not a physical death, not the death that affects all creatures in a fallen world, but a different kind of death. We died to sin. We died in our Baptism. “Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into His death? We were buried therefore with Him by Baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life.”

At the font, you were put to death, you were killed. Not to destroy you, but to save you. We pray “deliver us from evil,” and at the font, God answered that prayer. That’s why we pray the Lord’s Prayer before every baptism, because the Lord’s Prayer, and especially that seventh petition, finds its answer in those blessed waters. He delivered you from Satan’s rule, from sin’s bondage, from death’s domination. He delivered you from the evil that dwells within you. “We know that our old self was crucified with Him in order that the body of sin might be brought to nothing, so that we would no longer be enslaved to sin.” The old man, that old sinful Adam, was crucified with Christ in the font; He was put to death, for Christ, our sin-bearer, took him to the cross and left him nailed there. His day is done, His reign is over. Should we continue to sin that grace may abound? By no means! We have died to sin, we are no longer under its slavery. “One who has died has been set free from sin.”

We are justified, made righteous in God’s sight, for Christ has linked together His death on the cross with our death in the font; at the cross He won salvation, in your Baptism He applies it to you. His death becomes your death, and as His death was followed by a resurrection, so too is yours. “Now if we have died with Christ, we believe that we will also live with Him.” In Baptism, we are joined with the most important events in history; in the time that it takes to apply water saying “I baptize you in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” you are connected with the arrest and trial, the scourge and the whip, the cross and death, the rest in the tomb and the glorious resurrection of Jesus Christ. All that happened in those three days comes to you in a matter of moments, it is made your own. His death is now your death, and the old man is crucified. His resurrection is now your resurrection, and you are raised to newness of life.

“We were buried therefore with Him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life.” Are we to continue in sin that grace may abound? By no means! Why walk in the paths of death, in bondage to the evil that dwells within us, when we have been raised to newness of life? God’s grace isn’t license to sin, it isn’t an excuse to sin, it’s forgiveness for when we sin. You have been given a new life—why dwell in the ways of death, the paths of your old life, living among the dry bones of sin, which can only deliver you into death? You have been set free! You have died to sin, why live in it any longer? You are the baptized, who have the inheritance of eternal life, not the unbelieving world, which without Christ is destined only for eternal death. You have died and been raised again—do not live in death, but in life!

That is easier said than done. We have died to sin, but that old man still dwells within us, and he continues to speak his enticing words. Baptism inaugurates a battle, a battle that continues throughout the life of every Christian. “Deliver us from evil” we pray in the Lord’s Prayer, starting with the evil that dwells within our own heart. Once again it is Baptism that answers this fervent prayer. At the font we died to sin and were raised with Christ; we return to that death and resurrection daily in our battle with sin, as Luther teaches us in the Small Catechism: “[Baptism] indicates that the Old Adam in us should by daily contrition and repentance be drowned and die with all sins and evil desires, and that a new man should daily emerge and arise to live before God in righteousness and purity forever.” The Christian life is a life of returning to the font and remembering the death we died to sin. Whatever commands the old man of sin gives us, we obey them as much as a corpse; we have died to sin, how can we live in it any longer? Baptism shapes our lives: we daily die to sin in repentance, and we rise to Christ recalling what was given to us in our Baptism: forgiveness, life, and salvation.

We drown that old man in repentance and forgiveness each and every day, but he is a strong swimmer, he continues to entice us. We fall into sin, we walk in the paths of death. Here’s where the overflowing, blood-bought grace of God is so necessary. “If we have been united with Him in a death like His, we shall certainly be united with Him in a resurrection like His.” God’s abundant grace isn’t license to sin, it is forgiveness for when we sin. It’s the promise that through Christ we have forgiveness, we have eternal life, for through our baptism, we were connected with Christ’s death and His resurrection. “We know that Christ being raised from the dead will never die again; death no longer has any dominion over Him. For the death He died He died to sin, once for all, but the life He lives He lives to God.” Christ died once for all; once for all sin, once for all sinners. What is true of Christ is true of us: we are not only dead to the life of sin, we are dead to sin’s penalty; we are dead to death. We are alive to God today and we are alive to God forever, for we died and rose again in the blessed waters of Baptism. “So you also must consider yourselves dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus.” We are alive! Death cannot hold us, for we have died already, and the resurrection of our Baptism is the guarantee of our resurrection on the Last Day. “I am baptized into Christ; I’m a child of paradise!” Amen.

Christmas 2 of Series A (1 Kings 3:4-15)

“Behold, I give you a wise and discerning mind, so that none like you has been before you and none like you shall arise after you.” 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 second Sunday after Christmas comes from the Old Testament lesson read a few moments ago from the third chapter of the book of First Kings. Dear friends in Christ: we Americans are a very practical, pragmatic people. We do things because we can see the results, we can see the tangible outcomes, often measured in dollars and cents. Our education system is, in many ways, set up for the primary and all-encompassing purpose of equipping someone for a job. The old liberal arts model of higher education, where the goal was to shape the mind of young people so that they will be wise and informed citizens, has been largely replaced by specialized trade schools and university departments, which teach skills for one profession or another. Why? The answer is money—we Americans are, after all, practical, pragmatic people. Learning for the sake of learning isn’t really all that practical, because unless you are going to teach in a university for a living, wisdom and understanding aren’t going to put food on the table or (more importantly) pay taxes.

Solomon’s request is therefore impractical to the extreme. God Himself comes to the king in the night and gives him an extraordinary offer: “Ask what I shall give you.” Like King Ahaz, Solomon is given a blank check from God, the opportunity to ask for anything. And as a king, Solomon certainly had many practical needs. He had just removed the immediate threats to his throne, but he still had enemies—should he ask for victory in battle? David his father had given him a well-off kingdom, but can a person ever have enough—should he ask for great wealth? Or what about the most important thing in the eyes of most people, next to money, of course—should he ask for a long life?

But Solomon asks for none of these things. He is given the opportunity to ask for anything for himself, but he refuses to focus upon himself. What he asks is for a gift to serve others. “Your servant is in the midst of your people whom you have chosen, a great people, too many to be numbered or counted for multitude. Give your servant therefore an understanding mind to govern your people, that I may discern between good and evil, for who is able to govern this your great people?” Solomon refuses to ask for wealth, for military victory, or for a long life. Instead, he asks for wisdom. Not for himself, because what can wisdom really give you that wealth, victory, or many years cannot? If you are thinking of bettering yourself, you’ll choose the others over wisdom any day of the week. But Solomon was thinking of serving others, he was in humility seeking the good of his neighbor, and so he sought wisdom and understanding. He sought the wisdom and understanding that comes only from God, for it characterizes God.

God is wisdom, He is understanding. His wisdom is an open ear, hearing the pleas and understanding the great needs of those whom He loves. And His understanding provides for those needs, perhaps not in the way that we wanted or expected, but in His wisdom God always gives what is best for those whom He loves. In wisdom, God heard the cries of humanity for salvation from sin and death, He heard your cries even before you uttered them. And in wisdom, God set forth a marvelous plan of salvation. Saint Paul teaches us in our Epistle lesson that God is “making known to us the mystery of His will, according to His purpose, which He set forth in Christ as a plan for the fullness of time, to unite all things in Him, things in heaven and things on earth.” God in His infinite wisdom ordered all things in history toward your salvation, so that Paul can say, “He chose us in [Jesus] before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and blameless before Him. In love He predestined us for adoption as sons through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of His will.”

God exercises His wisdom to serve you, fulfilling your greatest needs. In wisdom, God sent His Son into our creation in the fullness of time to bring forth the salvation long planned and prepared. His plan came to pass in a manger, for His wisdom is shown in the child Jesus, the fulfillment of all the promises. Jesus is God’s wisdom, as He demonstrates even as a youth, to the amazement of the teachers in the temple. When Solomon asks for wisdom, he is asking for what belongs to God Himself, what characterizes His interactions with sinful humanity, the wisdom that will lead to a little baby and a manger outside of Bethlehem. He is asking for the wisdom that serves.

True wisdom always serves, but not ourselves. Godly wisdom serves others. Godly wisdom won’t put more money in your account, it won’t lengthen your life, it won’t rid you of your enemies (in fact, it might give you more!), but it will help you serve your neighbor’s true needs. That’s why God praised it so highly when He heard Solomon’s request: “Because you have asked this, and have not asked for yourself long life or riches or the life of your enemies, but have asked for yourself understanding to discern what is right, behold, I now do according to your word.”

True wisdom serves others, therefore we don’t want much to do with it. Deep down, we’re selfish, or we think that we can handle things on our own. We put a tremendous amount of energy into seeking after many things, most of which fall into the three categories that God gives: long life, riches, and triumph over our enemies, but we expend much less effort in seeking after godly wisdom. We Americans are practical, pragmatic people, and wisdom, especially godly wisdom, doesn’t pay the bills. In fact, godly wisdom doesn’t really benefit me at all! As a result, it is no secret that our churches have failed to teach the faith adequately for decades now, and blame lies on all sides. We clergy have botched our God-given task to teach all ages, to expect more from our students. And laity have played their part by not coming to bible classes and demanding less of themselves and their children. Now we have several generations of Christians that want little to do with wisdom, who don’t know their own faith, and therefore are swayed by every wind of false doctrine, who are ill-equipped to speak God’s Word in the world.

Now, don’t get me wrong. This sermon isn’t simply an advertisement for bible class and adult catechesis (held Mondays at 11am, 6pm and 7:15pm). True, godly wisdom doesn’t only come from being in a class, it’s more than studying Scripture, although the thirst for knowledge about God is vital. True wisdom isn’t just knowing facts. Godly wisdom is cultivated in the weekly Divine Service, it is taught through a devotional life of prayer and meditation upon God’s Word. You don’t have to be a pastor or a seminary professor to have godly wisdom, you don’t even need to have as much knowledge as the person sitting next to you today. Every Christian should cultivate godly wisdom as God has gifted them, not for our own benefit, but to serve others.

Solomon set the pattern. He asked God for an “understanding mind.” The Hebrew text says that Solomon asked for a “hearing soul.” True wisdom imitates God by listening to the needs of others. True wisdom is an open ear, seeking to understand our neighbor’s situation—spiritually and physically. Listening cannot be taught in a class, but only through prayer and meditation, by listening first to God Himself. Solomon also asked for the ability to “discern between good and evil.” This is where our study of the Scriptures comes in. If we want to help our neighbor, we must be able to distinguish between good and evil, truth and falsehood according to the Scriptures. We must be able to call a thing what it is, pointing out sin and falsehood and praising good and truth. And then, true, godly wisdom must discern how to help. If the need is physical, godly wisdom helps us to see how our vocations and the vocations of others can be used to serve the needs of his body. If the need is spiritual, godly wisdom applies God’s Word to our neighbor. Godly wisdom speaks the Law to condemn sin when a person is caught in unrepentance, and the Gospel to forgive sin when the neighbor is in desperate need of grace.

For God’s wisdom is ultimately shown in the Gospel. It is the plan of salvation set forth before time began, and when the fullness of time came, it bore fruit in seeming foolishness. True wisdom is found in Jesus; true wisdom is found in the foolishness of the manger, in the foolishness of the cross. Jesus demonstrated His wisdom when He befuddled the teachers in the temple; His wisdom would stump them again when He hung upon the cross. In the foolishness of the cross, God would show forth His wisdom, for in Christ’s humiliating suffering and death, all creation would be delivered from bondage. His wisdom forgives you for your foolish seeking after the things of this world: long life, riches, and triumph over others.

The one with godly wisdom is then the one who believes, who clings to the foolishness of the cross for forgiveness, life, and salvation. Godly wisdom is despairing of your own ability to save yourself, and therefore relying solely upon Christ. Godly wisdom is realizing your humility; like Solomon, you admit before your God that “I am but a little child. I do not know how to go out or come in.” Godly wisdom confesses that you don’t know it all, that you can’t do it on your own, and so like Solomon you ask for the wisdom that only comes as a gift: “Give your servant therefore an understanding mind to govern your people, that I may discern between good and evil, for who is able to govern this your great people?” God answers this prayer, and more than that, He gives you everything. “I give you also what you have not asked, both riches and honor, so that no other king shall compare with you, all your days.” You have riches, the very treasure of heaven. You have a long life, life forever in heaven. And you have victory over your enemies: sin, death, and Satan are crushed by the foolishness of the cross—the world’s foolishness, God’s wisdom, your salvation. In Jesus’ name, Amen.