Good Friday: My Song is Love Unknown

Jesus loved Barabbas. He loved this murderer, this insurrectionist, this despicable man languishing in a Roman prison, given the sentence of death. He loved Barabbas to such an extent that He was willing to die for him. Barabbas was guilty, in fact as guilty as any man could be; Jesus was innocent, more holy and righteous than any person who had ever lived. But Jesus died and Barabbas lived. Jesus died in the place of Barabbas.

“They rise and needs will have my dear Lord made away; a murderer they save, the Prince of Life they slay. Yet cheerful He to suffering goes that He His foes from thence might free.”

Jesus loves you. He loves you, even though you are sinful, even though you are corrupted, even though you are under the sentence of death. He loves you to such an extent that He was willing to die for you. You are guilty, in fact as guilty as every human since Adam and Eve. Jesus is innocent, more holy and righteous than any person who had ever lived. But Jesus died, and you will live. Jesus died in your place. “Yet cheerful He to suffering goes that He His foes from thence might free.” He died in the place of His greatest enemies; He died in place of His friends. He died in place of the ones who nailed Him to the cross; He died for you and me. Martin Luther called this the ‘great exchange.’ Jesus takes all that is ours: our sin, our shame, and our guilt, and makes it His own. In return, He gives us all that is His: His righteousness, His holiness, and His standing before God. Through His death and resurrection, all that is Christ’s is now yours.  “Yet cheerful He to suffering goes.” Christ goes to the cross cheerfully because of His love for you and me. This is truly love unknown, love incomprehensible, love divine. God is love, and He demonstrates this most clearly on Good Friday, in the cross of Christ.

Almighty God, graciously behold this your family for whom our Lord Jesus Christ was willing to be betrayed and delivered into the hands of sinful men to suffer death upon the cross; through the same Jesus Christ, your Son, our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever, Amen.

Maundy Thursday: My Song is Love Unknown

The love of Jesus didn’t begin at the cross; it defined His incarnation and life in this world. In love He drove out demons from the possessed, in love He healed disease, in love He raised the dead. When Jesus wept outside of the tomb of Lazarus, the gathered mourners exclaimed, “See how He loved him!” Jesus poured out His love on this sinful and corrupted creation, for that is what He came to do. The Creator was present in His creation to renew and restore it, to make right what had gone so terribly wrong. Jesus came to show love, and the creation responded with hate.

“Why, what hath my Lord done? What makes this rage and spite? He made the lame to run, he gave the blind their sight. Sweet injuries! Yet they at these, themselves displease and against Him rise.”

In hatred this world raged against the God who is love. What has Jesus done? What makes this world scorn and abuse Him? He has done what Isaiah prophesied He would do: “The Lord has anointed me to bring good news to the poor; He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound.” He came in love to free this creation from its bondage to sin and death. Every disease healed, every demon driven away, every leper cleansed was an indication that Jesus had come to destroy sin’s effects forever. But this cleansing and restoration would only come through His rejection, His suffering, through the facing of the rage of this world. Why was He hated by men? So that He could save them, so that He could show them love. Only His death could destroy sin and all of its corruption. Our hymn exclaims, “Sweet injuries!” The injuries of Christ are sweet because through them the disease of sin and death is cast from us, as Isaiah wrote, “With His stripes we are healed.”

Almighty and everlasting God, grant us by your grace so to pass through this holy time of our Lord’s passion that we may obtain the forgiveness of our sins; through Jesus Christ, your Son, our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever, Amen.

Wednesday of Holy Week: My Song is Love Unknown

We do not honor our love in Lent. Our love is fickle, it is wavering, it is unsteady. Our love is weak, even when turned toward those closest to us, but especially when it is turned toward God. Holy Week isn’t about the love of the people for Christ, because their love failed, and the crowds turned against our Lord.

“Sometimes they strew His way and His sweet praises sing; resounding all the day hosannas to their King. Then ‘Crucify!’ is all their breath, and for His death they thirst and cry.”

Jerusalem rejoiced to receive her King on Palm Sunday. Jesus even said, “I tell you, if these [people] were silent, the very stones would cry out.” The cries of ‘Hosanna’ rose up to Jesus, cloaks and palm branches covered His path. The people showed Jesus glory, honor, and love. But by Friday that all had changed. The cry was no longer ‘Hosanna!’ but ‘Crucify!’ Man’s love had faltered and failed. The crowds who once had adored Him now cried out for His death. 

We do not honor our love in Lent, for we too are like the crowds of Jerusalem. Our love for Christ falters and fails. On some days we cry out ‘Hosanna!’ praising our King for all that He has done for us. On others, we are like the mob on Good Friday, rejecting Christ through our words and actions. Our love is completely corrupted by the sin that fills all of our members. Lent isn’t about our love for Christ, but His love for us. Even you and I, who have love that is so weak, so faltering, so unsteady, are shown love by Jesus, the love that led Him to the cross. His love is shown to the “loveless that they might lovely be.”

Most merciful God, as the people of Jerusalem, with palms in their hands, gathered to greet your dearly beloved Son when he came into His Holy City, grant that we may ever hail Him as our King and, when He comes again, may go forth to meet Him with trusting and steadfast hearts and follow Him in the way that leads to eternal life; through the same Jesus Christ, our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever, Amen.

Tuesday of Holy Week: My Song is Love Unknown

On Christmas we see God’s love. The Father shows His love in that He sends His Son into this world; the Son shows His love in that He willingly lays aside the glory that is rightfully His and is born in humility. Saint Paul ponders this mystery in the second chapter of Philippians: “[He] made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” The love of the Son points in two directions: Jesus shows love toward God in that He is born, lives, and dies in obedience to the Father’s will for our salvation; Jesus shows love toward you in that He is born, lives, and dies for your great need of deliverance from sin and death. He had all glory, but He laid it aside in love for His Father and for you.

“He came from His blest throne salvation to bestow; but men made strange, and none the longed-for Christ would know. But, oh, my friend, my friend indeed, who at my need His life did spend!”

Because Jesus came in humility, He was rejected. He was long expected, but when He came, He didn’t fulfill expectations, and so men refused to know Him for who He was. He took the form of a servant, Isaiah’s suffering servant. Isaiah chapter fifty-three runs throughout this hymn. The prophet writes: “He had not form or majesty that we should look at Him, and no beauty that we should desire Him. He was despised and rejected by men.” This Jesus, true God from eternity, is born in the likeness of man, born in humility, despised and rejected by all for you. Your need is salvation from sin and from death. It is a desperate need, for you can do nothing to deliver yourself. And at your need “His life did spend.”

Merciful and everlasting God, you did not spare your only Son but delivered Him up for us all to bear our sins on the cross. Grant that our hearts may be so fixed with steadfast faith in Him that we fear not the power of sin, death, and the devil; through the same Jesus Christ, our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever, Amen.

Monday of Holy Week: My Song is Love Unknown

God is love. That fundamental character of our Creator is declared emphatically by Saint John in his first letter. Love isn’t just a characteristic of God or something He does, it is His identity. God is love. In this world we have poor analogies to understand God’s love. We love baseball, we love ice cream, we love television. Our love for our family- our spouse, our parents, our children and grandchildren- comes close, but it remains imperfect, tainted by sin. To understand how God is love, we cannot rely on human illustrations, but must turn somewhere else. We must turn to the cross.

“My song is love unknown, my Savior’s love to me, love to the loveless shown that they might lovely be. Oh, who am I that for my sake my Lord should take frail flesh and die?”

God is love, love unknown. His love isn’t unknown in the sense that we cannot see it or hear of it. It isn’t love that is hidden or secret. His love is unknown because we cannot comprehend it, we cannot understand it. We cannot imagine why Christ would die for someone like us. We know our sin, our guilt, our shame better than anyone else. We know that there is little in us that deserves salvation. But God is love. Saint Paul writes in Romans chapter five: “God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” This statement is the essence of what the Gospel is: love shown to the loveless that they might lovely be. Our hymn immerses us in that mystery. “Oh, who am I that for my sake my Lord should take frail flesh and die?” This hymn isn’t about our love, which fails and falters, but about the Savior’s love for us, shown to us on Calvary’s cross. This love is shown despite our sin, and it is shown to destroy our sin, so that we might be made lovely in the Father’s eyes forever.

Almighty and everlasting God, you sent your Son, our Savior Jesus Christ, to take upon Himself our flesh and to suffer death upon the cross. Mercifully grant that we may follow the example of His great humility and patience and be made partakers of His resurrection; through the same Jesus Christ, our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever, Amen.

Palm Sunday (Series A: Philippians 2:5-11)

“Whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted.” 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 Palm Sunday is the Epistle lesson read a few moments ago from the second chapter of Paul’s letter to the church in Philippi. Dear friends in Christ, our King, our Lord, our Messiah, is a coming King. He comes this day into Jerusalem, He comes to His people, who line the road waving palm branches, who cheer and acclaim His name. They shout, “Hosanna, blessed is He who comes in the Name of the Lord, even the King of Israel!” He comes to the praises of men, but He also comes in humility. He comes not on a steed of war, but on a donkey; He comes not leading an army, but twelve disciples. He comes in fulfillment of Zechariah’s prophecy: “Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter of Jerusalem! Behold, your King is coming to you; righteous and having salvation is He, humble and mounted on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” This is a humble King, a King who lowers Himself, a King who gives up glory instead of taking it. He comes not to conquer, but to die; He comes not to a palace, but to a hill of execution; He comes not to a throne, but to a cross. This is a King like no other, as the events of this most holy of weeks will demonstrate. He will be glorious, He will have His triumph, but not before He is humbled, not before He suffers, not before He dies.

This King is a humble King, a King who empties Himself, who freely gives up all that is rightfully His and submits to humiliation, suffering and death. “Though He was in the form of God, [Jesus] did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but make Himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men.” This King is true God, He is equal with the Father, but yet He lays aside His glory. He makes Himself nothing, not simply being born as a man, but as the humblest of men. He didn’t seek after God’s glory, even though it was rightfully His, He resisted the devil’s temptation to grasp power for Himself, and instead walked the way of humility. He lowered Himself from the lofty heights of heavenly glory to the humility of servitude, putting Himself, the equal of the Father, into the hands of the Father’s will.

That will called on Him to humble Himself even further. It is a great mystery that Jesus humbled Himself to become a dirt-poor rabbi, born away from home, laid in a manger, with no place to lay His head. It is far greater mystery that He humbled Himself unto death. “And being found in human form, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” He is the Son of God, true God in the glory of the Father, and He humbles and lowers Himself to the most wretched death ever devised by men. He to whom all power and glory rightfully belong humbled Himself to the disgrace of men: “I gave my back to those who strike, and my cheeks to those who pull out the beard; I hid not my face from disgrace and spitting.” This is the Father’s will, that Christ would die for the people, that He would humble Himself to die in your place and mine, bearing our sin, and He was obedient to that will.

The drama of this week is captured in that phrase: “He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” Here is the agony of Maundy Thursday, here is the horror of Good Friday, here is the fear and sorrow of Holy Saturday. He to whom all power and all glory rightfully belonged humbled Himself to the wretchedness of the cross. But that is not the end of the story. He humbled Himself knowing that He would be exalted, He laid aside His glory knowing that He would take it up again. This King died in humiliation, He died the death of a criminal, but He did not stay dead. He went boldly to the cross because He knew what would happen on the third day: “Therefore I have set my face like a flint, and I know that I shall not be put to shame. He who vindicates me is near.”

The humble King was vindicated, He was not put to shame; on the other side of the humiliation of the cross stood the glory of the empty tomb. Because He humbled Himself unto death, even death upon a cross in obedience to the Father, He was given eternal glory. “Therefore God has highly exalted Him and bestowed on Him the name that is above every name.” The crucified King is now exalted to the highest seat of honor. He who made Himself the lowest of all is now given the name above every name. The name of Jesus is the name of salvation, it is the name of glory, and at the sound of that name, all creatures, even the devil and His evil host, will fall down and give Him honor. “At the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” Humility led to glory for the crucified King.

That is the path that Paul calls on us to walk. He instructs us to “have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus.” We are to have the same mind as Christ, who not only humbled Himself, putting away His divine glory, but was humbled even to death upon a cross. He who was exalted over all became the least of all. He refused to glorify Himself, He rejected every temptation to seek after earthly gain, and instead subjected Himself in obedience to the Father’s will. He didn’t exalt Himself—He let His Father do that. You are called upon to have that same mind as your King. You are called upon to humble yourself, to refuse your own glory, to not boast in anything that you are or have. You are to put your pride to death, to put others before yourself, to be obedient to the Father whatever the cost may be. What do you boast in? Do you take pride in your wealth, your physical strength, your looks, your talents and skills? Do you crave the attention, the praise of others? Put it to death. Nail it to the cross. You are called to humility, to empty yourself like Christ, not to puff yourself up.

Paul explains exactly what he means just before our text: “Do nothing from rivalry or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but to the interests of others.” Pride looks only to your own needs; humility looks to the needs of your neighbor. The gifts you have been given are not to make you better in the eyes of others, they are to serve your neighbor in love. Empty yourself of self-serving pride and glory so that others can be filled. Despise the glory of men, their praise and adoration; it is fleeting, it fades away. Seek rather to live in humility, for, like Christ, you know that there is glory yet to come.

Jesus laid aside His glory knowing that He would take it up again; He endured the cross having spoken of the empty tomb. The one who exalts himself will be humbled; God makes sure of that, in this life or in the one to come. But the one who humbles himself in imitation of Christ will be exalted. Humility endures, while pride kills. Are you to come to God in boasting and pride, thinking that you have something to offer Him, that you have something that He needs, that you are worthy to stand in His presence because you are so wonderful? Or do you come to God empty-handed, a beggar, with nothing to give Him but your sin and wretchedness? Pride before God is the height of foolishness; humility is the only posture we can honestly have before our holy Creator. We say it at the beginning of every service: “I, a poor, miserable sinner.” Those words give us no room for pride before God or other people; we are all equally sinners, no matter what skills, wealth, or ability you may have. You are no different than anyone else; we all stand as sinners before a holy God. Is there room for pride, before God or before men, in the confession of sins? How are we to come before God?

We come as a child. Jesus, the King who humbled Himself, even to death upon a cross, told His disciples, “Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.” What is more humble than a child? An infant is weak and helpless, totally dependent on others; they cannot give, but only receive. That is our pattern.  Our example is an infant, brought to the baptismal font; our example is Christ, hanging upon a cross. If He who had all things humbled Himself even unto death, then we, who have no reason to boast before God (and little reason to boast before men), are also called to live in humility, the humility of a child.
Christ our King continues to come to us with that same humility. Our King, our Lord, our Messiah, is a coming King. He came to this world on Christmas, He came to Jerusalem on Palm Sunday and even though He is now exalted above all things, even though He has been given the Name that is above all names, He still comes to us through humble means. He uses a fellow sinner, these broken lips, to proclaim the Absolution, to read and preach the Word. He uses simply water to claim children for His kingdom. He uses ordinary bread and ordinary wine to convey His Body and Blood. The King who came to Jerusalem in humility on Palm Sunday still comes in humility to His people each and every Sunday. He comes to humble us with His Law, to condemn our sin and help us to see that we have nothing to bring before Him, no merit to offer Him. But then He comes with the beauty of His Gospel, forgiving the prideful through His humble means. 

You are forgiven of your pride, you are forgiven of trying to exalt yourself, you are forgiven of seeking your own glory. Christ died not just to show you an example of humility, but to forgive your lack of humility; to pay the price for it, to take away its penalty from you forever. His humility stands in the place of your pride, He laid aside His glory to be your substitute. And now He gives you, as a forgiven sinner, the glories that followed His humiliation, and they belong to you forever. In this world, Christians live in humility, but you know that glory is up ahead, just as surely as you know that after Good Friday comes Easter. In the Name of Jesus, the Name above every name, given to the One who humbled Himself unto death upon a cross for you and for me, Amen.

Lent 5 of Series A (John 11:17-27, 38-53)

I was in Abraham’s bosom, dwelling in eternal bliss. All around me were the patriarchs, the prophets, and countless others who had trusted in the coming One, the One who they had only heard of in prophecy, but I had seen with my own eyes and had touched with my own hands. I even counted Him as a dear friend; when my sisters sent a message to Jesus, they simply said, “Lord, he whom you love is ill.” When I became sick, even though it was a violent illness, my sisters and I were confident of healing. We knew Jesus, after all. We had seen him heal others before, we had heard dozens of other stories, and now if his beloved friends were suffering, He would surely come. He had healed strangers; He would certainly heal His friend. As the Jews said, “Could not He who opened the eyes of the blind also have kept this man from dying?” But Jesus didn’t come. He never arrived at my bed, and so I said my goodbyes to Mary and Martha and passed from this world to the company of all the saints. There I found perfect peace, there I found perfect comfort, there I found perfect joy. In Abraham’s bosom, it didn’t really matter anymore that Jesus had failed to come; for the first time, I was perfectly satisfied. I dwelt there, enjoying the Sabbath rest for what seemed like just moments, or maybe a couple lifetimes, when I heard the voice: “Lazarus, come out!”
It didn’t matter whether I wanted to leave or not; I was going back into the world, and in moments I was standing there, outside the tomb, wrapped in grave cloths. Jesus, who had allowed me to die, now yanked me from the peace of Abraham’s bosom and back into a world that I knew very well was filled with pain, suffering, and evil. I had died once; now I knew that I would have to die again. More than that, the religious leaders wanted to make that death happen, and soon. So, not only did I dwell again in a corrupted world, I was going to be persecuted on top of it. Why? What possible reason did Jesus have for letting me die and then pulling me out of heaven?

I was raised so that many would believe. My resurrection was the proof that Jesus was who He said He was. He told my sister, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die.” I was raised so that Jesus could demonstrate before my sisters, before the Jews who had come to comfort them, before me, and even before you, living two thousand years later, that He was the master over death. He claims to be the resurrection and the life? Well, when I walked out of the tomb that day, He proved it. He says that those who believe in Him will never die? I was pulled out of Abraham’s bosom to declare that He speaks the truth. Isn’t this the most amazing phrase in all of Scripture? “The man who had died came out.” This is paradoxical, it is nonsense, dead men don’t go anywhere on their own. But I did, by the power of Christ’s word. He spoke to me as if I was living, and through the power of His Word, I did live. Jesus commanded the people standing around, “Unbind him, and let him go.” As they pulled the linens off my body, they could touch with their hands the truth of Jesus’ authority over death. I was no ghost, and everyone who saw me knew that Jesus is the resurrection and the life. I was raised as the greatest sign that He would ever do, the culminating sign that capped off His entire ministry. I was raised so that many would believe.

Both of my sisters had the same cry of anguish to our Lord, our friend, when they met Him that day. “If you had been here, my brother would not have died.” They asked Him in tears, ‘Why?’ But even before I walked from the grave, Martha gave a bold confession, she showed forth her faith. First she said, “But even now I know that whatever you ask from God, He will give you.” Then she declared, “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God who is coming into the world.” She still needed to see the miracle to confirm that faith, as Jesus gently chided her when she protested against opening my smelly grave: “Did I not tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?” I was raised so that those dearest to me, my two beloved sisters, would believe that our friend Jesus had come to conquer death, so that they would boldly confess that faith until their dying day. But even more than that, I was raised so that you would believe that Jesus is the resurrection and the life.

You see, we all fear death, and rightfully so, for it is our greatest enemy, it is the penalty given in the garden, and it hangs over our head still today. Every person on the face of this planet is going to die. People know this, instinctively, and so they put forth an enormous amount of time, money, and energy trying to stave off death. But that’s all that you can do; even with the best efforts of the medical community, you can only put off death, you cannot conquer it. Only One man has the power to overcome death, and He raised me to prove it. He declared, “Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live.” Yes, your body will die, it’s inevitable. But by believing in Christ, you shall still live. How many bend over backwards to keep the body healthy, while neglecting the health of the soul? Saint Augustine wrote, “Every man is afraid of the death of the flesh; few, of the death of the soul.” Just make a simple comparison. Do more people in our world go to worship or visit the doctor? Do more people spend time in prayer or take pills? Do more people see their pastor or have surgeries? Where do your priorities lie? Take it from me, the one who believes will live, even though he dies. The one who doesn’t believe is dead already, and no doctor or hospital can help his soul. No doubt you should take care of your body, and God has given people skills of healing for your good, but so many are focused on trying in vain to avoid the death of the body that they neglect the soul, and when death comes, they will tragically find that they have lost both.

That’s the trap the Pharisees fell into. They were concerned about earthly things: their place and their nation. They thought that by killing Jesus (and me, too, if they could) those things would be safe. But less than forty years after the death of Christ, their place, their temple, was destroyed, and their nation was taken away. They sacrificed their souls for the sake of the things of this world, and they ended up losing both. I was raised so that many would believe; I was also raised so that some would disbelieve, and rage against the One who gives life to the dead. I was raised so that my friend would die, so that the Pharisees and the chief priests would unite together to destroy Him.

They were gathered to determine how to respond to my resurrection. Here’s a hint, guys: believe! Fall down and worship the One who has power over death. But, sadly, they went in another direction. Caiaphas stood up and declared, “You know nothing at all. Nor do you understand that it is better for you that one man should die for the people, not that the whole nation should perish.” That was their plan; but it was God’s plan, too. He was going to work through Caiaphas and the rest, and Jesus truly would die for the people. Caiaphas never spoke a truer word: Jesus had come to die for the people, He came to die so that you and I would not die eternally. His suffering was for the people, it was for you. His death was for the people, it was for you. I was raised so that Christ would be put to death, and He was put to death so that you will live. Because He died for the people, the nation will not perish. “Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die.”

My resurrection points to another resurrection, two weeks later. Another tomb in a cave, another stone placed across its entrance. This time three days, not four, but the same result: He who was dead is now alive. I was raised to give a preview of Christ’s own resurrection; I was raised to point to Jesus. He demonstrated that He had power over death when I left my tomb behind; when He rises, that victory is complete, He has fulfilled His words: “I am the resurrection and the life.” He is the resurrection because He is the resurrected One. He is the life because He gives life, and He gives life to all. Saint John writes, “[Caiaphas] prophesied that Jesus would die for the nation, and not for the nation only, but to gather into one the children of God who are scattered abroad.”

That is what the Last Day is all about; on that Day, Jesus will gather into one the children of God scattered throughout the world, as God promises through Ezekiel: “And you shall know that I am the Lord, when I open your graves, and raise you from your graves, O my people. And I will put my Spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you in your own land.” My resurrection points to Jesus’ resurrection only two weeks later; my resurrection points to your resurrection on the day of His return. I was raised to show you your future, and mine. I went through death twice, my body is back in the grave, but it will not stay there. Neither will yours, or the bodies of any who belong to Christ. And the resurrection that is coming is much greater than the one I went through. 

I was stinky; you will be dust, the dry bones that Ezekiel saw in his vision. I was raised to die again, I was raised to be persecuted and suffer in this world of sin; you will be raised to live forever, you will be raised following the pattern of Jesus. My body was still sinful and fallen; yours will be perfect forever. The one who believes will still die, but because they belong to Christ, their soul dwells with Him, and their body will live again. As Saint Paul says, “If the Spirit of Him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, He who raised Christ Jesus from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through His Spirit who dwells in you.” I’m waiting for that day, here with all the saints in heaven; you are too, as you walk through a world of sin. Christ promises resurrection to you and all who believe; a promise guaranteed by my resurrection a week before Palm Sunday, and Christ’s resurrection a week after. Christ is the resurrection and the life: your resurrection and your life. In His Name, Amen.