Lent 4 Sermon

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Jesu Juva

“Rebels Welcomed Here”

Text: Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32; 1 Corinthians 5:16-21

Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God our Father, and from our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. Amen.

I heard you just sing: As Rebels, Lord, Who Foolishly Have Wandered (LSB #612). You too, huh? As it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever, I guess. 

But I’ll never forget that day when I saw it in spades. The rebel of rebels. If it had happened to anyone else, I might not have cared or even known. But it happened to my master, and there was no master kinder, gentler, more compassionate, more generous, or more fair than he. I count myself lucky to be one of his hired servants. He cared for us just like we were family. We knew our place and didn’t take advantage. But he always went out of his way to make sure we had enough, were taken care of, and had all we needed.

Until one day my master announced he was selling one-third of the estate. I couldn’t believe it - that’s such a huge chunk of what he owned! Something must have happened to cause it, something bad, but no one knew. Well, not many days later, we saw our master’s younger son leaving. He was moving out. The rumor was that he had a falling out with his father and was going to another country, striking out on his own. Very unusual. So much was changing, and we didn’t know why.

The master called us together and confirmed what had happened . . . sort of. He didn’t tell us exactly what had happened, but we could put two and two together. One-third of the estate was the younger son’s inheritance. He must have demanded it from his father. The nerve! To spit in your father’s face like that and wish he was dead. And then leave. That’s why I called him the rebel of rebels. How could he do that to such a kind and generous man? Didn’t he know how good he had it? I guess not. And just to let you know how kind and generous my master is, even though he sold one-third of the estate, he told us that none of us would be let go. He would keep all of us hired servants on. I told you - just like family.

Well, we were so mad! How could his son do that? We hurt for the old man, knowing how deeply this must have hurt him. And one thing’s for sure - if that son ever set foot back on this property again, we would let him know what we thought! If he ever had the nerve to walk back down that road, he’d get the same respect from us that he gave to his father! He’d be the one spit on! He’d be the one hurt next time. Count on it. 

Well, some time went by, and life goes on. Our anger died down a bit, but our hatred didn’t! Every time I thought of that rascal . . . But it was the old man I was worried about. It seemed like he aged a year for every week that went by. He wasn’t getting over this. It was weighing heavy on him. I wonder if he heard the same reports that we were hearing, about how his son was making quite a name for himself - and not a good one! Of course he was. The old man probably knew more than we did. That’s why he looked as he did. He still checked in with us every day, to see how we were doing. But he wasn’t the same. He didn’t have the same life and joy in him. Every day, he’d walk slowly down the lane and look out the gate and return, each day sadder than the one before . . .

And then it happened. The boy returned. I tell you, wild fires don’t spread as fast as that news did! So we all got ready. We, all of us hired servants, we lined the road from the gate of the estate to the house, and we were going to let him have it! Jeers, names, harsh words, spitting . . . I even heard of a couple servants who wanted to throw stones at him. Well, he’d know he wasn’t welcome back here, if he even made it all the way down the lane.

So we were getting in position but then . . . well, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The old man was running down the lane - sprinting! - toward the gate. I hadn’t seen him move so fast in years. Most of us thought when this son returned - if he ever did - he’d have to beg to even see his father. But the old man was running down the lane in front of us all. At first I thought he wanted to hurl the first angry word or spitball at the rebel, his former son . . . but when he ran past me, I wasn’t sure . . . but I thought he looked happy . . . joyful, even . . . like his life was back again. 

Well, after I picked my jaw up off the ground, my suspicion was confirmed. No sooner had the gate opened than our father lunged at his son and was hugging him and kissing him! That went on for a little bit, and then they began walking down the lane past all us hired servants who were there to let that rebel have it - but with the father’s arm around his son, how could we? In fact, the father’s actions changed everything. Now, we stood there as if like an honor guard, welcoming the son home! That’s not why we were there or what we intended . . . but the old man, it’s what he did.

When they got to where I was standing, my master looked at me and the man next to me and said: Bring quickly the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet. And bring the fattened calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate. For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found. We were frozen. Did we hear right? Did he really just tell us to . . . And then he said: C’mon! Hop to it! Go! So we did.

And I tell you - my admiration for the old man grew by leaps and bounds that day. I knew he was kind and gentle and compassionate and generous before, but this! This was a whole different ball game! This was way more than I thought humanly possible! And I was ashamed, too, of what we, I, had planned to do. Not love but hate. Not forgive but retaliate. Not kindness but shaming. But I learned something that day, from my master. About love and forgiveness. That I needed it, too. I was a rebel, too. In my heart.

So I went to the younger son later that day, just before the party was to start, to confess to him. And he told me what he had said to his father, that he had sinned against heaven and before you, and that I am no longer worthy to be called your son. I was happy to hear him say those words. But then he said this, too, that he had planned on asking to be brought back not as a son but as one of us, as a hired servant. That way he could start paying his father back, he wouldn’t have to live off what was now his brother’s estate, and he could save face a little bit. But after what his father did . . . he couldn’t say those words. Because before he could, the father had given it all back to him - his place in the family, his honor, his life. He was overwhelmed by his father’s love and forgiveness and acceptance. 

All I could do is smile and nod. The old man, he was something special. And I thought to myself, I want to be a father like that, a master like that, a friend like that.

So the party got started. All of us hired servants were working, but we were guests at the same time. Just like family, as the master always treated us. I was in charge of the wine, so I went out to refill one of the jugs. And while I was out there the older son called out to me. He was still in his work clothes. I hadn’t even noticed that he wasn’t at the party. He came up to me and asked what was going on, what the party was all about. So I told him. Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fattened calf, because he has received him back safe and sound. He started shaking and turning red - I thought he was going to blow a gasket! I was fearful just looking at him. But it made sense, I guess. As angry as all of us hired servants had been, the brother must have been, too. And he said: I ain’t going in there, to celebrate that filthy rat! He deserves nothing! Should’ve died with those pigs he was feeding. No, that would be unfair to the pigs!

And just as I knew I had been a rebel like the younger son, I knew I had rebellious times like this older son, too. I was no better.

Just then the father came out. He said “thank you” to me, which I knew meant it was time for me to leave them alone. So I picked up the jug I was refilling . . . but I confess, I stayed within earshot. I wanted to hear what the father was going to say. And he didn’t disappoint. The older son was so angry! Your son, not my brother . . . Not fair . . . prostitutes . . . But the father was so kind and loving, just as he had been to the younger son. And I heard him say: Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. It was fitting to celebrate and be glad, for this your brother was dead, and is alive; he was lost, and is found. 

I went back in to the party at that point. And I saw the father come in soon after me. But the older son, he stayed outside. And honestly, I can’t remember if he ever came in at all. I felt badly for him. Not because of what his brother had done, but because of what he couldn’t do. He couldn’t accept his father’s kindness and love. 

As Rebels, Lord, Who Foolishly Have Wandered. The older son, too, was a rebel. And how far he had wandered from his father, even though he never left the estate.

And you know, that’s the thing I realized, as I thought about all this later that night, lying in bed. We were all rebels. We were all foolish. The younger son. Me and my fellow hired servants. The older son. Maybe you, too? We were all different, yet all the same. But my master, their father, he never changed. He was just as kind before and after. He was ready and constant with his love and forgiveness. He would rather be shamed himself than see us shamed. Even though we weren’t family, he treated us as family. Even when his sons didn’t act as family, he always treated them that way. And I fell asleep with more peace in my heart than I think I ever had before.

The next day was a Sabbath. My master always made sure we took the Sabbath off. I went to the synagogue with my family. There was a visiting rabbi there that day, as there sometimes was. And one of the readings for that day was from Psalm 51 - you sang it this morning as well. 

Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love;

according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions.

Right? I am always amazed at how the Word of God seems to speak to what I am going through in my life. Abundant, amazing mercy. Blot out my transgressions. That’s what the father had done. That’s what our Father in heaven does. For, this rabbi went on to say, that He doesn’t just treat us as family, but brings us into His family. And He doesn’t just hold feasts for others but has a feast for us. And He puts His robe of righteousness on us. And that one day is coming a feast that will never end. 

And I thought about that line from the hymn again: As Rebels, Lord, Who Foolishly Have Wandered. And yet all the Lord has done for me . . .

Well, I confess, my mind wandered a bit. But the rabbi brought me back, because He then said the most amazing thing. He said that the mercy of our Father is even greater than we imagine. And I thought back to the beginning of this story and how I knew that my master was merciful, but how he still had surprised me. And I thought - what could be greater than that? How could I be more surprised than that? And then He said it . . . and I was more amazed . . . and my jaw dropped. He said, Our Father, to make us family, to bring us back, to forgive us, to feed us, us foolish rebels, He was going to sacrifice His only Son. And it was going to happen soon.

You could’ve heard a pin drop. 

For our sake - for the sake of us rebels - [the Father] made [His Son] who knew no sin, who had done no wrong, to be sin for us - to bear our sin and rebellion for us; so that in Him, because of Him, we might become the righteousness of God. Really? He said it was true. And He said more, too. It made my head spin. He spoke of atonement, resurrection, Body and Blood, eternal life . . . 

And I believed Him. There was something about Him. He taught differently than the others. His words had authority.

I could feel the warm tears dripping down my cheek. A love greater than my master’s? A love this great? Could it be? Would God do this for me? For you? Make us sons? Treat us rebels . . . like this? Some even said He was that Son!

I wanted to ask this visiting rabbi more about this after the service was over, but he slipped away before I could ask him. 

But I did hear His name. It was Jesus.

In the Name of the Father, and of the (+) Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Lent 3 Midweek Sermon

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Jesu Juva

“Walking Through the Water”

Text: Exodus 14:10-15:1; The Passion, part 3

One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.

Neil Armstrong famously said those words when he stepped onto the surface of the moon. And the place where his foot first set down was called the Sea of Tranquility. But there was no water in that sea, so called - just the dry surface of the moon. It was a defining moment for Neil Armstrong. From now on he would be known as the first man to walk on the moon.

So, too, for Israel. The first step an Israelite took onto the dry ground that had been where the Red Sea was, but was no longer, was a small one. And yet, one giant leap for Israel. From this day forward, nothing would be the same again. This was a defining moment for Israel. From this day forward, they would be known as the people God brought out of Egypt and through the Red Sea.

You have gone through a sea as well - the sea of Baptism. Most of us didn’t step up to or into the font, but were carried, as many very young and very old Israelites surely were through the Red Sea. So no small step for us, but still a giant leap. A leap from sinner to saint. From dead in sin to alive in Christ. From son of man to son of God. From no hope to full of hope. You were crucified and buried with Christ, and risen with Christ, and so from that day forward are known as a child of God.

And though it look rather unimpressive, especially compared with walking on the moon or through the Red Sea - that leap, your leap, was the most giant of all. Yet you didn’t do it at all. It was all the work of God for you. Those waters, at the command of God and with the Word of God, both killing and saving, making alive.

As it was for Israel at the Red Sea. At the command of God and with the Word of God, those waters both killed and saved, made alive. As Israel passed through them, they were given new life. Yet for Pharaoh and his finest, pursuing Israel and trying to re-enslave them, they brought death. It is a picture of your Baptism. For your sins, which seek to enslave you, are drowned, but you are brought safely through to forgiveness. Death, which seeks to devour you, is rendered toothless, but you are brought safely through to life. One giant leap, indeed.

We often like to crow about our own strength. Pharaoh, the leader of Egypt, did. Peter, the leader of the twelve, did. And if we can put a man on the moon, there’s nothing we can’t do! Pharaoh wasn’t going to let Israel go. No way, no how. Peter wasn’t going to deny Jesus. No way, no how. Yet in the end it was Pharaoh’s horses and chariots that weren’t going anywhere, when the Red Sea closed back over them and drowned them. And it was the crowing of an ordinary rooster that brought mighty Peter down to size and reduced him to tears. And baptism does this for us. For you can’t baptize yourself, and you can’t save yourself. No way, no how. But be baptized, and you have what nothing else in this world can give: eternal life.

But we heard about someone else tonight as well: Judas. He thought he was strong, but in the end he was drowning in a sea, too. A sea of regret and guilt and shame and sin and despair. The results of his betrayal were crashing down on him like the waves of the sea. There have been various theories put forth to explain why Judas did what he did, but in the end, this is not what he expected. Not what he thought would happen. A small step forward to kiss Jesus, followed by the giant leap to the cross.

So Judas confessed. I have sinned. I have betrayed innocent blood. He was reaching for a lifeline - the lifeline the priests at the Temple were supposed to give him. They were there to do the sacrifices. They were there for the forgiveness of sins. They were there at the command of God and with the Word of God. Yet the Word of God they did not speak. What is that to us? That is your affair, they said. They pushed Judas under the water. Imagine a baptism where all you do is push people under the water but don’t bring them back up. That’s what they did to Judas.

It is what would happen to us were it not for Jesus. But as God led the people of Israel safely through the Red Sea, so He pulls you up out of your watery baptismal grave and gives you life. It is your sin that is drowned, but you live. And in the same way, the one who pulls you out of the water of baptism will also pull you out of the grave on the Last Day. Judas betrayed innocent blood, but that innocent blood will never betray us. Rather, that blood covers us with the forgiveness of the Lamb of God. The Passover Lamb protected Israel from death, and the Lamb of God does the same for you. 

Judas didn’t know that forgiveness, and the priests didn’t speak it to him. And so, as we heard tonight, the sad words of the prophet Jeremiah were fulfilled: They took the thirty pieces of silver, the price of him on whom a price had been set by the children of Israel, and gave them for the potter’s field.

For us, too, the words of the prophet are fulfilled. But better words than these. Word like this:

But he was pierced for our transgressions;

    he was crushed for our iniquities;

upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace,

    and with his wounds we are healed (Isaiah 53:5).

[H]e bore the sin of many,

    and makes intercession for the transgressors (Isaiah 53:12).

And this one too:

Whoever believes and is baptized will be saved (Mark 16:16).

For when Jesus began His work by taking that one small step into the Jordan, and then finished it with that one small step out of the tomb, it really was one giant leap for mankind. 

Then Moses and the people of Israel sang this song to the Lord, saying,

“I will sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously;

    the horse and his rider he has thrown into the sea.

We, too, will sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously;

our sin and death He has thrown into the font.

But us, He has brought out the other side, to life.

And so in the Easter Vigil, we rejoice as we hear the story of God’s deliverance at the Red Sea. For we know it is the story of our deliverance as well. As so in that service we pray:

O God, You once delivered Your people Israel from bondage under Pharaoh and led them by a pillar of cloud and fire through the sea to safety. Grant that we may so follow Christ that through the waters of Baptism we may daily die and rise with Him and walk in safety through the wilderness of this life until we see Your salvation; through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.

Lent 3 Sermon

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Jesu Juva

“Bringing Us Home”

Text: Luke 13:1-9; 1 Corinthians 10:1-13

Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God our Father, and from our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. Amen.

As a father, I want to teach my children. I want to teach them the difference between right and wrong, truth and falsehood, good and evil. I want to teach them by my own mistakes, and with the wisdom gained by what I have gone through. I want to protect them from the mistakes I made, and help them not make the same mistakes. And if you are a parent, I know it is the same for you. 

But children don’t always listen. I didn’t always, when my parents tried to do this for me, and so it goes. Each generation, it seems, has to learn for themselves. That’s hard for parents, and hard for their children. It comes from our sinful nature, which always curves us in on ourselves. And in this case in this way: I know what’s best. I listen to me first. And only when that doesn’t work, when I need help, then . . . 

Well, our heavenly Father wants to teach His children, too. He wants to teach us to know the difference between right and wrong, truth and falsehood, good and evil. He makes no mistakes, but has recorded for us in Scripture the mistakes His children made in the past. Old Testament Israel, and the people in Jesus’ day, too. He wants to warn us against making the same mistakes; to protect us from that danger.

But children don’t always listen. We don’t always listen. Yes, God said this, but . . . and we listen to ourselves, not Him. And we go our own way, not His way. 

And so it was with Old Testament Israel. They were in a bad way in Egypt. Slavery had pushed them to the limit and then pushed them some more. They were forced to throw their newborn baby boys into the Nile River. They spent every day under death as their reality, seeing it, feeling it, living in the midst of it. Friendless, hopeless, they thought.

But in reality they were neither friendless nor hopeless. This, too, the Lord would teach us. That our Father hears. The Lord heard their cry. The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob heard their cry. For He was their Father. They always had His ear, even when they didn’t want it. So the Lord heard their cry. And He gave them Moses to deliver them. Maybe not what they were hoping for or expecting, but exactly right. Not because of Moses himself, but because in Moses’ hand was the Lord’s staff, and in Moses’ mouth was the Lord’s Word. And that was more than enough. 

Then after sending Moses, through Moses, God sent ten plagues. Then God sent a destroying angel that left every Egyptian household weeping over the death of their first born son, giving them a little taste of the sting of death Israel had felt for so long. Then Israel was free to go. But their Father didn’t stop, but now led them. Through the desert, through the Red Sea. God provided for them. Manna from heaven, water from a rock. All that they needed, God provided. And more.

Yet what did God get in return? These redeemed, freed, well-fed, well-taken-care-of-people complained. A little adversity, a little hardship, and they were ready to hightail it back to Egypt. And when they weren’t complaining they were going after other gods or having fun with the nearby pagan women. They found fault with Moses and Aaron . . . and God . . .  if everything didn’t go their way, and when they wanted, and according to their liking.

In short, you could take the Israelites out of Egypt, but you couldn’t take the Egypt out of the Israelites.

So all this, Paul tells us today, was written for us. That with these words our Father is teaching us, that we might learn and not make the same mistakes and do the same things. But do we listen? Do we pay attention? Or . . . do we complain when the littlest problems arise? Do we want to go back to our own sinful Egypts? Do we forget all the Lord has done for us and given to us? Do we want everything to go our way, they way we want, and according to our own liking? And do we realize that if they did, what a predicament we’d be in? For our ways only trap us in sin and death, unable to free ourselves from sin’s slavery and satan’s hungry jaws.

That’s the road Israel was on. So God, in love, disciplined His children. Plagues and serpents He sent, but they deserved far worse than that. And what about you? Do you think God now just winks at your sins? That He chuckles at your rebellion? That He laughs off your stubborn, unrepentant ways? 

All this, Paul tells us today, was written for us. And so maybe we ought to listen to our Father. Maybe His Word is helpful and true after all. Maybe we should be thankful for the plagues and serpents in our lives, the troubles and hardships sent to help us. For we deserve far worse. 

Jesus said the same thing to the people of His day. You think bad things happen to bad people, and really bad things happen to really bad people? And so if this hasn’t happened to you . . . Don’t give yourself so much credit. Listen. And repent. Don’t rely on yourself or your own goodness to help you or save you. In the wilderness of this world, we need the bread of God, the water of God, the protecting cloud of God, or we are lost. Or we will get the far worse that we deserve.

But despite all the complaining and rebellion, you have a loving Father. STILL. Amazing, no? That still, after all this, after all the years, after all that we do, we still have a loving Father. And that to rescue us from the Pharaoh not of Egypt, but of hell, he didn’t send another Moses, He sent infinitely better than that - He sent His Son. And the plagues of our sin fell upon Him. And the bites of the serpent were given to Him. And the far worse that we deserve - the full wrath of God against our rebellion and sin, and our condemnation, was given to Him on the cross. And the jaws of death clamped down tight on Him.

And so a sandy grave is not your end. Nor a rocky one. Israel’s great deliverance is a picture, a foreshadowing, of your greater deliverance. The life your Father had for Israel is the life He has for you. You have been ransomed by the blood of the Passover Lamb of God. You have passed through the water of your baptism. Intead of manna and quail, into your mouth is placed the Body and Blood of God’s Son. He is the rock which was struck and from which pours forth all that you need for life. From Him you are washed, you have drink, and you have life. Because the rocky grave was not His end either. That tomb is empty.

Now, you can turn from all that and go back to Egypt. Sadly, some do. But your Father sent Luke, and He sent Paul, and He sent His Spirit, to write this for you, to teach you, so that you won’t. But that when your sin weighs heavy on you, when temptations pull you hard, when the wilderness of this life seems vast and endless, when sadness seems to be your daily bread and tears your daily drink, when you seem friendless and hopeless - you hear of the love of Your Father and turn to Him in repentance and in faith. For His love for you is never 50% or even 99%, but as it was even for rebellious, stubborn, stiff-necked Israel, always 100% for you. 

The world, under the spell of satan, will try to convince you otherwise. That your heavenly Father isn’t so good, just as earthly fathers aren’t so good and often fail. So turn away from God to this pleasure or that, to this better teaching or that, to this way or that. But none of those things satan offers will give you what you need. But Christ does. He already has. And He won’t stop. For take a lesson here from Israel too - if God would even forgive them for all they did and how often they did it, He will for you as well. His forgiveness and love are that big. His cross and atonement are that big. Bigger than any of your sin and all your sins.

Jesus added a parable to this in the Holy Gospel we heard today, of what He is doing, with an unfruitful tree - or perhaps we could call it a complaining tree, a rebellious tree. Don’t chop it down, He says. Don’t give up on it. Let me dig around it and manure it, and in other places in the Scripture we are told He is pruning it too. Caring, loving, helping, coaxing, providing . . . though the digging might hurt a bit, the manure stink a bit, and the pruning be scary a bit. But it is good. And for your good. Learn from Israel and from the Scriptures, and believe. Egypt does not have what you need. Only your Father does.

So what is this fruit that our Lord, then, is working in us? Well, that we would listen to Him, to His Word, and to the father and mother He gave to us. That we would cast our newborns not into the Nile, but into the font, where they get not death but life. That we come and bring our children to the altar, to the bread far greater than manna and blood that washes us inside and out. That repentance be to us as normal as breath, and forgiveness always be on the tip of our tongues. And what we breathe and what we speak will then be also the way we live. And so receiving His gifts, we be His gifts to others. Rooting out, driving out, loving out the Egypt still in us. That only He remain.

In the Ten Commandments God gave to Israel through Moses, He said: I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God . . . He doesn’t want to share you with Egypt. He’s bringing you out from there. It’s going to be bumpy on the way. You’re going to get wet. There’s going to be times of drought and trouble. But manna, too. And water from a most unexpected place. Your Father wants you to know that through it all, His love is always there for you. In the wilderness, on the cross, and here. To bring you home.

In the Name of the Father, and of the (+) Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

(Some of the thoughts and phrases in this sermon from a sermon by Chad Bird in Christ Crucified: Lutheran Sermons, p. 170-171.)

Lent 2 Midweek Sermon

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Jesu Juva

“The Ark of the Church”

Text: Genesis 7:1-5, 11-18; 8:6-18; 9:8-13;

The Passion, part 2

In the six hundredth year of Noah's life, in the second month, on the seventeenth day of the month, on that day all the fountains of the great deep burst forth, and the windows of the heavens were opened. And rain fell upon the earth forty days and forty nights.

And everything on the dry land in whose nostrils was the breath of life died. Everything. The only exception being whoever and whatever, the people and the animals, in the ark. God, in His mercy, saved them.

How frightening those days must have been, when all the fountains of the great deep burst forth, and the windows of the heavens were opened. Noah didn’t see it, having been shut up in the ark by God, but the noise and sounds must have been more than eerie - but positively bone-chilling. And then when the ark first began to shudder and move . . . and then float. Sadness mixed with joy mixed with horror mixed with wonder. It was really happening. This day for which Noah had waited and prepared for 120 years. It was happening, and it was terrifying. Hearing the wrath of God against sin and evil.

And Jesus began to be full of sorrow and turmoil. Then he said to them,”My soul is exceedingly sorrowful, even to death.” . . . He fell on his face and prayed . . . “Abba, Father, all things are possible for you. Take this cup from me . . .”

Jesus had faced opposition, persecution, and threats against Him all through His life, yet now, this was different. Never before had He been in such turmoil. He falls on His face on the ground. Sweat falls like great drops of blood. Because it’s about to happen. The day for which He had waited and prepared for the three years of His public ministry. It was happening, and it was terrifying. The fountains of the great deep and the windows of the heavens were about to be opened again. But this time it would not be water gushing forth from them to destroy the world, but the wrath of God against sin and evil to destroy Him. Jesus. Let these others go, Jesus had said. This flood of God’s wrath and punishment He would endure alone.

Caiaphas had almost gotten it right. He said that it would be expedient that one man should die for the people, rather than the whole nation perish. No - one man will die for the WORLD, rather than the world perish. 

God promised to never again destroy the world with a flood. But it’s not because we’re better now than they were then. The sin and evil in the world today deserves nothing less. But God promised because He knew what He was going to do. He knew how He would deal with the sin of the world. He gave Noah a picture, a glimpse, of the real thing. We think the flood in Noah’s day horrible, but the next one would be far worse. In Noah’s day, a few were saved and the world perished. Now, the world would be saved because this one man would perish; be engulfed in the flood of God’s wrath. This man who was, in fact, more than just a man, but the very Son of God.

When it was over, when the 40 days of rushing water and torrential rain was over, how eerie the quiet must have been for Noah and His family, until the ark was opened and they could walk out; the joy of life beginning again. How quiet, too, when the flood of God’s wrath poured out upon Jesus on the cross was over and Jesus lay silent in the tomb. How quiet, until the tomb was opened and the joy of new life began.

That is the joy that is now ours. For in Holy Baptism, Paul tells us, we are baptized into Jesus’ death and resurrection. What does that mean? That means that baptism puts us into Jesus. Baptism puts us onto the cross with Jesus to be crucified with Him. But Jesus is our ark. So that when the flood of God’s wrath pours forth, it does not destroy or engulf us - but Him. And we are safe in Him. He protects us from the danger. And when His tomb is then opened, it was not for Him to walk out - He was already risen! - it is for us to walk out. That as His grave is empty, so will ours be. All who are in the ark of Jesus’ body. All who are saved there from the wrath of God against sin. 

We are told that Noah was righteous before God in his generation. That is why he was not swept up in the flood. But perhaps, you think, you are not so righteous. But this righteousness is not from us or of us, not that we’re good or better than others. Righteousness is always from God, a gift from Him to us, by grace through faith. To say that Noah was righteous is to say that He believed - He believed in the promise of God, the promise of a Saviour. If our own personal righteousness was the requirement, then Noah would not have been saved, and neither would Peter, James, and John who fell asleep instead of praying with Jesus, and neither would Peter for denying three times that He even knew Jesus. And neither would we be saved.

But for us, too, righteousness is the gift of God that we receive by grace through faith. The righteousness of the forgiveness of sins. The righteousness won for us by Jesus on the cross, but available to all before then and since then, by faith in the Word and promises of God. 

And so the gift of forgiveness, then, is still being given and keeping us safe. For if we are baptized into Jesus, then this, too, is true: we are baptized into His body, which is the church (Colossians 1:18). And so the church is now, for us, the ark in which we are kept safe. The ark which shelters us. The ark which preaches Jesus and what He has done for us to all the world. The ark in which we are fed by Jesus, with Jesus. The ark which will carry us through the storms of this world and life until our graves are opened and our new life, our eternal life, begins. The church not as building or institution, but the church which is the body of Christ. The church which is His gift to us, and which gives us His gifts.

So the moment had arrived. It was really happening. The flood was about to begin. Not Noah’s . . . the worse one. How puny and weak and small the detachment and officers and weapons which came to arrest Jesus must have looked to Jesus. They were nothing. One word of His made them all fall helplessly to the ground. They were nothing compared to the flood that was about to fall upon Jesus. But He was ready. Peter strikes with the sword. No more of that, Jesus says. One man is about to be engulfed for the sin of the world. And it will happen, just as it was written. It will happen, because He loves us. It will happen, and we will live.

And so in the Easter Vigil, we rejoice as we hear the story of the flood. For we know not just the story, but what it means for us today. And so we pray:

O Lord, You kill and You raise to life; You brought the flood upon a wicked and perverse generation, and yet you saved faithful Noah and his family in the ark. Keep us in safety in the ark of Christ’s body, the Church, that Your mercy may come to its fullness and Your salvation be preached to the ends of the earth; through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.

Lent 2 Sermon

LISTEN

Jesu Juva

“No Substitutes. Just Repentance and Forgiveness”

Text: Luke 13:31-35; Jeremiah 26:8-15;

Philippians 3:17-4:1

Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God our Father, and from our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. Amen.

O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often would I have gathered your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you would not!

Why? Why did Jerusalem stone and kill the prophets God sent to them? It’s simple, really. They didn’t like the message, so they would kill the messenger. Being a prophet may sound like a cool job, but not really. Life was rough. You were sent by God to speak tough words. And if they had life insurance back then and you listed prophet as your job, you would probably be declined for a policy. Very few were the prophets who died of old age.

We heard an example of this today from the book of Jeremiah. God sent Jeremiah to call the people to repentance, but also to tell them that since they had refused to repent, God was going to discipline them. An enemy was going to come in, defeat them in battle, and leave the city of Jerusalem desolate, without inhabitant. So the people in the Temple who heard him speak those words surrounded Jeremiah and were going to kill him. Don’t like the message, kill the messenger. And this is just one example. There were countless others.

For then, as now, no one really likes to be called to repentance. No one likes to be told they’re wrong, or living wrongly, or thinking wrongly. I don’t! And when that happens, what often happens next? We dig in our heels. Strike back. Try to accuse the one accusing us. Defend ourselves. Justify ourselves. But repent? Change? No thank you. I’d really rather not do that.

So you might think, then, that Lent must be a really unpopular season, with its strong call to repentance. But its not. There are many people who, though not very religious, will still give up something for Lent. Which seems odd, doesn’t it? If we don’t like to repent? Ah, but you see, that’s exactly why so many do it - they’re not repenting, they’re using Lent to atone for their own sins by giving something up rather than repenting. It’s a substitute. But a rather poor one.

The same thing, I think, is true when folks make promises to God to get better, do better. I’ll pray more, give more, help more, love more, hug more, read the Bible more, volunteer more . . . but repent more usually isn’t on that list. Because that’s what we’re trying to avoid. This is another poor kind of substitute for repenting - to try to atone for your sins not by giving something up, but by doing good things. But this doesn’t work either.

And then there are those who are publicly apologizing for all kinds of things. For what our country has done, for the way they were raised, for oppression, for slavery, for inequality, for . . . what else? But this, too, is usually not repentance. When this is an apology for what others have done, or a general situation, or how we wish things might be different. This, too, is part of Jesus’ and you would not. You would not repent.

For repentance, rather, is to say: I am a poor, miserable sinner. It’s not anyone else’s fault. I cannot give up my way out of it. I cannot good my way out of it. There is, in fact, nothing I can do about it. And for my sins against God and against others, I deserve to die. Now and forever. Period.

That’s rough. But there’s no substitute for this. Not because we have a God who is a mean tyrant who just wants to humiliate us and subjugate us, but because we have a loving God who wants to forgive us. Who wants to gather us together under His wings of forgiveness and give us life. And so God sent His prophets to call people - to call us! - to repentance. For a loving God will do no less. Not just to make you do something you really don’t want to do, but so that you will receive what you really need to receive: forgiveness. If there was any other way, you can be sure we’d try - and we do! We’ll run all over the barnyard, trying this, trying that, ignoring the call of the mother hen to hide under her wings . . . while the satanic hawk circles above, with sharp and ready talons, looking for a tasty meal. The chicks oblivious to the danger until it is too late. 

So it was with the people in Jeremiah’s day, and the people in Jesus’ day. Things are going just fine, Jeremiah. We were doing just fine without you, Jesus. We’ve got it. We’re handling it. In fact, the only trouble is since you’ve come along and upset the apple cart! You’re the problem, not us! Yet with each call they refuse, with each warning they ignore, with each messenger they stone and kill, the satanic hawk gets closer and closer . . . Refusing to repent is only hurting yourself.

Jesus sees the danger though. Everything’s not fine. That’s why He sent prophets. That’s why He’s there. That’s why His words of sadness today for the people of Jerusalem. And how about you and your life? Your old sins, your new sins, your stubborn sins, your don’t-like-God’s-Word-and-so-go-your-own-way sins. Do you strike back, accuse, deny? Try to defend and justify what you do? You don’t even see the satanic hawk, do you? Or maybe you do, but think: he won’t get me. He’ll snatch somebody else. I’ll be fine. 

But there’s only one safe place to be, and that is under the wings of Jesus’ forgiveness. Only His forgiveness can pardon the condemnation of our sin. Only His resurrection can overcome the death that will overcome each of us. And only by Him allowing the satanic hawk to sink His talons into Him are we safe. For as we sang into the Introit today: the reproaches of those who reproach you have fallen on me. Your reproach, your condemnation, your death, given to Him, that His praise, His victory, His life, be given to you. You who hide under His forgiving wings.

Jeremiah told the people that if they killed him, they would bring innocent blood upon themselves. They would be called to account. But when the Son of God laid down His life on the cross, it was exactly so His innocent blood would be put on us. Blood not of condemnation, but blood of atonement. So when we would not, when we avoid repentance, we are really avoiding the blood that washes away our sins, the forgiveness we need. The forgiveness the Father wants to give so much that He would send His Son to die on that cross. And the forgiveness Jesus wants for you so much that He would come and do that for you.

And you would not? It makes no sense, does it? 

So the Apostle Paul said: Remember this - remember that your citizenship is in heaven. If you forget that and think you belong here, in this world and life, then you’ll live like it; you’ll live with your mind set on earthly things. You’ll try to guard and protect your stuff here, your life and honor here, and find your joy and satisfaction here. And instead of repenting, you’ll do whatever advances that for you here. 

But what if it’s not all about here? What if there’s more? What if Jesus really did rise from the dead and promise us the same? And what if that’s yours when you hide under the wings of Jesus’ forgiveness? Then our stuff here, our life and honor here, isn’t as important. And our joy and satisfaction comes not from here but from Jesus and the citizenship He has provided for us, in a kingdom that has no end. Well, that’s a different perspective, isn’t it? One, it seems to me, that makes repentance easier. Not easy, but easier.

Or, think of it this way: if your citizenship is in heaven, then the church is a colony of heaven. An outpost of forgiveness and life in the midst of a world of sin and death. That’s means we shouldn’t expect life to be easy. We’re surrounded by sin and the consequences of sin; by pain and suffering and evil; by sadness and death. Yet in the midst of all this - not immune from all this, but in the midst of it - we are protected under the refuge of our Saviour’s wings. We are hurt but not harmed. We are killed but our life not taken away. We are sad yet still joyful. Because this is not all there is. We are a colony here and now, but our citizenship is in heaven.

And from it, Paul says, from heaven, we await a Saviour, and the transformation that will take place on the Last Day, when our lowly bodies, our hurting bodies, our rebellious bodies, our diseased and dying bodies, are transformed to be like His glorious body.

The people in Jeremiah’s day and in Jesus’ day, too, thought of the Temple as their sanctuary and Jerusalem as their sanctuary city. That in those, nothing could harm them! But not so, both Jeremiah and Jesus proclaim. Rather, Jesus is the sanctuary. In Him, under His wings, we are safe. You see, what made the Temple a sanctuary, and Jerusalem a sanctuary city, was not the building or the city, but the one who was in them. The gracious God who was there to forgive. The gracious God who had now come in the flesh and blood of Jesus. And so in Him, we are safe. No matter the city, no matter the country, no matter whether alive or dead. Jesus’ reign and power and authority are over all.

So baptized into Christ, you are a citizen of heaven, though living in this colony now. The Spirit given to you in those waters working in you, to repent and rely not on yourself, or what you give up, or what you do, but on the protecting wings of Jesus’ forgiveness. And He leads you here, to this altar, to receive that innocent blood shed for you, to give you the life you need. And so here, at this altar, you sing: Blesséd is he who comes in the name of the Lord! For you see Him here, by faith. His Body and Blood in this bread and wine.

And so also, given all this, you will give. For rather than try to guard and protect your stuff here, and your life and honor here, and find your joy and satisfaction here, and do whatever advances you here, you’ll give this for others. Because . . . why not? Because you have something more than just this, that really, makes all this pale in comparison. For you have a glorious Saviour, who is going to glorify you.

So repent. That’s a good thing. Yes, that’s exactly what I’d like to do, and need to do. For that is the truth, and that is my life, receiving my life from my Jesus. No substitutes! Just forgiveness.

In the Name of the Father, and of the (+) Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.