Sermon for Lent 1 Midweek

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Jesu Juva

“Our Ordinary Lenten Exodus: The Kyrie”

Text: Exodus 1:8-14; 2:23-25; Mark 10:46-52

In the Name of Jesus. Amen.

It started out okay. Better than okay - it was good. Jacob and his family were living in the land of Goshen, the best part of the land of Egypt. And not because of anything they did. In fact, it was quite in spite of what they did. It was the hand of God. Their hands? Jacob was no paragon of virtue, and his sons followed in his steps. They wanted to kill their brother, but settled for the next best thing: selling him into slavery in another land. Either way they’d be rid of him. Either way they were better off without him. They thought. But God preserved Joseph so that He could preserve Jacob and his family. Not that they deserved preserving. But God had promised, and a promise is a promise. He promised that one of Jacob’s descendants would be the Messiah. So He had to preserve Jacob and his family. And He did so in a way that there would be no question whose doing this was. 

So things were good. Better than good - Jacob and his family were being well taken care of as guests in the land of Egypt. The Pharaoh so appreciative of Joseph and showing that appreciation in caring for his family. 

But then time rolled on. Jacob died. Joseph died. All the brothers died. The Pharaoh so appreciative to Joseph died. And after a generation or two or three, when the famine was but a faint memory, the new Pharaoh and the people of Egypt began to wonder . . . who were these foreigners living in their land? And why? And living in not just any part of their land, but the best part of their land? Life there was obviously agreeing with them, for they became much more than a family, but a people, a nation. One that had to be reckoned with. One that could turn against Egypt. 

It probably started out okay. They could stay, but they had to earn their keep. Put them to work. Everybody works. But one thing led to another. Some work became more work, but still the nation grew. Then more work became heavy burdens, and still the nation grew. Then heavy burdens became slavery, and still God blessed them with children. And the Egyptians grew, too - in fear. What had started off good became bitter. Egyptian kindness turned into Egyptian ruthlessness. 

And the people of Israel, the children who had descended from Jacob, cried out to the Lord. Lord, have mercy! And we read that God heard, God remembered, God saw, and God knew. He heard their cry, He remembered His promise, He saw this people from whom His own Son would be born into the world and their affliction, and He knew. He knew. He knew them as Adam knew his wife Eve, for they were His bride. He knew what He would do. He would rescue them. He would mercy them. He would show them His powerful right hand, for His hand was still at work. Not just to save them, but to save the world.

And He did it. Yes, He brought His people out of Egypt. Rescued them from their slavery and bondage there. You know the story. God knew that, but He knew much more than that. Out of Egypt wasn’t the whole thing - just step one. For He and His powerful right-hand man were going to provide a much greater exodus than that one. From a greater power, from a greater slavery, and to a greater freedom. 

And so it was that God’s right-hand man found Himself near Jericho that day, in the midst of a people in slavery, but a worse kind of slavery than Egypt because they didn’t even know it was slavery - their slavery to sin. Some knew it. Some whose lives had started out okay, maybe even good, but then the oppression of sin burdened them in obvious ways. Like blindness. Like Bartimaeus. Having your sight taken away can make life bitter. It made him a beggar. What had he done before? How had he earned his living and maybe provided for his family? What could he do then that he could now do no longer? So that he was reduced to begging. Just as Israel in Egypt had been brought to their knees, so had Bartimaeus. 

So when he hears a commotion, people passing by, he readies to cry out for mercy. It was the life of a beggar. Some would have mercy, some wouldn’t. Some would care, some couldn’t care less. Maybe it would be a good day. Maybe he would get to fill his empty stomach.

But then he heard this wasn’t the normal crowd leaving Jericho that day . . . someone else was in the crowd. Jesus of Nazareth was in the crowd! Jesus of Nazareth, who was filled with mercy. So when the crowd approached where he sat, he was going to be heard. He was going to be heard by Jesus. He echoed the cry of the people of Israel in Egypt: Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me! That is, Jesus, promised Messiah, have mercy . . . on me! 

How many other beggars were out there that day? How many others crying out for alms, for help? The crowds were tired of hearing them all and rebuked them, told them to be quiet. But Bartimaeus no longer wanted their alms - He wanted Jesus. He wanted what Jesus had come to provide; what no one else could provide. So he cried out all the more, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” And Jesus heard, and saw, and knew. He asks so that faith can give voice. What do you want me to do for you? Rabbi, set me free. Set me free from my slavery to blindness. He called Him Rabbi, but asked for much more than any Rabbi could do. He asks boldly, for faith is bold. Faith is bold because it knows not its own power, but the power of the one it trusts and believes. The power of the one who brought the people of Israel out of Egypt in the exodus, and had come to rescue His people again. 

And Jesus knew. He knew who He was. He knew what He had come to do. He knew the slavery this man and all the others was in bondage to. And He sets him free. With just a word. Go your way; your faith has made you well. And Jesus continued on His way. On His way to the cross.

Because He knew. He knew who He was. He knew what He had come to do. An exodus. But to go out, don’t you first have to be in? To do an exodus, don’t you first have to be enslaved? So enslaved He would be. With the sin of the world. With Bartimaeus’ sin, with your sin, with my sin. He would be shackled to the cross and bear the heavy burden of God’s wrath against the sin of the world. A burden that made the slavery of Egypt look like child’s play. But He would bear it, for you. He would die, for you. And He would exodus out of death and the grave, for you. To bring you out, too. To live in freedom, as His children. Free not for sin, but from sin. Free not to return to your heavy taskmasters, but to live a new life. 

And so the cry of the people of Israel and the cry of Bartimaeus continues today. Because we are the ones oppressed. Blinded by the glories of the world. Deaf to God’s Word because we keep listening to thoughts and opinions of the world. Hungering and thirsting for righteousness because we keep gorging ourselves with what is unrighteous. And so instead of lives that are full and abundant, we are beggars. Struggling, stooped low under burdens of sin and guilt and pain. 

But we come to this place, because Jesus, Son of David, promised Messiah, the Father’s right-hand man, is here. And we cry out: kyrie elesison! Lord, have mercy. And He hears, He remembers, He sees, and He knows. He hears our cries and prayers. He sees our distress and plight. He remembers the promises He made to us in Baptism. And He knows. He knows what we need. He knows what is best. He knows how to save. And He does. He provides what we need. He opens our eyes to see Him and His cross. He opens our ears to hear His words of forgiveness and life. He fills us with His good things. And He leads us in His exodus, through this life, through death, and to life again. A much greater exodus, from a much greater foe, from a much greater slavery, to a much greater freedom and a much greater life, which will have no end.

So we take our place with Jacob’s family, with Bartimaeus, and with how many others through the years? We take our place with them and cry out Lord, have mercy. You’ll sing it 11 times in the Great Litany in a moment. How many times did the people in Egypt cry it out? How many times Bartimaeus? But no matter how often, our Lord never tires of hearing it. For He is the God of mercy, and it is our cry of faith. Faith in the one who is mercy, and who we know will keep and fulfill every promise to us. Through all the twists and turns of life, and no matter where life takes you, that fact remains the same. 

So the first ordinary of our liturgy, that is ordinarily in every service, is the Kyrie: Lord, have mercy. It is part of our Ordinary Lenten Exodus. For with it we take our place in the great exodus of people from Adam and Eve to today, following our Saviour to the glorious freedom He has won for us.

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