Holy Monday Meditation

Holy Monday Meditation

Jesu Juva

Text: Hebrews 9:11-15

How many had there been? How many lambs, how many goats, how many calves, how many bulls, how many heifers, how many pigeons and doves had been sacrificed over the years, over the centuries and millenia? Surely too many to count. 

The Jews used to say that the Brook Kidron near Jerusalem used to run red every spring because of the blood of all the lambs that were sacrificed for the Passover. If that is the case, then when God looked at His world, His creation, and all the blood that was poured out, it must look like the world running red.

Yet none of that blood could atone for sin. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t good enough.

But there is more blood too - not just blood poured out in sacrifice, but all the blood poured out in this world in anger and hatred. How much has that been? From the blood of Abel poured out by his brother Cain, through war after war. The blood of sinful ambition, prejudice, and revenge. Add that to the other and we are a world swimming in red.

And we are not innocent. If we have not helped our brother or sister in every physical need, we have killed him or her, Jesus says. How often have we failed in that? Our callous disregard, our self-important busyness, our “I-don’t want-to-be-interrupted” self-absorption, hurting and slaying our neighbor. We marvel at the story of the flood in Noah’s day, and are blind to the even greater floods in our own day: sin upon sin, blood upon blood.

But this week, we remember, a different blood was also spilled out. The blood of the Lamb of God, the blood of God Himself, poured out for His blood-thirsty creation. The eternal High Priest would offer it as He offered himself on the altar of the cross - given and shed for you for the forgivness of your sin. All of them. For this blood can atone for sin, and did. And this blood is good enough to purify us inside and out, in body and soul, our hearts and minds, and every sinful deed.

For this blood takes a world running red and makes it white as snow. Like a drop of food coloring added to a glass of water changes the color of all the water in the glass, so the blood of Christ - just a drop in an ocean of blood in this world - cleanses the whole world. Or as God said through the prophet Isaiah: though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall become like wool (Isaiah 1:18).

That same cleansing blood will be poured into us this week also, as our great and eternal High Priest gives us His Body to eat and His Blood to drink for the forgiveness of our sins. And they are. Our sins forgiven. All of them. Not one unwashed or unatoned for, so great Jesus’ blood. The blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel (Hebrews 12:24), for it is the blood of God poured out for you.

So now, in Christ Jesus, because of His sacrifice, God looks at the world and sees not a world running red, but a world cleansed by His Son. That’s the only blood He now sees. And so we sacrifice no more lambs or goats or calves or bulls or heifers or pigeons or doves - they are no longer needed, and God wouldn’t see their blood anyway. The blood of Jesus, our great and eternal High Priest, is all He sees. And it is enough. It is finished (John 19:30). And we are now purified, in Christ, to serve the living God.

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

Palm / Passion Sunday Sermon

[Sorry! No audio for the sermon this week. :-( ]

Jesu Juva

“The One Who Grasped Us”

Text: Philippians 2:5-11

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

He did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped.

Why did St. Paul write that about Jesus? The sentence in the Epistle would have worked very well without it. Here’s how it would sound without that line: Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God . . . made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men.

But he added this thought: He did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped. And he used a form of a word used no place else in the entire New Testament - the word for grasped - perhaps, thereby, indicating something utterly unique going on here.

So now let me read that line for you again, but this time, putting the emphasis in a different place, which maybe will help us understand and lead us in a direction to see what Paul is getting at here . . .

HE did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped. 

When you put the emphasis there, the thought, the focus, changes from the grasping to who before, someone before, who thought that equality with God was something to be grasped. Someone who Jesus is here the utter opposite of . . . and that was Adam.

In the Garden, satan had seduced Adam and Eve with this thought: that if they ate the forbidden fruit, they would not surely die. For God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God (Gen 3:4-5) . . . So they reached out and grasped the fruit. But it really wasn’t the fruit they wanted - it was to be like God; equality with God.

But Jesus, who is God - God of God, Light of Light, very God of very God (as we confess in the Nicene Creed), and the Son of God who is equal to the Father with respect to His divinity (as we confess in the Athanasian Creed) - didn’t try to hold onto what He had from eternity, but made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. He did the exact opposite of Adam, not striving for more, but giving up what He had. And how far, how low, did He go? And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.

Adam grasped, Jesus gave. Adam was disobedient, Jesus obedient. That’s how they were different. But they were not only different in life, they were also different in death - Adam deserved his death, Jesus didn’t; Adam died as the penalty for his sin, Jesus died to atone for Adam’s sin. And your sin. All your disobedience, all your grasping, too. That’s what He grasped - you . . . and your sin, your death, and your hell. To undo what Adam did. To give you forgiveness and life in the midst of a world of sin and death.

That’s the story we’ll hear again in just a few moments now - how Jesus gave Himself for you. How He would not defend Himself, how He would not save Himself, but humble Himself for you and die for you.

For you, for me, for us, who are still grasping for equality with God. We do. When we want to judge what is right and wrong based upon what we think or believe instead of what God’s Word teaches. When we want to be in control instead of trusting God His ways. When we doubt His love and think we could do better. When we expect God to conform to us instead of we to Him. Are those not all ways in which we, still today, are grasping for equality with God? 

And so we prayed for God’s help: Mercifully grant that we may follow the example of His great humility and patience and be made partakers of His resurrection. 

How that is done first of all is by repentance. Humbling ourselves and admitting that I am a poor, miserable grasper. Grasping not only what belongs to others, not only what I should not have, but equality with God. And then humbly receiving what we could not and could never grasp for ourselves: the forgiveness of our sin and rebellion. Acknowledging that there is no justification for my sin, and that if I am to be justified, if I am to be raised from the death of my sin, it must come from outside of me, it must be given to me, by the One who was perfect and obedient and who died not for His own sin, but for my sin. And who now lives to give me life. That’s the first way.

But then there is this too: having been made partakers of His resurrection in the forgiveness of our sin, we not only humble ourselves before God in repentance, we also humble ourselves before others in service. Living the new, resurrection life we have been given by laying down our lives for others. Forgiving, helping, loving, not to atone for our sins, but because that’s what the One who has atoned for our sins has done for us. And that’s what the new life He has given us looks like. Not a life of grasping for greatness, but humbly serving to make others great. That’s Jesus. He is God - nothing to gain there, and so lowered Himself for us. And we are children of God, already forgiven, raised, justified, and set free - nothing to gain there, and so we can now lower ourselves in the same way for others. That is having the mind of Christ.

So at the beginning of the service today, we heard of how Jesus humbly entered Jerusalem riding on a donkey. We’ll hear now how He humbly leaves Jerusalem carrying a cross. We heard at Christmas how humbly He was born, and we’ll hear how in humility He dies. This is God for you. 

And then later we’ll hear also how Jesus has humbly come to us today in the bread and wine of His Supper - bread and wine that in, with, and under is His Body and Blood, for the forgiveness of our sin, the strengthening of our faith, and the resurrection and life we need. And instead of grasping for equality with God - which is really grasping at straws - He says: grasp this. Take and eat, Take and drink. Here I am for you. Here is what you need.

And so He who is very God, who humbled Himself and is now exalted on high, promises us the same - to exalt us, too. That as He is now where we are, that we be where He is. And that as we confess Him now, so we will confess Him forever. 

So now we will confess our faith and we’ll hear the story again, and as you do, marvel. Marvel at the One who is God not grasp and hold onto His equality with God, but humble Himself, make Himself nothing, and grasp you instead. And marvel that through death to life eternal, He is not letting you go.

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

Lent 5 Midweek Sermon

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Jesu Juva

“The Little (or BIG!) Peter in Each of Us: Denial”

Text: Luke 22:54-62; 2 Timothy 2:8-13

The first rule about trying to get out of a hole is to stop digging. But Peter doesn’t stop. Or can’t. From pride to complacency to misunderstanding to keeping his distance, tonight, perhaps we could say, he hits rock bottom. He denies his Lord not once, not twice, but three times. 

It had been just a few hours really, from the time this all started. Peter had heard things he never thought he would hear. He had seen things he never thought he would see. He was tired, he was worried, he was confused, he was afraid. And he had never felt so alone . . . even though he was surrounded by people. All he could feel was evil pressing in on him and choking him.

So here he was, behind enemy lines, so to speak. He was lost in the thousand thoughts that filled his mind. He wondered where Jesus was, what was happening to him at this moment . . . when all of a sudden, it seemed like every one was looking at him, just like all those eyes had looked at he and Jesus in the Garden. The light from the fire whose warmth he welcomed was betraying him, exposing him. And then a servant girl said: This man also was with him. Peter felt a chill run down his spine and all the blood run out of his face, and then he blurted out: Woman, I do not know him. And while he immediately regretted saying it, at the same time he felt relief that his answer seemed to have satisfied his accusers.

He put his head down as it got a little colder. Not that much time had passed, but enough to begin thinking that maybe the danger had passed . . . when it happened again: You also are one of them. Man, I am not. He said it a little louder this time; a little more defiantly. His hand felt the hard steel of his sword still under his cloak, that still had the blood of the high priest’s servant on it. It wasn’t much, but it was ready, if he needed it.

Another hour went by . . . What are they doing with Jesus? Why is it taking so long? The first hints of sunrise were beginning to appear - what would this day bring? What it brought was the third accusation against him: Certainly this man also was with him, for he too is a Galilean. Peter’s nerves, so raw, almost couldn’t take it anymore. Man, I do not know what you are talking . . . and then he heard it - the rooster . . . about. And at that moment, all his fears were engulfed in a flood of shame and despair. He looked up and saw Jesus - still bound, still surrounded by soldiers. And worse: Jesus saw him. And that voice, softer and milder than any of his accusers, cut deeper than any of their words did . . . Before the rooster crows today, you will deny me three times. And the tears began. And they wouldn’t stop for quite some time. 

And the hole he had dug himself into suddenly felt like a grave.

The sin that lives in Peter is the same sin that lives in us. Sin that makes us timid and fearful of making a bold confession. Sin that makes us do what we know we should not, and makes us not do what we know we should. Sin that makes us not want to be labeled one of “them.” Sin that makes us fear men more than God, that makes us fear death and life, ridicule and judgment. The sin that seems to engulf us and makes us say no to Jesus . . . our friend, our Lord, our Saviour. For who among us cannot say that we have never denied our Saviour? Either in our thoughts or desires, our words or our deeds.

At that moment, Peter felt that he had died. Good! For that is the first step for resurrection. You must first die. Die to yourself, die to your goodness, die to your faithfulness, die to what you are able to do, die . . . and be raised by Christ. For the one who rose from the dead for you first died for you, for all your sin, all your shame, all your failures, for all your pride and complacency and misunderstanding and distance, and even your denials - that on Him and not on you, He pay for them and you be forgiven. That He die with you, so that you rise with Him to a new and better life.

There was probably a rooster crowing that morning as well - that Sunday morning when the women came and told Peter that Jesus’ tomb was empty. And by that evening, Peter’s empty heart would be filled with life again.

But from that day forward, I wonder . . . could Peter ever again hear a rooster crow and not think about these things? Not think about that awful night or that wonderful resurrection morning? What a blessing, then, for Peter. Every morning being called to repentance, and every morning rejoicing in the forgiveness of Jesus. 

Luther got that, I think, for he spoke of baptism that way. That every morning when we awake, make the sign of the cross and remember that you are baptized. Repent, drown your sin, and die, and then rise with Christ and His forgiveness to new life again. Every morning, repent of the sin, but don’t dwell on it; don’t give it new life! Live in Christ as He now lives in you. 

That’s what Paul was talking about as he wrote to Timothy and said:

The saying is trustworthy, for:

If we have died with him, we will also live with him;

if we endure, we will also reign with him;

if we deny him, he also will deny us;

if we are faithless, he remains faithful—

for he cannot deny himself.

He cannot deny Himself. To deny those joined to Him by faith would be to deny Himself. And that will never be. If we die with Him, we will live with Him. 

And those times when our faith is rocked, when fears shake us, when we fall and fall hard, when the Peter in us takes over - if we are faithless, he remains faithful. He will not leave us or forsake us. His promises, once given, and never reneged. There is forgiveness for you, in Him. 

There is only one exception, Paul says: those who deny Him. Meaning not those who fall in weakness, like Peter and you and me, but those who continually deny Him and deny Him on the Last Day. Those who want no part of Christ will get what they want . . . for eternity.

But until then, the Word of God is not bound! And yes, in a two-fold sense. First, the Word of God is proclaimed in all the world, to sound the rooster crow to call us to repentance and to faith in our risen Saviour. And second, our Saviour, the Word of God made flesh is no longer bound by the cords of death and the grave, but alive and still forgiving sinners. Alive and praying for you. Alive and preparing a place for you, to live with Him, forever. Alive for Peter, for you, and for me!

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

Lent 5 Sermon

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Jesu Juva

“Big Dreams or A Better Reality?”

Text: Luke 20:9-20 (Philippians 3:4b-14; Isaiah 43:16-21)

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

The workers in the vineyard had a dream: that one day, they would own their own vineyard. They wouldn’t have to work for someone else and give away a percentage of the fruit they’d worked so hard to produce. They’d have workers working for them. They’d be the ones getting the harvest. They’d have the easy life. 

But it wasn’t working out quite as they expected. Vineyards were expensive and it was hard saving money. They had been able to save a little, but at this rate, they would never own their own vineyard. They’d be workers forever. And as they thought about that, their work became less satisfying. They grew bitter. And so, perhaps, they started hatching alternate plans . . . to increase their profit. The owner didn’t need such a big cut! He was already rich. So they began, perhaps, to cook the books, tilt things in their favor. 

But still, even with that, things were progressing far too slowly. And bitterness turned to anger which turned to hatred . . . and then the thought that why shouldn’t this vineyard be theirs? They did all the work. They’d made the owner a wealthy man. It was their turn. So that year, when the owner sent his servants to collect his share, there’d be no fruit - they beat them and treated them shamefully. After the first couple, they even started to kind of enjoy it - sticking it to the man!

Until one day, it was no servant who showed up, but the owner’s son! But the workers had grown so callous and hard that there was no fear in them at seeing the son - their greedy eyes saw instead the very thing that could make their dreams come true. They would kill the son. That way, when the owner died without an heir, the vineyard would be theirs! They’d finally have what they wanted all along . . .

But their dream would not come true. Their fantasy would be shattered when the owner of the vineyard came home and not only took away the vineyard from them, but took their very lives. There was no happily ever after to this parable - for the workers, the owner, or the son. Which produced the response: Surely not! May it never be, such a sad story . . .

But it was the story that was being played out in Jerusalem. The scribes and the chief priests sought to lay hands on him - the Son! - at that very hour, for they perceived that he had told this parable against them. And they were right. Like so many that had come before them, they had used their leadership in God’s Church, God’s vineyard, for their own gain; to create their own business. Their goal and focus was no longer to proclaim God’s Word and make His people rich in the forgiveness of their sins, but to make themselves rich, with the things of this world and life - to have comfortable lives, enjoy the adoration of the people, have positions of honor, and be the ones in charge. 

And it was working out quite nicely . . . until Jesus came along. God had sent prophets before this, and now His Son, calling on them to produce the fruits of repentance and faith. But there would be no such fruit. That wasn’t in their plans. They would cling to their dreams and try to keep what they had . . . even if it meant killing the Son.

And maybe your response to that is the same as the people back then: Surely not! Surely they weren’t that bad. But that’s what can happen when dreams take over; when our dreams become false gods. What starts out innocently can turn deadly.

As it had for those Jewish leaders. Selling sacrificial animals for traveling pilgrims stopped being a service and became big business. The money exchange in the Temple became less about exchange and more about profit. Comfort, honor, privilege, and power began to dictate how things were done instead of God and His Word. Give all that up? Surely not! the chief priests and scribes replied in their thoughts and desires and words . . . and then, ultimately, in their deeds. 

Jesus would have to go. The Son would have to be killed.

But here’s where the parable takes an unexpected turn: God turns the evil for good. The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone. The killing of the Son isn’t the end of the story. God uses the evil of the tenants for the good of the world; the evil of the Jewish leaders for the salvation of all men. By throwing Jesus out and planting the crucified and dead Son of God into the ground, the Jewish leaders were not, in fact, cementing the kingdom for themselves, but unknowingly laying the cornerstone of a new kingdom. Not their own, but God’s. Not one of this world, but one for eternity. 

Isaiah had prophesied it, predicted it, when he spoke for God: Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? A new thing. Something never done before. Something man cannot even imagine. A springing forth from the dead. A triumph over death and the sin that causes it. And so a new life, beyond the reach of sin and death. A new life of plenty, praise, and peace.

But they didn’t perceive it. Their hearts had grown too calloused and hard, too focused on and captivated with the things of this world and what they could get here and now. And so Jesus adds to what He said about this new cornerstone: Everyone who falls on that stone will be broken to pieces, and when it falls on anyone, it will crush him.

The tenants in the parable were fallen upon and crushed. Destroyed. But there’s another option: to (instead) fall on that stone and be broken. To have our efforts and kingdoms broken, and so be rebuilt anew. On a new cornerstone. On the cornerstone. On Christ.

It’s what happened to Paul. What a life he had built for himself! And a very good looking, religious one at that. He was, as he described it, one of the most learned Pharisees, one of the most zealous church persecutors, one of the most precise law keepers - but it was a life built on the wrong cornerstone. And so Jesus came to him, felled him off his horse, and broke him, in order to give him a new life. To rebuild his life on Christ crucified; on that cornerstone. 

And once Paul’s eyes were opened, all that he had before thought so valuable, so praiseworthy, such a great achievement, his dreams and all the effort he had put in to accomplish them, he said all that was now rubbish. Garbage. The glory of Jesus’ resurrection greater than any glory Paul might have or achieve. The power of Jesus’ resurrection greater than any power Paul might have or achieve. The life of Jesus’ resurrection greater than any life Paul might have or achieve. That’s all that mattered to him now. He had been transformed by the stone he once rejected.

Which then brings us to today, and you and me. Even we as a Church. We have dreams, too. When we’re little, we often have big dreams of what we will do, what we will become. An astronaut or an olympian. When we get a little older, we get a bit more realistic, but still have dreams of what could be. And then when we hit the twilight of our lives, maybe the dreams become fewer but the regrets more; dreams of what could have been. 

And dreams aren’t wrong or bad. Sometimes dreams come true. After all, some people do become astronauts and olympians, famous artists and presidents. The danger - as it was in Jesus’ day - is when our dreams take over, dominate our hearts, determine our priorities, blind us and bind us . . . or in short, when our dreams become false gods. When the sin that lives in us so easily turns good to evil. When what starts out innocently turns deadly. When the pursuit of our dreams chokes out and kills the life given us by Christ. Or when dreams that didn’t come true make us bitter or angry and hostile toward God. When our dreams or their memories take over our hearts and push Christ out. Surely not! we say. But church membership rolls are often filled with the names of people for whom the dreams and things of this world and life have taken over and killed the Son. Maybe you can even see it in yourself and feel the tug, feel the conflict, and see the beginning of the hostile takeover of your heart . . . What is it for you? Do you have things in your heart - call them dreams or not - that need to be felled before they fell you? And a new cornerstone, perhaps, put in place?

Those are tough words. And tough to realize that our dreams sometimes wind up as nightmares . . . if they pull us away from Christ. So better to stumble and fall now then be crushed in the end. Better to turn and repent now then to be cast out forever. For those broken now have the promise of healing, of life, of forgiveness. The promise of a God who turns evil for good. The promise of a transformation, a re-formation, of our hearts, minds, dreams, and desires now, and a transformation, a resurrection to a completely new life in the end. For God desires not our deaths, but that we turn to Him and live (Ezekiel 18:23).

And so still today He sends His Son, into the vineyard. To us, you and me today. But unlike the parable, for us today - those who live after the Son was cast out and killed - for us today He comes as the resurrected One, to first give us the fruits of His work: the forgiveness He won on the cross, His victory over death and the grave, and the Body and Blood that hung from the cross. And through these to transform us and raise us with Himself to a new life. To give us His share of the kingdom and build us on Himself as the cornerstone. 

Which might mean being felled a time or two, when we start reverting to our old ways and building wrong again; when our dreams and desires threaten to take over again. And it might mean transforming our dreams, too. That maybe God use us to serve our neighbors in ways that we had never imagined . . . but which are maybe even better. And so in ways ever new and maybe even surprising, producing wonderful fruits of faith. Not that we did it, but because of Christ and His life, given to us. Because of Christ, the Son who gave Himself to save tenants like us.

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

Lent 4 Midweek Sermon

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Jesu Juva

“The Little (or BIG!) Peter in Each of Us: Keeping Your Distance”

Text: Matthew 26:57-58; 1 Peter 3:13-22

He watched them as they bound Jesus, as they cinched up those ropes tightly about His hands. Those hands that had done nothing wrong. Those hands that had so often reached out in compassion. Those hands that had touched lepers, restored sight to the blind, gave hearing to the deaf, and embraced the unloved. Those hands now tightly bound, as if they could do harm. As if they were a weapon. Those hands that had done nothing but good.

Then they shoved Him. Get going! they yelled into His ears, clearly enjoying the power they now exercised over Him. As if they had any power. Did they forget how He had just knocked them all down by just the power of His Word? But soldiers aren’t paid to remember, but to act. And so they did. Manhandling Jesus out of the Garden and to Jerusalem.

Peter just watched at first. But then slowly one foot followed the other, and he followed the hostile group . . . from a distance. Never letting them get out of his sight, but never getting too close either. Lest they turn on him. Lest they decide to let him get a taste of the steely sword he had just pulled on them. Back across the Kidron Valley, up the slope to Jerusalem, in the gate where Jesus had entered to shouts of Hosanna just a few days ago, through the sleepy streets, and into the courtyard of the High Priest. But not too far in. Near the wall, so he could blend in. Near the gate, in case he needed to make a quick getaway . . .

Perhaps Peter tried to console himself with the thought that he hadn’t left Jesus. He had said that even if all the others fell away, he never would (Matt 26:33). He was there; where were they? But even as he thought it, he knew it wasn’t true. He was trying his best, but his best wasn’t enough. He was afraid; so afraid. He was confused, he was distraught. He wanted to be with Jesus. He wanted to speak, he wanted to act, he wanted to die with his friend, his Lord. But something was holding him back. Something was keeping him away. Something was making him keep his distance.

You know how it is. So do I. For how often do we, too, keep our distance from our Saviour? Afraid to speak. Failing to act. Strong when it’s easy but weak when too much is being asked of us. Hiding our faith lest we be mocked or attacked. Wanting to blend in with the world and not stand out; to be popular and not considered odd. Maybe, like Peter, we console ourselves with the way we come to Church every week and with what we give . . . but still you know in your heart how weak that excuse sounds. For faith is something to be lived not just in Church, when it’s easy, but in the world, even when it’s hard. We see Christians in other parts of the world being persecuted and killed for their faith, yet look at us! How we keep our distance, not wanting to get too close; not wanting the danger. Like Peter, we try our best, but our best isn’t good enough, is it?

So thanks be to God that in Jesus, God did not keep His distance from us. That in love for us, He didn’t just draw near to us, but became one of us. Jesus, God in human flesh and blood. You can’t get any closer than that. And in our flesh and blood He went through all that you do. He knows the fears and temptations, the worries and troubles. But where we are weak, He is strong. Where we fail, He delivers. Where we shrink back, He never does. He fights for us against all our enemies, even on the cross, and wins. Our sin is forgiven through His sacrifice, our death and grave are overcome in His resurrection, and our hell lies in ruins by His descent. For that man hauled off with His hands bound together would not remain bound for long. In just three days He would be free. To set us free.

It is the freedom now given to us in Holy Baptism, where the Lord who drew near to us now draws us to Himself. That’s what Peter wrote - yes, the same Peter. It is a changed man who could later write so differently than how he once acted, writing: But even if you should suffer for righteousness' sake, you will be blessed. Have no fear of them, nor be troubled, but in your hearts honor Christ the Lord as holy, always being prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you. For after Jesus rose and restored Peter, Peter realized he was safe in the ark - the ark of Christ and His Church. For he was baptized into Christ - the Christ, who has gone into heaven and is at the right hand of God, with angels, authorities, and powers having been subjected to him. So what did he have to fear?

Oh, Peter still had his moments, as will we. Our sinful natures still get the better of us. But how good to know that those sins and failures cannot separate us from the love of Christ. That we, too, have forgiveness and restoration. That the promises we have received in baptism will never be taken away. Maybe Peter wrote that as much to teach and remind himself as to teach others. And we cannot be reminded too often, either. 

Peter followed at a distance because he expected the worst. But the worst, in the end, turned out to be the best. And for us too. So when you shrink back and follow from a distance, expecting the worst, the worst might happen - but the best is not far behind. For the God who raises the dead to life is able to bring good from evil even now. And He will. He promised. He promised you.

And so we sang our prayer, based on that promise, earlier:

Jesus, lead Thou on  Till our rest is won;

And although the way be cheerless,

We will follow calm and fearless.

Guide us by Thy hand  To our fatherland.

If the way be drear,  If the foe be near,

Let not faithless fears o’ertake us;

Let not faith and hope forsake us;

For through many a woe  To our home we go.

Jesus, lead Thou on  Till our rest is won;

Heav’nly leader, still direct us,

Still support, console, protect us,

Till we safely stand  In our fatherland. (LSB #718 v. 1-2, 4)

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

Lent 4 Sermon

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Jesu Juva

“All God Wants To Do Is Give Us Everything”

Text: Luke 15:1-3a, 11-32; 2 Corinthians 5:16-21

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

All God wants to do is give us everything. Turn that over in your mind a few times. All God wants to do is give us everything.

Why don’t we believe that?

Well, I think there are a couple reasons. First, and quite simply, because we don’t have everything. There are things I want that I don’t have. And so if God wanted to give me everything, He would have. I’d have the money I want, the stuff I want, the home I want, the spouse I want, the job I want. But I don’t, so . . .

But maybe there’s a reason why the God who wants to give us everything hasn’t yet. Perhaps He knows that were He to give us our whole inheritance now, that we’d waste it with prodigal living. So while He wants to give us everything, He hasn’t yet because He is preparing us for what He wants to give. After all, you do not give a beginning music student the most expensive instrument and a Beethoven symphony to start out! If you take up running, you don’t start with a marathon. And if you’re learning to drive, you don’t start with a Porsche. That’s just setting you up to fail; you’re not ready yet. So God doesn’t just give, He prepares us to receive, that we receive what He gives not selfishly, or with a sense of entitlement, but with thanksgiving to the Giver. That’s reason number one.

But there’s another reason why we don’t believe that all God wants to do is give us everything: because satan doesn’t want us to believe it. And so he has deceived us into thinking that God isn’t like that at all. That He doesn’t give, He takes, He demands, He spoils.

But really? Think about it. What does God need from you? What does God need period? What could you possibly give the Creator of the universe that He doesn’t either already have or couldn’t get for Himself? Or to make yourself worthy to be His child? That’s right, nothing. Not one little thing. Yet satan has painted such a picture of God for us and in our minds that we see Him not as He is, but . . . how? Unfair? Taking? Demanding? Mean? Someone who doesn’t need but demands anyway? Is that really who God is?

Or is God not more like the father in the parable Jesus told today. This parable that you know as the Parable of the Prodigal Son - the son who gets most of the attention - but which would probably be better named the Parable of the Prodigal Father. The Father who prodigiously gives and gives and gives some more.

Now you know some of what the father gives in this parable. First, He gives his younger son his share of the inheritance. It was shameful for the son to ask for it like that, to wish his father dead now so that he could get his fortune and have his fun and make his own way in the world. And even though the father knew it would not be best, he gives it. It is his character to give - even his hired servants are well cared for and have more than enough. And then when the son returns with his tail between his legs, after having lost everything - money and reputation - the father gives him even more - a new robe, new sandals, a new ring, and a great feast. The father, it seems, can’t stop giving. It’s remarkable and almost unbelievable.

But there’s even more. There is something else here that the father gives, that is easy to overlook, that perhaps you hadn’t thought of, but is perhaps more important that everything else: he gives his honor. He allows himself to be shamed in order to honor his sons.

And it perhaps starts at the very beginning, when the younger son asks for his share of the inheritance. As I said, it was shameful for him to do so, but the father - instead of taking a hard line, refusing, and so garnering honor and approval for himself among the townsfolk - allows himself to be dishonored. He gives the inheritance and in so doing, he himself becomes the topic of conversation and shame. Perhaps the son could be excused for his immaturity, but the father? What he did? Caving like that? How weak and gullible and stupid.

And then it gets worse when the younger son returns after his tabloid-headline adventures. The father doesn’t make his son grovel and shame himself, he bestows honor on his son! He hikes up his robes and runs out to his filthy son. He embraces his son who is as dirty as a pig sty and smells even worse, and kisses him. He covers his filth with a new robe and sandals and ring, and throws an expensive feast for him. And with this he - and not his son - becomes the topic of conversation again. In that culture, he would have been looked down on for not making his son beg to even see him; to even be allowed into his presence! He would have been ridiculed for embracing and kissing this filthy, poor excuse for a son. And he would have been mocked for giving his son not only a new robe, but the best robe - probably his own robe. And then also the family’s signet ring, which today would be kind of like giving him the password to your online banking accounts. The father gives up his honor to restore honor to his son.

And he does it for the older son as well - his resentful, hated-filled, older son. When he disobeys and himself disrepects his father by refusing to come into the party, the father goes after him too. And he doesn’t demand, he doesn’t flex his fatherly muscles - he goes on to beg his older son to forgive and come in and celebrate. And so he himself, again, becomes the object of gossip and disgrace. No self-respecting father would do that! No sensible man would do that. Make them do it. Make them change. Make them earn it.

That’s how the world thinks. That how satan wants you to think. But how is it with God, in truth?

We just sang it. God loved the world so that He gave, His only Son the lost to save (LSB #571).

And St. Paul also told us today how it is with God: For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.

And that, in a nutshell, is the Parable of the Prodigal Father. The father, who knew no sin, took his sons’ sins - he took their shame, he took their rebellion - upon himself, to make them right again. To give to them. For all he wants to do is give them everything.

And with that, we see what God has done for us in the Son He gave us, in Jesus. He who knew no sin took our sin. He who knew no shame took our shame. He who had no filth took our filth. He who perfectly obeyed in everything took our rebellion and disobedience upon Himself. He who deserved only praise took our condemnation and death. That in Him we might become the righteousness of God. That in Him, we be forgiven and honored, cleansed and exalted. That God give us everything.

For all God wants to do is give us everything.

But what do we do? How do we respond? Well, often we run away. Like the younger son, running away from Him to the life we think we want - the fun, the excitement, the independence. Or like the older son, resenting the ones who return; resenting to whom God gives His gifts - thinking them not worthy or undeserving, and so then keeping yourself away from Him and dissatisfied with what He wants to give you. 

Or maybe you, like both sons, fall into the trap of chasing after and focusing only on the things of this world and life, and killing yourself to get the here and now instead of what lasts forever; chasing after what will make us momentarily happy instead of lasting joy. Rejoicing little in His name given to us in Holy Baptism and focusing much on the name we make for ourselves.

Or maybe you’re like the older son in resisting repentance and confession, and instead want to excuse your behaviour and think that you’re the good one, you’re not as bad as the other guy, you’re not a tax collector or a really bad and notorious sinner, and so thinking you deserve your Father’s favor. And so rejecting His holiness in favor of your own. Rejecting the honor He wants to give in favor of the honor you can get for yourself.

And what else do you do? How else are we like these two sons? 

This Lenten season, the call goes out: repent. Turn around. Give it up and give up. And realize once again how foolish we’ve been. How foolish to think we can get more, do better, and be happier apart from our gracious, giving Father. Our Father, who just wants to give you everything. 

And who now has the Body and Blood of His dear Son here for you. To forgive your sin, to strengthen your faith, to feed your soul. Not because you are one of His hired hands, but because you are His dear child. And as Paul would later write to the Romans (8:32): He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things? Indeed, He will. All things. In due time. Not as you demand, but in love, as you’re ready. For your good. It’s all He really wants to do. 

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

Lent 3 Midweek Sermon

LISTEN

Jesu Juva

“The Little (or BIG!) Peter in Each of Us: Misunderstanding”

Text: John 18:1-11; 1 Corinthians 1:18-31

Well Peter wasn’t going to make the same mistake again! He wasn’t going to be caught sleeping this time. He would keep his word and promises. He would stand by Jesus. He would not shrink back. Yes, he would even die with His Lord - and for Him, if necessary. He would prove himself. Now was his hour.

So when he sees the band of soldiers and some officers from the chief priests and the Pharisees, when he sees the lanterns and torches and weapons, when he hears that they’ve come for Jesus and are going to arrest Him, bind Him, and take Him away, Peter draws his sword. He’s going to go down fighting. And the first casualty of his flying sword is the right ear of Malchus, the high priest’s servant.

Oh Peter! How can you be so misunderstanding? It’s not about you, it’s about Jesus. This is His hour, not yours. He would prove Himself and His love, not you. He would die for you, not you for Him. You will still shrink back, but He will not. He will stand by you, and He will keep His Word and promises - every single one of them. He is going as it is written of Him. Don’t you see that, Peter?

But he doesn’t. He should. Look at what had just unfolded before his very eyes. When the crowd of soldiers and officers come up to Him, Jesus cuts them down with just a few words. I am he, he says, and they all draw back and fall to the ground. Like dominoes knocked down by a giant divine hand, all those big, brave soldiers tumble to the ground. And it could have been worse. The one whose voice commands creation, rules over sicknesses and diseases, and expels demons, could have struck them all down and taken their life. But He does not. That is not what He has come for. He has come to lay down His own life - for Peter, for them, for you. So after they all get up and approach Him again, Jesus withholds His power. He allows Himself to be taken. The Creator places Himself into His creatures’ hands.

Don’t you see, Peter? Do you still not understand? Put your sword into its sheath; shall I not drink the cup that the Father has given me? But Peter hadn’t heard that. That was the struggle and those were the words he had just slept through. 

So what about you and me? Do we understand?

On the one hand we do. We know the story. We know of the crucifixion and the resurrection and how it all turns out in the end. 

But what we don’t know is the end of our own stories. How it will all turn out for us. Like Peter, sometimes we are faced with frightening situations. We see the powers and forces of this world, and their unholy alliance against Christ and His Church. We know our own past failures and want to do better, prove ourselves, not let our Lord down again. And so we try to be strong and pull our swords and fight for our Lord. That’s not necessarily wrong, this side of the cross, as long as we use the right sword - the sword of God’s Word.

But isn’t that the very sword we so often leave in its sheath? Instead relying on the swords of our own strength, of human wisdom, of political influence, of earthly and worldly power. Those all have their place, but against the evil and darkness in our world, they are not just weak, they are nothing. And we, like Peter, are easily overcome.

Consider again the words we heard from St. Paul tonight: God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, so that no human being might boast in the presence of God. And the most foolish, weakest, lowest, and most despised thing of all is the cross, and Jesus on it. That you must be saved by a crucified criminal. That what looks like shame is really glory. That what looks like death and defeat is really victory and life. That’s stupid.

But that Christ is the power of God and the wisdom of God. For the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men. That Christ now places Himself into the hands of those He came to save, and allows them to crucify Him to do just that. They crucified a criminal against Rome - that’s what could be seen. But Jesus died the death of all us criminals against God - that’s what could not be seen. He took it in our place, to - as He said in the garden - let these men go. And because of Him, we have been. Let go from the guilt of our sin. Let go from the grip of death and the grave. Let go from the condemnation of the evil one. That the Word of God be fulfilled. That we have a Saviour.

And so Jesus heals the ear of the servant Peter in his zeal had cut off. That he might hear the Word of God. For faith comes by hearing the Word of God, and understanding by believing what it says - not what we think ought to be. For as we sang: How firm a foundation, O saints of the Lord, is laid for your faith in His excellent Word (LSB #728 v.1)!

Peter would later understand. He would preach Christ crucified. He would boast [only] in the Lord. And he would lay down his life for Jesus; he would be martyred. But not to keep his word, but because Jesus had kept His. Not to prove himself faithful to Jesus, but because Jesus was faithful to him. And not because his love was so great, but because Jesus’ is. And so while those who crucified Peter thought they won by so doing, Peter would finally understand that he had already won. For Jesus had won the battle for him. 

And for you. So that whatever troubles, whatever powers, whatever fears now come to attack you, you need not fear. You have already won, in Jesus. You are a child of God and under His care even now. And on the Last Day, Jesus will say to the grave let this one go - and it will. And you will live. For Jesus did drink the cup. He loses none that He is given. And so we rest and we hope and we boast in Him.

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