Sermon for Palm Sunday / Sunday of the Passion

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Jesu Juva

“Hands of Power”

Text: Deuteronomy 32:36-39; Philippians 2:5-11; John 12:12-19

The book of Deuteronomy is Moses’ words to the people of Israel when they are on the border of the Promised Land. The second time. You might remember that the first time didn’t work out so well. They got scared, didn’t trust the Lord, refused to go in, and so had to spend the next 40 years in the wilderness. Now they’re back. 40 years later. And Moses is repeating to them all the words of the Lord. Because he’s not going in with them. This is as far as Moses goes. This very day that he spoke the words we heard in the Old Testament reading, he will die. Moses was not perfect, not by a long shot. But he served well. Now he would enter his rest.

But after again teaching the people all the words of the Lord and going over their history, God also shows Moses the future to speak to them - what will happen to Israel after he is gone. They will enter the Promised Land. They will settle there, just as God promised. And life will be good. . . . But just as can happen with us, when life is going good, when you have all you need and then some, when you’re safe and secure, you can get lazy, your can get presumptuous, you can forget about God. You focus on the good stuff, and forget about who gave it. Oh, maybe not all at once, like an on-off switch - more like a dimmer. A gradual change. Little by little, drifting, forgetting, wandering, spending more and more time with what you have and on what you want, and less and less time with God. 

And that happened to Israel. They began to attribute their wealth and security to themselves, and their stuff became their gods - what they loved, what they trusted, what they lived for. 

So Moses tells the people. This future. Their future. Of course they say no! Just as we would. Just as we do. That won’t happen to us! To me! But it would. It did. So God would discipline His people. Not to hurt them - though it would hurt - but because He wants them back. He wants them to turn back to Him and look to Him for all they need.

And then the words we heard today. The Lord will vindicate his people. He will have compassion on them. This is Moses not just talking about God’s compassion in general; this is Moses talking about Jesus. The Jesus who - as the Gospels repeatedly tell us - saw the crowds, and had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd (Matthew 9:36). God Himself, the Son of God, had come to be their shepherd. He had come to care for them. He had come to gather them and save them. And “them” includes us. 

Now, maybe you don’t consider yourself harassed and helpless. Maybe life is going good for you right now. There were times Israel thought that, too. Don’t be fooled. What you have, what makes your life comfortable right now, can easily and quickly be taken away. And it might. And someday it will. Just take a quick look around the world today. How quickly things change. How quickly life changes because of an invisible virus. How quickly war rises up. How quickly fires and natural disasters take things away. How quickly your health can be taken away. How quickly and often unexpectedly death snatches away loved ones. How quickly your sin can turn from something you think good to something that threatens you. How quickly the world, or those you thought your friends, can turn against you. How quickly we go from safe and secure to harassed and helpless.

Then, Moses continues, when that happens, when your life so quickly turns, then Where are [your] gods? The rock in which [you] took refuge? When harassed and helpless quickly jumps up and smacks you in the face, when your safe and secure life suddenly isn’t, where are those things you built our life on, that you loved and trusted in, the things you feared losing, the things you were living for, that you gave up so much for? When the people and things you counted on you can no longer. What then?

Then Jesus. 

That’s what God really wants to teach His people - us included - with this review of the past and peek into the future. That He is the faithful one. He is the Rock in which you can always take refuge. He is the one you can count on always. When life is good, and when it is challenging. See now that I, even I, am he, and there is no god beside me, He says. I kill and I make alive; I wound and I heal; and there is none that can deliver out of my hand. His hands are saving hands. 

Today we hear that story again, of how Jesus has handed over into the hands of men who thought they had power over Him. Power to exalt themselves. Power to save their nation. They used their hands to abuse Him and then crucify Him. But, as Jesus said, No one takes [my life] from me, but I lay it down of my own accord (John 10:18a). Life and death belong to Him alone. They could not have arrested Him, they could not have crucified Him, they could not have done a single thing to Him had He not allowed it. But He did. For you. He laid down His life to take it up again and overcome death. For you.He was wounded to heal you. He took all your sin and rebellion upon Himself to free you from it. That’s what His hands did. Human hands were raised against Him. His hands were raised for us. To bless us. To save us.

And never were hands so strong as when they were nailed to the cross. The powerful hands were not the hands of the soldiers who pounded the nails, but the hands of Jesus that were powerful to stay on the cross, battle sin, death, and the devil for us, and win. Win, for when He died, it was not sin or evil that took His life - Father, into your hands I commit my spirit (Luke 23:46)! we’ll hear Jesus say today. And He’ll show that victory when He rises from death to life again. 

And that’s why, as Moses said, none can deliver out of [His] hand. For no hand is more powerful than His hand. His hand that is holding on to you. Or as Jesus would put it: My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and - here it is - no one will snatch them out of my hand (John 10:27-28).

So today we heard when the people took up palm branches in their hands and cried out Hosanna! Save us! And Jesus did that by taking up the cross in His hands and having those hands nailed to it. And now those hands hold onto us and care for us. Those hands baptize and heal and absolve and feed us with His own Body and Blood. 

And if that weren’t true, you wouldn’t be here. And that on a number of levels. If God weren’t preserving the world, we’d have destroyed it long ago. If God weren’t preserving your faith, you’d have long ago lost it. Think back over your life. How has the Lord protected you, preserved you, provided for you? What dumb mistakes, foolish risks, or close calls did He save you from? How has the Lord had compassion on you? How has He held on to you? Israel didn’t deserve anything, yet God gave them everything. The same is true for us. The Lord will vindicate his people. He will have compassion on them. He has and He will.

And now, He says, have this mind among yourselves. Don’t have a mind of your own, doing what you think is best and good, going your own way. That doesn’t end up good. Have this mind among yourselves - the mind of Christ. The mind of one who didn’t grasp, who didn’t hold onto the things of this world, who didn’t go for glory, but made Himself nothing. Who served. Who gave Himself up for you. Have this mind among yourselves. A mind which knows that it is not our taking but the Lord’s giving that blesses us. That all that we have is from Him - our forgiveness, our life, our salvation. That He is our Rock of refuge. That we are safe in His hands.

And such a mind can now also do the same for others. Give, not take. Serve, not demand to be served. And in so doing, find meaning and purpose for our life. The life given to us by our Lord. And then we truly live. And when are called to the top of our own Mount Nebo, as Moses, to die, we’ll lose nothing and gain everything. Because of the one who gave up everything for us. 

This Lenten season has called us back to our Rock of refuge. Called us back to repentance. Called us back to our Lord’s compassion. Maybe turn that dimmer switch back up a bit. Now, we’ll hear the story again. This week we’ll go through it again. And marvel. That God would do this for us. That God would die that we might live. 

Let us now ponder once again on that. On Jesus’ holy passion.

Sermon for Lent 5 Midweek Vespers

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Jesu Juva

“Our Ordinary Lenten Exodus: the Agnus Dei”

Text: Exodus 12:1-13, 21-27; John 1:29-36

In the Name of Jesus. Amen.

In saving His people from the clutches of Egypt and the bondage of their slavery in that country, God broke the will of the Egyptians with ten plagues. For the first nine, the people of Israel watched in wonder as God showed His power over nature and especially over all the gods of Egypt. One by one He humbled them. One by one He showed that He was the one and only true God. He wanted His people freed, and freed they would be.

But for this last and greatest plague upon Egypt, Israel would not just sit back and watch in wonder - they would be a part of it. They were active participants. They would put their faith into action. 

For this night of the last and greatest plague would be a night of death. And not a little. All the first born sons in all the land of Egypt - the first born sons of man and beast, of high and low - would die this night. It was not an arbitrary decision by God to do so. He had told Moses, and Moses had told Pharaoh, that what Pharaoh did to His son, to Israel and all his family, holding him in bondage and robbing him of life, God would do to Pharaoh’s firstborn son (Exodus 4:22-23) if he did not let them go. Pharaoh had nine chances to avoid that fate, but would not. Now God would turn the tables.

But there was a way of rescue from this sure and certain death: blood. The blood of the passover lamb. The blood of the lamb that would cause death to pass over that house. So at twilight that night, that night of death, lambs gave their lives as substitutes for all the first born sons of Israel. And the lambs that had been slaughtered, whose blood on the lintels and doorposts of their homes saved them from this plague, were then eaten. Food for the journey they were about to undertake. They weren’t to be wasteful. If a household was too small to eat a lamb on its own, then they would join with others. And they would get ready. They would be ready. Through the blood of the lamb shed for them, and the body of the lamb consumed by them, they would be saved and free. That very night.

Of course, as we have been considering all this Lenten season, that exodus and those passover lambs - as great as it was - would be surpassed by a greater exodus, from a greater slavery, to a greater freedom. And tonight, we could add, by a greater Lamb.

So when it came time to rescue the world, save the world from the clutches of satan and our bondage to sin, death, and the devil, the Father of the household of all men chose the Lamb that would be our substitute; chose the Lamb whose blood would protect us and set us free; chose the Lamb who would be our food. The Father sent the Spirit to descend, land, and remain on Him. That’s the one. The Father’s  Lamb. To save all the world from death. John saw it and so proclaimed: Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world! 

This John is often called the Baptist, John the Baptist, because that’s what he did. But to confess Jesus as the Lamb of God is really what he was sent for. To point us to Jesus, to put our faith in Him. That He is the Lamb whose blood would protect us, whose body would feed us, and who would be our substitute. The Lamb. Of God.

No other lamb would do. In Egypt, there were many lambs sacrificed that night, but there is only one who could save not just all in a country, but all in the world. In Egypt, there was one lamb per household, or one for a few put together. But what lamb could there be for the household of all men, all women, all people, and not just at that moment in time, but for all time? What lamb could there be to protect us from not just physical death, but spiritual, eternal death? What lamb could feed the world? Only one, of course. A Lamb who is much more than a lamb, but God Himself. God’s firstborn Son. God’s only-begotten Son. God of God, Light of Light, very God of very God. 

John saw the Spirit descend that day upon Jesus and remain on Him. That’s the Lamb God the Father, the Father of all creation, chose for us. He chose Him from before the foundation of the world, but pointed Him out to John that day. Behold, the Lamb of God! The Lamb who would shed His blood for us, mark us with that blood in Holy Baptism, and feed us with His body in Holy Communion. This Lamb deliver us from sin, death, and the devil.

John was the first to proclaim that, but not the last. The Church has been proclaiming it ever since: O Christ, Thou Lamb of God, that takest away the sin of the world. It is the Agnus Dei. The fifth ordinary, the fifth part of the liturgy that is ordinarily in every service. We proclaim that when it is time to eat, time for the Church to eat, time for our family of faith here to eat, because that’s what you did with the lamb. After it shed its blood for you, it gave its body to you as food. For the exodus. And for our exodus from sin, death, and hell, the Lamb of God is our meal for the journey - for the journey through this life to the life of the world to come. It is the food of forgiveness, and of freedom from the fear of death.

And it is in our liturgy not only for us to know and confess, but to pass on to our children, and their children. The liturgy is good at that. It is steadfast and reliable. It states what is so. It teaches us and focuses us. 

So God told Moses and the people of Israel to do this each year, this liturgy of the Passover, on that same night each year. To remember and to teach the generations to come, but also to participate. To become - even generations later - part of the people God brought out of Egypt. So God instructed Moses, when your children say to you, ‘What do you mean by this service?’ you shall say, ‘It is the sacrifice of the Lord's Passover, for he passed over the houses of the people of Israel in Egypt, when he struck the Egyptians but spared our houses.’ And when our children ask us, what do these words mean? Why do we sing them here? We tell them: This is the sacrifice of the Lord’s Passover - His Passover Lamb, who was struck down for us that we might live. By His Blood we are saved and by His Body we are fed. Behold, the Lamb of God! And this no mere remembrance of something that happened long, long ago, but something that we now join in, become participants in. We join in Jesus’ exodus.

And His exodus is a greater exodus, from a greater slavery, to a greater freedom, by a greater Lamb. And so not just once a year do we remember, celebrate, and receive, as Old Testament Israel, but now, Jesus said, as often as you do this. Often! There is no minimum, no maximum, no precise date. As often as you do this, as often as you need this, it is here for you. The Lamb of God is here for you. His forgiveness and life are here for you. Take eat, take drink. Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away your sin!

And taking away your sin is what it’s all about. What the Scriptures are all about, what the liturgy is all about, what Lent is all about, what Jesus is all about. For where there is forgiveness of sin, there is also life and salvation (Small Catechism). Where there is forgiveness of sin, there is also the exodus from death to life. The wages of sin is death (Romans 6:23), but those wages have been paid. In blood. The blood of the Lamb. Our Passover Lamb. The Agnus Dei.

O Christ, Thou Agnus Dei, that takest away the sin of the world, grant us Thy peace. Thy peace, in our troubled world, in our troubled lives, in our troubled times, in every trouble and time of need. Grant us Thy peace, that our souls rest in You.

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

Sermon for the Fifth Sunday in Lent

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Jesu Juva

“Learning to Think Upside Down”

Text: Luke 20:9-20; Philippians 3:4b-14

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

Mr. Irrelevant. That’s the name given to the last player chosen in the NFL Draft. The one nobody really wanted. The one all the teams and all their experts passed over, time and time again. The one no one really expects to make the team. He’s too slow, too small, too raw, too unskilled, too this, too that. He lacks what is needed to succeed. Sometimes players chosen late in the draft surprise, rise up, even become “goats.” But it’s rare. Lately, though, this player, Mr. Irrelevant, has achieved a special kind of status. He’s honored and given sort of a booby prize. The best player in college football is given The Heisman Trophy, with a sculpture depicting a player in a classic football pose, avoiding a tackle. Mr. Irrelevant is given The Lowsman Trophy, with a sculpture depicting a player fumbling the football. 

For the scribes and chief priests, Jesus is Mr. Irrelevant. He is the stone that the builders rejected. The stone unfit for their building. Passed over time and time again. He doesn’t have what they want or need. He isn’t one of them. He isn’t good enough. His teaching contradicts theirs. His actions go against them and undo what they’ve worked so hard to build. He spends too much time hanging out with tax collectors and sinners. He doesn’t fit in. They don’t want Him around but He won’t go away. He has achieved a certain status among the people. They like Him. But that makes Him worse than a Mr. Irrelevant - that makes Him Mr. Dangerous. So they’re planning a prize for Him - a booby prize. They’re going to make Him into a trophy, by hanging Him on a cross. Make Him Mr. Crucified.

The guy at the other end of the Draft, though, the first player chosen in the first round, he’s the man. He’s the can’t miss. He is better, bigger, stronger, faster, more skilled, more advanced, more successful than anyone else. He’s the one everyone wants. 

That’s Paul. He did everything right. He was the best of the best, the cream of the crop. As we heard, he was born into a good family with a good pedigree. He was well educated and excelled in his learning. He was a Pharisee’s Pharisee, a Hebrew of Hebrews. No one was more zealous than he was. No one more zealous for knowing the Law, honoring the Law, keeping the Law, and enforcing the Law. No one more zealous for persecuting those who were against the Law. He was blameless. Perfect. A sure thing. Heads and shoulders above the rest.

Hitch your wagon to Paul and you’re going places. 

Hitch your wagon to Jesus and, well, don’t say we didn’t warn you.

But the stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone. The first stone. The perfect stone. The most important stone. The stone everyone needs. The stone all others are measured against and are built upon. The one you can’t have a building without. Irreplaceable. 

And Paul? Mr. pick one, round one? Well, hear it in his own words, his words we heard today . . . 

But whatever gain I had, - 

all the learning, all the trophies, all the status, all the renown, all the confidence, all the achievements - 

I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. - 

I don’t want them anymore. - 

Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. - 

He’s the one worth something, worth knowing, not me. - 

For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things 

and count them as rubbish, -

all that I achieved, all that I had, is garbage! It’s nothing. So I gave it all up. Threw it all out in the trash. - 

in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, -

that’s where I want to be found, not at the top of any earthly list of great people - 

not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, -

I had that. A righteousness that I did, that I achieved. And it looked good and everyone thought I was something. Even me. But I wasn’t. What I needed was 

that [righteousness] which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith - 

the righteousness of Christ that is a gift from God, His forgiveness, that’s what I needed. - 

that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, - 

And that’s power! Not when you can do something is this world, but when you can overcome death! -

and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, - 

not be at the top of the heap but at the bottom, with Jesus! - 

that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead.

For the only way that’s ever going to happen is if I am in Jesus, and join Him in His resurrection.

That’s what Paul said. That’s what Paul came to know, and believe.

Jesus has turned the world upside down. Which shouldn’t be a surprise. He’s been saying it all along. The first shall be last and the last first (Matthew 20:16, et. al.). The proud will be humbled and the humble exalted (Luke 1:52). The strong are really weak and the weak are strong (2 Corinthians 12:9-10). Those who think they are something are nothing, and those the world thinks are nothing are something (1 Corinthians 1:28). So that the ways of God are the exact opposite of the ways of the world, that the stone the builders rejected has become the cornerstone, shouldn’t be a surprise. Though it is still hard to learn. And hard to live. To learn, live, and think upside down.

‘Cuz we like the things of this world. And that’s not wrong! It’s not. When God created the world and the Garden and gave it all to Adam and Eve, it was good and they delighted in it. And all the gifts that God gives us - be it stuff or people or talents and abilities -  that’s all good, too. He wants us to delight in His creation and gifts. They’re still good.

But there’s a line. A line that can’t be crossed, but we do cross. When our stuff, our lives, our abilities, our achievements, our friends and loved ones, our wants and desires, become more important than God. When they come before Him. When what He wants and what we want conflict, and so we toss Him out of our vineyard. Oh, maybe not altogether, for us. But out of this time or this portion of my life, the work part, the school part, this part, or that time, so I can get what I want, do what I want. But once you start down that road . . . like with the tenants in the parable Jesus told us today, it’s hard to stop. And maybe Jesus, who started as Mr. Irrelevant for this part of my life, then becomes Mr. Dangerous to this part of my life, and maybe that part of my life . . . And that parable doesn’t end well, does it?

That’s the point. That why Jesus tells it. Before it is too late. That we trip and fall now rather than be crushed later. That we repent now rather than be condemned later. That’s what happened to Paul. Being as high as he was - pick one, round one - he had a hard fall and a lot to lose. But he realized he had far more to gain. That the riches and fame of this world cannot compare to that which is to come, that which Jesus has in store for us (Romans 8:18). So Paul went from being admired by all and the top of the heap, to being threatened, sleepless, hungry, thirsty, cold, beaten, stoned, imprisoned, and near death. And yet he says, as we heard today, he has more now than he did before. For what he had before wasn’t going to last. But what he had now - by faith, for he hadn’t received it yet! - what he had now would last forever.

Which brings us to you. It’s easy to criticize the tenants in the parable for what they did, but take a look at your own life . . . when Jesus comes looking for fruit in your life . . . when what He says challenges what you are doing, and what you like to do and want to do . . . when what He says is ridiculed by the world and called hate speech . . . when following Him means suffering, rejection, persecution, or even death . . . What gets tossed? Who gets tossed? Do we do it, too, at times, maybe more often than we want to admit, reject the stone - the only stone - upon which the only kingdom that will last forever is built? Because I don’t want to lose my kingdom, my status, my pleasure, my vineyard? Or that there’s plenty of time . . . I can do it later . . . ? Those are tough questions. Crushing questions. That we repent. 

Because the stone the builders rejected has become the cornerstone. And if we look up that verse, where those words come from in Psalm 118, the next verse says this: This is the Lord's doing; it is marvelous in our eyes. You see, this is how God is different than the owner of the vineyard in the parable. He knew Jesus was going to be rejected. He knew He was going to be killed, crucified. He didn’t naively think: I will send my beloved son; they will respect him! No! He sent Him to His death, to become our cornerstone in His life. To rise from the dead and provide life for all the world. It was no accident or misfortune. It was the plan all along. That we not be rejected, but forgiven, and in repentance and faith be built on Him.

Repentance and faith. Repentance that I am a not a good stone, a perfect stone, but a cracked stone, a misshaped stone, one that’s not good for building. But by faith believes that the stones the builders of the kingdoms of this world reject are built on the cornerstone that was once rejected, too, but now exalted. And that this is the Lord’s doing; it is marvelous in our eyes. The Lord’s doing in water, words, and bread and wine. The Lord’s doing in Baptism, Gospel, and Supper. The Lord’s doing in building His Church not of the good and worthy, but exactly those who know they’re not. Folks like you and me, in need of redemption, in need of a new life, in need of forgiveness. Folks the world might think irrelevant, not worth much, if anything, but for whom Jesus was thrown out and laid down His life. To raise us up. To make us something. The last, first. The weak, strong. The unwanted, wanted. The sinful, forgiven.

Paul thought he was doing pretty good, better than most. The tenants in the vineyard thought they could do better, have it all for themselves. What about you? How does your life look? This Lenten season bids us look to the cross and consider . . . What can you do that’s greater than what Jesus did for you? What can you be, what life can you get, that’s greater than the life Jesus has for you, a life that’s eternal? What praise can you get in this world that’s greater than that? That revelation changed Paul’s life. And yours. So even if (or maybe when) the world throws you out of its vineyard, has no use for you, is even hostile towards you for who you are and for your faith, you’re in good company. There’s another one outside the vineyard, too. Who wants you. Who is waiting for you. Who valued you so much He died for you and has life for you. Come with Me, He says. Take and eat, take and drink, He says. I forgive you, He says. I want you. As My child. In My kingdom. You are not irrelevant to Me.

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

Sermon for Lent 4 Midweek Vespers

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Jesu Juva

“Our Ordinary Lenten Exodus: The Sanctus”

Text: Exodus 19:16-20; 20:18-21; Isaiah 6:1-8; Matthew 21:1-11

In the Name of Jesus. Amen.

There are two things God is concerned with: your sin and your salvation. Your sin, which hurts both yourself and others, which separates you from God, and which robs you of the life God has for you, both your life now and your life forever . . . and your salvation, which is God dealing with the issue of sin, healing the damage inflicted by sin, which includes dealing with death, bringing you back together with Himself, and restoring you to life - a full and meaningful life now, and a life that will last forever. 

There are two things satan is concerned with: your sin and your salvation. Your sin, which he wants to keep you in and keep in you, so that it continue to hurt you and others, continue to separate you from God, and continue to rob you of life - though he would have you believe that your sin actually gives you life and makes your life better! . . . and your salvation, which he wants to keep far from you, keep God far from you, and convince you that - even if you care about these things - you can do it yourself. You can undo the damage. You can fix it.

But satan’s problem is that while he can keep you away from God with his lies, half-truths, deceptions, and temptations, he can’t keep God away from you. God keeps coming into this world and ruining everything he worked so hard to do! But he doesn’t give up. And neither does God.

So God comes. To us. In this world of sin and death. And in many and various ways, depending on the situation, depending on what is needed. So He came to Adam and Eve, terrified by their sin and hiding from God, walking in the Garden in the cool of the day. We heard last week how He came to Moses in a wonder-full way, in the bush that burned with fire but was not consumed. He came to the prophet Elijah in a still, small voice. And today we heard Him come in two different ways: (1.) on Mount Sinai, in such a fearsome display of power and might that not only the people, but the mountain itself trembled greatly . . . and then (2.) He comes into Jerusalem in the exact opposite way: humbly, and to the cheers and welcome of the people. Leading some to wonder: which reflects how God really is? How should we think of God? Will the true God please stand up?

This is not two different Gods, of course, but one God with one goal: to deal with your sin and give you salvation. So when He comes down on Mount Sinai, He does both - He gives the Law and He gives the instructions for the building of the Tabernacle, the priesthood, and all the sacrifices to be offered there for the forgiveness of their sins, to give them His holiness. Or to put that in good Lutheran terminology, there is both Law and Gospel. God dealing with sin and giving salvation.

And so, Moses tells the people, “Do not fear, for God has come to test you, that the fear of him may be before you, that you may not sin.” . . . Do not fear. God is coming to save. But that sounded a bit odd, didn’t it? What Moses said there . . . Do not fear . . . that the fear of him may be before you . . . Which is it? To be or not to be may have been Hamlet’s question, but to fear or not to fear is ours. How do we think of God? How do we approach a holy God?

The people of Jerusalem we heard about tonight were not cowering in fear, or if they were, it was not because of Jesus but because of the Romans. Unlike the people at Mount Sinai, when God comes to them, when their King comes to them, the King of the universe, they take up palm branches and rejoice! They call out for salvation - Hosanna! which means, save us. They welcome Him with the words of Psalm 118 - a psalm of thanksgiving, a psalm of celebration. Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! The Lord who has come to save us, fulfilling this psalm. The Lord who is good. The Lord whose steadfast love endures forever.

But not many days later, they, too, were trembling. The one who came to save them, so they thought, was hanging on a cross. He was rejected, abused, mocked, humiliated, cursed, thrown out with the garbage, hung between two criminals, was considered worse to have around than Barabbas. And then He was dead. Now what? They went home . . . trembling, questioning . . . Who would save us now? 

Well, it is the prophet Isaiah who brings it all together for us tonight. A bridge, or sorts, from Mount Sinai to Jerusalem. Isaiah is sometimes called the fifth evangelist because his prophecy is so filled with Jesus, prophecies of who He was and what He would do. And in his vision, in the verses that we heard, there is trembling and fear, and there is also salvation and thanksgiving. First, as a filthy sinner in the presence of a holy God, he is filled with trembling and woe, like the people at Mount Sinai. And rightly so. But when a coal from the altar touches his lips, his guilt is taken away, his sin atoned for, and he is a new man. A man made new, a sinner made righteous, a dead man given life. And as such he is filled with thanksgiving, he is able to stand before God and is ready to live this new life he has received. The life God always intended for him to have. Isaiah knew his sin and he knew his salvation. He both feared and loved God. Feared him as sinner. Loved him as sinner made saint.

Which is our reality. When the Small Catechism teaches the Commandments, it includes in the explanation of each one: we should fear and love God so that . . . We fear Him as sinner, and so not do anything against these commandments, and we love Him as sinner made saint, and so gladly do what He commands. We should fear and love God . . . Mount Sinai and Jerusalem both. Isaiah before and after both. Which is also the reality of the cross. For the cross shows us the seriousness of our sin and the end result of our sin, that we tremble like the people at Mount Sinai and like Isaiah in the throne room of God. But the cross also shows us the forgiveness of our sin, so that we rejoice and give thanks like the people of Jerusalem and like Isaiah after the coal touched his lips. Because on that fearsome cross is not us - but Jesus. Jesus in our place. Jesus as our substitute. Jesus hosanna-ing us. Jesus as the fulfillment of Psalm 118 and all the psalms and all the prophecies of Isaiah and all the Old Testament. Jesus atoning for the sin of the world. And if for the sin of the world, then for your sin and my sin. 

And this truth has now been put into the liturgy for us in the Sanctus, the fourth ordinary, the fourth part of the liturgy that is ordinarily in every service, for us to sing in every service. For the Sanctus has these two parts: (1.) First is the song of the angels in the presence of God that Isaiah heard in the throne room of heaven that brought him to his knees and then flat on his face in trembling and fear, but then also (2.) second, the Sanctus is the song of the people of Jerusalem in welcoming their coming Saviour. We should fear and love God . . . Here, like Isaiah, we are in the presence of the holy God, and so rightly fear His wrath against sin and repent, but we also love the one who comes now and touches our lips with the sacrifice from the altar of the cross, the Body and Blood of Jesus. And with that our guilt is that is taken away; our sin that is atoned for. And as God then sent Isaiah, sinner made saint, out to be His prophet, so He now sends us from this place, us sinners made saints, to live in the callings, the vocations, He has given us. A greater exodus, from a greater slavery, to a greater freedom.

We should fear and love God. Law and Gospel. Sin and salvation. But of the two, the greatest of these is love. The Lord’s salvation is greater than our sin. The proclamation of the Gospel predominates over the Law. And love of God is more than the fear of Him. For while the cross shows us both, it is His love that shines most brightly. That your grand and glorious, all-powerful and all-knowing God would do this for you. To make you His son, His daughter. And so you are.

For there are two things God is concerned with: your sin and your salvation. So on the cross He takes your sin and provides for your salvation. Salvation that is given to us frightened, trembling sinners here, that we rejoice in Him. Take eat, take drink, He says. Your guilt is taken away, your sin atoned for, He says. And so Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord! we say. Hosanna! Save us! It is the very thing He came to do.

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

Sermon for the Fourth Sunday in Lent

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Jesu Juva

“The Faithful Father’s Forgiveness”

Text: Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32; 2 Corinthians 5:16-21; Isaiah 12:1-6

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

Familiarity breeds contempt, they say.

That was certainly true for the younger son in the parable Jesus told today. The prodigal son, as he has come to be known. We don’t know how old he was, but old enough to have grown tired of his father, and more than tired - he no longer wanted to be around the old coot. There was a whole big, wide world out there just waiting for him to explore. It was exciting just to think about. To be free from the restraints of living in his father’s house. Free to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, with whoever he wanted. The more he thought about the possibilities, the more he grew in contempt for his father and the stale, familiar old life he was stuck in.

And it was exciting at first. But soon, it too became familiar and stale, the reckless living. So he had to ratchet it up even more. More exciting, and more reckless. In a world happy to accommodate him. In a world happy to take from him. Until he had no more to give them. Until his money ran out. And then they had no use for him. Those happy to take from him wouldn’t give him anything, not even the pods the pigs ate. 

Familiarity breeds contempt, they say. 

And after the younger son spent so much time by himself, feeding pigs, he grew to hate himself. Now he had contempt for the life he had been living. The reckless life. The big, wide world and all its fun and exciting possibilities wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. And suddenly, the life he left didn’t seem so contemptible anymore. It seemed good, comfortable, safe. But he couldn’t go back. He had burned that bridge, hadn’t he? Divorced his father. He was no son; no longer worthy to be a son. He looked at himself - I mean really looked at himself, and was disgusted. He now regretted what he had said and how he had left, but the damage was done. Oh, how he hated himself! How could he live with himself?

Familiarity breeds contempt, they say. 

And so it was for the other brother, too. The older one. He had grown in anger, hatred, and contempt for his father, too. He didn’t say those words out loud, to his father’s face, like his brother had, but they stewed inside of him. His father didn’t appreciate him, didn’t “get” him. His father didn’t give him what he wanted. He wanted to celebrate with his old friends like his younger brother went out and celebrated with his new friends. But he was stuck in his father’s house. Stuck in the same old routine.

And his contempt grew as he heard reports about his brother, as he grew more familiar with all that his brother was doing. He was jealous. Not that he approved of what his brother was doing, but of his freedom, of his ability to do it. He couldn’t. And that made him even more angry and more filled with hatred and contempt for his miserable, unfair life, for his father, and for the old coot’s other son. He wouldn’t call him his brother. He wasn’t. Not anymore.

Familiarity breeds contempt, they say. 

Except for one. The two brothers were different, but really not that different. But the father . . . he seems to have contempt for no one. When his younger son, angry and filled with contempt, demands his inheritance, he doesn’t get angry or lash back - he gives it to him and lets him go. And everyday hopes for his return, waits for his return. Looks for him to come back down the road on which he had turned his back to his father and vowed never to return. Surely he had heard the same reports his older son did, about how his younger son was living and what he was doing. But when this son finally comes back, broken down, defeated, a shell of his former self, with his tail between his legs, looking disgusting and smelling even worse, the father has nothing but love for his son. It was as if what had happened between them had never happened at all. He restores his son to full sonship again. He would not be a servant, even a well-cared for one, one treated like family. No - he is family. 

And this was just as true for his older son. After his older son lets him have it with both barrels for the welcome he gave his returning son, the father doesn’t get angry or lash back. Surely he had felt, realized, the contempt and restlessness of his older son all these years, too. But all he speaks are kind and generous words. He begs him to come in and celebrate. His love for him, his older son, was no less. But the older son didn’t see it that way. It was a zero sum game for him. Whatever that younger son of a . . . son of his father got, meant less for him. Less inheritance, less love. So the only more was his contempt.

The father is the only one consistent throughout, the only one we can count on in this story. His love for his sons never wavers. His care and generosity never wavers. He knows his sons. He knows their faults and shortcomings. He receives harsh words and insults from both. Yet his love for them is steadfast. 

Familiarity breeds contempt, they say. 

Perhaps it is even so in the church. A God who never changes with the times is oppressive, old fashioned, out of touch; even now, for some, a hater, a bigot, unreasonable, or worse. A God who forgives scoundrels, prodigals, people who think they can do whatever they want and waltz in here expect forgiveness! Who wants a God, a Father, like that? 

Maybe we don’t . . . until we realize that’s the God, the Father, we need. 

Us younger sons who leave this place with the gifts of our Father, His forgiveness and life, and then how do we live during the week? Do we go back to rolling around in the mud of our sins? Doing whatever we want, whenever we want, with whoever we want - our will, not God’s will? Does time in God’s Word and prayer, helping others, and discipline seem oppressive and unreasonable, while you look at the freedom and pleasures of the world, and think: that looks a lot more fun? Until it isn’t. The freedom not all it’s cracked up to be. The world moves on from us. The shine goes off the apple. And you look at yourself, I mean really look at yourself . . . where you’ve been, what you’ve done, who you’ve become . . . oof! 

And there are us older sons, too. Who didn’t do that, weren’t like that, but . . . wanted to? Wanted the freedom, wanted the fun. Didn’t want to be the old, faithful son. And so while outwardly looking good and doing all the right things, our hearts get filled with contempt, anger, jealousy, pride, resentment, and a hardness that won’t forgive and doesn’t want to forgive and doesn’t think God should either! Not him! Not her! Not that! . . . Until you look at yourself, I mean really look at yourself . . . and realize: not . . . me, too? What I’ve become? Oof!

And our Father says, Come in! You are welcome here. Most welcome. For you are not like family, you are family. My children. Am I happy with what you’ve done, what you’ve become? Of course not. My heart has ached for you, to see you like that. Knowing how you were hurting yourself. Knowing all the ugliness you were harboring in your heart. Knowing the pain and heartache that were coming. Knowing how the world would chew you up and spit you out, how others in their own freedom and selfishness were going to hurt you. 

So I am happy that you’re here. That you’ve come back, come back home. You are most welcome here. I forgive you and restore you. I have not killed a fattened calf for you - I did one better than that: I offered up my only-begotten Son for you. I made Him who knew no sin - no rebellion, no resentment, no hatred, no pride, no jealousy, no reckless living - to become all that; for you, in your place; to suffer all you deserve for all that; to Himself die for all that! For you. So that in Him, you might become the righteousness of God. So that in Him, trusting in Him - Jesus - and all that He did for you - His righteousness, His right-ness, His Sonship - become yours. As your Father, that’s what I want. And as your brother, that’s what Jesus wants. 

So come to the feast! My baptism has made you My child, my absolution has washed you clean, and now there is the food you need to live, your Saviour’s Body and Blood. You are a new creation, brand new, really new, to live a new life. 

So . . . familiarity breeds contempt? Maybe it is not always so. In sinful hearts, in a sinful world, yes. But in a world filled with contempt, and accusations, and lies and deceit, and recklessness, and lack of forgiveness . . . a world which takes and demands and oppresses and offers a freedom which really enslaves you to itself . . . a world which changes and so accepts you one moment and rejects you the next . . . a world filled with grumbling and complaining . . . a God, a Father, who is the same yesterday, today, and forever (Hebrews 13:8), whose truth doesn’t change, whose love doesn’t change, whose forgiveness doesn’t change, that sounds pretty good. That’s the God, the Father, we need, and we have. All of us younger sons. All of us older sons. All of us tax collector and sinners, Pharisees and scribes. 

And knowing that, knowing Him, breeds not contempt, but love, forgiveness, and praise. For us younger sons and us older sons become one in THE Son, in Jesus, and become like Him. And when we don’t, when we slip and fall back into the mud puddles of sin and into bitterness and resentment in our hearts, you have a Father who is here for you, waiting for you. Who won’t leave you. Who won’t reject you. Who is ready and eager to forgive you, welcome you back, and feast you. Which is pretty awesome. 

So come to His feast! All that is His is yours. Celebrate with your equally sinful and equally forgiven brothers and sisters. Celebrate your Father’s love.

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

Sermon for Lent 3 Midweek

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Jesu Juva

“Our Ordinary Lenten Exodus: The Creed”

Text: Exodus 3:1-6, 13-15; Matthew 16:13-18, 21-23

In the Name of Jesus. Amen.

Moses did not know God’s name. But God knew his. Moses, Moses, He called out of the bush that burned with fire but was not consumed. That can be a bit disconcerting. When someone knows you, when they know your name, but you do not know them or their name. 

What did Moses know of God? This God who came to him here on Mount Horeb? Moses had been raised in Egypt, in Pharaoh’s household. The gods of Egypt that he would have known were small gods, elemental gods. Gods of the water, the sun, of animals, and things like that. Gods with very limited realms. At some point, he learned that he was not an Egyptian, but of Hebrew blood. Did he then learn about the God of the Hebrews? And if so, what did he think of this God? This God who lets His people be slaves . . . or, at least, seems unable to rescue them? 

Moses then flees from Egypt and Pharaoh after he killed an Egyptian who was abusing and beating a Hebrew slave. He flees and winds up in the land of Midian, in the household of Jethro, the priest of Midian. We don’t know how long he lived there, but long enough to marry one of Jethro’s daughters and have a son by her. Perhaps here, at this time, he learned more of the God of the Hebrews from his father-in-law. Of a God who was not just the god of a territory or of elements, but a different kind of God than that - the God of people. The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. A God who chose people and saved people. A God not bound but unbounded. A God not limited but unlimited. 

And then this day, while Moses was out tending the sheep - for God does tend to have a thing for shepherds, doesn’t He? - he sees this sight, this bush that burned with fire but was not consumed. He goes to see it, and gets more than he bargained for. He hears the voice of God. The God of the Hebrews. The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. And now, the God of Moses. He turns his face away in fear. What he went to see he could no longer look at. 

But the God who saw him and came to him in a bush that burned with fire but was not consumed, did not consume Moses, but spoke to him. He had chosen him, Moses, to rescue His people from Egypt. But what is Your name? Moses asked. Who are You? How do I confess You when I am asked about You? I AM WHO I AM was the answer. The God who is. The God who doesn’t change. The God who is always present. That’s how You confess Me, Moses. And after this God named I AM acted for them and rescued them, their confession of Him expanded - to who He is and what He has done: He is the LORD who brought us out of Egypt.

Many years later the LORD appeared again, and again to rescue His people. A greater rescue, from a greater slavery, to a greater freedom. But to do the greater, He came even smaller. He came, this time, not on a mountain, but in a small town. Not in a burning bush but in human flesh. But it was the same LORD. An infinite, all-powerful God in a tiny, weak, baby’s body, yet that body was not consumed. The shepherds had gone to see that sight.

Then one day, in the district of Caesarea Philippi, the question came up again, this time asked not by man, but by this God in human flesh: Who do people say the Son of Man is? Who do you say that I am? What is their confession? What is your confession? Peter gets it right: You are the Christ, that is, the promised one, the Son of the living God. That is important to know. For upon this confession Jesus will build His Church. A Church that not even the gates of hell will be able to overcome. 

But as with Moses and the people of Israel, this confession is not enough. For who God is and what He does always go together. They don’t always for us. Who we are and what we do are sometimes contradictory. What we say and what we do is sometimes inconsistent. But not with God. To know God is to know what He does, and to know what He does is to know Him. He is the God who saves, and the one who saves is God. He is the LORD who brought us out of sin, death, and hell.

And so this Jesus teaches His disciples - those He would send out into the world after He accomplished this salvation, to confess, to tell all people who He is and what He has done. He tells them: He must be killed. He must die and rise. He is the Lamb of God and so will be the Lamb of God. He will be the sacrifice to atone for the sin of the world. Who will give His life for the life of the world. 

And to this, Peter says no. . . . But it must be. There is no other way. No other way for us to be saved. But also no other way for Jesus to be who He is. This is who He is, so this is what He must do. For the two always go together. To know Jesus is to know Him as the crucified and risen LORD. You cannot really know Jesus apart from His cross and resurrection. For without His cross and resurrection, He is a Jewish person, a good man, a holy man, a miracle worker, an inspiration, an example, a rabbi, a prophet, or a whole host of other things, but He is not your Saviour.

So this the Church confesses. Not just who God is, but also what He has done for us. It is why the Creed is the third ordinary of the liturgy - the third part of the liturgy that is ordinarily in every service. This is the God who is comes for us and is here for us. The God who speaks to us, who washes us, who feeds us, who forgives us. The God who has created us, redeemed us, and sanctified us. The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. The God of Moses. The God who came to us in the flesh and blood of Jesus. This is our God, we confess. Not because we have chosen Him, but because He has come to us. The LORD is His name. The I AM WHO I AM. And who He is is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. One God in three persons, and three persons in one God. A trinity. The Father who sent His Son to save us. The Son who came and spoke from a bush that burned but was not consumed, who came and ascended a cross and died our death, and who comes now to feed us with Himself, His own Body and Blood. Our Passover Lamb, so that we will pass over with Jesus from death to a life beyond the reach of death.

So when we confess this God, credo, I believe this, in this God and what He has done, we are following in the footsteps of Moses and the disciples, of Old Testament Israel and the New Testament Church. This is the truth. This is who God is. And there is no other. What we believe in our hearts we speak with our mouths. And what we speak with our mouths is for all the world to know, and believe. Credo. I believe. For there is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved (Acts 4:12).

So we speak, we confess. And not just for others, but for ourselves. When we are faced with hardship and trouble. When we doubt and fear. When we worry and wonder what the future holds. At just such times, we look back and remember. We look back and confess. This is who God is and what He has done. And He is the same yesterday, today, and forever (Hebrews 13:8). He is present and does not change. So what He has done He will do. For me. He is faithful. He who went to the cross, He who did not consume the bush does not consume me either. He has come to save and will save and does save. Me. Credo. I believe. 

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