Sermon - Last Sunday of Church Year - Luke 23:27-43

The last Sunday in the church year takes us, today, to Good Friday, and to the crucifixion.  It seems fitting, somehow, to end the Christian calendar with the death of Christ, who is the alpha and the omega, the beginning and the end.  As we hear Luke’s perspective on it, we see various voices add insult to injury, though Jesus answers only with words of forgiveness.  And then the scene climaxes with a beautiful word – a promise of paradise. 

Consider all the injuries and suffering Christ endured.  He was arrested as a common criminal, by men armed with swords and clubs.  He was bound and imprisoned.  Beatings along the way at the hands of the soldiers, both before the Sanhedrin and before Pilate.  Scourging, a brutal whipping with lash after lash.   

The utter humiliation of being tried in the kangaroo courts of sinful men, the righteous judge of the universe himself.  The king of kings, submitting to the rulers of this world. 

His friends had largely deserted him.  His chief disciple had denied him.  One of them even betrayed him for a bag of coins.  And the fact that his mother and the other women were there, watching helplessly, must have only intensified the bitterness. 

But now we read also of the mockery.  It’s not enough to put him to death.  It’s not enough to be rid of this troublemaker, in their minds.  But their wickedness shows its true ugly nature in the dancing on his grave, reveling in his downfall.   

The crowds follow him from Pilate to the cross, and though some women mourn him, it seems many are just lined up for the show.  The people stand by, watching, how many of these joined their voices to the chorus of, “crucify!  crucify!”  Meanwhile their rulers scoffed, “he saved others, let him save himself!”.  The soldiers mock him and dare him to save himself.  The sign above his cross mocks him in a snide and satirical announcement, “this is the king of the Jews”.  And even those crucified with him, at least the one, joins the choir of insults hurled at Jesus.   

This mockery of Christ.  It is blasphemous.  It is wicked and rebellious.  And it is very, very personal.  Not only did it increase the bitterness of his suffering, but it is a window into the sinful heart of man. 

Good Friday reveals this truth that is so often obscured in our everyday lives: the ugliness of our sin.  Both our corrupt nature, and the sins that flow from it – they are, well, ugly as sin. 

When you sin, it's not just an innocent mistake.  Sin isn’t a harmless misstep or some laughable foolishness.  There he goes again, sinning, aw shucks! 

No. Sin destroys and harms and kills and laughs in glee all the while.  There is a darkness in the human heart, and it rears its ugliness in the thoughts and words and actions that rebel against God with a venom we are loathe to admit.  But each and every sin is another shaking of our fist at God and spitting at him in vile hatred.   

Don’t look at the mockers of Good Friday and feel righteous in comparison to them, but rather find yourself amidst that crowd, among those rulers, and even hanging on one of those crosses.  Your old Adam or mine wouldn’t fare any better.  Your sin and mine is just as offensive and ugly, and mocks God the same. 

But there, in the midst of all of this, is Jesus, whose words couldn’t be more different.  They drive the nails into him, and he prays to the Father for forgiveness, not just for those soldiers, not just for all the mockers, but for you and me.   

The forgiveness of the Father is the very point of his work, his life, and his death this day.  The forgiveness for all of our sin, all of our rebellion and mockery, even the very nails that pierced his hands and feet.  Every sin is a personal offence against God, and Jesus’ forgiveness is even more stark and personal and beautiful than sin is ugly. 

That forgiveness he dies to procure is still spoken in his word of absolution, in the promises of Baptism, and in the gifts of his Holy Communion.  Though sinners keep sinning, his grace continues to flow from pulpit and font and altar.  And this forgiveness is for you.  These gifts are for you. 

And in the cacophony of curses that rose against him that day, there was yet one weak voice of a poor condemned man that faced a well-deserved death of his own.  “Jesus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom.”  This repentant thief (who Matthew and Mark indicate also began by reviling Jesus), now has a change of heart.  He turns to Jesus for remembrance, for mercy, praying with his last breaths and acknowledging Jesus as king after all. 

This is the voice of faith.  This is your voice, too, dear Christian.  The thief on the cross is a picture of all of us.  A checkered past.  Offenses against God and man on our record.  Facing death, the due reward of our deeds.  But seeing the grace of Jesus, hearing his words of forgiveness, our hearts are changed.  We are called to repentance, turning from the reviling and rebelling and instead praying for mercy from the king of kings.   

This thief humbly prays to be remembered when Christ comes into his kingdom.  And in this prayer, a beautiful confession of faith.  That death won’t be the end of Jesus.  That Jesus, is indeed a king.  And that just to be remembered by him is enough. 

As humble a prayer as it is, the answer is grand and glorious.  “Today you will be with me in paradise”.  A promise that also applies to every repentant sinner who prays to Christ the king.   

When we depart this world of sin and death, when our soul is finally free from the vale of tears, when we must face the final judgment before the righteous judge and king – we have nothing to fear.  Death is but the gate to life.  We who are in Christ, have a promise of paradise. 

Paradise, like that first home of our first parents, a garden of delights.  Paradise, a place untouched by sin and sorrow and death.  Paradise the blest.  An eternal home full of peace and joy and rest, and nothing bad or fearful or impure. 

And even that’s not the end of our story, for as Christ will rise from the dead, so he also promises us a resurrection.  That thief who now rests in paradise, along with all Christians who have died in the faith, will rise at his coming.  He is the firstborn of the dead, but there will be many others, even all who have lived and believed in him. 

As this church year concludes, we again consider the peace that is ours by the blood of his cross.  He has reconciled sinners to himself, fulfilled our forgiveness with the Father, and promised us a place in paradise.  Therefore let us continually repent, and turn to him, Jesus, our crucified and risen king.   

 

 

Sermon - Pentecost 23 - Luke 21:5-28

As we approach the end of the church year, the readings draw our attention to the last things, the end times, the second coming of Christ and the judgment day. 

Jesus’ teachings recorded in our reading from Luke 21 today might raise all sorts of questions in our minds, even as they seemed to do for the disciples.  He paints some awesome and frightful pictures for us, which weave together the events of the temple being destroyed in 70 AD, the persecution of the church, natural and manmade disasters that are found all throughout history, and then the final destruction and judgment of this fallen, corrupt world at his second coming. 

But none of this is meant to simply scare us, his people.  It’s not like he’s threatening us with all this doom and gloom.  Rather, he tells his disciples what is going to happen so that they will be prepared: so they will not be afraid, that they will not be led astray, so that they might repent, and that they can maintain their hope in his promise of final deliverance. 

So, too, for us.  As we consider these end times teachings, let us find hope and joy as we trust in the promises of Jesus, even when it seems like the whole world is falling apart. 

And speaking of your world falling apart, don’t forget that Jesus was teaching them all of this during Holy Week.  He knew what waited in store for him in just a few days.  The temple of his body would be destroyed by a torturous death on a Roman cross, though he would rebuild it in just three days.  It is this tearing down and building up again, this death and resurrection, that is the way of Christ and of his people also. 

The temple!  What ornate stones, what beautiful architecture!  And such an imposing edifice, it must have truly impressed the disciples every time they saw it.  Such a monument was built to last.  It would almost certainly outlast any of them.  But Jesus directs them away from putting their trust in a building, even a grand one.  Every stone here was coming down.  And, of course, at least some of the disciples would live to see it less than 40 years later, as Roman general Titus and his forces laid siege to Jerusalem, and toppled its temple.  Jesus weeps over the knowledge that all this would come to pass, he mourns for the women and small children and what they’ll have to endure.   

But even this was just a glimpse, a foreshadowing of the destruction that will come, and especially at the last day, when this corrupt creation is destroyed, burned up in fire, and the skies rolled up like a scroll.  Heaven and earth will pass away, to make way for the new heaven and earth.  70 AD, as bad as it was, just showed a sample of the destruction that is in store for this world when Christ comes again in glory.   

And it’s been happening ever since.  Man-made conflicts and disasters, as nations rise against nation in times of war.  World wars.  Ukraine.  Israel.  Rwanda.  These things must happen, it’s just the way it is in this fallen world.  But it’s not the end yet. 

And then we also see natural disasters come and go, earthquakes, famines, and pestilences, Jesus mentions.  We could add hurricanes, floods, pandemics and all other manner of calamity.  It’s just the way things are in this world of chaos, subjected to futility.  But the end is not yet.  

Persecution will befall many of God’s people, as certainly the apostles faced such opposition, and many do today.  “You will be hated by all for my name’s sake,” he says, and that hatred of the unbelievers persists, in small and large part, here and abroad.  But the end is not yet. 

With all this bad news surrounding us, with all the chaos and trouble of life, what hope do we have?  Death seems to surround us at every turn, suffering in good measure, persecution rearing its ugly head.  But Jesus also says things like: 

“not a hair of your head will be perish” and “by your endurance you will gain your lives” and “straighten up and raise your heads, because your redemption is  drawing near.” 

No, in the face of all this trouble, we are warned not to fall for false messiahs and false promises of his return.  Don’t go after any of them.  Go after the promises he gives.  Trust in the true Messiah, the Sun of Righteousness who rises with healing in his wings.  Look to his cross, and live, even though you die.  Live and believe in him and never die. 

There’s a scene I love from a movie, one of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, and it’s become a meme or pop culture metaphor.  In this scene, there’s a great battle going on between a British galleon “Endeavor” and a couple of pirate ships.  The cannons are firing, explosions are unleashed, and the wood of the Endeavor flies through the air in millions of splinters.  And through this chaotic storm of destruction, Beckett, the captain of the ship walks, descends the stairs, as the scene unfolds in slow motion, and he seems far off, distant, unaffected by the chaos around him.  Until, of course, the final explosion engulfs him along with his ship. 

That’s sort of how we live as Christians in this world of chaos.  Sin and death flying constantly around us, a churning and chaotic maelstrom of evil and suffering and senselessness.  Wars and disasters and persecution, false teaching and confusion everywhere.  This world is an absolute mess. If we pondered it, if we focused on it, we could quickly fall to despair.  We might even yearn for the final explosion that quiets the chaos and ends our misery. 

But unlike the captain who goes down with the ship, we can have calm in the storm because our focus isn’t on all of that, but on Christ, the one who died for us.  Our hope is not in this fallen and failing world, but in his promises of life and salvation, and a far brighter day to come.  Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith.   

Christ will return, thanks be to God.  He will come in the clouds with glory, with the voice of the archangel and the trumpet call of God.  All eyes will see him.  The dead will be raised for judgment, and his people will be glorified and made incorruptible.  We will enter into our rest.  Until then we wait in faith and hope for all his promises to come true, knowing that he is faithful, and he will do it. 

Jerusalem was destroyed.  That was just the beginning.  Nations rise against nations.  This creation itself groans.  And the world hates us like it hates Christ.  These things must happen.  

But fear not.  Do not despair.  Even if they take our life, goods fame child and wife.  The kingdom ours remaineth.  Our hope is not in this world, but in the life of the world to come.  Our tears will be turned to joy, and our shame to glory, on that great and glorious day of his coming.  Christ is ours, and we are his.