Sermon - Christian Education Sunday - Luke 18:15-17

Christian Education Sunday
Luke 18:15-17
“Let the Children Come to Me”

Our Lord Jesus Christ has a special place in his heart for children, and so should we.  Not just because they are cute and cuddly – and frankly, they are not always cute and cuddly.  Not just because they are miniature versions of ourselves (again, that’s not really a selling point).  But, rather, children are the most dependent among us, the most weak, with the most to learn about life.  They are used by Jesus as an example and a paragon of faith.  He tells us to have “faith like a child” and the “kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these”. 

And in our reading today, people were bringing little children to Jesus for a blessing.  This is far more than a politician kissing babies to earn favor with the soccer moms.  This is a very profound and beautiful expression of faith.  There is nothing better we can do for our children than to bring them to Jesus for blessing. 

We do that, first, formally, at the font.  What a wonderful treasure is bestowed in Holy Baptism!  And especially for a child, a baby, as helpless and dependent as one can be – there is no clearer picture of the pure grace that God works in our salvation – than to receive such a gift as an infant.  He or she does nothing, not a blessed thing, to receive this washing of renewal and regeneration.  The child doesn’t ask for it.  They don’t bring themselves here.  They don’t dress themselves in that fancy gown.  They don’t even speak, not even to say an “amen”, and yet they receive the blessing.  Baptism now saves you!  And it does so quite apart from YOU having anything to do with it. 

And far from being an ending, baptism is just the beginning of our life in the faith.  When Jesus says, “let the children come to me….” That doesn’t apply only to the gift of baptism, but to the entire life of the Christian.  It means we bring our children to Jesus continually, as we raise them in the fear and nurture of the Lord.  We teach them to pray.  We teach them to sing to the praise of God’s name.  We bring them to church. We train them in all manner of righteousness.  But not just morality – to love God and love their neighbor.  We also teach them the Gospel!  We point them to Jesus. 

In today’s Gospel Reading from Luke, the Disciples were, well let’s just say it’s not one of their more shining moments.  They were trying to keep all these eager parents from bringing children to Jesus.  How dare they!  We are told Jesus is “indignant” at this.  It’s one of the stronger negative reactions we see Jesus having about anything.  He says “let the children come to me and DO NOT hinder them!”  How dare you!  How could you?

I’m sure the disciples had their excuses.  Jesus was a busy man, after all.  He had places to see and people to heal, demons to cast out, sermons to give.  The crowds thronged about him everywhere he went.  I’m sure it got a little overwhelming.  Maybe the disciples actually meant well – trying to give Jesus a little bit of relief by running block, keeping these people out of his hair.  Or maybe they considered, since Jesus was such an important preacher, that he had no time for children, who probably didn’t understand his message anyway. and couldn’t contribute anything to the movement.  Whatever their reasons were, we can stand with the perspective of history and, and also seeing Jesus’ own reaction, and clearly see they were being ridiculous.  Who would ever keep children from Jesus?  Who would ever hinder them?

Friends, permit me a gentle word of exhortation here, for those of you who are not making the most of your opportunities.  For those of you who are not bringing your own children to Jesus.  Or for those of you who bring them a little, but hinder them from coming even more.  If you haven’t availed your children, and yourself for that matter, of the opportunities for Christian Education that are offered at Messiah – consider if you aren’t also hindering the little children? 

Do you offer a list of excuses for your choices?  And would your excuses hold up any better than those of the disciples?

“My kids can’t sit still that long.  We have so much other stuff going on.  They already know about Jesus.  It’s not fun for them.  They complain about it too much.  They don’t have any friends there.”  Or “we’re just too busy”.

Let the little children come to Jesus, and do not hinder them – by your action or your inaction.  Do not hinder them with your excuses, your failures, or even your good intentions.  Let the little children come to Jesus.  Even if you don’t literally bind the word of God as a sign on your hand and as frontlets before your eyes, do what you can, and reconsider if you can do more to that end.

Maybe it means bringing your kids to Sunday School if they don’t already attend regularly.  Perhaps you can even teach Sunday School.  Maybe it means establishing a formal time of family devotions, meal prayers, or other healthy spiritual practices in the home.  Talk about the sermon with your kids after church.  Perhaps you’ll consider our Christian day school for your children.  And if you don’t have children or if yours are already grown, how can you support this endeavor for others?  By your prayers, your gifts, your time, you actions?  Engage in some way or another in the care and nurture of children, and in the endeavor of Christian education.  And let the little children come to Jesus.

And while it is always nice to learn, to expand your knowledge and understanding, teaching our children is really more a matter of heart than of head.  It’s more teaching them the love of Christ than the head-knowledge of Christ.  It’s receiving his gifts, just as those children received the blessing of Jesus when he laid his hands upon them.  They probably didn’t understand it, but they received it nonetheless. 

And remember, what’s good for the children is also good for the adults.  What’s good for our littlest ones is also good for all of God’s children of any age.  And just as children need to be instructed in the word, taught the word, and catechized in it, so do we adults, even those of us with formal theology degrees.  So let the big kids come to Jesus, too, and learn at his feet like little children.
He’s the only one who can truly bless us, after all.  As we read, mark, learn and inwardly digest his word, the blessings continue to flow.  As we sit, like Mary, and listen to his teaching, we choose the better part.  As we who have been given ears to hear – hear – faith comes and faith is strengthened, by the power of the Spirit.

I would draw your attention to the painting on the cover of today’s bulletin, “Let the little children come to me”. It’s a work by Lucas Cranach, who was close to Martin Luther and produced many other famous works during the Reformation era.  This may be the first ever painting of Christ with the children – which is notable in and of itself.  But the theology of the painting is also instructive.

Jesus is there, at the center, as is fitting.  He’s always the center of our attention.  He’s receiving this chaotic crowd of children as their mothers bring them to him.  One of the children is holding an apple, a symbol for sin, to confess that even children are sinners and need the forgiveness of Christ.

The clothing everyone is wearing is contemporary to the 1500s, which shows, like many such religious pieces, that these Bible truths are applicable to people in every day and age, they are always relevant.  Also, Cranach often put Luther into his works, and some have suggested that the child on the bottom right in black, just below the woman in red, is supposed to be Luther as a child. Certainly if Luther can be depicted as a child who needs the blessing of Jesus, then so can each of us.

So come, children, to Jesus, even today.  Come and receive the blessing at his continuing invitation.  Come to his table, and there receive the forgiveness of sins by his Body and Blood.  Come, ever to his house, to his waiting arms of his mercy. Hear his absolution.  Listen to his teaching.  Grow in his word.  Receive his benediction. Let his face shine upon you.

This is Jesus who shed his blood for you, after all, who died for you and lives for you.  This is the Jesus in whom you are baptized, into his death, and into his life.  This is the Jesus who bids you, even little old you, to come to him as a child, trusting, receiving, always learning and growing.  You will find no better teacher.  You won’t discover any better content, than Jesus Christ and him crucified.

And so, Christian Education – a broad emphasis, really, as children and adults alike can always be better trained in the word.  Surely we fail in many ways.  But the Jesus who welcomes children, welcomes sinners, welcomes each of us to himself for blessing.  May it ever be so.  In His Name, Amen.

Sermon - 10th Sunday After Pentecost - Luke 12:49-53

"A Fire and a Baptism"
Luke 12:49–53

A pastor friend of mine was looking ahead to these upcoming readings from Luke’s Gospel, and jokingly lamented, “oh great, here comes ‘mean Jesus’!

Certainly there is much in today’s reading from Luke that strikes us as odd, at least goes against our typical conception of who Jesus is. 

We often think of Jesus from the paintings - welcoming the little children, lovingly caring for the sheep, maybe even smiling and laughing.  Or we think of Jesus humbly dying on the cross, praying the Father to forgive even his tormentors.  Or maybe Jesus all bright and shiny and seated at the right hand of the Father - watching out for us, hearing our prayers.  And of course, this isn’t all bad.  But there’s more to Jesus than all this.  Especially when we come across a reading like this.

It might even seem hard to find much good news in Jesus’ words this morning.  He’s certainly not sugar-coating the hard truths, or painting a rosy picture of what he is about.  “I come to bring not peace, but division.  Fire!  Family strife!”  This is the gospel of the Lord.  Thanks be to God?

But a closer look reveals that yes, even in what sounds harsh, Jesus is about the business of saving and cleansing and promising good things to those who have ears to hear.  And it’s ok for us to bring in other scriptures, to remind us that He is just but also the one that justifies.  He is holy, but he makes us holy.  He brings a fire that destroys but also purifies, a water that washes away the wicked, and also our wickedness.  And he does divide people, even families.  But he promises those who believe in him will never be separated from him, or from the Father.

He begins, “I came to cast fire on the earth, and would that it were already kindled!”
You know, there are different kinds of preachers.  Some tell lots of stories - like from Readers’ Digest.  Some like to share personal anecdotes about their kids.  There are dynamic preachers and expository preachers, and preachers that always seem to be talking right to you.  Some When you hear about someone who is a “fire and brimstone” preacher, it’s usually not a compliment.  It usually means they come off angry, and are harsh and perhaps even cruel, holier than thou - not a real pleasure to listen to. But here comes Jesus, cracking out the fire himself.

Any true student of Scripture knows that Jesus is not all pillows and puppies, but that he can make a whip and overturn tables.  He can call out the Pharisees just as harshly as John the Baptist.  He can preach the fire and brimstone.  But this is no ordinary fire, and certainly not an uncontrolled blaze.  When Jesus speaks in these harsh terms, he brings the fire of God’s wrath, his righteous wrath over sin.

We may want to believe in a God who is always nice, and never says or does anything unpleasant.  A God who is always, only, love, and never scolds or judges.  But the problem is there is no such God.  God is holy and righteous and hates sin and punishes it.  We the creatures don’t get to create a God to our liking.  Nor should we ignore what He says of Himself and imagine Him in a more palatable fashion.

And the thought of the righteous Son of God casting fire on earth should make us quake and tremble, for we are sinners, and deserve to be burnt up like stubble.  We are guilty as sin, and deserve the punishments of sin, death and hell.

But all is not lost.  Yes, our God is a consuming fire, but there is also a baptism.... there is cleansing.... Jesus continues:

“I have a baptism to be baptized with, and how great is my distress until it is accomplished!”

Jesus had already been baptized by John in the Jordan.  So he’s not talking about that here.  But in that baptism by John, Jesus did do something important.  He identified with us sinners.  He who had no sin of his own, took on our sin, became the stand-in for all sinners.  That Baptism in the Jordan was the first step toward his greater baptism, the one he was about to undergo. 

And the baptism he was about to undergo - would be truly distressing.  It is the baptism of the cross.  The baptism of suffering and death.  The baptism of bearing God’s wrath for all sin, being consumed in his body to pay the debt for us all.

The same Jesus who will one day come to judge the living and the dead, who will destroy this corrupt creation in fire, and cast those who reject him into the eternal lake of fire....  is the same Jesus who stands between you and the fire of God’s wrath.  And instead of you, he is consumed.  He takes the heat, for you.  That’s the cross.

And so there is peace with God.  For in his resurrection from the dead, he proves stronger than death, and paves the way for your resurrection.  So baptized into his death, we are also raised in our baptism - raised to life in Christ who lives.  So our baptism is only distressing to the Old Adam, who there is drowned, and buried.  The New Man in us, the new creation in Christ, lives in Christ forever.
But that doesn’t mean that everything is all a bed of roses for us yet.

On this earth, in this time in-between, as we wait for the return of Christ, the day of judgment and victory...  in these end times, there will be trouble.  Especially for us who are in Christ.  And even, yes, in the family.

“Do you think that I have come to give peace on earth? No, I tell you, but rather division. For from now on in one house there will be five divided, three against two and two against three. They will be divided, father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law.”

For the word of Christ, by which we live, is a dividing word.  It divides truth from falsehood.  And sometimes the truth hurts.  The letter- the law- kills.  But the Spirit gives life.  Those who reject the truth, reject the Spirit, reject the life Christ brings, and are divided from you who receive it in faith.  There are believers, and there are unbelievers.  There are sheep and goats.  Yes, sometimes even in our own family.

That doesn’t mean we don’t love our parents and children (and yes even our in-laws) who are outside the church.  It doesn’t mean we write them off or scream that they are going to hell.  Nor, by the way, does it mean we can adjust the uncomfortable truth of God’s holy word to make us more at peace about the whole situation.

But it does mean we have some praying to do.  That God would call the unbeliever to faith, as he’s called us.  It does mean that we have some loving to do - for if Christ tells us to love even our enemies, then certainly there’s room to love even the unbeliever under our roof, or at our Thanksgiving Day gathering, etc.

And it also means we have an opportunity, so share the hope that is within us.  To point to Christ in our actions and words, when the time is right, with great humility.

Invite ‘em to church.  Pray for them.  Tell them you pray for them.  And be an example of faith yourself.  Maybe even tell them what a big sinner you are, and yet how much bigger is Christ’s forgiveness.

That Christ was baptized into death for you, and raised from death for you, and lives and rules all things for you, and for all.

And he does not promise peace on earth, but does promise peace with God for all who believe.  So trust in him, dear Christians, for that peace is yours.  That peace not as the world gives, he gives to you.  The peace that trusts in him, and in his truth, in spite of all trouble and persecution, in joy and in suffering. A peace that flows only from faith.

And that peace that passes understanding guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus, amen.

Sermon - 9th Sunday after Pentecost - Luke 12:22-34

Luke 12:22-34 (also Hebrews 11:1-16 and Genesis 15:1-6)

August 11th, 2019

“Fear and Faith”

Our readings all go together very well today.  They all concern the dual polarity of fear and faith.  Anxiety, on the one hand, worry about tomorrow.  Dread of the unknown and expectation of the worst.  And on the other hand, the assurance of things unseen – and not just any old things, but the good and gracious promises of God, and ultimately in Jesus Christ.  A hope for the future and a confidence in the grace of God.  Let’s look further at the contrast between fear and faith.

In our Old Testament reading, you have Abram, not even Abraham yet.  And God makes a covenant, a deal with him, a promise to him.  But his first words are, “Fear not, Abram…”  Now, Abram might argue he had plenty to fear.  His greatest fear, it seems, was to die without an heir.  As it stood, a stranger, a man named Eliezer of Damascus, a servant of his household, was the closest thing he had to a son and heir.  And at Abram’s advancing age, (as good as dead, Hebrews calls him) it seemed ever less likely that he’d have a son of his own, and ever more certain that he would die without one. 

God takes away that fear, promises Abram a son – and more!  Offspring like the stars of the sky.  A son of your very own and more descendants than you can number.  And Abram believed this promise of God.  He trusted that word he had received, that it was true.  And that faith, God counted to him as righteousness.  Fear and faith.  Abram knew both.

Then you have this beautiful passage from Hebrews 11 – sometimes called the Bible’s “parade of faith”.  One after another, Hebrews highlights the Old Testament saints who believed in things they hadn’t seen, things to come, of which they’d been promised.  Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Jacob…. They all died without having seen the fulfilment, at least the final fulfillment of the promises they’d been given.  Sure, they saw some of them.  Noah saw the flood and deliverance God provided.  Abraham and Sarah did have their son.  But they all looked forward to a heavenly hope, a far off country, their true home and place of citizenship.  And they died in a faith that looked forward to that unseen reality.

And then you get to Jesus in our Gospel reading.  He tells us not to be anxious, not to worry, and he says, “fear not, little flock”.  And it’s not the fire-and-brimstone kind of condemnation Jesus sometimes dishes out.  It’s not the harshest word of law from our Savior’s lips.  But it is convicting, nonetheless.  For you and I do fear, worry, and all of that.

And you may say, “Oh, pastor, but there’s a fine line between a well-founded concern, and a worry.  I’m not anxious about tomorrow, I’m just being a wise planner, a good steward.”  And maybe that’s true at times.  But I also know sinners.  And I know how easy it is for us to cross that fine line in any situation, and let our thoughts slip into fear.

Your fears and worries may be different from the next guy.  Your anxiety may be more or less focused.  You might be worried about things that aren’t that likely to happen, or things that will almost certainly happen.  And maybe not, here in America, whether you will eat or have clothes tomorrow – but isn’t it interesting that for us who have so much – we still find things to worry about? 

Maybe your worries have to do with relationships – will I ever find that special someone?  Will so-and-so be disappointed with me?  How will I fit in, or will I fit in to this group or that? 

I know many of us worry about our children and grandchildren.  Will they do well in school, at work, in life?  Will they be happy and successful?  Or maybe a real worry – will they keep the faith?  Or if they’ve fallen away, will they ever come back?  Or are you worried about an elderly parent, and how to take care of them?

We worry about money and things – will I have enough for retirement?  Will I make ends meet this week?  How do I get a better job?

Maybe you worry about climate change.  Or are you worried about politics?  Or that you’ll be the next victim of a mass shooting? Or that Christians who are being ever more marginalized will someday even be persecuted in our land?

Maybe you even worry about your church, and what the future holds for Messiah.  Will our school grow and thrive?  Will we attract new members?  Will we all be able to get along?

Some of these things may be very real, very likely, and very much capable of bringing harm to us or the people we love.  But Jesus reminds us:  the worry won’t change it.  And all the worry in the world can’t even add a single day to our lives. 

So to all of this, Jesus says, “Fear not, little flock…” And while his words are convicting, they are also comforting.  While he chides us for our fears and worries, he is also pointing us away from them, and to something far better than fear – faith.  A trust and assurance in the One who has good things in store for you.  A confidence in a future that unfolds well, because it finds his promises fulfilled.

Faith, the assurance of things hoped for and the certainty of things unseen – and our faith, my friends, is in Christ.  Such faith will never disappoint.

By faith, we know that the same God who made this world in 6 days will bring it to its conclusion, and that a new heaven and a new earth will be waiting for us to live with him there.

By faith, we know that the Jesus Christ who died in our place, also shattered the grave for us.  And that faith steals all the fear from death and grave for us.  We will rise again, bodily, at the last trumpet.

By faith, we know that God’s word, which is cast like seed, will grow and thrive when and where he wills.  And that no human power, but the Holy Spirit calls the church, gathers the church, and grows the church through that word.

By faith, we know our sins are forgiven.  That when the minister says it, announces it, proclaims the absolution, it’s just as good and real as if Jesus Christ himself was standing there.  Because that’s what Jesus’ own word teaches us.

By faith, we know that this bread and wine is no mere bread and wine, but combined with Christ’s word of promise, it is his very own body and blood.  And by faith in this words, “for the forgiveness of sins” we know that’s just what it brings us – forgiveness of sins.

By faith, we know that we’ve been buried with Christ in baptism, and also raised with him to new life.  That the Old Adam in us, who still rears his ugly head in this fallen flesh – that he no longer has the upper hand.  The New Creation in us is the one that counts.  We live, and we will live, in Christ.

By faith, we trust the God who clothes the lilies of the field and feeds the birds of the air will not neglect us who are worth so much more.  By faith we seek first his kingdom, and then watch in amazement as he adds all these other blessings on top of it.

All of this is ours.  Not in fear, but by faith.

Jesus Christ, by the power of his Holy Spirit, working in the word – written and read, taught and proclaimed, moves us from fear to faith.  He gives us so many reasons not to worry, and so many more reasons to trust and believe.  So fear not, little flock.  Let tomorrow do it’s own worrying.  Instead, have faith.  Trust the One who holds your future secure. 

Sermon - Luke 12:13-21 - 8th Sunday after Pentecost

Luke 12:13-21

August 4th, 2019

“Jesus and Stuff”

You and I have a problem with stuff. Things. Material possessions. Money and everything it can buy. You may think that the problem is that we don't have enough stuff. But that's not the problem. Maybe we don't have the right stuff, or the stuff we want. But that's not the problem either. The problem is us and our sin, not the stuff.

Today we read about some of Jesus' teaching on “stuff”. Treasures on earth. It all started when someone asked him to judge a dispute about an inheritance. Jesus balks at the request. “Who am I to judge such a thing?”

Interesting, isn't it? Who is Jesus to judge? Well he's God, of course. Now maybe the guy asking didn't know it, but anyway he sensed Jesus had some kind of authority. He was someone important, wise, in a place of influence. And so Jesus was a handy way for this man to get what he wanted – to get his brother to give him part of the inheritance. He wanted Jesus to help him get stuff. Stuff he thought belonged to him. Perhaps at the expense of his brother.

But Jesus, even though he’s a judge if there ever was one, king of kings and judge of judges – Jesus wants no part of it. That's not who Jesus is, and that's not why he came. Even though all authority in heaven and earth is ultimately his, Jesus isn't interested in settling a probate dispute. That's not this person's main problem anyway.

Don't get me wrong – we're not saying that material things are bad, or that earthly possessions are evil.  They’re not.  They’re simply part of this creation, made by God for our good. 

In fact, if you have something, anything good – it is a gift from God, whether you realize it or not.  Things you earn, things you are given, things you build or make. Things we eat or wear or enjoy – all of these are daily bread – physical blessings for which to give thanks. Blessings we don't really deserve. Blessings that come from our gracious God.

But it's just like us sinners to turn good gifts into objects of worship. It's just like us to be thankless for what we have, and always want something more. The commandments call it coveting. A sinful desire for what is not ours, for what we have not been given, but belongs instead to our neighbor. And Jesus tells us, his people, to have no part of it. “Be on your guard against all covetousness, for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions”

But not only do we covet, we fail to guard against coveting. And not only do we fail to guard against it, but like the man in the story, we often go so far as to try to co-opt God in our coveting.

Maybe you've caught yourself trying some kind of bargain with God. “If I do this for you, God, will you give me that thing I want?” Or maybe you've been tempted to turn God into some sort of giant Pez dispenser, turning to him only for the physical needs and neglecting to ask him for what truly matters... forgiveness of sin, faith, and spiritual blessings.

Something you want? Some goodie or trinket or possession? Kick God a prayer or two, and maybe you can get it. But don't bother with him the rest of the time, so the thinking goes. 

But let's repent of turning him into a Messiah he is not. He is not a bread-king. He didn't come just to heal and feed and cast out demons. He certainly didn't come to overthrow the Romans. And he doesn't promise to make your life easy today, or grant you your best life now.  In the face of so much prosperity-gospel preaching today, and the rampant materialism of a decadent American society, we preach a Christ crucified who calls people to take up their cross and follow him.  But a cross isn’t the kind of stuff most people are expecting from God.

Jesus might not get you a job. He probably won't make your children behave. He doesn't promise you'll always be healthy. He never says he'll guarantee your marriage will be perfect. He certainly doesn't promise you will live high on the hog, that you can name it and claim it, and that wealth and riches will be yours.

But he did come to die. He did come to give his life as a ransom for many. To pay the price for our covetousness and materialism and selfish greed and worship of created things – to pay for it all and for every other sin. To redeem me, a lost and condemned person, and you too, with his holy precious blood, and his innocent suffering and death. That's the kind of Messiah he truly was, and is. A savior from sin, death and hell. A giver of grace, mercy and peace. A maker of promises that never fail. A friend of sinners like you and me.

And if we have nothing else but this Messiah, this Christ Jesus, then we are still wealthy beyond imagination. We could never build barns big enough to contain his grace and mercy.   If we are bankrupt and destitute. If we are homeless, starving, begging and broke. We are still blessed beyond belief in Jesus, our priceless treasure.  If you have Jesus, it is far more than enough.

Well, God certainly does give us what we need – but seek ye first the kingdom of God. Jesus gives us what not only what we need, but much, much more.

Now, this doesn't mean Jesus is against us having things. It doesn't mean you have to sell your possessions and live in a cardboard box. Or that you can't have a savings account or prepare for retirement. But Jesus does put perspective on how we use all these things, all this stuff that we have.

May it not become a god to you. May it never confuse you about where true treasure is found. May you never care more about this world than the next. May you see earthly wealth as a gift, and use that gift in accord with God's will. Love God with all your heart – when it comes to your possessions. That means we don't love things more than God. That means we use our things in service, first of all, to God. And Love your neighbor likewise – so we don't put things before people. That we don't love things more than our neighbor. For life does not consist of things.

Where is life found, we might then ask? Only in Jesus Christ. Only in the one who gave his life for us. Only in the one who took his life back from the grave, never to die again. Life is found in his promise that “he who lives and believes in me will never die”.

Such life is found in the new life of baptism. Such life is sustained in the food of his table – given and shed for you – forgiveness, life and salvation. And isn’t it interesting that he attaches his word of promise to “stuff”, that is, to material things, physical things – bread, wine, water?  Now that’s the stuff. 

If you want the good life, if you want the life that matters. If you want the life that lasts forever – don't look to the stuff around you. But look to the things unseen – the promises of God in Jesus Christ. Life – abundant life – consists in these things.  Don’t build bigger barns on earth as if your entire future rests here.  But remember all this stuff is passing away.  This world will melt like wax and vanish like smoke.  And one day, unless Christ comes first, you too will die.  And then none of this stuff will matter, anyway.  So don’t be a fool.  Don’t stake your life on it.  Don’t lose your life in it.  But find life in Jesus Christ, and only in him.  And you will have treasures in heaven.  Amen.

Sermon - Luke 11:1-13 - 7th Sunday after Pentecost

“Some Points on Prayer”

Luke 11:1-13

Our readings today focus our attention on the topic of prayer.  Our Gospel reading is the second version of the Lord’s Prayer found in the New Testament.  Perhaps the more widely referenced is in Matthew 6, amid Jesus’ “Sermon on the Mount”.  And then in our Old Testament reading we have Abraham speaking to God – praying – for mercy on the city of Sodom where his nephew Lot and family lived.  Although it seems less like prayer, and more like haggling. 

So let us consider what God’s word shows us about prayer this morning, acknowledging, like all matters on which Scripture teaches, there is always more for us to learn.

Do Lutherans have a “theology of prayer”?  I seem to remember a Roman Catholic friend accusing Lutheranism of NOT having such theology.  I don’t know exactly what he meant by it, but of course I disagreed.  We have a robust theology of prayer that is faithful to Scripture and, like all theology, deeply rooted in the chief teaching of Christian doctrine – namely, Justification by grace through faith in Christ.

A comprehensive study of prayer, in Scripture, would be tantamount to learning the entire Bible itself, for prayer runs through so much of God’s written word. 

What can we say about prayer?  What makes a good prayer?

Christian prayer is an expression of our faith, that is, our trust in the one to whom we pray.  It flows from faith.  You might say prayer is just “faith speaking to God”.  And it is one reason that the unbeliever can’t truly pray, at least in the same sense as Christians do.  In parts of God’s word faith is synonymous with “calling on the name of the Lord”.

We are also taught, by the word, to be persistent, in our prayers, as when Jesus uses the example of the old widow who pesters the unrighteous judge until she gets what she wants.  How much better will it be from the true righteous judge if we, too, persist.  Or the rude neighbor in the second half of our Gospel reading, the fellow who comes knocking at midnight.  Is there ever a time God is not open to hearing our prayers?

Christian prayer asks for what is right and good – we pray for things that tend to the glory of God and good of neighbor.

Christian prayer is not based in pride and show, like the Pharisee, but humble, like the tax collector, confessing our sins.

Prayer is not better when it is long and rambling, again as Jesus criticizes the Pharisees who expected to be “heard because of many words”, but sometimes a faithful prayer is just a few words, even simply, “Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner” or just, “Lord, have mercy.” 

We could say much more about prayer, as it is taught in Scripture.  But also, it’s worth noting that the Lord’s Prayer occupies a special place in our doctrine.  It’s ensconced in Luther’s Small Catechism.  It’s one of the 6 chief parts of Christian doctrine, in which every Lutheran is instructed.  There Luther summarizes and teaches this doctrine well – and many of us have even memorized the questions and answers.

One thing Jesus teaches us by giving us this model prayer is that the content of our prayers matters deeply.  We seek first the things of God, his hallowed name, his kingdom, his will… and only then do we pray for our needs of daily bread, forgiveness, deliverance from temptation and evil.  In teaching us to pray he tells us not how to feel, or what our experience of prayer ought to be – but he shows us what is most important, and teaches us to pray for it.

All well and good.  But it’s not far into our survey of the Scriptures about the teaching of prayer – that we begin to notice a problem.  If we are honest, we find our prayers are lacking.  And what would you expect from sinners like you and me?  We could easily confess our prayers are not as fervent or as frequent as they ought to be.  We do not call upon God’s name in every trouble, pray, praise, and give thanks as we should.  We pray, not, “thy will be done” but, “MY will be done!”

We are not persistent, we pray for selfish things, and not always for the good of neighbor and to the glory of God.  Our prayers are a reflection of our love which is often cold, and our faith which so often flags and fails.  

But fear not, children, for we have a Father who delights in our prayers, for the sake of Christ.  Fear not, for we have a Father who wants to give us good things.  And far more important than our impure and imperfect and infrequent manner of prayer, is the character of the one to whom we pray! 

Jesus calls us to pray, and pray in this way, because he has come to bring us to the Father, to make us dear children once again.  And he forgives our faulty prayers and calls us again to pray, pray, pray to the Giver of all good things.

Jesus tells us to pray, we can see, for what we already know God gives us:  His hallowed name.  We are privileged to call upon him in the first place!  His kingdom, which comes to us in the Gospel and which will come in glory when Christ returns.  His will is done, especially when sinners repent and believe and are saved in his Son Jesus Christ.  He gives daily bread to us, and even to the wicked.  He forgives sins and prompts us to reflect and share that forgiveness with others.  He bears us up in times of temptation.  And he does deliver us from evil, most especially when he delivers us from this vale of tears and ushers us into the perfect pastures of eternity. 

The Lord’s Prayer, you see, is a blessed vehicle for the promises of a loving God and Father to his dear children.  He calls us to pray for what he wants us to have – blessings physical and temporal, spiritual and eternal.

And we know our prayers are heard because of Jesus Christ.  If not for Jesus, we’d have no reason to think God would hear our prayers or grant our requests.  Why would a holy God give a thought to rebellious and wicked sinners, or grant them even a single request?  But we are in Christ, and God sees us through Christ, and God grants us all good things for the sake of Jesus Christ.  This is exactly why we pray in Jesus’ name, and not in our own.  “Hear me, Lord, not because I’m so great (I’m not).  Hear me because of Jesus.  The Jesus who lived a perfect life of righteousness for me – on my behalf. 

The Jesus who died a sacrificial death with all my sins in tow.  The Jesus who becomes sin to put sin to death, and with whom I am buried and raised in Baptism.  “Forgive my sins, because of Jesus.  Give me daily bread, because of Jesus.  Deliver us from evil, through your Son Jesus.”  And God will answer favorably. 

In his time, of course, and in his way.  He will answer according to his wisdom, which is far beyond ours.  And some prayers aren’t answered, some promises fulfilled until the life of the world to come.  But faith knows to whom we pray, and through whom we pray, and in whose power we pray.  And faith continues to pray, trusting the goodness and mercy of Our Father, who art in heaven. 

So pray, Christian.  Pray early and often.  Pray boldly and humbly.  Pray in the confidence of the Gospel, knowing your prayers are acceptable to God through the merits of our savior Jesus Christ. And that you pray to a loving God who wants all the best for you, according to his good purposes.  Pray thus, and you will be blessed.  In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Sermon - Colossians 1:21-29 - 6th Sunday After Pentecost

“The Mystery Revealed”

Colossians 1:21–29

This section of Paul’s Epistle to the Colossians is really an extension of his introduction – in which he describes, first of all, the Colossian church (and, by extension, all Christians), and then second of all describes his own ministry among them, and to all the Gentiles.  What struck me about this reading was all the adjectives – and so I want to highlight them for you as we drive toward the point of it all:  the mystery that is revealed to the saints:  Christ in you, the hope of glory.

First Paul describes the previous state of the Colossians.  How they once were.  And while many of us don’t have the experience or memory of our own conversion, and were perhaps raised in the church or even in this particular congregation – nonetheless, when scripture speaks this way it’s talking to all of us.  We can all consider our previous state of being. YOU were once lost, alienated, hostile doers of evil deeds.  For even if you were baptized as a little baby, you were still conceived and born in sin.  You still bear in your flesh the inheritance of Adam, the legacy of sin, and the stink of death.  A corrupted nature that needs more than just a little helping hand, but must be completely renewed and regenerated.  Just look closer at how bad this condition is.

We were aliens.  People who don’t belong.  People from outside.  People with no claim of citizenship in the kingdom of God.  Another translation might be “you were once utterly estranged” from him.

If you’ve ever had an estranged family member, you know the grief this can bring in human terms.  Families are not meant to be torn apart in such a way, but sin tends to separate us.  And sometimes nothing in this world can bring reconciliation and restoration.  The Christian, for his part, will forgive.  But that doesn’t always heal the relationship.  That doesn’t always make everything better. 

We were hostile in mind.  Even our very thoughts are full of corruption.  And while it’s possible at times to keep your outward actions in check, and keep up the appearance of goodness.  Your thoughts betray you.  The sinful mind is not so easily brought to heel.  Moreover, the sinner naturally is at odds with God, hostile, hateful. 

And then the evil deeds come.  They are outward fruit of the corrupted nature.  They are a tell-tale outward sign of the sinner.  Sinners do as sinners do.  And evil deeds isn’t just blowing up buildings or murdering people, it includes even the “smallest” most harmless little sins that we tell ourselves don’t really matter.

And then if you look at the rest of the adjectives, you can see by implication or contrast how Paul would further describe our previous state of being:  Unholy.  Full of blame.  Worthy of reproach.  Unstable.  Wavering and shifting.  Hopeless. 

But the Christian is different.  The Christian is not like all that.  The new creation is holy – and that means “set apart”.  Set apart for God.  The Christian is blameless – there’s no charge that can stick, no finger that can be pointed at us.  We are above reproach – no one can call us out or correct us, because we are in Christ – steadfast, unshifting and full of hope.  We are no longer aliens, but citizens of God’s kingdom, insiders, people who belong.  A perfect relationship with our heavenly Father is restored.  Everything is as it should be once again.

But you might say, “yeah right”.  I think I sound more like the first guy.  I see more of the old way of life in me than the new.  And you may be right.  Because we still have the flesh clinging to us.  We are both Old Adam and New.  We are both sinner and saint.  We are both Alien and Citizen.  This is part of the great mystery.  And Paul, himself, knew it well.

But what counts is the new creation.  How God sees us, is in Christ.  And we are in Christ, and Christ is in you.  So stand firm in this Gospel, steadfast in the faith that God has revealed to you.  And remain in the word which you have received, and which will continue to reveal the mystery to you, his saints.

That is what Paul is all about, and that is what any minister of the Gospel is all about:  revealing the mystery to the saints.  Now, a few comments on the biblical idea of “mystery”.  We’re not talking about some Agatha Christie whodunit type of mystery.  But rather, something that is hidden and inaccessible until it is revealed.  It’s not like Thomas Acquinas and the medieval Scholastic theologians taught – that natural human reason, if done correctly, could ultimately arrive at the conclusion of the Gospel.  It’s actually quite unlike that.  It’s something that we could never access or grasp without God’s action of revealing.  It’s something that makes no sense to human reason, and must instead, be received by faith.

Nor is it something that you haven’t heard before.  Indeed, many of you have been Christians since before I was ever born.  But all of us need to sit at the feet of Jesus, like Mary who chose the better part, and hear from the word of God, be strengthened in the mystery of Jesus Christ.  We need the word proclaimed and explained, rehearsed and repeated.  Because it’s not just an intellectual exercise which we understand fully and then move on to something deeper.  Rather, it is a mystery to be embraced, appreciated, and ultimately lived out.

Think of it – that Christ is in you.  In you!  Sinful old you!  That salvation comes as a free gift, even though you bring so much of the baggage we mentioned before.  And that he would forgive you and keep you even though you fall down like a spiritual house of cards at the slightest temptation.  That your baptism still counts, a little water and a few words, maybe decades ago – but a power that still covers you with the seal of God’s grace and mercy.  And that Christ still welcomes sinners like you to his table, to take and eat, take and drink, of his very body and blood – why?  Not because you deserve him, but precisely for the forgiveness of your sins. 

And what a mystery that Jesus did all this in the flesh!  So many modern thinkers and theological innovators would spiritualize the Gospel.  Or make salvation about bettering yourself, your own spiritual journey of improvement – but really very much in the abstract.  But Paul says here, that Christ reconciled us to God in his body of flesh – by death!  This is the scandal of the cross that so many find hard to swallow.  That God would bring salvation to a wicked world, to every creature under heaven, and do it by offering up his son to die – in the flesh, shedding his blood, buried in a tomb. That this spiritual and physical reality of our salvation is effected by a physical, bodily death and resurrection - it defies logic.  But it is what God reveals.

Here, Paul speaks especially of the mystery that God would invite gentiles into the same kingdom, the same church, the same body of faith in Christ.  That God would proclaim to everyone, warn everyone, and powerfully work within everyone and anyone according to the riches of Christ.

For so many of those ancient Jews, that’s a message that would knock their socks off.  But even today, the Gospel is just as much a mystery, just as much to be received by faith.

Long ago God appeared to Abraham and Sarah and promised them a miraculous son in their old age.  Their human reason found it laughable.  But God is true to his promises.  Jesus Christ promised he would be crucified, but on the third day rise, and his disciples couldn’t handle the truth, even tried to rebuke him.  But Jesus did just what he said.  And now, today, some still doubt his word, disbelieve or even scoff at the promises that we proclaim.  But fear not, Christian, and doubt it not, believer.  For in Christ, the mystery is revealed – and revealed even to you.  In him, you receive the riches of his glory.

Sermon - Luke 10:25-37 - 5th Sunday after Pentecost

5^th Sunday after Pentecost, July 14^th, 2019

Luke 10:25-37

"Who Is My Neighbor?"

There’s a lot of law in today’s readings.  You look at Leviticus and it’s like the second table of the 10 commandments written in an expanded form – with law about sexuality, stealing, courtroom justice, and more.  It sums it all up, “Love your neighbor as yourself”.  And amidst the pleasantries of Paul’s greeting in Colossians 1, there’s some fine law, too, including the encouragement to “walk in a manner worthy of the Lord”.

And then you come to today’s Gospel reading, in which we have the famous parable of the Good Samaritan. We will get to that in a minute.  But first notice that Jesus tells this parable in the context of a conversation with a young lawyer about – the law.  The man asks that universal question of the human soul, “What must I do to be saved?” and Jesus refers him to the law – something he is, as a lawyer, well familiar with.  He sums up the law perfectly, too – in much the same way Jesus once summed it up – Love God, and love your neighbor.  Jesus even commends him for answering correctly. 

But then the hitch:  “Do this and you will live!”  And here’s where the man should have stumbled.  Here’s where he, and all of us, could fall down under the crushing weight of the law’s demands.  Where we can and should admit, “I haven’t done this.  I can’t do this.  And for the most part, I don’t even WANT to love God and my neighbor as myself.  I mostly want to love myself.  Me first.  You second, and only if I have time and if it makes me feel good.  But I know that’s not right, and I know I should do better.  If I have to do this law to live?  Where does that leave me?  Where can I go for help, consolation, mercy?  Or am I simply doomed to die?”

But not this guy.  Instead he does what sinners so often do:  he seeks another way out.  A loophole.  An addendum or exception by which he doesn’t really have to do what the law demands.  He seeks to define away, “who is my neighbor”.  He presses Jesus on the question.  And so Jesus answers with the parable of the Good Samaritan.

Now, many preachers and theologians have treated this parable from a rather law-oriented perspective.  They see this Good Samaritan character as an example for us to follow, a standard of treating our neighbor in kindly ways when even the supposedly “good” people of the world do not.  Loving the unlovable, those people who we don’t really identify with – as Jews and Samaritans were like oil and water.  And so the sermons and bible studies that run this way end up heaping on more law, digging you further into the grave, because which of us can say we’ve been a good Samaritan?  Which of us can say we’ve loved our neighbor even close to this?

But there is another perspective from which to see this parable.  And that is to consider Christ.  Where is Christ, you say?  Well look a little closer at this figure of the Good Samaritan.

Here’s someone who comes from the outside.  Here’s someone who brings healing, binds up wounds, shows compassion.  He takes the poor man to the inn and provides for his ongoing care.  And he promises to come back.  Do you see Jesus? 

And then think again about the man left half-dead in the ditch.  Maybe you can identify with him.  For we are beset by enemies far worse than robbers.  We are under the assaults of the devil, the sinful world, and even our own sinful flesh.  We are far worse off than half-dead.  The ditch in which we lie is far deeper. 

And yet our Good Samaritan comes and pulls us up out of the muck and mire, heals our every wound with the balm of his grace and mercy, and brings us to the church, where his appointed servants care for us.  And Jesus doesn’t pour oil on us, but he does wash us in Holy Baptism.  And he gives us wine and bread that are his true body and blood.

In fact our Good Samaritan goes even further, for he takes our place.  He becomes subject to beating and theft and indignation in our place.  He goes to the cross, obediently, in our place.  He becomes the one who is beaten and bloodied and left for dead, in a borrowed tomb.

All this to show his mercy to sinners.  All this to win for us healing and wholeness.  Thanks be to God!

And seeing Christ and his work for us first – and coming to the parable in a Gospel framework – now the example of the Good Samaritan can stand for us – not as a terrifying indictment of our failures, but as an encouragement to do likewise for so Christ has loved us.

So who, then, is your neighbor, Christian?  We now ask the question again, but not from the stance of, “How can I wiggle out of this?” but in faith, “how can I serve, who can I best serve, who would God have me love and serve?”  And the answer might surprise you.

Some Christians might answer the question, “Who is my neighbor?” by simply saying, “everyone!”  And while there’s a good intention there – and I think it’s well-meaning, it isn’t quite right.  In fact it makes the word “neighbor” mean nothing.  Rather, your neighbor is simply whoever is near you.  That’s the only qualification.

While in a very tenuous sense the starving beggar thousands of miles away who you don’t know or know of is your neighbor – for he’s a fellow human on the same planet – he’s not nearly your neighbor like the needy friend down the street, or coworker in the next cubicle, or your fellow church member, or even family member.

We might want to qualify who “deserves” to be our neighbor, but that’s not how it goes.  Don’t love people because they deserve it anymore than we deserve Christ’s love.  But we do it simply because we are given to do it.  The Samaritan in the parable didn’t plan on helping the man who was robbed – but God placed him there and so he did what he could.  What neighbor has God placed before you?

And then think also of the question, “who is my neighbor?” through the lens of vocation.  This can help us discern not only who is my neighbor, but how I might serve him.  Am I a father, husband, brother or friend?  A mother, daughter, co-worker, or citizen?  A pastor or hearer, an office or magistrate, a solider or nanny?  Each vocation has its appointed neighbors to serve, and its way of serving.

I saw a bit of humorous wisdom this week:  a sign said, “Forget world peace; visualize using your turn signal!” 

And maybe the point is made well:  Christian love and mercy for the neighbor begins with the simple, the everyday, the lowly forms of love and service.  It means caring first of all for your family, raising children in the fear and nurture of the Lord.  It means supporting the grieving, encouraging the fearful, even just listening with a friendly ear.  It might mean a denarius out of your own pocket here and there, or a little of your own oil or wine.  But whatever the means of service, and whoever the neighbor, you’ll never do it better than the author of the parable who is the ultimate Good Samaritan from above. 

Which really brings us back to Paul’s prayer for the Colossians, and a good prayer for you and me, that we would “walk in a manner worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to him: bearing fruit in every good work and increasing in the knowledge of God; being strengthened with all power, according to his glorious might, for all endurance and patience with joy; giving thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in light.”

In Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.