Sermon - Pentecost 17 - Mark 9:30-37

 Mark 9:30–37 

“The Greatest”

Muhammed Ali, a championship boxer, was famed for his trash-talk.  Besides claiming to “float like a butterfly and sting like a bee”, he was also known to claim, brazenly, “I am the greatest!”  And after seeing his prowess in the boxing ring, at least for a time, it would be hard to argue with him.

We admire greatness.  We love to see people do well at their craft, their profession, their vocations.  Ask me some time about my favorite chess grandmaster.  There’s a sort of vicarious living that happens when you get caught up in someone else’s greatness.  You feel a part of it.  We do this so much lately we even have a new term, ‘the GOAT’, G-O-A-T, standing for the Greatest Of All Time.  

Mark’s Gospel today calls us to consider a different kind of greatness - true greatness.  Not at boxing or football or computer engineering or investing.  Greatness in the kingdom of God.  And like so many other things, the Christian appraisal of greatness is opposite of what you’d expect, against the grain of the world, and totally backwards from how most people measure greatness.

The disciples who alternate between faith and fear, wisdom and foolishness, great confession and horrible heresy – well we can always relate to those fellas.  Today Jesus catches them, overhears them arguing like petulant children.  Along the road, the bickered about who among them was the greatest.

Imagine what it might have sounded like, “Of course I’m the greatest, I’m Peter – the rock – which one of YOU got to walk on water with Jesus?”  “Yeah, Peter, but then you sank like a stone,” John might have said, “I’m clearly the greatest because I’m the youngest and I’ll probably outlive you all.” But then Matthew says, “I think I’ve got the best story – I mean if Jesus can even call a tax collector like me – I think my turnaround is really the kind of thing people will relate to”  “Yeah, but I’m clearly the greatest since Jesus trusts me to carry the money-bag.” And on and on it might have gone.  

Imagine their sheepishness when Jesus calls them out.  “What were you arguing about on the road?”  The awkward silence.  He knows, of course.  He always knows the answer to questions like this.  He’s caught them red-handed and they had nothing to say for themselves.

The law stops your mouth, and mine, too.  There are no excuses.  We have nothing to say for ourselves.  When the accusations come, and the law always accuses, we are dead to rights caught.  Whether we’ve been exposed as a self-serving and prideful brat, a lying and scheming snake, a greedy glutton or a back-stabbing gossiper.  There’s plenty of ways we sin, and God’s perfect law shines the probing questions on all it.  Have you loved God like you should?  Have you loved your neighbor as yourself?

Ah but we’d rather compare ourselves to others, than to the law.  I love God more than the next guy.  I might not be perfect, but look at you.  Chief of sinners through I be, at least I’m not as bad as thee.  This is really the same thing the disciples were doing – only instead of arguing who’s the greatest, we play the game of who’s not the worst.  As if that gets us off the hook.  

But that’s not the standard God sets.  He doesn’t call us to be better than average, or better than most, or better than your neighbor.  He says love God with ALL your heart, soul, strength and mind.  And love your neighbor as yourself.  

So Jesus takes the occasion to teach them a thing or two about greatness in the kingdom.  He sits them down, gets their attention, and sets forth a principle.  If you to be great in the kingdom, if you want to be first, you must be servant of all.

This flies in the face of what we know and do!  The great people have servants – butlers, maids, nannies, groundskeepers, chauffeurs, even body-guards.  The rich and powerful have servants to tend to their every need, and the mundane tasks they are too busy and important to do.  They can’t be bothered.  They’re more important than all that.  Those menial tasks are for the little people.  Or so the usual worldly thinking goes.

But Jesus says greatness, first-ness, primacy of place in the kingdom is found in servanthood – and in being the servant of all!  Placing yourself lower than all.  He even uses a small child to drive home this point.  The lowest, the least, the humblest – that’s greatness in the kingdom of God.  Exactly opposite of greatness in the world.  

And then we hear from James, this morning, and he makes it even worse for us.  “Do you not know that friendship with the world is enmity with God? Therefore whoever wishes to be a friend of the world makes himself an enemy of God.”

James brings a double barrel of accusations and unloads them on us today.  He calls us to exhibit humility and the wisdom from above – that is “pure, then peaceable, gentle, open to reason, full of mercy and good fruits, impartial and sincere. And a harvest of righteousness is sown in peace by those who make peace.”  

Contrast that to the worldliness of earthly wisdom – which has to do with jealousy, coveting, quarrels, murder, the passions, and pride.  These are the things that friendship with the world brings us, but which make us enemies of God.  And that’s not all that great at all.

So who can keep such laws?  Who can exhibit such purity?  Who can be so great?  Who, after all, can succeed at making everyone else greater than self?  It’s just so extreme.  Who can attain to such greatness?  Who can truly be or become the servant of all?

Only Jesus can.  Jesus is the greatest among us.  Jesus is the greatest of all time.  For only Jesus is the servant of all.  Jesus, who by his perfect life, does all that James could ask and more.  Jesus, who keeps the commandments perfectly, earns righteousness by his own greatness in keeping the law.  And then gives that righteousness to us, freely.

Jesus, who by his humble, sacrificial death on the cross came to destroy sin and death – for all.  Jesus, who not only faces his mission head on – but even teaches his disciples about it beforehand, again and again, though they couldn’t grasp it.  Look at the first paragraph in our text, where he shows them plainly:

“The Son of Man is going to be delivered into the hands of men, and they will kill him. And when he is killed, after three days he will rise.”

That’s greatness.  That’s the Gospel.  The cross.  There Jesus took the lowest place, crushed under the burden of our infinite sins.  There Jesus became the servant of all, dying for ever scoundrel, reprobate and rebel that ever was or would be.  Suffering all for every lying, cheating, stealing, murdering, gossiping, greedy and jealous coveter of someone else’s greatness.  He who washed even their feet now washes them clean body and soul, inside and out, by his holy precious blood.  

And he does it for all.  No sin is too great for him to take on.  And no sinner is too great at sinning to be served by Jesus.  Whatever your deepest, darkest sin – and we all have them – whatever your most embarrassing and shameful deed.  Repent. Jesus forgives.  He is that much greater than your greatest failing, that he takes it himself, takes it away, and makes you whole and clean and new.

So, who is the greatest?  It’s Jesus, of course.  As St. Paul says in Philipians 2:

Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus,  who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped,  but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men.  And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.  Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name,  so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

Even his exaltation is yours.  His resurrection guarantees your own.  His greatness is good for you, great for you.  For in him, God, in Christ, has received you as his own dear child, his little one.

Or to put it another way, Christ, the greatest of all, makes himself least of all, servant of all, to exalt the humble and lowly in his kingdom.  Therefore rejoice, and therefore follow him and trust in him.  Humble yourself, and he will lift you up.

In Jesus’ Name.  Amen.

Sermon - Mark 7:31-37 - Pentecost 15

 

Mark 7:31–37

“Ephatha!”

Only a few times in the New Testament do we get to hear the actual words of Jesus in the Aramaic language.  In these cases our English Bibles don’t translate, but give us the actual sounds of the words Jesus made – and we have one of these today.  Some others – well one was when he said to the little girl who had died, “Talitha Cumi”, that is, “Little Girl, arise”.  And of course his quotation of Psalm 22 from the cross, “Eli, Eli, Lema Sabachthani”, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Today we hear a third example from our Savior’s own lips, the simple command, “Ephatha!”, “be opened!”

Now, there’s plenty to say about this one little word.  In opening the ears of a deaf man, Jesus drops yet another calling card of the Messiah.  As Isaiah prophesied,

Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened,

and the ears of the deaf unstopped;

then shall the lame man leap like a deer,

and the tongue of the mute sing for joy.

 

But more than that, Jesus illustrates again for us, as he so often does, the power of his word.  The same word which created all things – let there be light, let there be birds and fish, let us make man in our image…. Now the creative and restorative word brings a new physical reality.  The same word which casts out demons and all manner of diseases.  The same living word, himself made flesh, which comes that we might hear and believe.

 

Now, of course, this Ephatha had to be spoken to the deaf man, because he was suffering under one of the many effects of sin.  And while he himself didn’t cause his deafness by his own sin – at least not directly – he was no doubt a sinner living in the broken sinful world.  So, too, for us – though we do cause many of our own problems by our own sin, sometimes we are simply the victims of the brokenness of the world, and either some other sinner affects us, or even nature itself inflicts on us some disease or accident.

On one level this story is so simple.  Jesus sees a man who has a need, and he helps him.  He’s the only one who can help him.  And he makes it right.  He heals the man’s ears and loosens his tongue.  He restores him completely, giving him the full functionality of his members that the rest of us take for granted.  Jesus does nothing half-way.

 

Now, you and I are also in a predicament, and it’s not too unlike the deaf-mute man.  Although it is in a way far worse.  According to our sin, the Bible tells us, we are helpless and lost.  We are blind, dead, and enemies of God.  But another biblical picture of our fallen condition is that of deafness.  Jesus often remarks, “he who has ears to hear, let him hear”.

 

The problem is that in our sin, we don’t have ears to hear.  Or to put it another way, we are deaf to God’s word.  We don’t want to hear the law.  We don’t want to hear how sinful we are.  We certainly don’t want to hear the punishments we deserve.  That’s why Scripture warns us about those with “itching ears”, and the preachers who only preach to scratch that itch, to say what unrepentant sinners want to hear, not what we all need to hear.  Without Jesus we are lost in so many ways – and pick your metaphor – we can’t help ourselves.

 

And so it stands as a reminder that Jesus helps us, too.  He sees us in our condition, and he has compassion.  He sees our suffering, our inability, our brokenness, and he comes to heal.  But it’s far more than just physical healing.  Jesus goes to the root of the problem.  He opens the spiritual ears that are cemented shut by sin.  He gives us ears to hear the very Gospel of his free forgiveness.  He frees the tongue from its blasphemies and loosens in us the prayers and praises of one who has now come to faith.  Faith comes by hearing, after all.  And what we believe in our heart we confess with our lips.

 

But think about it.  If the man is deaf, can he even hear the “Ephatha”?  Well not if I say it.  No mere man could.  But the divine word gives what it expects.  It provides what it commands.  It creates a new reality.  And this is a hint of something far greater to come.

 

The ear of a deaf man is not the only thing Jesus has come to make open.  The seal of deafness is not the only one he comes to break.  For on the third day, after he had done all his suffering and rested in his borrowed tomb, Jesus had a new and better Ephatha to complete.  He opened the grave.  His angels rolled back the stone, and he rolled back death in a glorious resurrection.  He opened the grave with the ease that your dad opens the pickle jar.  And life broke forth.

 

But not just for himself.  His ephatha is your ephatha.  His empty tomb foreshadows your own.  When he comes again in glory with all his angels, with the final trumpet call and the glorious shout of victory, then the dead in Christ will rise.  He will say the greater ephatha to all the graves of his people.  He will call us to the same life that he stole back from death and hell.  And we will be fully restored, not just spiritually, but also physically, and even eternally.  What a day that will be!

 

Heaven itself is opened to us in Jesus Christ.  And this, even now.  For every time the word of absolution is spoken to you, the gates of heaven are opened.  Every time we repent and return to our baptismal grace, we are restored.  Every time we humbly approach his table and receive the body and blood of our Lord, our invitation to the heavenly banquet is renewed – for where there is forgiveness, there is also life and salvation.

What will be ours one day in full – is ours already, even now, by promise.  And the Holy Spirit is the deposit, the guarantee of the greater blessings to come.  Now we see dimly, but then we shall see fully.  Now we suffer in a body of death, but we know who will save us, and restore not just our ears and tongues, but also eyes, heart, hands, yes our whole selves.  That’s the promise of the resurrection.  That’s our hope.

And take comfort in this, too, Christians.  While we wait for his salvation to appear, while we finish our course of days upon this earth, he has not left us alone.  Our God in with us, even to the end of the age.  Jesus also reigns on his throne, a benevolent king who hears our prayers, brings our prayers to the Father, and even sends his Spirit to teach us to pray and to pray on our behalf.

In Jesus, the very ears of God are “Ephatha” for us.  God’s ear is inclined to our prayers, he desires them and wants to answer them.  He regards our prayers favorably.  Not because of us, but because of Christ.  He hears our prayers only through Christ.  This is why we pray in Jesus’ name.

Now let’s take this last statement from the crowd, “He has done all things well”.  This is far more than just a cheer for another good work of Jesus, a sort of “for he’s a jolly good fellow” type thing. It confesses that by healing the deaf man, Jesus sort of ticks the last box on the list of Messianic signs of healing. 

But like many who comment in the pages of Scripture, their words mean more than they intend.  Jesus has done all things well.  He completes everything he set out to do, everything the Father asked of him – a perfect life fulfilling the law.  A perfect fulfillment of all messianic prophecies.  A perfect suffering and death to atone for all sin.  A perfect resurrection.  A perfect ascension and reign and he will return at the perfect time to bring history to its close.  He has done all things well, and done them for you, dear Christian.

So keep your ears open to his word, which will continue to instruct and forgive you, direct and strengthen you this whole life through.  Pray without ceasing to the one whose ear is inclined to you, to answer for your good.  And look forward to the day when he says his final ephatha to your grave, calling you forth to the eternal reward Christ has won for us all.  For he has done all things well, for you.

Sermon - Pentecost 12 - John 6:51-69

 

John 6:51–69

“Hard to Believe”

Today’s Gospel reading shows us a striking moment in the life and ministry of Jesus.  Contrary to what many assume when they think of Jesus as a preacher, he was not always well received.  Here, at the end of John 6 and Jesus’ great sermon about himself as the bread of life – here the crowds finally have heard enough, and they reject him.  They leave.  They can’t accept his teaching.  It’s too hard.

I have to confess, it is a great comfort to me as a pastor, that if even Jesus can be rejected because people find his teaching too hard, too unbelievable, or for whatever reason – well, no servant is above his master.  It is an encouragement to pastors to remain faithful to the truth of God’s word even if and when it is an unpopular teaching, an unwelcome truth.  In other words, if people reject the Gospel we preach – we must remember they also rejected Jesus’ preaching at times – and that puts us in good company.  Now, of course, if people leave the church because I’m a jerk or I sin in some way against them – that is on me.  But simple, faithful, preaching of the truth – if that’s the problem – then it is an honor to be rejected as Christ was.

The temptation, of course, and this must have been true for Jesus, too, is to preach what people WANT to hear.  To cater to itching ears.  To preach a message that never offends, that never puts you at odds with anyone.  A vanilla Pablum that doesn’t risk anything because it doesn’t say anything.  Some cute stories strung together with a vague and mild sense of spiritual something-something – but no sin, no law, no Jesus, no cross.

Or, to preach a message that is attractive to the culture, in its departure from traditional values.  Or, scratch the itch of the Old Adam who is always looking for ways to justify himself with works – and lay out a means for people to do just that – in 12 easy steps – or whatever manmade program of self-righteousness you can concoct.

Well that’s not the sort of thing that’s been preached from this pulpit, and that, to your credit, is surely a big part of why you are here.  You want the message of Jesus Christ, crucified for sinners.  You want to be fed with the bread of life – the living bread that comes down from heaven – who gives his flesh for the life of the world.  You want the Gospel!

Or do you?

One of the things this passage also teaches us is that the Gospel is hard to believe.  Jesus’ message of free salvation in him alone – that he alone is the bread of life that gives life to the world – that’s hard to swallow.  It’s even worse, though.  It is impossible to believe on our own.  Not just for that skeptical crowd that left him in John 6.  For you and me, too.  “The Spirit gives life, the flesh is no help at all”

Luther puts it this way in the Small Catechism we’ve all learned:  “I believe that I cannot, by my own reason or strength, believe in Jesus Christ my Lord or come to him…”  We are so corrupted by sin that not only is the Gospel hard to believe – it’s impossible.  Ever since Adam fell into disbelief and rejection of God’s word, our will is also bound to reject the truth and to rebel against our creator.  Any time sinful man hears God’s truth the answer is, “This is a hard saying, who can accept it?” and the rhetorical answer is, “not me!”

But Luther also shows us the answer.  “I believe that I cannot, by my own reason or strength, believe in Jesus Christ my Lord or come to him…  BUT!  But the Holy Spirit has called me by the Gospel!”  Of course this is just another way of saying what Jesus says here to his disciples:  “no one can come to me unless it is granted him by the Father.”

The miracle of faith is that anyone believes in Christ at all.  And this we credit to the work of the Holy Spirit, who is sent by the Father (and really, also the Son).  The Spirit calls us to faith.  The Spirit creates faith in us.  The Spirit works repentance, through the law showing us our sin, kindling contrition, and turning us away from the old ways.  The Spirit shows us Christ – and the free gift of salvation.  The Spirit, and only the Spirit, brings us to saving faith in the one crucified for us, Jesus Christ.  And the Spirit works, always, through the word.

The sinner who rejects the Gospel has only himself to blame.  The believer who follows Christ has only the Spirit to thank.

And so Jesus turns to his disciples, asking if they’re leaving too… and Peter makes another one of his great confessions, “Lord, to whom shall we go?  YOU have the words of eternal life!”  And we echo that confession today even as we gather around those same words of eternal life.  We can’t go to ourselves for eternal life.  We can’t go to some guru or life coach.  We can’t work our way up the spiritual ladder of holiness.  We can’t even come to faith on our own.  Rather, we must trust entirely in the God who first called us to faith to sustain us in that faith. 

But what a blessing it is that salvation is his alone.  If my faith rested on my own shoulders it would always be in doubt, uncertain, as shifting as the sands of my own sinful heart and mind.  But on the sure foundation of Christ’s word, and the solid ground of the Spirit’s working, we must be saved.  If God does it – it can’t be bad, and it won’t go wrong.

Now, this doesn’t mean that once we are a Christian, everything is easy.  Rather, sometimes even confirmed LCMS Lutherans struggle to believe.  Either we have our moments of doubt and fear, times of weakness of faith – to which I can only point you back to the Gospel you first received.  And remind you that a bruised reed he doesn’t crush, and a smoldering wick he won’t snuff out.  Even a weak faith is faith.  Even a mustard seed of it does wonders.  Simply pray, “Lord, I believe, help my unbelief.”

Or else maybe you struggle with a particular teaching of Jesus.  Maybe you find a certain doctrine “hard to believe”.  Perhaps it’s the 6-day creation account of Genesis, or that sin came into the world through Adam and Eve.  Maybe you have a problem with the scriptural teaching that reserves the office of the public ministry for men and not for women.  Some people struggle with Paul’s warnings in 1 Corinthians 11 about unworthy reception of Holy Communion, and how that is faithfully and lovingly practiced.  And I know many, probably a surprising amount of us in this room, wrestle with Scripture’s teachings of sexuality in light of the drumbeat of our so-called “progressive” culture.  Maybe some even take offense and grumble at these teachings of scripture, these teachings of Jesus.

As a pastor, I don’t relish the times when people find the doctrine of the Bible “hard to believe”.  I don’t look forward to the thought of defending God’s word.  I hate to see people do what the crowd did in John 6, simply say, “this is a hard teaching” – and turn their back on the truth. 

But I also know that the Holy Spirit is smarter than any of us.  And he changes hearts and renews minds in ways beyond our knowing.  All I can do as a faithful pastor is show you what the word says.  It’s not my job to convict you – that’s the Spirit.  It is he who convicts the world in regard to sin and righteousness.

But I can encourage you to remain humble.  Many of us didn’t always believe as we do.  Most mature Christians can tell you how they’ve been brought down the road of faith – sometimes in a short time through a conversion experience – but more often, over time, in small and subtle ways, as the Spirit moves.  Many souls wiser than you and I have gone before us.  We are not the first to wrestle with hard teachings.

And to strengthen your faith – remain in the word.  The words Jesus speaks are spirit and life!  Continue to read, mark, learn and inwardly digest the easy and the hard teachings of Jesus.  You’re never too old to learn and grow in that inexhaustible treasure of God’s word.  You never don’t need to be reminded, renewed, and reaffirmed in that word. 

And feed your faith, or rather, be fed by him – the bread of life – who also comes to you this day in the table prepared for your forgiveness, life and salvation.  But remember one of the benefits of the Lord’s Supper is the strengthening of faith.  Just as Elijah was strengthened for his journey, and the Israelites sustained by mana in the wilderness, so the sustenance of Christ’s true body and blood is given to sustain you, to strengthen and preserve you in the true faith – even to life everlasting.

Believing is hard.  But you’re not on your own.  In fact it’s really not up to you at all.  Trust, rather, in the one who has the words of eternal life – and gives them to you freely, even Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen. 

 

Sermon - Pentecost 11 - Ephesians 4:17-5:2

 

Ephesians 4:17-5:2 

“Off With the Old, On With the New!”

It’s getting to be that time of year again when kids go back to school, and as we prepare for it, time to freshen up the wardrobe.  There’s nothing quite like the feel of a fresh new outfit or a new pair of shoes.  And we are blessed to live in a time and place in which what we will wear isn’t a major worry for most of us but rather a matter of taste and style.

St. Paul uses the idea of clothing in our Epistle today as a metaphor for the Christian life, in which he compares our old nature and new nature to a change of outfit.  He tells us to “Put off the old self” and to “Put on the new self”.  He spends some time describing the difference between the two.  So let’s take a closer look at this contrast this morning, and finally also at just how it works for us that we may indeed “Put on the new self” in Christ.

Now, to be honest, there’s quite a bit of law talk in this section of Ephesians.  It’s the portion of his letter that some call “paraenesis”, or encouragement for living.  If you think of the Epistle like a sermon, you have your law, your Gospel, and then often times a sort of “so what?” or “How does this look in practice?  What difference does the Gospel make in my life?  How shall we, then, live?”  That’s what Paul’s getting at in most of this passage.  And it’s important for us to hear it.

Lutherans have been falsely accused, ever since Luther, of not teaching good works.  Of neglecting, or even despising the idea that Scripture gives us guidance for how to live.  We certainly emphasize grace – that undeserved love God has for us in Christ.  And we place salvation by grace through faith in Christ at the forefront of everything we teach and believe.  It’s the chief teaching of Scripture, after all.  Without it, everything just devolves into works righteousness.  And shame on us if we don’t preach Christ crucified for sinners, and if that good news doesn’t predominate in all things.

And yet, we Lutherans also recognize the tensions between law and gospel, faith and works, and between the two natures that contend within us.  The Small Catechism, speaking of baptism, shows how by daily repentance and faith the old Adam is drowned and dies, and the new man emerges to live before God.  Buried and raised with Christ in baptism, we are, daily.

This is really what Paul is talking about here with this business of putting off the old self and putting on the new.  It is the daily struggle of the Christian to turn away from the old nature, the old ways, the sinful things – and in repentance and faith – to live the new life in Christ.  We do it – not in order to be saved or redeemed or justified.  We do it because we HAVE been redeemed and saved and justified in Christ!

Paul reminds them – and us – that these wicked ways – that’s not how you learned Christ!  That’s not how you were taught!  That’s not the kind of disciple he made you to be!

And yet we see it in our church, in our fellow Christians, and of course also in ourselves.  Just look at some of the Gentile ways Paul warns us about:

Darkened in understanding.  Alienated from the life of God.  Ignorant and hard-hearted.  Callous.  Now, Paul is speaking spiritually here, not academically, about the lack of understanding.  But when we sin we act as fools who don’t know any better! We act as though we don’t have faith.  We operate like someone with a deadened conscience that is even eager to find new ways to sin “greedy to practice every kind of impurity” But that’s not who you really are, Paul would remind us.

Look at some of the other descriptions of the old self:  corrupt through deceitful desires.  Yes, even our desires betray our old nature – they are corrupt.  And yet the Christian is a complicated mess of both sinful and godly desires.  

Speaking falsehood.  It’s not just the thoughts and deeds but also the words that get us into trouble.  And while most of us would like to think we are honest people – that is also a lie we tell ourselves.  We are good at shaving the truth, sculpting and molding it, in what we say and how we say it – to our own benefit, and not for the good of others and the glory of God.  

Later he speaks of “corrupting talk” and contrasts it with talk that builds up, giving grace.  We could speak of gossip and slander and all the other ways we speak sinfully about our neighbor, and the many opportunities to speak kindly and well that we miss – sins of omission – times we could have built someone up.

He says, “Be angry and do not sin”.  But that’s not a license to be angry, it’s a warning!  A stark reminder that anger is the devil’s playground, an opportunity for Satan to slither in and do his dirty work in your life.  If there is such a thing as righteous anger amongst us humans, it is a spiritual tightrope from which we easily lose our balance and fall into sin.  So don’t let the sun go down on your anger – that is – don’t let it fester.  Either let it go or work it out with whoever made you angry – so that peace is restored and the Devil is out of business.

Don’t be a thief, but do honest work – and don’t forget to share with those in need.

And put away all bitterness, wrath, slander and malice.  

And maybe this is the summary of it all:  Do not grieve the Holy Spirit.  When Christians forget who we are, when we act like the sinful world, when we give in to our sinful nature – we grieve the Spirit.  Think of that!

The alternative, of course, is where we are aiming.  To walk in love.  To be kind to one another, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.  To be imitators of God, beloved children who want to be like our Father, and our perfect big brother, Jesus Christ.

To imitate him, though, supposes we know him. And we do.  We have seen all that Christ has done for us.  Here’s the gospel, friends.  Here’s the antidote to all our sinning.

Christ walked in love.  His incarnation itself was an act of divine love – that God on high would come down from his throne to be born a lowly man, take on sinful flesh, enter into our hall of death and breathe our poisoned air.  To walk in love the dusty roads of Galilee, Samaria, Judea, and to love people at every turn, healing, casting out demons, and proclaiming good news to the poor.

His walk of love had an ugly end, though, as he shouldered all sin along with that cross, and though he stumbled physically never did his feet turn from the path to Calvary.  Never did his determination to take our place waver of fail.  He talked the talk and walked the walk of love for us, even unto death, even death on a cross.

And imitators of Christ, he calls you to follow him.  Not to die for the sins of the world, but to consider yourself dead to sin.  Not to die on the cross of Calvary but to take up your own cross, whatever it may be.  And to carry it with faith and trust that His cross makes it all worth it.

He gave himself as a fragrant sacrifice to God – a pleasing aroma – and made complete satisfaction for our sins.  His blood covers all the sins Paul mentions in this laundry list of the old self – and all sins that ever were and will be.  We forgive one another – we can forgive one another – as God in Christ forgave you.

So put off your old self, Christian.  Every day. Like a filthy outer garment stained and torn, something you’d hate to be caught dead in.  Repent of all sins – whatever from Paul’s long list has caught your conscience today.  Out with the old.  And in with the new.

And put on the new self in Christ.  Every day. The robe of righteousness.  The wedding attire of one who is pure and holy.  The festal clothing that only comes with forgiveness in the blood of Christ.

And walk in his love, your whole life through, until you reach your goal and he calls you home.  

Sermon - Pentecost 9 - Mark 6:45-52

 

Mark 6:45-52

“He Walks On Water”

“Oh, he thinks he walks on water!”  It’s become one of those cultural euphemisms for people who think too highly of themselves.  Or of someone who regards another person as above criticism, someone who, in the eyes of others, can do no wrong.  It’s a sort of a roundabout way of comparing someone to the Jesus himself – either in a sarcastic or absurd fashion.  And yet, I think when many people use the phrase, they forget where it came from, and aren’t thinking much of Jesus at all.

Jesus walks on water.  And we can say that in an un-ironic, completely serious way.  For Mark tells us just that in this account we hear today.  Just after the feeding of the 5000, Jesus tells his disciples to get back in the boat and head toward the other side again, to Bethsaida.  He takes care of dismissing the crowd, and then goes up the mountain to pray.  Back to business as usual, it would seem. 

But for the disciples, business is not as usual.  Jesus set them out on the sea at night, not in the safety of daylight.  The wind was against them.  The boat was having a hard time making any progress.  And most commentators seem to agree that this strange wind was a divinely appointed obstacle, not just a natural happenstance.  Again, Jesus sets before his disciples a difficult task.  One wonders if they grew resentful.  Why is he asking us to do this?  Where is he when we need him?

For his part, Jesus is praying.  What is he praying about?  We don’t know for sure but here are some possibilities: 

The news of the Baptist's death (verse 12) which must have filled Him with foreboding of His own death, a year hence (John 6:4);

He had just overcome the temptation to be proclaimed an earthly king by the crowds he had fed.

Likely He foresaw that the remnants of the 5,000 would totally reject Him, the Living Bread from Heaven, the next day, as we read in John 6.

 

And likely, he also prayed for the 12 - who were in danger for a number of reasons and needed to pass a severe test the next day. When the crowds would desert him Jesus asked them, “are you leaving too?” and Peter answered as we sing, “Lord, to whom shall we go?  You have the words of eternal life!”

Last, but not least, the betrayal of Judas was on His mind, as we also read in John 6.

But as he prays, he’s also watching them from his mountaintop retreat.  He sees them in their difficulties, and perhaps it wasn’t his original plan, but he descends to come to them, though he meant to pass them by.

Now, let’s stop here for a moment.  “Pass them by” – an important little phrase that we might too quickly pass by.  But think of this, when does God “pass by?”

There are two Old Testament stories that come to mind.  One with Moses, and the other with Elijah.

When Moses was on Mt. Sinai, we have our first example from Exodus 33:

"Moses said, “Please show me Your glory.” And [God] said, “I will make all My goodness pass before you and will proclaim before you My name ‘The LORD.’ And I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious, and will show mercy on whom I will show mercy. But,” He said, “you cannot see My face, for man shall not see Me and live.” And the LORD said, “Behold, there is a place by Me where you shall stand on the rock, and while My glory passes by I will put you in a cleft of the rock, and I will cover you with My Hand until I have passed by. Then I will take away My Hand, and you shall see My back, but My face shall not be seen.”

Here we learn that sinful man, even a great man like Moses, cannot see the glory of God full-on.  The nearest glimpse Moses got was of the backside of God as he passed by, and even that was a great and wonderful blessing.

But here, in Christ, the Disciples get something even better.  Here, in Christ, God does not pass by, but stops to help them, stops to join them.  He, who is clearly divine – and shows it – not only by multiplying loaves but also by mastering the sea and strolling on it so easily – the glory of God is now revealed to the disciples in the person of Jesus Christ.  He does not pass them by, but he enters their boat, for he has already entered human flesh and become one of them, one of us.  Herein we have the great mystery of the incarnation – God and man in one person of Christ.

And then in 1 Kings 19 we have God passing by Elijah:

"There [Elijah] came to a cave and lodged in it. And behold, The Word of the LORD came to him, and He said to him, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” He said, “I have been very jealous for the LORD, the God of hosts. For the people of Israel have forsaken Your covenant, thrown down Your altars, and killed Your prophets with the sword, and I, even I only, am left, and they seek my life, to take it away.” And [The Word of the LORD] said, “Go out and stand on the mount before the LORD.” And behold, the LORD passed by, and a great and strong wind tore the mountains and broke in pieces the rocks before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind. And after the wind an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake. And after the earthquake a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire. And after the fire the sound of a low whisper. And when Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his cloak and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. And behold, there came a voice to him and said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”

Ah yes, Elijah’s story shows us that when God passes by it is often as we least expect, not in the powerful windstorm or the earthquake that shatters rocks, or the fiery maelstrom.  It’s in the quiet whisper of the word that God is found.

So also, here, with Christ.  In the dark of the night, when they least expected him, HOW they least expected him, comes the Christ.  The miracles come, one after the other – the feeding of 5000, the walking on water – but also the calming of the wind as he climbed in the boat.  But perhaps the most striking is what seems most mundane – that God in the flesh was here, with them, and joined them in their boat.  That Jesus would regard them, help them, be with them at all.

Jesus walks on water, friends, but you and I certainly do not.  Jesus is master of nature and Lord of all creation.  You are a lowly creature, subject to the laws of nature, and captive to the corruption of sin in which you are born. Jesus walks on water, because of course he does.  You walk in the valley of the shadow of death, in the midst of a world of death and sin.  You stumble from one sin to the next – thought word and deed – stepping always through a minefield of your own making.  And sometimes those mines explode in your face.

But the good news is, Jesus is with you.  The God-man who walks on water, walks with you.  And he has walked before you, through his own life, even all the way.  He walked the dusty roads of Galilee.  He walked into and out of dangers, toils and snares, into the wilderness, through the crowd that sought to cast him off a cliff.  He preached all around the villages and towns, and even went to pagans and Samaritans. 

He easily treaded the crashing waves.  But he most importantly walked under the weight of the cross, carrying it along with all your sins, to his goal – to Calvary.  To death.  How beautiful upon that mountain are the nail-pierced feet of him who brings good news by his glorious death for all sinful people, for you, for me.

Here, Jesus is not passed over, so that you would be passed over.  He shows himself to be the true Passover lamb, whose blood is shed so that your blood is not shed.  Who is sacrificed in your place.  Punishment and wrath did not pass him by, but in him, by him, you as passed over, thanks be to God!

The disciples didn’t understand about the loaves.  The disciples didn’t understand about the walking on the water.  They thought they were seeing a ghost.  Their hearts were hardened.  Their faith was lacking.  But Jesus continued to come and reveal to them who he truly is, and what he comes to do.  He is no ghost – he’s flesh and blood!  He’s true man, even as he is true God. 

Once again we will see Jesus demonstrating his divinity – and again we can call Moses and Elijah to witness.  There on the Mt. of Transfiguration Jesus would show his disciples a glimpse of his glory in a very visual way.  Moses and Elijah testify by their presence, and then by their disappearance, as indeed all the law and prophets testify that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that salvation is only him.  And when Moses and Elijah are gone, the disciples are left with Jesus only.  And that, of course, is enough.

Christ comes today, and we would not see him pass us by.  He comes not in full-on radiant glory, not in wind and storm and quake and fire.  He comes not walking on water.  He comes in the whisper of his word, preached and proclaimed, sung and prayed.  He comes in the bread and wine, the true Paschal lamb once slain but now alive forevermore.

And he comes to help us.  His presence always helps.  In the word and meal he brings himself, his forgiveness, his salvation, his life.  He who walks on water, also treads death and devil underfoot, and brings us a share in his victory.

Therefore with Jesus there is really nothing to fear.  There is no reason to lose heart.  He even says so, “Take heart;  it is I.  Do not be afraid.”

He comes not to scare us or judge us or even just to teach us a better way.  He comes to save.  To do the saving.  To take away all cause of fear. 

This doesn’t mean this life won’t be rough sailing at times.  The wind might be against us, the waves lapping at our boat.  But we have Jesus, the God-man.  We have his presence and his promise.  He walks on water.  He will certainly walk with us.  Look to him for help, and he will never pass you by.

In Jesus Name.  Amen.

Sermon - Pentecost 6 - Mark 6:1–13

Mark 6:1–13

“The Preaching of Repentance”

What a wonderful day it is for Messiah to celebrate the arrival and installation of our first vicar, Jeremy McDonald.  I’m going to trust that most of us have read and learned what the vicarage program is about, why Messiah is participating, and about the unusual circumstances that bring us a man who is already ordained as a pastor – and yet has come to serve a year as a student – preparing for full-time pastoral ministry.  We pray that we will be a blessing to him, and he to us, and that this time will also serve the church at large, especially the congregation he will one day be called to serve.

It is fitting, as it often seems to happen, that the lectionary sets before us today a reading which speaks to the occasion.  Focusing on the second half of our Gospel reading today, in which Jesus sends out the 12.  In a sense, Jesus ran his own seminary of his own – trained his own disciples as the first pastors of the church – and here we have an example of him sending them out for some practical experience – work in the field.  Pushing them out of the safety of his direct supervision to go and preach and heal and cast out evil spirits in the villages and towns.

He sent them out two by two – probably in part for practical reasons – as it is often beneficial to follow the “buddy system”.  But also, in keeping with the scriptural principle of witness – that every matter is confirmed by two or three witnesses.  They were not without support in the field.  God provided for them, even by means of their companion in this work.  Later, when they were ready, these same disciples would also go out on their own and preach and establish churches even to the ends of the earth.

But for now, he also instructed them not to over-prepare.  I’m sure there are times Pastor McDonald will feel ill-prepared for the tasks we will place before him, or that he will encounter – both here and in his eventual ministry.  After many years of pastoring, I still often feel the same.  But here the implicit assurance Jesus gives is that we ought not worry too much about such things.  God provides for his preachers, and for pastors, through the generosity of those who hear the word from them.  So the disciples relied on the hospitality of the people in the villages.  And pastors and vicars today rely on the generosity of God’s people to support the work of the Gospel wherever we are to serve.

And that you do so, as Christians, is a very good thing.  It is an act of faith – an expression of gratitude for God’s word that has spoken and still speaks to you.  It is a way of showing appreciation for all that Scripture teaches, and that the Spirit proclaims to us in both Law and Gospel.

For those that did not receive the apostles’ preaching, a harsh and symbolic sign was given against them – “(if) they will not listen to you, when you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet as a testimony against them.”  And Jesus explains elsewhere, those who reject his messengers are really rejecting him, along with the one who sent him.  But those who receive the apostles’ teaching, receive Christ and the Father who sent him.

Martin Luther teaches us in the Small Catechism, in the “Table of Duties”, he has a section “What the Hearers Owe Their Pastors”.  And in good Lutheran fashion, it is simply a collection of pertinent Scripture readings which teach us to care for and honor the servants of God who bring us his Word.  For instance:

Obey your leaders and submit to their authority. They keep watch over you as men who must give an account. Obey them so that their work will be a joy, not a burden, for that would be of no advantage to you. Heb. 13:17

It’s sometimes hard to share good things with your pastor and show respect and submit to that authority… especially when the word that is preached is a word you might not enjoy hearing.  For even those disciples were sent by Jesus with a similar charge:  “So they went out and proclaimed that people should repent.”

Now we should note – that when Jesus sends them to preach repentance – that includes two parts – the turning away from sin, and the turning to Christ in faith. 

Preaching the first part of repentance is not always fun, but it is necessary.  Like the doctor who delivers the tough news of a diagnosis:  you have so many months to live.  So the preacher is also given to deliver the diagnosis of sin – and to call sinners to repent of it.  This of course is not our own word, but God’s.  It’s not our own work, either, but God’s.  Though it is his alien work.  It’s not God’s favorite word to proclaim through his preachers either.

But it is necessary.  And perhaps even more now than ever before.  In a world that has attacked and diminished our awareness of sin and desensitizes us constantly to it – in a culture that even celebrates sins and designates which month to do so – in a marketplace of ideas that decries even the idea of objective truth or reality, that there is male and female, that life begins at conception, or that there is even a God who created us.  Repentance is always in order, the preaching of repentance is always germane.  But even more now in this gray and latter days.

But the preaching of repentance is also necessary, not only because of the world out there.  But because of the people right here.  In those pews, and in this pulpit, we also find sinners who need that word of law.  Sinners who forget our Lord and put ourselves first.  Sinners whose thoughts, words, and deeds do not reflect the new creation he has baptized us to be.  And lest we forget, God’s accusing word of law is preached to keep repentance always before us.

But so too the Gospel.  Now as much as ever do sin-sore ears and bruised consciences need the only healing balm that can cure the soul.  Now, today, and every day we need the proclamation of Jesus Christ crucified for sinners, that Jesus’ blood has atoned for sin, for your sin, for mine.  We need the external and objective promises of God’s grace that come to us in the holy sacraments of Baptism and the Lord’s Supper.  We need the absolving word of the pastor with the promise of Christ that heaven itself is opened by this forgiving word.

Pastor McDonald, Jeremy, you have been ordained into this office, and now you come for further study and experience in our midst (as you often say, doing things a bit backwards, but that’s ok) – but all to this end – to preach repentance and forgiveness of sins, and to administer the sacraments which afford that same forgiveness in Christ.  We welcome you as a fellow servant of Christ and look forward to hearing God’s word proclaimed to us, from you. 

And now back to the first half of the Gospel reading.  Jesus himself is rejected at Nazareth, his own home town.  Perhaps some would find this astonishing.  Jesus, for his part marveled at their unbelief.  Now there are many things would could take from this – but one is a reminder that not all will believe.  Not all will receive Jesus.  And some who you might THINK would, won’t.  And some you might think won’t, will. 

What is Jesus’ response to this?  Does he call down fire and brimstone?  No, he just moves on to preach in the other villages and towns.  He puts his nose to the grind, and does what he is given to do. 

But it wasn’t just the Nazareth villagers who rejected Christ.  His own family and friends were offended by him, turned away from him.  And in the end even his closest disciples fled.  He was stripped of his dignity, his clothes, and gave up his life.  He was rejected by all – and all this in accord with God's plan and purpose.

So that you, sinner, would be forgiven.  So that you, forgiven child of God, would never be rejected.  So that God will always hear your prayers, and receive them as he receives you:  through Christ.  And so that repentance and forgiveness of sins would be preached beginning at Jerusalem, and even to the ends of the earth.  So have we heard.  So may we ever believe.

In Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.

 

Sermon - Pentecost 5 - Mark 5:21-43

Mark 5:21–43

One of the aspects of interpreting Holy Scripture that has always interested me is that of juxtaposition.  What events and stories, what topics and discussions does Scripture place side-by-side.  It’s really a particular subset of the question of context, which is widely known as an important consideration when seeking to understand what the Bible teaches us.

Here in Mark 5, today, we have a very interesting juxtaposition.  We have the story of Jesus going to heal and raise a little girl – the daughter of Jairus, and along the way his healing of the woman with a flow of blood.  Matthew and Luke also contain parallel accounts – and these also contain both the little girl and the woman.

And it is an interesting study in comparison and contrast.  Take a look:

Jairus’s daughter a young girl of 12.  The woman is older, and her problem has been ongoing for 12 years – as long as this girl has been alive.

Jairus is named, a ruler of the synagogue, kind of a big deal we might say - and his daughter would surely also have been well known.  The Jairus family is of some social and religious standing, probably also wealthy.  But this woman is anonymous and of no apparent fame or standing.  And she has spent all her money looking for a cure.

And one last comparison or contrast:  Jairus comes with a formal request, and Jesus agrees to help.  The woman comes and sneaks a touch of Jesus’ garment, and finds her help in him nonetheless.

How interesting to see the similarities and the contrast between the two that Jesus helped that day, and yet the common factor that unites them is this:  They needed help.  And they both found that help in Jesus himself. 

Let’s take Jairus for starters, and his sick daughter.  Nothing tugs at the heart strings for any of us like the suffering of a child.  His little daughter, he says, is at the point of death.  None of us really knows for sure when death will come, but sometimes the signs are pointing that way.  Jairus was desperate.  He falls at Jesus’ feet.  This ruler of the synagogue shows reverent humility to Jesus, a true sign of respect, and maybe even faith.  He has heard of Jesus.  He knows Jesus can heal.  And so he begs, earnestly, Mark tells us, for Jesus to come and lay his hands on the girl – to heal her – to save her from death.  Jesus, of course, who always has compassion, agrees.

A great crowd follows.  What were they looking for?  The answers probably varied.  Each would have had his own issues, but many of them would be similar – yearning for help of some form or another – some needing to be healed, some with cares of this life – maybe even food for the day.  Some also wanting to hear more of this great teacher’s teaching – and maybe even hoping that he was the promised Messiah! 

I could look from this pulpit to the crowd out there this morning and see all manner of people with all sorts of needs.  Some of your struggles I know, because you share them, and I pray for you.  Some of you are facing family problems.  You have children who have left the church, and possibly the Christian faith.  You have health issues acute and chronic.  You are missing loved ones now departed.  You have marriages that could use some work.  You have guilt over sins – maybe from years ago.  You may be struggling just to keep your head above water – emotionally, physically, financially – or all of the above.  The crowd still gathers around Jesus.  The crowd still follows him.  And they should.

Even along the way to his destination, Jesus brings help – though in a strange way.  Let’s zero in on one person in the crowd, the woman Mark describes.  This woman with the flow of blood comes up and sneaks a touch of his garment. 

She was at the end of her rope.  And that’s always a good time to come to Jesus for help.  She had exhausted all other options – seen all the doctors – spent all her savings.  And this wasn’t just some minor medical problem, mind you, a flow of blood like this would have made her ceremonially unclean, along with anyone she touched.  This condition would have put her outside of the regular religious and social life of her people.  It made her an outcast of sorts, almost like a leper.  Nonetheless she bumped and pushed her way through the crowd to get to Jesus.  Her one last hope.

And isn’t it interesting that she reasoned she could get her help without even asking, without even bothering the great teacher.  A sign of humility, perhaps, that she wasn’t even worthy of his time and attention.  I’ll just touch his garment and be healed.  How great did she think his power to help and save must have been!  And she was not disappointed.

Now, Jesus notices that “power has gone out from him”.  And this really is strange.  Who knows exactly what that means.  Jesus certainly knew things that we don’t.  He had power that we don’t.  But he also took on the humiliation of our human nature, and so other things he didn’t know.  Was his question, “who touched my robe?” because he honestly didn’t know?  Or was it like God’s question in the garden, “Adam, where are you?  Did you eat of the tree?”  Was this an invitation for the woman to come to him out in the open?

The woman comes in fear and trembling.  Perhaps Jesus will holler at her for her audacity.  Maybe he will revoke the healing.  Maybe he will condemn her.  But merciful Jesus, he doesn’t shame or excoriate her.  He commends her great faith.  He even calls her “daughter”.

Let this remind us that Jesus helps and saves us in numerous and sundry ways, quite apart from whether we approach him perfectly or not.  For when is anyone’s confession of sins ever perfect?  And yet he forgives freely and fully.  When is our repentance not tinged with hesitancy, second-thoughts, or fear?  And yet he is merciful.  Sure it would have been good if that woman had come with a formal request for aid like Jairus did.  But Jesus is here to save, not make sure you’ve filled out all the paperwork properly.

Finally, the crowd comes close to Jairus’s home, and the bad news reaches the poor father, and also Jesus.  The girl is dead.  Don’t trouble Jesus anymore.  Just like the woman didn’t want to trouble Jesus, but was helped by Jesus nonetheless.  So now Jesus goes to the trouble, doesn’t let their despair stop him, and takes his 3 disciples into the house, and to the girl.  He says, “Do not fear.  Only believe.”

With Jesus, that’s always good advice.  Do not fear.  Only believe.  With Jesus there’s really nothing to fear.  With Jesus there’s every reason to believe.  He may not heal you of a chronic disease, like he did that woman along the way.  He may not even save you from death, like he raised the little girl.  But he will save you.  And when he saves you, there is no disease that can finally harm you.  Not even death gets to keep you forever.  The same Jesus who called to the little girl, “Talitha Cumi”, will call you forth from death on the last day – to a glorious resurrection.  And how do we know this?

Because of Jesus’ own blood, shed on the cross.  Blood which flowed freely for you and all in need of his help. Because he died for the sins of all people, and thus destroyed the death that comes in sin’s wake.  The blood of Jesus that was shed at the cross is the same blood of Jesus given to us today as a guarantee and pledge of the same.  “My blood of the New Testament, shed for you for the forgiveness of sins”

And the Jesus who raised the little girl, and the widow’s son, and his friend Lazarus, is the same Jesus who himself laid down his life and took it up again.  With even greater ease than me laying my jacket on the back of a chair and taking it up again when it’s time to go…. So Jesus is Lord and Master of his own life, and of yours.  He says to the little girl, “arise” and she does.  He will say the same to you, and you will, too.

And in a way he already has.  For in the waters of baptism you’ve already been raised to new life in him.  And that life- that eternal life – that is already yours – will make your death nothing more than a peaceful rest in Christ.  Until you waken in the resurrection to glory. 

So whether you are a little girl or an old woman.  Male or female, slave or free, rich or poor, Jew or Greek, Yankee or Texan.  Come to Jesus for saving.  Whatever your burden, cast it on him, for he cares for you.  And he will help.  Do not doubt it.  Only believe.

In Jesus’ Name.  Amen.

Sermon - Mark 4:35-41 - Pentecost 4

There’s an old joke – “what do you call someone who speaks two languages:  Bilingual.  What do you call someone who speaks three languages:  Tri-lingual.  What do you call someone who speaks one language:  American”

But I would tend to differ.  Most of us Americans also speak a second language known as sarcasm.  Sarcasm can certainly be used to sinful ends, in a verbal cut-down of someone when kindness would be better.  But the Lord himself seems to employ a sarcastic line of rhetorical questions as he answers Job’s complaints.

Who is this that darkens counsel with words but not understanding?  Job, you don’t know what you’re even talking about.

Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?  Uh, nowhere.  Your oldest ancestor wasn’t even formed from the dust yet. 

Who made the earth and the sea and the stars?  Me, not you.  Who knows how it happened?  Me, not you.  Who set the limits on even the seas, shut it in its doors, and told it how far it can come and no farther?  Me, not you, nor anyone else. 

Or in other words, “Who do you think you are?  And did you forget who I am?”

Like Job, we forget ourselves, and we forget just who we are dealing with when it comes to the Lord.  The disciples were the same.  And we see it in the Gospel reading, as Jesus calms the storm.

It all started out peaceful and calm enough, just another day at the office you might say.  Jesus was preaching and then they got in the boat to go back to the other side of the Sea of Galilee.  There’s no conversation or fanfare.  Jesus says, “let’s go” and so they do.  Mark even says they took him in the boat, “just as he was”.  There was no indication anything strange was about to happen.  In fact it was so normal and relaxed, that Jesus himself found time for a nap, on a cushion, in the stern of the boat.  The calm before the storm, we might say.

But suddenly the wind and waves kicked up with a sudden storm.  It must have been a doozie.

When I was in Israel in 2007, we took the tourist boat ride on the sea of Galilee. It was rather pleasant. In fact it even started to rain. But the light sprinkling we got was nothing like that day Mark writes about. He says a “furious squall” or a “great windstorm” came up, and the boat was already filling with water. These seasoned fishermen must not have seen too many storms like this. It quickly threatened to sink their boat and drown them all in short order. They were afraid.

But Jesus slept. With all of the commotion, wind, wave, and surely shouting disciples, Jesus slept. He appeared not to notice, not to care, while the storm raged about them.

And while this is a true story, it serves a such an apt picture of the troubles in our lives. We can relate to those disciples, who feared in the face of the storm. Though, it's not mostly weather that makes us quake and tremble, but it's the “storms of life”. The troubles and conflicts, the worries and woes that we face on life's sea.

Some of these we bring upon ourselves, by our own sin. Some are brought on by others, members of the sinful world around us. Some may even come from the Devil and his forces. These spiritual enemies are constantly trying to sink our boat of faith.

Sometimes the storm happens, and it's just a storm. A freak of the broken nature we live in. A disease, an accident, a job loss – the unpleasant things that happen to you for seemingly no reason whatsoever. These too are a result of sin, and living in this fallen world we are sure to see our share of them.

And it's not just individuals that face the storms. Sometimes a congregation charts a course through rough waters. Sin's effects are sometimes pervasive – affecting the body as well as individual members. We may struggle with conflict and disagreement, confusion and worry.

The disciples, in their fearful panic at the storm – asked a question. And we might give them mixed marks for their question.

On the one hand, we can say, with Jesus, that they should have had more faith. If they truly knew and believed in Jesus, they would not have worried, even in the face of the storm. Even with the prospect that the boat would take on water and sink to the depths. Even if they all should drown, Jesus was the Christ, the Son of God. He came to save them, and he would. He cared for them – deeper than they could ever know. “Don't you care?” they asked him. Of course he cared, and of course he still does.

Do you forget who you are dealing with here?  This is Jesus, the Son of God.  This is Jesus, who casts out demons by a word.  This is Jesus, who feeds large crowds with a few fish and loaves.  This is Jesus, who heals every disease, and forgives every sin.  This is Jesus, who as the living Word of God – the one by whom all things were made - laid the very foundations of the earth, set boundaries for the sea, stretched out the heavens and even set the stars in place. 

When we see the storm coming, we are just as quick to forget. When we see the wind and wave around us, we struggle with faith the same. Do we trust Jesus to be the Christ? Do we trust him to save us? That in the end it all works out to his glory? That in all things he works for the good of those who love him? Could Jesus ask us all, “have you still no faith?”

On the other hand, the disciples were right in this: They knew where to go for help. They knew that Jesus could do something. Even if they didn't quite believe that he would. They called on him, (could we say, they prayed to him?) and asked his help. And he delivered.

So too is it good for us to call on Christ in every trouble. So often we think we can solve our own troubles, or we despair when we think we can't. But we forget that Christ is right here with us. And if it seems he slumbers, perhaps he's waiting for us to finally turn to him. To repent of our own way and rely on him and his way.

And notice how he does it. He doesn't wave a magic wand. He doesn't bail out the water with his own bucket. He simply speaks. It's the word. That's where he shows his power, even today.

The same Christ, Son of God whose word holds the power to hush the furious storm is the same Christ whose word holds the power today.

The Word that rebukes wind and wave, is a word of rebuke for us. It is the same word that condemns and terrifies us for our sins, commands and corrects us to do better. The same word that calls us to repentance, and by which we call each other to turn from sin and receive that other word – the Gospel.

The Word that bids the storm to cease is the same word of quiet and peace for us. That all who bring our sins to Jesus find a calm in the storms of life – be they storms of our own making or not. In all of it he says, “Be still. Be still and know that I am God.”

Some may have thought Jesus was too passive in submitting to death, even death on a cross.  Some may have thought God had abandoned him (and in a way he did).  Some may have seen Good Friday unfold and said, “Jesus, don’t you care!  We are perishing!  YOU are perishing!  Do something!”  And what he does, is die.  He takes his rest, this time, not in the bow of a bot, but in a borrowed tomb.  All as the disciples freaked out, scattered, and wailed in grief and fear.  Jesus calmly did what needed to be done.  And then when the time was right he showed his mighty power – even over death.  Why would you doubt him?  Why are you so afraid?

If he has the power to calm the storm, if he has power to overcome even death, he certainly has the power to calm my troubled heart, my conflicted home, my distressed congregation. To forgive sins and rescue from death and hell. We have only to turn to him, and hear his word.  Don’t forget who you’re dealing with here, or rather who’s dealing with and caring for you.  This is Jesus.  He’s got this.