Sermon - Pentecost 21 - Genesis 4:1-15

Cain and Abel

The oldest story of sibling rivalry.  The first murder.  A study in contrasts between acceptable and unacceptable worship.  And, finally, another striking glimpse of God’s mercy for the sinner.  The account of Cain and Abel this morning gives us much to consider.

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.  Adam and Eve’s firstborn son, Cain, became a farmer like his father.  Only it soon becomes clear that Cain also inherits the sin of his father.  Here we learn the first lesson from this passage – that we are sinners. That we, too, inherit sin from our fathers.  When Adam fell into sin, all his future children were also doomed, like Cain, to suffer the same corruption.  And how quickly the sin goes from simply eating a forbidden fruit – to premeditated murder.   We often like to think we are better than previous generations – more enlightened, more civilized, perhaps even with better morality.  But none of that is really true.  We’re cut from the same contaminated cloth of sin.

And of course their second son, Abel, was a shepherd.  But Cain and Abel are different for more than just their profession.  When it comes time to worship God, another difference becomes clear.  God accepts Abel’s sacrifice.  God has no regard for Cain’s offering.

At first blush we might not understand why.  After all, grain offerings are just as acceptable throughout the Old Testament as animal sacrifices.  Both can be appropriate ways for God’s people to show him thanks.  It’s not that God preferred them because of what they were.  As if he needed either.  As if he needs anything from us.  He of course doesn’t.

So why was Abel’s offering accepted and Cain’s was not?  Here’s a clue in the text.  Cain gave some of his harvest.  Abel gave the first and the best.  Cain gave a portion, but it seems, nothing special.  Abel gave of the fat portions.  Abel gave from the firstborn of his flock.  And now it begins to become clear.  The book of Hebrews makes it even clearer.  Abel’s sacrifice proceeded from his faith, whereas Cain’s did not.  Abel gave from the heart, Cain gave for show.  Abel gave in true thanksgiving, Cain gave for other reasons – whatever they were.  To get something from God?  To keep up appearances of piety?  So that everyone would think he was good and faithful like Abel?

God cannot be mocked.  He sees through the outward appearance of religiosity and straight to the heart.  Let Cain stand as a warning to us all, first of all, not to consider our own works, even our worship as pleasing to God apart from faith in Christ. 

You can see why this Old Testament reading was paired with this Sunday’s Gospel, too.  You have the comparison of two men who bring and offering, and two men who pray.  Cain is like the Pharisee – coming in pride, trusting his own devices.  Making worship to be seen, and not in genuine faith.  Abel is like the Tax Collector, bringing what pleases God – in Abel’s case his best and first, and in the Tax Collector’s case, a contrite and broken heart.  This is worship that exhibits faith and righteousness, not the showboating of the Pharisee or the half-hearted offering of Cain.

And then, when Cain’s offering was not regarded by God, when it was not accepted as Abel’s was – however he knew it – Cain became angry.  Angry with God, perhaps.  Angry with his brother, for sure.  Anger in the heart is a hothouse for breeding other sins.  It often bubbles over into sharp words, and even violent actions.  Jesus warns us of anger and hatred in our hearts – and shows that words and thoughts of anger are sinful just as actions of violence and murder.

But Cain’s indignation was misplaced.  If he had done well, he’d have no problem.  It’s his own fault.  He should blame himself.  But that’s rarely what prideful sinners do.  Let Cain stand also for us as a warning against sinful anger.  And when we find our own faces falling let us beware, lest sin come and crouch at our door.

And so Cain’s problems started long before he talked his brother into going out into the field.  But it’s still shocking.  Here we are in the second generation from paradise.  Not so long ago everything was very good. The world fresh, new and clean.  Death was unheard of.  And now.  Death comes through violence at the hands of another – a brother killing his own brother – premeditated.  No remorse shown.  And when questioned, “where’s your brother?” the murderer arrogantly thinks he can get away with it.  But not so fast.  Abel may be dead but his very blood cries out from the ground.  Calling for justice!  And God is just… so….

One of our hymns does a nice job of finding the Christological connection here.  “Abel’s blood for vengeance, pleaded to the skies, but the blood of Jesus for our pardon cries”.  Yes, Jesus is the greater Abel!

Abel was a shepherd, Jesus the Good Shepherd.  Abel offered a sacrifice of a lamb.  Jesus is the Lamb of God who is sacrificed.  Abel was killed by his own brother.  Jesus is killed by his own people.  Abel’s blood cried for justice – but here’s the glorious twist – Jesus’ blood speaks a better word (says Hebrews).  Christ’s blood is poured onto the earth to save and redeem and pardon the whole world.  Jesus cries for our forgiveness, even from his very cross.

And while Abel stands as the prototype of all the martyrs – all those whose blood is shed by violent men, yet kept the faith unto the end.  Cain stands as a figure of all Christians who have blood on our hands and yet find mercy from a the one who by rights could condemn us.

Cain faces the consequences of his sin – the earth no longer yields its strength to him (for that’s where his brother’s blood was shed – out in the field, onto the ground).  And Cain, rather than living off the land shall wander the land in exile.  And for Cain it all seems to much – even though by rights he ought to have been struck dead himself.  Even in this punishment, God is showing mercy.

But in answer to Cain’s pleading, he shows even more.  “Whoever finds you will not kill you, Cain, for I’m putting a mark on your head.”  And who knows what that mark was exactly, but I like to imagine it as a cross.

God protects Cain from retribution, and threatens to punish anyone who kills him with vengeance 7 times over!  7 is God’s number.  It reminds us of God’s work of creation.  This is no small promise God is making to Cain, a promise Cain in no way deserves.

Dear Christian, you, too, have been marked by God.  You too, have a promise of God’s protection.  All new-born soldiers of the crucified bear on their brows the seal of him who died.

At your baptism, you received the sign of the holy cross, both upon your forehead, and upon your heart, marking you as one redeemed by Christ the crucified.

You were sealed in those precious waters with the promise of God’s protection.  You are God’s own child – so gladly say it!  Though your grave stares at you open-eyed, even there you’ll sleep secure.  For not even death can conquer those who have overcome by the blood of Christ!  We are under his protection.  No harm will come to us from sin, death or devil.  All our enemies were Christ’s enemies, and he has defeated them all.

So what is left for us to do but give thanks?  What is left for us but to remain faithful, and to express that faith in worship of God and love for neighbor.  Yes, we too give gifts of thanksgiving to God.  And may we render them in faith, like Abel, always giving of our first and our best.  But when sin crouches at our door, and even if it overcomes us, let us live as Christians and repent – ever to find that forgiveness and mercy in Christ.  God be merciful to me, a sinner.  And he always will, in Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.

Sermon - Pentecost 19 - Luke 18:1-8

 

One of my little areas of interest within the broader subject of Theology is the way the Bible, and especially Jesus, uses humor.  I think we have an example of that today, with the parable of the persistent widow.  Now, of course, Jesus is no stand-up comedian.  And his humor always serves the purpose of teaching.  So, today, as Luke tells us, the purpose of the parable is this:  that his disciples should always pray and not lose heart.  So too, for us.

Take this persistent widow.  We might fill in the gaps of the story a bit with our imagination.  Jesus says she’s seeking justice from her adversary.  But he doesn’t say what exactly the matter is.  Surely, it must have been something that seemed of no consequence to the high and mighty people of the world.  The concerns of a widow are lowly, like the widow herself.  Scraping by on a day-to-day basis, begging perhaps and relying on the kindness of strangers.  She had little, and had little hope.  Little standing in society, or in a court of law.  She was one of the least of the least, forgettable and insignificant.  Especially to someone like this judge.

 

Jesus tells us the judge is someone who neither feared God nor respected man.  Sounds like a nice fellow, eh?  You can imagine he rose to this high position through treachery and politics, trampling over whomever he needed to in order to get ahead and climb the ladder.  He’s the very opposite of this poor widow – he’s respected, or at least feared in the community.  People know not to cross him or get on his bad side.  He’s probably mean and grumpy and self-centered and just a real specimen of a person.

 

And here comes this widow, pestering him.  Persistently, over and over again, she begs the judge for justice.  Something about this is just funny.  She may have seen him first in the courtroom, but that won’t be the last he’d see of her.  She finds out where he lives.  She camps out by his front door.  She nags him on the way to work.  She nags him on the way home.  For a while he ignores her, hoping she’ll get tired and go away.  But this woman is tenacious, like a dog champing down on a meaty bone.  She simply will not give up until the judge grants her the justice she demands. 

 

And finally, after she practically exhausts the fellow to death, he says to himself,  “Though I neither fear God nor respect man, yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will give her justice, so that she will not beat me down by her continual coming.”  In other words, “I know I’m a scoundrel, and I’m not doing this out of some sense of justice, but I’m just plain tired of this woman and want to get rid of her.  So I’ll give her what she wants!”  He’s annoyed.  He’s exasperated.  He’s sick and tired of this woman and her badgering!  Enough already!  I’ll do what you want!

 

It's a funny picture.  The characters are a bit exaggerated.  But the point is clear.  Jesus is making an argument from the lesser to the greater.  It goes like this:  If such a wicked, callous, disrespectful earthly judge can be made to answer by a lowly widow who is simply persistent…. And if he does so only because he wants to be done with her pestering….  Then how much MORE will your loving, kind, gracious, merciful judge – who is also your father – how much more will he hear YOU, his dear people when you pray?

 

The answer, of course, is much more.  We have a God and Father who wants us to bother him, and bother him persistently.  Who delights in our prayers because Jesus makes them delightful, and the Spirit brings them before him.  They’re a pleasing aroma to him.  He invites us to pray, and to pray without ceasing, and to never lose heart.  Will God not give justice to his elect?  Of course he will.  And will he not do it speedily?  Of course he will.

 

Justice.  Not the kind of justice that we deserve – where we are on the receiving end of punishment for our sins, oh no.  That kind of justice has already been done to Jesus.  He took the guilty verdict.  He suffered the death penalty.  He bore the wrath of God that had our name on it.  He made it his own.  Divine justice is done in the strangest of ways at the cross – but what wonderful, beautiful, alien justice it is!  Thanks be to God!

 

What Jesus is referring to here is more so the justice over our adversaries.  That we, like the little old widow, would find help against our adversaries from the judge.  Only, her adversary may have been someone who stole her mites, or cheated her at the market, or took advantage of her weakness.  Our adversary is a roaring lion seeking to devour us.  He’s a great dragon who sweeps stars out of the sky.  He’s a foul tempter, and old evil foe who seeks to do us woe.  And he wants nothing more than to drag us away from Jesus and to the misery of his company for eternity.  He is a fearsome adversary, and we ought not take him lightly.

 

The Devil would have us, if he could.  He would accuse us, that’s what Satan means, accuser, and he would love to rub our noses in our sin so much that we doubt even God can forgive us.  Or, if he can, he would blind us to our need for Christ, harden our hearts, and lull us into a false sense of security and into the lie of self-righteousness. 

 

Sometimes, it seems like the adversary is winning.  It seems like my own sins get the better of me.  My Old Adam gets the upper hand on the New Man.  Sometimes, it seems like the righteous judge has forgotten me, or is even judging me for my sins, giving me what I surely deserve.  Sometimes it seems like his ears are deaf to my cries, and he can’t or won’t answer my prayers or regard them at all. 

 

In fact, sometimes it can seem that God himself is our adversary!  Take Jacob in our Old Testament reading.  He wrestled with “a man” all night long.  That’s all we’re told at first, this was “a man”.  But later that man shows himself to be more – as he pops Jacob’s hip with a touch like a kung-fu grandmaster.  He could’ve beaten Jacob all along. 

 

But still Jacob persists, “I will not let you go unless you bless me!”  And so the man, the angel, the Lord himself, blesses.  He changes Jacob’s name to Israel, “He wrestles with God”.  And he becomes a picture of every believer, every true Israelite, who wrestles with God, who clings to God and persistently seeks blessing, and is not disappointed. 

 

Likewise, Jesus, with this parable, calls us here to persistence in prayer.  And that’s not him speaking law.  He’s not saying, “pray night and day or else!”  He’s encouraging us.  He’s inviting us.  He’s reminding us of the character of our righteous judge who desires to give us all good things, and promises to deliver us from the Adversary, and who delights to be bothered by the prayers of his people. 

 

Nevertheless, Jesus concedes that all this calls for patience.  “When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on Earth?”  He seems to be referring here, to his second coming.  When he comes again to judge the living and the dead.  When he comes to bring his final justice, to close out the books, and to give to each either a final reward or final punishment.

 

And what will the Son of Man be looking for when he comes again in glory to judge both all flesh?  Faith.  Faith in him.  Faith, trust, belief – a reliance upon him and him alone.  He will not regard kindly those who bring their own resume, but only those who rely on his. But rather he’s looking for faith, dogged, unwavering, unflinching, patient, persistent, pestering faith.

 

And if your faith doesn’t seem that persistent, no matter.  We can all pray, “I believe, Lord, help my unbelief”.  He would point you not to the quality of your faith, but to the character of the Judge.  We don’t put our persistent faith in our faith.  We put it in the character of the judge who always, always wants to answer our prayers with good things.  The one who loved us so that he even sent his own Son that we would not perish but have eternal life.  Won’t he also graciously give us all things?

 

And that faith – the assurance of things hoped for and the certainty of things not seen – will be fulfilled at his coming.  When all that we have hoped for comes true.  When every eye will see him.  And when all of our prayers are answered with an eternal, “Yes”.  We will not be disappointed.  We will see justice done, and we will receive eternal joy.

 

Do not lose heart, dear Christian.  Do not lose faith.  Pray for blessings spiritual and earthly, temporal and eternal.  Ask that your sins be forgiven for the sake of Christ, and know that they are.  Ask that God will save you at the last, and he will.  Pray, day and night, for we have a righteous, kind, loving, merciful judge who loves to be bothered.  So bother him.  In Jesus Christ our Lord.

Sermon - Pentecost 17 - Luke 17:1-10

 

Let us focus on the third paragraph from our Gospel reading today, in which Jesus says,

 “Will any one of you who has a servant plowing or keeping sheep say to him when he has come in from the field, ‘Come at once and recline at table’?  Will he not rather say to him, ‘Prepare supper for me, and dress properly, and serve me while I eat and drink, and afterward you will eat and drink’? 

Does he thank the servant because he did what was commanded? So you also, when you have done all that you were commanded, say, ‘We are unworthy servants; we have only done what was our duty.’ ”

In our house we have a little saying, “The Lawn Looks Nice”.  It’s one of those family inside jokes I guess.  I suppose one too many times someone who mows the lawn went fishing for a compliment or something.  And now it’s become a catch-all response when someone goes looking for a pat on the back.  Any sort of, “Hey, didn’t I do a good job at that?”, really.  Cleaned the kitchen?  The lawn looks nice.  Did your homework?  The lawn looks nice.  Mowed the lawn again this week?  Well.  How about that.

I suppose most of us like to be appreciated.  We want our good works not to go unnoticed, but secretly – or maybe not so secretly – we want everyone to see them, and with the more fanfare the better.  And it’s best if you notice my good works and appreciate them all by yourself, because if I have to tell you to notice them….  Well, then do you really appreciate them?

You know this perhaps best when you experience the opposite.  When you do something nice for someone and they don’t seem to appreciate it at all!  When there’s no regard for your hard work and consideration. When there’s no thank you!  How dare they!?

And maybe there’s even a part of us that somehow expects the same from God.  In fact our relationship with God is closely connected to our relationship with our neighbor.  How we consider one affects the other, shows something about the other.

That fact that we look for such recognition and appreciation for our good works is a sign to us that they really aren’t that good after all.  Good works are simply the starting point.  They are what is expected of us.  This is what Jesus gets at with this illustration or parable.

It was a servant’s job to serve his master – not just in during the day, out in the field, but also when dinner time comes.  The servant would have been called upon to bring his master’s meal first – and only then to go eat his own dinner. 

And when the servant does what he is commanded, it is enough that he did his job.  He’s not looking for extra kudos and accolades.  He doesn’t expect the master to invite him to feast alongside the master.  He’s fine to go back to the servant’s quarters and eat with the other servants.

And at the end of the day, the faithful servants say, “we are unworthy servants.  We have only done our duty.”

Well, that’s as it should be.  And maybe that’s how it is in the world of fiction.  If you watch a period drama like Downtown Abbey, where the servants take great pride in their work, and know their place, and above all want to see the masters receive good service!  That’s the ideal.  But of course we don’t live in a fiction novel, or a fantasy world.  We live in the real world, the fallen one.

And we, ourselves, are not that kind of servant.  Not by nature, anyway.  We are unfaithful and selfish and irresponsible servants who are often more concerned about how we look to others than if we have done our duty. 

We bristle under the commandments – which teach us how to serve rightly.  We would rather explain our failings away and rationalize why this or that commandment doesn’t really apply – than to admit our failures.

Or else we would rather see our shabby good works as shining examples of duty, and be commended for them – rather than face the reality that our best works are like filthy rags, and that even our most selfless and righteous good deeds still bear the stink of sin. 

Like the rich young man who tried to claim before Jesus, “All these (commandments) I have kept from my youth!”  You’re not fooling Jesus, there, buddy.

We are far better at critiquing our neighbors’ duties and failure of duty than our own.  And we are far kinder on ourselves, excusing away what we would condemn in others.  Gossip!  Jealousy!  Short-tempers!  Pride!  Callousness!  Pick your sin.  We don’t do as we should, and we do as we should not.  Some servants we are.  What will the master do with us?

And even if we could keep the law perfectly, we wouldn’t sit around waiting for a big “thank you” from our Master.  We are his created beings.  We are made for him – not for ourselves.  We have a duty to him, not a privilege of our own self-determination and self-fulfillment.  But even this though might bring out the worst in your sinful nature, which despises the master because you want to be the real master.

No, we are unworthy servants.  And we don’t even do what we should.  We are unworthy because of our sins and because even our best good works are unworthy of the greatness of the master.

But there is one worthy servant.  There is one who fulfilled his duty well.  There is one who did all things he was asked to do to perfection, and never expected thanks for it.

He who was in the very nature God, took on the form of a servant and was made flesh.  He labored in the field of this world the long day of his life.  He did all things he was called to do, and he did all things well. 

He served no other gods, but always did the will of his Father.  He hallowed his Father’s name by always walking in truth, teaching the truth, leading people into truth.  He gave Sabbath rest, true rest, even on the Sabbath when man-made laws would have stopped him.  But the Sabbath is made for man, and the Lord of the Sabbath was made man for all people.

This worthy servant loved God, but he also loved man, his neighbors.  He was an obedient son to his parents, submissive and respectful, keeping the 4^th Commandment – even though he was the Word by which they and all the world were created.  He never killed, never harmed his neighbor unjustly, and never hated in his heart.  He was always faithful to his bride, the church.  He never stole, never lied, never slandered a good name.  And he never coveted what belonged to another, though everything that ever was and is belongs to him.  He came not to abolish the law, but to fulfill it – and in great service to us, he dutifully crossed every T and dotted every I.  Yes, service to us – because his perfect righteousness is credited to us.  His obedience is counted as ours.  When we stand before the master and judge on the last day, he will see all of Christ’s good works – and consider them ours.

But there’s more.  After laboring all the day of his life to fulfill the law on our behalf, the worthy servant became the suffering servant.  He filled our cup of righteousness by his righteousness, and then he drained the cup of God’s wrath by his sacrificial death.  In both cases he served in our place – both in doing the good we cannot, and in bearing the punishment for our evil thoughts, words and deeds.  This dutiful servant did not turn away from the task appointed to him, but prayed, “not my will, but thy will be done, Father.”  He didn’t speak in his own defense.  He didn’t call his servants – men or angels – to fight for him.  He didn’t even hold a righteous grudge against those who swung the hammer, but prayed, “Father, forgive them…” 

Martin Luther’s great hymn, “Dear Christians, One and All, Rejoice” has a wonderful little section about the dutiful Son obeying the Father’s will:

God said to his beloved Son:

“It’s time to have compassion.

Then go, bright jewel of My crown,

And bring to all salvation.

From sin and sorrow set them free;

Slay bitter death for them that they

May live with You forever.”

                And then,

The Son obeyed His Father’s will,

Was born of virgin mother;

And God’s good pleasure to fulfill,

He came to be my brother.

His royal pow’r disguised He bore;

A servant’s form, like mine, He wore

To lead the devil captive.

And this worthy servant, he serves even further.  He doesn’t stop at the active obedience of fulfilling the law.  He doesn’t stop at the passive obedience of laying down his life for our sins.  He reclaims that life from death, and promises us a resurrection like his own.  And he gives us a truly blessed pledge of that new life in the form of sacraments – a washing and a meal.

Yes, that servant in his parable came in from the field after a hard day’s labor, and he served even more.  He prepared his master a meal.  But wonder of wonders, our master becomes the servant.  And he prepares for us a meal.  Just as he has done all things well for our salvation – so now he continues to serve us and bless us with gifts fit for a king.  He serves at table.  He spreads a feast.  He feeds us with bread that is his own body, and wine that is his own blood.  He serves us himself, and brings us forgiveness of sins.  He makes us who are unworthy servants in our sins, worthy by faith in him, worthy even of life eternal.

At the end of the day, we Christians need not count our good works and expect to be recognized for them – for we already have more than we could imagine.  We are unworthy servants, but made perfect by the worthy servant, Jesus Christ our Lord.  And so we do our duty as Christians with joy – loving God, and serving our neighbor.  May it be so, for Jesus’ sake.  Amen.

Sermon - Pentecost 15 - Luke 16:1-15

15th Sunday after Pentecost

Luke 16:1-15

Today we come to a difficult Gospel reading.  It’s one of those challenging readings that pastors like to assign to their vicars to preach.  But somehow I dropped the ball on that.  So here we are, with Jesus telling a parable about a dishonest manager, or sometimes called the “unfaithful steward”.  

It’s a hard reading.  And it’s not just because this is a passage about money.  But that is a hard topic to cover in the church these days.  

So many preachers seem to run the way of the law when they cover what the Bible teaches about money.  And maybe that’s because the law works, at least outwardly.  If you harp on giving and harangue people to get out their checkbooks – well, many people will do that.  But we Lutherans want the gospel to be the driving force in all things – even in our giving. We want joyful givers, who give freely.  So I don’t plan on guilt-ing you into putting more into the offering plate today.

Still, so many people are oversensitive at the mere mention of money in church, and easily offended.  But we recognize that Jesus frequently addresses the topic, and so we really shouldn’t shy away from it – touchy subject that it may be.

Perhaps it is a touchy subject, in large part, because the truth hurts.  It could be that we are more materialistic than we’d like to admit.  It could be that when Jesus tells the Pharisees that no one can serve two masters - you cannot serve God and money - it could be that he’s hitting a little too close to home.  For the conscience always squeals when the Law pokes its finger in there.

But to the extent that Jesus’ hard words about money apply to each of us this morning, and I suggest that is to a great extent - let us repent.  Repent of our idolatry of the dollar.  Repent of our putting things before God and our neighbor.  Repent of our unrighteous use of wealth, our poor stewardship of his riches, and of exalting in our lives what is an abomination to God.

And find in Christ our true riches.  There’s plenty of that in this parable, too, though it’s harder to see.

Just as it was in Jesus day, so it is with us today.  The man in the parable – the dishonest manager – was worried about tomorrow.  He knew he was getting fired, and he needed to make a living.  Too weak to dig for money and too proud to beg for money, he hatches a plan to curry some favor, to make some friends, so that he can maybe get some help after his job is taken away.  So he goes around quickly writing off a bunch of debts – giving out discounts on what is owed to the Master.  Hopefully these people will remember me when I’m down on my luck.  Hopefully I’m making some friends here.

I think the other reason this text is so difficult a passage (aside from the fact that it talks about money), is that it may seem on its surface that Jesus is commending dishonesty.  Of course, he isn’t.  We don’t read scripture in a vacuum, and we know from other places that thou shalt not steal.  His point about the use of money is to use it shrewdly, wisely.  Yes, but is there something more here? 

Take a close look at the master in the story - the rich man.  There are some clues here that something just isn’t right with this master.  Sure, he’s about to fire the dishonest steward for his wasteful management.  That’s not surprising.  But even in doing so, he is merciful.  He asks for an account, but he gives the man time - time the steward uses to set himself up for the future.  The master asks for an account, but he never ends up demanding repayment (even from those who the steward gave a discount on their bill).  And strangest of all, the master commends the dishonest steward at the end of the story - even though he’s been dishonest and wasted and given away the wealth of the master!

Who would act like such a master?  Who would show such mercy, and forgive such malfeasance?  Who would show such patience, and commend even the dishonest, the wicked, the one who had stolen from him?  Our God and Father, that’s who.  On account of his Son, Jesus Christ.

For in Jesus Christ, God does things even more outrageous and surprising and nonsensical - at least to the judgment of this world.  The Father sends the Son, The Faithful Steward, if you will.  He sends him, not to demand an accounting from us, who idolize things and money and fail to worship the true God as we should.  The Father sends the Son, not to collect on our debt of sin which we surely owe, a debt deeper than we could hope to repay.  The Father sends the Son, not to threaten us to shape up or else.  No.  He sends his own son that whoever believes in him would not perish, but have eternal life.

And Jesus, for his part, is just as surprising.  He does the work that we don’t do, and can’t do - the fulfilling of the law. The righteousness of Christ is accounted to you.  All the good he did and does - you get the credit.  He’s not too weak to dig us out of our pit of sin and grave of death.  He’s not too proud to beg God’s mercy on our behalf.

He, Jesus, dies the death we deserve, in our place, for our sake – and rewrites our account with God in our favor.  He accomplishes his mission by paying the debts we owe - not with gold or silver, but with his holy precious blood, and his innocent suffering and death. He takes what you have - only debt - and writes you far more than a 10% discount.  He gives you freely of his grace, all the riches of heaven.  And a promise of eternity in his presence, in the bejeweled heavenly Jerusalem, with gates of pearl and streets of gold.

Does that sound like a lot to promise?  Of course it is, but he who is faithful with little is faithful with much.  And he who did not spare his own Son, but gave him for us all - how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?

So, the upshot, the so-what:  Jesus kind of chides us here – “I wish you, my people, were as wise with your wealth for righteous purposes as the children of this generation are shrewd in dealing with their own kind, for their own unrighteous purposes.”  In other words, how much more, ought we, who know Christ’s love, use his gifts for good?

So what does it mean to use our unrighteous wealth shrewdly?  What does it mean, sons of light, to deal shrewdly with our own, and make friends for ourselves with wealth so that when it fails, we are welcomed into eternal dwellings?

There are many good purposes for the money God calls you to manage and steward.  Feeding your family, clothing your children, putting gas in the car.  We pray that God would give us daily bread, and we receive it with thanksgiving.  We are also called to share with those who have less, and to be generous and hospitable.

But the wisest use of unrighteous wealth by the sons of light means remembering what is most important of all – the kingdom of God, and the message of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  And it means prioritizing the work of the Gospel as we manage the gifts he gives.  For it is only by the Gospel that we can make friends for eternity – as others come to know our forgiving Master.  So as we support this good work, and debts are forgiven in Christ – we can do so with joy – the same joy in heaven over one sinner who repents.

So maybe this parable isn’t so tough after all.  Let it serve us a periodic reminder to repent of our love of money.  Let it point us to Christ, for whose sake our debt of sin is forgiven.  And may this story remind us to be good and wise stewards of his gifts – earthly and heavenly – and use them not for selfish gain but always in gratefulness and love for neighbor.

Sermon - Pentecost 13 - Luke 14:25-35

Luke 14:25-35

Great crowds accompanied Jesus, and he turned to them and said a bunch of sappy and fluffy stuff about mom and apple pie.  He told them they can live their best life now, be who they want to me, and should follow their heart and be true to themselves.  He said, “everything’s gonna be ok.  Don’t you worry now.  Do what you want.  Make sure there’s no negativity in your life.  Don’t stress yourself out.  Life’s too short. Live for today. You do you.”

No of course he said none of those things.  Nor did he say any other spiritual Pablum that scratches the itching ears of the crowds.  Nor does he say today what people want to hear, either to fit their political agenda, to cater to their self-righteousness or confirm their own sinful self-centeredness. 

What we hear from Jesus today is kind of tough.  He teaches us that being a disciple of his is hard.  It’s serious business.  It’s not to be taken lightly.  It comes with crosses.  It has a cost.  It means renouncing all things.  And who wants to hear such a message?

Friends, the Christian faith is no walk in the park.  Ask the martyrs who died violent bloody deaths for the confession of Christ’s name – when all they had to do was say a simple word denying Christ, and all the pain would stop. 

Ask the confessors of Augsburg, princes who knew they were taking their life in their hands, and even knelt down bowing their heads – saying, you may behead us now, emperor, but we will not compromise our confession of Christ.

Take the Christians today in Muslim countries who face violence and even death at the hands of their very own families if it is discovered they have become a believer in Jesus. 

No, the faith is not easy.  It can seem so, in our peaceful, air-conditioned church with pew cushions and friendly fellow worshippers.  It can seem the easy life when you are surrounded by Christians at work and at school, but not all of us are.  And while we do still enjoy great freedom to practice our faith in this country – those who are paying attention know that is not a situation guaranteed to stay the same. We hear about a post-Christian world, and a de-churched society.

This is Jesus speaking to the great crowds that are following him in their wrong-headed ideas of who Jesus is and what he came to do.  They want a certain kind of Jesus.  A Jesus who lets them have their cake and eat it too.  A Jesus who lets them have their idols, and call themselves Christians, too.

And that’s what all these things are – idols.  The first idol he addresses is family.  Yes, even one of the greatest gifts God gives – the family – can be made an idol.  I think about this when I realize that people turn away from the church because it’s just too difficult to hold to the Bible’s teachings about sin when your loved ones are caught in sin.  Or maybe you, yourself, are caught up – moved in with a man or woman who’s not your spouse – and it’s just too grating to go to church and hear, “Thou shalt not commit adultery” and “the marriage bed must be kept pure”. 

Maybe your children have left the faith, and it grieves you.  But rather than wrestle with that grief in godliness and prayer, you turn to some false but somehow mildly comforting lies about how they’re “good people anyway”. 

Oh, you go to a church that teaches the Bible, and says that Jesus is the only way to heaven?  Well you must hate non-believers, then, we are told.  This is the kind of sword that Jesus talks about, dividing families. The faith is not easy.

He compares it to an ill-planned construction project, or an ill-conceived military engagement.  The person who wants to follow Christ but doesn’t consider the cost.  They become a laughingstock.  The object of ridicule.  Don’t be such a fool, Jesus implies.

At the end of the passage he calls us to renounce all that we have, if you want to be his disciple.  Worldly wealth and the comforts of life are always dangerous temptations to idolatry.  If I had to choose between all this and Christ, I must choose Christ!  Renounce it all.  Have no other gods before him.

But he’s not done tearing away our idols yet.  He says you have to hate even your own life!  This doesn’t mean go out and commit suicide.  It means that compared to Christ, even your own life is nothing.  It is worthless. It is to be despised.  If you had to choose between faithfulness to Christ and certain death – then you better choose death, if you want to call yourself a disciple of Jesus.  This is difficult talk.  But Jesus is deadly serious.

And it’s not even just death – it’s death by cross.  Bear your own cross, or you cannot be my disciple.  It would be one thing if I could die in my sleep.  Just never wake up.  Or at least something quick.  Something where I don’t have to suffer.  But Jesus is calling us to exactly that.  A cross means suffering.  That’s what it’s designed to do.  To drag death out, make it painful and long. 

And Jesus knows all about crosses.  And good for us that he does.  For apart from his cross we would be lost.  We would be unable to be disciples.  We could never give up our idols.  We would be left to our own very poor and inadequate devices.  My friends, we’ve heard a lot of law here so far – and this text is heavy with it.  But now let’s consider the cross.

Jesus knew the cost of his calling.  He considered before-hand, and likely every step of the way, where it would take him.  From at least the time in which he emerged from his baptismal waters, through his 40 days of fasting and temptation, in the towns and villages of Judea and Samaria.  And as he set his face toward Jerusalem.  Jesus always knew it would be a cross, for him. 

The cross.  The Son of God and Son of Man suspended between heaven and earth - the wrath of God poured out upon him.  The cup of punishment drunk to the very dregs.  Jesus knew it would be physical suffering, but also the spiritual reality of being forsaken by God.  Becoming sin itself- the object of God’s eternal wrath.  You and I can’t comprehend it.  But Jesus bore it for us all.

He gave up his family and friends – who either deserted him or watched helplessly as he hung there. 

He hated his own life.  Laying it down freely to accomplish his goal of redeeming the world.

He had no possessions.  Nowhere to lay his head, but at the end even his garments were divided among the soldiers, so in naked shame he would die.

And though all who saw him mocked him, the blood and water from his side laid the foundation of the church.  And this king – the king of the Jews - though his enemies surrounded him in far greater numbers, he won peace with God by his surrender even to death.  Peace, for you and me.

He gave all that he had – to purchase and win us as a people for himself.  To make us his disciples, his children, his friends. 

In the sense of justification – the Christian faith is easy.  It comes to us freely as a gift of God, a gift won by Christ at his cross.  But it cost him everything, and this, dear Christians we ought to consider – and never forget.

But in the sense of putting that faith into practice – yes, it is hard.  Yes it means little crosses for all who would follow Christ and his cross.  It means sacrifice and suffering, the hatred of the world, maybe even of your family, and eventually perhaps even hating your life.  Losing your life in this world. 

Ah, but the reward in heaven is far greater.  For Christ is risen from the dead, and if we share in his sufferings, we also share in his comfort.  If we share in his death, and are buried with him in baptism, then we also share in his life, and are raised – now already – and then, one day, even bodily. 

And such is the cost of discipleship – it costs everything, for Jesus and for you.  It means a cross, for Jesus and for you.  And yet it also brings vindication, for Jesus – raised again on the 3^rd day and ascended to eternal glory.  And for you – raised in baptism, raised on the last day, and enthroned with him in glory everlasting.  What in this life is worth anything compared to that?

Paul does the spiritual math this way, and he gets it exactly right: “I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.”

God grant it to us all.  In Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.

 

 

 

Sermon - Pentecost 11 - Luke 13:22-30

 

Luke 13:22-30

“Lord, will those who are saved be few?”

One out of 10?  2 out of 5?  One in a million?  What’s the percentage number, Jesus?  How many will believe, and how many won’t?  Is heaven going to be packed like sardines – or is it going to be kind of lonely?

Maybe they just wanted to know.  Maybe it was simple, straightforward curiosity driving the person’s question.  I was always raised to ask questions – there’s no such thing as a stupid question – and so forth. 

But the commentaries are pretty harsh with the person who asks this question of Jesus.  They say:

Jesus never manifests sympathy for people coming with such purely speculative problems.

He who is serious about his salvation does not ask such a question.

This was an idle question. Jesus had not come into the world to gratify men's curiosity, but to save their souls.

The question is dangerous when put abstractly or academically.

Wow!  Speculative, unserious, idle, abstract and academic! 

And so it seems that not every question is a good question.  And some questions can even be dangerous. 

For his part, Jesus doesn’t really answer – which shouldn’t surprise us.  Jesus many times chooses not to answer people’s questions directly.  Quite often, though, he addresses the issue behind the question.  The spiritual state of the questioner.  The spiritual danger of such a question. 

Consider – if the answer to, “will few be saved” was, “no, not just a few, but many!  In fact, almost everyone will be saved.  Only the really, really, wicked will be condemned” Then how would we sinners react?  Would we not be tempted to rest on our spiritual laurels, confident that our chances of being in the winners’ circle are pretty good, after all?  Might we grow complacent about repentance and faith?  Surely many are more evil than I am.  Surely the odds are in my favor.

Or else, if he answered, “No.  Only a very few will be saved.  In fact it’s quite rare.  You have only a one in a million chance on a good day.”  Then might we be tempted to either despair – or redouble and triple our efforts to earn salvation?  Might we begin to compare ourselves with others, in a vain attempt to prove ourselves worthy?  Might we whine that God isn’t fair if only a few are saved?  Or question his motives or methods in this way or that?

Rather, Jesus speaks to the crowds and offers a hard warning.  He uses a mini-parable about a narrow door and a banquet.  And then he reframes our thinking with an enigmatic saying to conclude the section.  And through it all, our Lord Jesus teaches us repentance and faith. 

“Strive to enter through the narrow door. For many, I tell you, will seek to enter and will not be able.” 

Indeed, that the door to the kingdom is narrow seems to suggest few can enter.  Or at least, that it is not easy.  It takes striving.  But what does that mean?  Is Jesus here teaching good works?  That only the cream of the crop, the best of the best, the ones with the godliest resume’ are fit for the kingdom?  Is the kind of striving he speaks of a works-based program to punch your ticket to paradise?  Surely not.

In fact, as he extends his parable to describe a banquet and the door being shut – those outside are surprised, shocked, even, to find themselves unworthy.  Having a little knowledge about Jesus, a loose association with Christ, or perhaps his church, even eating and drinking with him, doesn’t cut the mustard.  They are locked out.  He goes on to show that even having the right lineage – being descended from Abraham, Isaac and Jacob does not impress him in the end.  Those fellas, along with all the prophets, will be in the kingdom – but you who fancy yourselves their heirs – will be cast out.  You’ll be weeping and gnashing your teeth.

These words of Jesus stand as a stern warning for us, too.  Salvation is not something to be taken lightly, or taken for granted.  It is not something owed to us as a sort of entitlement.  We don’t deserve it.  Rather what we deserve is to be locked out, cast away, and condemned for all our rebellion and perversion. 

So if the “striving” here isn’t some human program of works, or a keeping of the law (as if we could), or some other outward credentials or qualifications, then what?  What is the striving he would have us do to be saved?

I’m reminded of Jacob who wrestled all night with the angel of the Lord by the Jabbock River.  All night long, back and forth they went, a stalemate, neither getting the advantage.  And then finally the angel touched Jacob’s hip – like a kung fu master – and popped it out of joint.  As if to say, “hey, I could have had you all along. This is no mere man you’re wrestling with”  But Jacob still wouldn’t let go.  He insisted on a blessing.  And so God blessed.  “Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel, because you have struggled with God and with humans and have overcome.”  Israel means, by the way, “he struggles with God”.

The Christian life is a life of striving, not to do good works, but of repentance and faith.  Striving for God’s blessing, which we in no wise deserve.  Hating our sinful nature, and struggling to drown that Old Adam in daily in the waves that flow from the font.  Wrestling with our conscience, and disciplining our flesh.  But also grappling with God’s holy word and steeping ourselves in his promises.  It means clinging for dear life to Jesus, even all through the night of sin and sorrow, and begging for the blessing that he alone can give.

And in yet another non-answer to the original question, Jesus makes the enigmatic concluding statement, “Some who are first will be last and some who are last will be first”.  That is to say, some of the last people that you would expect to enter his kingdom – will be the first to do so.  And some of the first people that you expect, will be last.  Your expectations will be blasted to smithereens by the other-worldly grace he gives.  Gentiles, yes even Gentiles will join the banquet.  So long despised and considered unworthy by many of the Jews.  Gentiles will enter the kingdom.  People from east and west.  Foreigners and aliens.  And you, who think yourselves most worthy, will be on the outside looking in.  Isaiah saw it coming in his prophecy – we heard that in our reading today, too.  So it shouldn’t have surprised them.  But it did.

Are so are those who will be saved few?  Doesn’t sound like it if nations upon nations are gathered to the kingdom.  It sounds like multitudes and many.  Such is the grace of God in Jesus Christ.

Thanks be to God we are not saved by the quality of our theological questions, by the extensiveness of our study or the letters after our name.  It’s not the good works that we do or the sins we avoid.  It’s not the way we compare to our neighbor, or to some man-made standard.  It’s not our heritage or lineage or any other credential or certification or qualification or self-justification.  The narrow door through which we must enter the kingdom is Jesus Christ, and him crucified.  And Jesus Christ alone.

And so what of this enigmatic statement of Jesus:  “Behold: some ho are last who will be first, and some who are first who will be last.”

It is a reminder that God thinks differently than the world.  His ways are strange and alien to us.  Who we think should be or will be saved – might not.  And who we think must be condemned and locked out – might be found at the banquet in the kingdom.  Rest not on your worldly thinking, your earthly logic.  But instead submit to God’s way – the way of grace – the foolishness of the Gospel, the scandal of the cross. 

And know that not all questions are bad.  Take this one.  When Paul and Silas were in the Phillipian prison, and got out of jail free by means of a holy earthquake… the jailer, a gentile, came to them with a question:

Then he brought them out and said, “Sirs, what must I do to be saved?”

They didn’t prescribe him a program, or demand circumcision.  They didn’t tell him to do unto others and fulfill the commandments.  But they answered him directly, simply, and beautifully:

And they said, “Believe in the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved, you and your household.” (Acts 16:30-31)

So, too, for you and me.  Strive to enter through the narrow door, that is to say, believe in the Lord Jesus and you will be saved.

In his holy name.  Amen.

Sermon - Pentecost 9 - Luke 12:22-34

 

"Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also."

Jesus ties together his whole sermon with this little aphorism.  It follows immediately upon last week’s reading about the rich fool who built the big barns.  His treasure was on earth, not in heaven.  But with this short saying, Jesus invites us to ponder deeply our own life, our hearts, and our relationship with the treasures we enjoy. 

But he starts with “Do not be anxious”.  And in today’s world of high-anxieties, that may be a hard pill to swallow.

It’s worth mentioning from the outset that the Christian church doesn’t summarily reject the insights of modern science in helping discover what makes us tick –  and makes us not tick so well.  We recognize that all truth is God’s truth, and discoveries about creation and our own human biology and psychology are discoveries about God’s creation.  And secular wisdom can contribute to our understanding of this world – and of things like anxiety.  Pastors are not trained psychologists, but I have learned this: Much like depression, anxiety can have emotional, biophysical and spiritual components.

And while some do suffer from a clinical form of anxiety, it seems every one of us can be anxious about this or that, here or there.  We don’t profess, in the church, to be experts on mental illness or neurosis and psychosis.  But Jesus Christ always knows what he’s talking about.  And so we certainly want to lend an ear to Jesus when he speaks to a topic.  And we want to apply God’s word of both law and gospel to the matter, as Jesus himself does here.

So take first this command, “do not be anxious”.  It’s a bit convicting.  For which of us has not been anxious about something?  In Jesus’ day, when most people lived hand-to-mouth, you could see how they worried about their food and clothing.  Fat-and-sassy modern Americans worry less about whether we will eat or be clothed.  Rather, our worries of food and clothing run the way of - what we want for dinner and what’s the best way to express my personal style now that the new school year is starting.  So we may find it hard to relate.

But we do have our anxieties.  We may worry about money, retirement, inflation, the stock market.  We may worry about our kids and the influences over them.  We worry about what people think of us, our reputation, our standing in whatever circles we care about.  We worry about the next election and the state of our government and the direction it’s going. And we worry about our health – sometimes to the detriment of our health.

But it’s all short-sighted for the Christian.  Worry consumes us.  Anxiety becomes a burden we were never meant to carry.  And so we are victimized by our own warped thinking.  Jesus is going to help us re-focus.

Life is more than food and the body more than clothing.  We might extend the point:  Wealth is more than what’s in your bank account.  Family is more than who lives in your house.  Health is more than the numbers on your bloodwork.  All of these things have a spiritual analog.  All of these earthly things are reflections of the true, the heavenly treasures.

The stuff of earth is not where our treasures ought to be.  Our treasure is in heaven.  So where is our heart?

Jesus’ command here not to worry doesn’t have the force of law that some of his declarations do.  This is not a “woe unto you if you worry” or “cursed is the man who is anxious”.  He’s not here to scare us into not being fearful.

But rather it’s a gentle corrective couched in some wonderful promises.  He shows that we not only shouldn’t worry, but he reminds us why we needn’t be anxious.  We have a loving Father.  So have no fear, little flock, oh you of little faith!

Seek first the kingdom.  Seek first righteousness.  Find the Father who knows what you need and put your faith and trust in him.  Who delights to give you the kingdom.  And all the rest of this will work out as he sees fit.

So if Jesus is your treasure, then your heart is where he is.  If Jesus is in heaven, and he is, then that’s where you belong, and where your heart belongs.  Your mind fixed on things above.  Your eyes set on him, Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame. 

Faith, in many ways, is the opposite of fear.  Faith trusts, where anxiety and worry do not.  Faith says, “God has hold of me.  Christ has died for me.  The Spirit lives within me.  What is there to fear?”  Faith holds to God’s promises.  Worry and anxiety point us to ourselves, our own efforts, our own plans, and ultimately our own failures.  Faith looks outside of oneself and puts all trust in God’s provision.

Take Abraham.  He worried about who would inherit his wealth.  As he was old and had no heir, it would have gone to a stranger – his servant – Eliezer of Damascus.  Abraham worried about his legacy.  But God had bigger plans than Abraham could imagine.  He would provide him an heir, oh, but much more.  Through the seed of Abraham all nations would be blessed.  Through Christ, the descendant of Abraham, all the faithful would receive an inheritance far greater.

Hebrews tells us more about faith today:  “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”  Here is the Bible’s own definition of the term.  The conviction of things not seen.  Funny.  Anxiety also has to do with things unseen – nasty and terrible things yet to come.  But faith is about assurance and hope, not fear for the worst.  Faith rests in the promises God has made, and knows he will not lie or fail.

The conviction of things unseen – that Christ has been raised from the dead!  That you and I will be raised on the last day, incorruptible.  That your sins are forgiven for Jesus’ sake.  That here at his altar you receive not just bread and wine, but Christ’s body and blood.  That the waters of baptism have saved you, and that there you have been buried and raised with Christ.  That one day Christ will return in glory, and all his angels with him, that you his faithful sheep will enter into your rest.

You’ve gotta love Hebrews 11, the great “by faith” chapter.  I encourage you to read the whole thing sometime soon.  It’s a parade of the Old Testament faithful – Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Issac and Jacob, Joseph, Moses..

And then Hebrews winds up the chapter:

32 And what more shall I say? For time would fail me to tell of Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, of David and Samuel and the prophets— 33 who through faith conquered kingdoms, enforced justice, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions, 34 quenched the power of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, were made strong out of weakness, became mighty in war, put foreign armies to flight. 35 Women received back their dead by resurrection. Some were tortured, refusing to accept release, so that they might rise again to a better life. 36 Others suffered mocking and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment. 37 They were stoned, they were sawn in two, they were killed with the sword. They went about in skins of sheep and goats, destitute, afflicted, mistreated— 38 of whom the world was not worthy—wandering about in deserts and mountains, and in dens and caves of the earth.

39 And all these, though commended through their faith, did not receive what was promised,

Hebrews says:

13 These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. 14 For people who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. 15 If they had been thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had opportunity to return. 16 But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city.

A city unseen.  A homeland eternal.  A citizenship in heaven.  Turn your hearts toward this treasure, and away from the anxieties of this life.  Fix your eyes – the eyes of faith – on Jesus.  And tune your ears to his precious promises. Bring your anxieties to him, cast all your cares on him, for he cares for you.  And live in the comfort of his precious cross.

Jesus says, “have no fear, little flock”.  And faith says, “amen.”  And faith says its “amen” by its actions….

Jesus teaches generosity “Sell your possessions, and give to the needy”  It’s the “so what” of all his generosity.  For while emptying your earthly moneybag, you are receiving a heavenly moneybag – that won’t grow old, that will never be empty, no thief can steal and no moth can destroy.  Faith serves the neighbor because the faithful know what is not seen is even more sure than what is.  Therefore trust God, and love your neighbor.  Do not be anxious, but have a living and active faith in Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.