Midweek Lent 6 - John 19:23-24 - The Seamless Coat

“The Seamless Coat”

John 19:23-24

Midweek Lent 6, April 10, 2019

When the soldiers had crucified Jesus, they took his garments and divided them into four parts, one part for each soldier; also his tunic. But the tunic was seamless, woven in one piece from top to bottom, so they said to one another, “Let us not tear it, but cast lots for it to see whose it shall be.” This was to fulfill the Scripture which says,

“They divided my garments among them,

and for my clothing they cast lots.” 

(John 19:23-24)

His friends betray, forsake and deny him.  The crowd turns on him.  His enemies finally seize him, try him, and mock him.  The sentence is given.  Jesus is stripped of his freedom, his dignity, and now, even, his clothing. Finally he will give his life.

Clothing is one of those basic needs of life we all tend to take for granted.  Food and drink, clothing and shoes, house and home… clothing is just one thing in the long list of daily needs that God provides for the righteous and the wicked alike.  It is, as we say, a First Article gift, part of the blessings of creation bestowed by God the Father. We certainly live in a land of plenty when it comes to clothing.  One estimate says the average American spends about $1800 on clothing.  We are richly blessed.

Clothing is worn for both form and function.  You dress in a certain way because, at least partly, you like the look of it.  There are, of course, also the social conventions. Clothing also keeps us warm, though that’s not so important in Texas.  And it can also serve as a signal of the occasion (like a wedding or prom dress) or of the particular job you do (a uniform).

But Christians know that clothing was invented in response to sin.  Adam and Eve made the first clothes – crude coverings of fig leaves – hastily chosen to cover themselves in shame, when sin had changed everything.  No longer was nakedness the norm.  From this time forth, humans would cover our nakedness.

It’s no accident, either, that God provided clothing of animal skins for our first parents.  No, your own coverings will not do.  Only God can cover sin.  And so the first blood shed in the freshly fallen creation was a sacrifice of sorts, animals slain, in order to cover the sins of humanity.  A foreshadowing of a far greater sacrifice to cover the sins of Adam and Eve and all their children.

Jesus, who was like us in every way, yet without sin… and so he had no need of clothing to cover his shame.  Yet he followed the customs and norms of his day.  It began when he was wrapped, as a baby, in swaddling clothes and placed in a manger.  He certainly didn’t dress in finery – those who do so are in king’s palaces.  He had nowhere even to lay his head, no earthly riches, and so he would not have been the type to show off fancy garments and rich clothing.  This one special garment of his, woven without seam, was likely a gift from one of the women who followed him.  Like the ointment they used to anoint him even before his burial, a special gift given in faith and devotion.

But even his humble clothing seemed affected by his divine power.  Remember the woman with the flow of blood – who found healing by touching the hem of his garment?  Jesus felt the power go out from him, and commended the woman for her faith.  Perhaps it was this very garment for which they cast lots!  Perhaps it was also the garment that became brighter than any bleaching – shining with all the radiance of his Transfiguration – giving us a glimpse of the true nature of his glory.

And so, these events took place, as part of his Passion, in order to fulfill prophecy.  All the scriptures must be fulfilled.  Jesus, even in his death, leaves nothing undone – he accomplishes it all.  Every last detail.  Psalm 22, quoted here by John, shows both the dividing of the garments and the casting of lots for the seamless coat or tunic.  The soldiers would have likely plundered anything else they could from their victim, if Jesus had anything. They didn’t bother to give it to his mother or his disciple John who were nearby.  They had only selfish intentions.  They tore apart the less valuable cloth, presumably for rags, but decided to gamble on the more valuable woven outer coat.

Some of these same soldiers had mocked Jesus by clothing him with another garment – a scarlet robe – along with his crown of thorns and scepter of reed.  They played and jeered at his kingship in this way, not recognizing the irony.  For he is indeed the king of all kings, but he had put aside his kingly vesture to take on the form of a servant, even to dress in the humble garb of a peasant, now to have even that stripped from him.

And the last piece of his humiliation – his burial.  At least they wrapped his body in grave clothes, and provided a linen for his face.  Some small dignity for a hastily prepared burial before sunset and Sabbath began.  But those grave clothes he wouldn’t need long.  At his resurrection he left them behind, neat and folded, the job done, everything put back in order.

What about you, dear Christian?  Have you considered your own attire?  What about the filthy rags of your supposed good works?  How about the stain and soil of sin?  Do you think you can cover up the shame with a fig leaf of rationalization, or maybe you try to shift the spotlight to someone else’s imperfections?  Maybe, God forbid, you’re even tempted to embrace your sin, wear it like a badge of honor?  Our robes need washing.  They need more than bleach or soap.  They need the only detergent that gets out the stain of sin that is so deeply set in.  We need the blood of Christ.

Remember the multitude of Revelation 7, holding palm branches and shouting, “worthy is the Lamb”?  A uncountable multitude from every tribe, nation and language?  Who are they?  Sir you know, and the elder said, “These are they who have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb”.

So here it is.  Jesus is stripped of everything, including his clothes, and even his life – and in exchange – washes you clean, makes your robes white, gives you his everything, even a share in his resurrection. 

Isaiah spoke about it already in his day:  “I will greatly rejoice in the Lord; my soul shall exult in my God, for he has clothed me with the garments of salvation; he has covered me with the robe of righteousness, as a bridegroom decks himself like a priest with a beautiful headdress, and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels”. (Is. 61:10)

Paul puts it another way – “For as many of you as were baptized into Christ have put on Christ.” (Galatians 3:27)

That is to say, in your Baptism, Jesus covers you.  He covers you so completely and thoroughly, that you become identified with him, united with him.  Buried with him and raised with him.  When God the Father looks at you, he doesn’t see the shabby rags you were wearing, or the shame of your nakedness.  He sees Christ and only Christ!  He sees the righteousness that shines forth like it did on the Mount of Transfiguration.  He sees robes washed clean in the blood of the Lamb.  He sees one who is holy, beloved, with whom he is well pleased. 

Jacob gave his favored son Joseph a coat of many colors – an expensive and exquisite robe that symbolized his fatherly love and drove Joseph's brothers mad with jealously.  They stripped it away, threw him in a pit, sold him as a slave, and told Jacob he was dead.  They even dipped the robe in blood for good measure.  But it was all a lie.

God the Father gives you a far better garment.  An expensive and exquisite covering of righteousness that well shows his favor.  Only he doesn’t just give it to you.  He gives it to all people, and all who receive it in faith enjoy its benefits – they are our true brothers and sisters in Christ. 

Jesus, who had his robe stripped from him, who was thrown under God’s wrath for you, became a slave of all to save us from slavery to sin.  And Jesus was left for dead,. And by his blood our robes are made clean.  This is the greatest truth we can know.

What a great exchange.  His life to save mine.  His blood shed for my bloodguilt.  His humiliation to lift me up.  His robe cast off, so that I am never cast off from God..  His righteousness for my unrighteousness.

When He shall come with trumpet sound,

Oh may I then in Him be found,

Clothed in His righteousness alone,

Redeemed to stand before His throne!

On Christ, the solid rock, I stand; All other ground is sinking sand.

“My Hope Is Built on Nothing Less” v. 4, LSB 575

Midweek Lent 5 - Matthew 27:29 (27-31) - The Crown of Thorns

“The Crown of Thorns”

Matthew 27:29 (27-31)

Midweek Lent 5, April 3, 2019

²⁷ Then the soldiers of the governor took Jesus into the governor's headquarters,^[d] and they gathered the whole battalion^[e] before him.²⁸ And they stripped him and put a scarlet robe on him, ²⁹ and twisting together a crown of thorns, they put it on his head and put a reed in his right hand. And kneeling before him, they mocked him, saying, “Hail, King of the Jews!” ³⁰ And they spit on him and took the reed and struck him on the head. ³¹ And when they had mocked him, they stripped him of the robe and put his own clothes on him and led him away to crucify him.

So far we’ve considered some of the major symbols of Lent.  The ashes of repentance, as well as objects and items from the account of the Passion of our Lord.  The crowing rooster that accompanied Peter’s denial.  The 30 pieces of silver that remind us of Judas’ betrayal.  And the scourge or whip, with which Jesus was punished before his crucifixion.

Today we consider the crown of thorns.  In and of itself, perhaps, next to only the cross, the crown of thorns stands for the suffering that Jesus endured for us.  Though it is depicted in Christian art in various ways, we don’t really know much about it.  What sort of thorns were they?  How was it fashioned?  What exactly did it look like?

Taken together with the scarlet robe and the reed they placed in his right hand, you can see the intentions clearly.  The crown of thorns was a part of the mockery that the soldiers inflicted upon Jesus.  He who had claimed to be a king – they’ll show him!  Here, your highness, a robe and scepter and a crown – fitting for a man of suffering.  And so the crown of thorns, by its thorns, caused him pain, and by the mockery did him dishonor.  And the soldiers seemed to take their glee in both.

But like so many details of the Passion, there is a rich and deep irony to be found here.  For if anyone is a king, it is the king of kings.  If anyone should wear a crown, it is the bright Jewel of God’s own crown.  In fact we sing, “Crown him with MANY Crowns!” If anyone is worthy of the best, and of the highest honor and worship, it is Jesus, the Son of Man who is also the Son of God.

And he is also the Lord of Hosts.  That is to say, that at a word of his whim, God would have sent 12 legions of angels to defend his Son.  All the armies of heaven, from the Archangel Michael who cast Satan from heaven – to the lowliest of the rank upon rank – all the angels answer to him.  The hosts, the armies, are his.  He made them and he commands them.  But here, at his passion, a battalion of Roman soldiers thinks they have him under control.  The dare to mock him, strike him, spit on him.  If they only knew.

More than that, the crown he deserves, the crown he laid aside to become incarnate by the Holy Spirit of the Virgin Mary… the divine glory, honor, majesty and might… all of that, he temporarily eschews.  He humbles himself.  He takes on the form of a servant.  Even though he had equality with God he considered it wasn’t something to be grasped, held onto, but rather he lets it go… at least for a time… steps down… to serve.  Much like when he tied the towel around his waist and started washing feet.  The Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.  He put aside one crown, to take up another.

But Jesus is a king, even in his suffering.  King of the Jews, the inscription above the cross – ordered by Pilate – said so.  Pilate, to whom Jesus had to explain, “my kingdom is not of this world”.  Indeed, his kingdom is not limited to this world, but far surpasses all earthly rule. 

Pilate, that representative of earthly authority, so puffed up in his own power – but Jesus isn’t so impressed.  “You would have no power over me unless it was given you from above”.  And Jesus doesn’t mean Caesar.  All earthly kings and rulers serve at the pleasure of the true king.  They are underlings and agents of the divine kingship of all.  He raises them up and brings them low at his whim.  Empires rise and fall.  But the Lord reigns forever.

But Pilate isn’t the only sinner ever to get a little big for his britches.  We have a long history, going back to the Garden, of sinners trying to push God off his throne so we can take his place.  “You will be like God” Satan tempted.  We want the scepter, the throne.  We want the crown.

And it is because of Adam’s sin, and our sin that this good earth is so twisted.  Sin twists everything good.  It takes what is created good and holy and perverts it, makes it crooked and off-kilter.  Sin doesn’t make up new things equal to the good that God creates – but it can only corrupt that which is good, break it, deform it.  Sin does not create new.  Evil isn’t an equal to the good.  It is less than the good.  A shabby facsimile.  A fun-house mirror version of the perfect.

And then there’s the curse.  The crown of thorns reminds us of this:  That even the creation itself is cursed because of our sin.  For from Adam, the ground is cursed to bring forth thorns and thistles.  Yes, that crown of thorns that they placed on Jesus’ head wouldn’t have existed if it were not for Adam’s sin, and ours.  But he bears, that, too, to the cross.  And in the cross he not only destroys sin, but all its consequences.  The thorns of the curse, the fallen creation itself will be renewed in Christ.  How much more, then, the crown of his creation, the ones made in his own image, will be restored by this second Adam.  And so the cross becomes a life-giving tree, and Christ’s body and blood, the fruits of the cross, the new “tree of life” for all who believe.

And so, in Christ, creation is restored, and you, the sinner, are restored.  You are restored to the fullness of God’s intentions for a human – righteous, holy, and alive.  In the resurrection we will see it all fully realized.  And then receive the crown of glory. 

Someone once pointed out to me that in all of Scripture, it’s only humans that wear a crown (except for the devil, in his false authority).  But angels, as powerful as they are, are never crowned.  Angels do not judge the nations, we humans do.  Angels do not participate with Christ in his reign and rule in glory, but we humans will.  This we, too, are given crowns.

One picture of this is in John’s vision written for us in the Book of Revelation.  We see a glimpse of the heavenly throne room – with God the Father enthroned, but also the Lamb who once was slain at the center of the throne.  And between God and his creation is a vast sea – calm like glass.  And around all of this are the 24 smaller thrones, with the 24 elders, who themselves wear crowns.  These are an image of the church, in her glory, represented as the entirety of the Old Testament (as in, the 12 tribes) and the New Testament (as in, the 12 apostles).  And here they are, casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea.

Christ is, indeed, the King of the Jews, the King of the Nations, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords.  You could crown him with many crowns, and it wouldn’t even be enough.  For he is Lord of all.

And he is Lord of all not only because of his power and might.  But the reason he has the name above all names, the reason he is most glorified, the reason he is exalted high above every other power by God the Father, is because of his cross, his suffering, his crown of thorns.

And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. 9 Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, 10 so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, 11 and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. (Philippians 2:8-11)

When you look at that crown of thorns, consider the crown that Christ set aside to bear this suffering for your sins.  But hope, also, in the promise, that a crown of righteousness awaits you in his eternal courts.  For the King of Kings is your king, your servant, your savior, your redeemer, your advocate, and your friend.

O sacred Head, now wounded, with grief and shame weighed down,

Now scornfully surrounded with thorns, Thine only crown;

O sacred Head, what glory, what bliss till now was Thine!

Yet, though despised and gory, I joy to call Thee mine.

Sermon - Lent 4 - Luke 15:11-31

Luke 15:11-31

Lent 4

March 31, 2019

“What Reckless Love Is This?”

Reckless behavior. That's what sin is. It doesn't care about the consequences or whom it hurts. When you sin you even hurt yourself, bu

t you aren't thinking about that usually. Sin doesn't make sense. It never has. But we do it anyway. It's reckless. Senseless. Foolish. Selfish and short-sighted.

Take the prodigal son. He squandered the inheritance in “reckless living”. Wine, women and song. Drinks are on me. Prostitutes. Gambling. Party hardy. But then it was gone. He hadn't saved for his retirement. He wasn't shopping for bargains. He thought only of himself and his momentary pleasures. He was reckless.

But the recklessness began long before he made it to the foreign land. How bold, how brazen, to ask for his inheritance – long before dad died! Father, I want my money and I want it now. I wish you were dead. Just give me what's coming to me. Reckless with his father's feelings, he cares only for himself.

Reckless – in setting off for a foreign land. Away from the protection of his father's house, to a strange place. He didn't care. All that was good about home and family – he must have thought it was a drag. It kept him from doing what he REALLY wanted to do. Living the high life. He didn't plan it out, he just goes. No GPS, no AAA maps. Reckless. Careless. No thought for tomorrow.

What a picture of sin. What a picture of our sin. We want what we want, and we want it now. We don't care who we hurt. We don't think about the consequences. Or maybe we do, and that doesn't stop us anyway.

Reckless living doesn't just mean sex, drugs and rock and roll. It means rolling the dice with our very soul. It means turning away from the true and sure and perfect word and will of God. It means biting the forbidden fruit and well, maybe God wasn't serious about that dying stuff. It means sin now and pay later. No thought or care for the wake of destruction that will follow.

But we all do it. And we can see what it brings.

Your sins may not be as sexy as the prodigal son’s.  They may not be quite so bombastic or spectacular.  But that doesn’t make them any less reckless or destructive.  Every sin tears away at some good gift God has given.  Either we trash his name or despise his word, or we spit on the authorities he places over us.  We claw and scratch at our neighbor, if not physically, then in our thoughts and words – venomous gossip and careless chatter that shatters reputations and drags a good name through the mud.  We’re just as covetous and greedy as anyone, and we lust for things and people and pleasures in ways that would shock people. 

Sin’s wake of destruction is not just seen when your family weeps over your casket – it leaves a trail of broken relationships, hurts, failures and regrets through the pages of your life story.  Every sinner is a mess.  Every sinner has left his loving father and wandered off to squander our good inheritance.

And we don’t act in such reckless ways because of mere ignorance.  Sinners often know exactly the destruction sin will bring, and we do it anyway!  We just don’t care.  Adam and Even knew the consequences of eating forbidden fruit.  “You will die”.  They had been told.  They knew better.  But they did it anyway.  They chose to believe the lie.

And we, too, lie to ourselves.  “This sin won’t hurt anyone”  “No one will ever know” Sometimes we even rationalize evil and try to make it seem good.  But we know.  We know better.  We just don’t care.  Sin doesn’t make logical sense.  Sin isn’t simply “not knowing any better”.  That law is inscribed not just in stone but on our hearts.  And so we are without excuse.

The prodigal ended up in the pig-pen. And we too, wallowing in our filth, often find ourselves there too. How did it come to this? How did I get so low? Only at the rock-bottom do we see how good we had it. Only when our chickens come home to roost, only when our sins stand bare and bold before us can we clearly see what we have become. Worse than the pigs. More filthy and disgusting are our sins. We wish we could be those pigs instead. And the hunger begins.

The prodigal son “came to himself” or “came to his senses”. He began to see what his recklessness had wrought. He began to turn, to change his heart and mind, to repent. He started out again for home, to a father he hoped would show him one last kindness – not even forgiveness, but at least a meager job. He didn't even deserve that. It was begging time.

And so the first part of repentance is contrition – sorrow over sin.  But without God’s love and forgiveness, that’s just a recipe for despair.  The second part of repentance is to turn to Christ, in faith, and live.

And so the prodigal son begins to come home.  He rehearses his speech, he plans his apology, but he doesn’t really expect full restoration.  He’s hoping against hope for a chance to earn his own way, at the very least.  But what he finds will shock him.  He isn't the only one who is reckless.

The father – he too – reckless. Not in sin and selfishness, but in love and selfless-ness. For what father would grant such a request, “give me my inheritance so I can go spend it!” What father would welcome his son back after he spent it? What recklessness – he might do it again, hurt him again, dishonor him again!  Fool me one, shame on me, fool me two, shame on you, right?

But the father is reckless in his love. He “wastes his time” waiting for his son, and sees him coming from a distance. He must have neglected other duties around the estate. But nothing is more important to him than his son.  And when he sees him, he runs, recklessly – embraces and kisses his wayward boy. He doesn't care who sees him or what they think of him. He makes a fool of himself.

And he lavishes gifts on the poor boy. A ring, shoes, a robe, a feast. Reckless giving. The son's reckless living didn't matter anymore. He was home, safe and sound. In the loving arms of his father.

The parable is clear. God, our heavenly Father, loves us with a reckless love. Though we are reckless in our sins, he loves us abundantly, egregiously, ridiculously. So much so that he gives us what is most precious. Not a ring or a robe, but his only begotten Son. He doesn't kill the fattened calf, but he does better: he provides the Lamb of God for the sacrifice.

And he prepares a feast for us prodigals. Each time we come to our senses, with repentant hearts... each time we approach our Lord in confession and faith – he feeds us. He gives us of himself. Body and blood, given and shed for you. And someday we’ll all feast in the halls of heaven in the fullness of that restoration.  Even these bodies that we wreck with sin and death will be restored.  And he will say, “My son who was dead is alive again!”

It's Lent. Calvary approaches. The disciples say, Jesus, don't go to Jerusalem, it's too dangerous! The Jewish leaders are out to get you! Peter tries to rebuke Jesus. The others just don't get it.

But Jesus sets his face like flint. His reckless love says, “I know I'll die. Better me than you. This is the plan. That I am about to be arrested and tried, condemned and crucified. And on the third day rise” No thought for himself. Only, always, for you.

His reckless love makes amends for your reckless living. God's own Son for every prodigal son and daughter that ever wallowed in the muck of sin. A love which forgives and forgets – no questions asked, no hoops to jump through. Jesus sinners will receive. What reckless love is this!?

So celebrate with him, and with all of us, the foretaste of the feast to come. And live now as a son or daughter of the Father. All his blessings are for you, in Jesus Christ. Amen.

Midweek Lent 4 - "The Whip" - Mark 15:15

“The Whip”

Mark 15:6-15

Midweek Lent 4, March 27, 2019

6 Now at the feast he used to release for them one prisoner for whom they asked. 7 And among the rebels in prison, who had committed murder in the insurrection, there was a man called Barabbas. 8 And the crowd came up and began to ask Pilate to do as he usually did for them. 9 And he answered them, saying, “Do you want me to release for you the King of the Jews?” 10 For he perceived that it was out of envy that the chief priests had delivered him up. 11 But the chief priests stirred up the crowd to have him release for them Barabbas instead. 12 And Pilate again said to them, “Then what shall I do with the man you call the King of the Jews?” 13 And they cried out again, “Crucify him.” 14 And Pilate said to them, “Why? What evil has he done?” But they shouted all the more, “Crucify him.” 15 So Pilate, wishing to satisfy the crowd, released for them Barabbas, and having scourged[a] Jesus, he delivered him to be crucified.

If you’ve ever watched the movie “The Passion of the Christ”, you probably have the scene in which Jesus was whipped burned into your memory.  I don’t recommend it for the faint of heart or stomach.  But it probably approaches the gruesomeness of this particular part of Jesus’s suffering.  Christians have long remembered this part of Christ’s suffering as one of the many bitter moments he endured on our behalf.  There’s even a church in Rome today that claims to have the original column upon which Christ was tied while he received his lashes.

We say whip, or sometimes scourge or flogging.  The actual Roman practice was flagellation, a far more brutal form of whipping than you’d find in the synagogues.  In the Jewish synagogues, whipping was limited to 40 lashes, and so 39 was customarily applied, just to be sure.  But the Romans made no such limit.  The Jews used a whip made from simple leather straps.  But the Romans used bits of bone and lead attached to the tips of it, to also lacerate the flesh.  Under Roman law, flagellation was done publicly, and usually in the course of death sentence. It likely made those who were crucified die much more quickly.  But Roman citizens were exempt from this form of punishment, as it was considered too degrading and humiliating. 

And so Jesus is flogged and whipped as part of his work of humiliation.  Treated as a slave or a foreigner, shamefully, for all to see. The flogging Jesus received was not to motivate him or persuade him to do or say anything.  There was no real desired goal other than to inflict pain and suffering, sorrow and humiliation.  It was, it seems, purely a punishment for the sake of punishment, though of course he truly deserved no such thing.

Punishment.  That’s what the scourge especially represents as a symbol.  The punishment that Christ endured.  Now, of course, we aren’t so acquainted with punishment, at least not anymore, in our sensible and respectable modern world.  Although, at one time it was more a part of everyday life.  Even our own constitution mentions it – when it prohibits “cruel and unusual punishment” (the 8^th Amendment).  We’ve moved away, in many instances, from even the idea of punishment under the law.  Take for instance, the penal system – a system that imposes penalties and punishments –  but do we even call it that any more?  Now it’s the Criminal Justice system.  We see it less for punishment, and more in terms of rehabilitation of criminals and prison as simply a way to protect the public from potentially dangerous individuals. 

We don’t often think of people receiving punishments for when they do wrong, but instead we talk about the “consequences” of “unwise actions”.  Even when it comes to the fashionable methods of rearing children – the place of punishment has changed in our culture, to the point that some parents will never say a harsh word to a child, never say no.  And that does not make for good parenting.

To think in terms of punishment, you have to have a moral framework to begin with – an idea of right and wrong – and these very foundations have been under assault in our prevailing culture.  We don’t speak in terms of absolutes when it comes to morality, but relativism reigns. We say things like, “Oh, that’s true for you, or right for you, but maybe not for me.”  “I would never do something like that, but you should be free to choose.”  “Who am I to judge- I haven’t walked a mile in their shoes”.  And so forth and so on.

Perhaps the closest most of us can remember to facing earthly punishment is when we were children.  Maybe you even got the belt or the switch or even just a spanking as a child.  Stand in the corner, or have a “time out”. Wash your mouth out with soap. The simplicity of childhood punishments might be a better window into spiritual realities than all the antiseptic veneer we place over it in the grown-up world.  When you do something bad, you deserve to be punished.  Or, in scriptural terms, “the wages of sin is death” and “the soul that sins shall perish”. 

But oh, dearest, Jesus, what law have you broken?  If there was ever an innocent man, it was Jesus.  If there was ever a miscarriage of justice, it was here.  If there was ever an unjust punishment, it was upon him.

The irony is thick.  Here at the whipping post is the God of Gods.  Here under the scourge is the one who will judge the nations.  Here under punishment of men is the Creator of all.  Here, receiving not what he deserves, but what we deserve.  Temporal and eternal punishment.

Temporal – in time – in the here and now.  Physical punishment is a very temporal.  It happens.  And while as brutal as it is, the scourging of Christ is not the entirety of his physical suffering and punishment.  The crown of thorns, the beating, the nails in hands and feet – all of these added even more, heaping up on this man of sorrows.

But even all of the physical suffering Christ endured was only a glimpse at the true burden he bore.  It was a window, but a foggy one.  For here, in his passion, and especially when on the cross, God poured out his wrath upon Jesus.  He made him who had no sin, to be sin, and put sin to death in his body.  And so in a mystery beyond pondering, God the Father turned his back on his only begotten Son, and Jesus cries in torment, “My God, why have you forsaken me?”  Truly Jesus bore all the pangs of hell, for that is what eternal damnation is – being separated from God.

And yet, as we well know, this is God’s purpose.  This is his plan of salvation for his wayward creatures.  This is the intention from the foundation of the world – that the Lamb is slain, that the Son is sacrificed, that Jesus would take our place under punishment.

And so Isaiah would prophesy, “he was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed.” (Is. 53:5)

The chastisement that brought us peace.  The wounds or the stripes that bring us healing.  All that Jesus did, he did for you.  Even this, submitting to the punishment of a criminal, at the hands of evil men, for the sins of evil men, in the place of evil men.  To heal them.  To heal us.  To bring us peace.

Now, in Christ, we need not fear God’s punishment.  No storm cloud of wrath is foreboding.  No fires of hell are being stoked for us.  God’s anger and wrath are put away.  We don’t even see a frowning face.  But rather a loving embrace, the welcome of a Father, a table prepared and a feast awaiting.  A joyful reunion with God and our fellow saints in glory.  And a home in his courts forever.

He was punished to free us from punishment.  He was made guilty to take away our guilt.  He bore the awful load, to give us a yoke that is easy and light.  And he died to bring us life.  Glory be to Jesus.  In his holy name.  Amen.

Sermon - Lent 3 - Luke 13:1-9

“A Murder, a Calamity, and a Patient Vinedresser”

Luke 13:1-9

Lent 3, March 24, 2019

Lent is a good time to think about things more deeply and seriously, especially those things of the faith.  It is a time to ponder and meditate on deeper truths, perhaps more than we do even the rest of the year as Christians.  There is a serious tone.  A sober awareness of our sins that the Lenten scriptures place before us.  And of course, always, we have an eye on the destination – the Cross of Christ, Holy Week, Good Friday, etc.

Today Jesus discusses the topic of suffering in our reading from Luke.  Suffering is an experience that is common to all human beings, at one time or another, in one form or another.  Living in this fallen and broken world, you simply can’t escape it.  And yet we seem to think otherwise.  It is in times of suffering, it seems, that people tend to either grow deeper and deeper in faith, or else at times suffering becomes a cause for despair, and can even lead people to turn away from God in anger.

And so one point that Jesus raises with his examples here – of the people murdered by Pilate and of the people who were crushed when the tower of Siloam fell – one point is this:  Suffering and Evil come upon all people in various ways – and it’s not necessarily because they’ve done something particular to deserve it.

The people whose blood Pilate mixed with the sacrifices were not greater sinners than anyone else (nor does Jesus say they were less so).  Likewise, the people who died under the tower hadn’t done any particular sin to deserve such a death, though Jesus doesn’t deny they were sinners at all.

When we humans consider the causes for sufferings, however, we often want to imagine a scorecard – as if we can even keep score of our many sins.  And we want to suggest, sometimes at least, that this sinner or that sinner had it coming.  He really got what he deserved.  She really was asking for it, anyway.  And sometimes even with a hint of schadenfreude – that glee at the misfortune of others.  But what’s behind that is an implication:  That don’t deserve the same, or worse.  That I, myself, am a better person, more worthy of God’s favor, more upright and righteous and yeah well maybe I’m a sinner but I’m not as bad as THAT guy.  Chief of sinners though I be, at least I’m not as bad as thee!

But Jesus comes to that sort of thinking, and he knocks it all down.  He says, “No.  They weren’t worse sinners than you.  But unless you repent, you too will perish!”  Wait a minute, Jesus, you can’t do that!  I was busy using someone else’s suffering to make myself comfy in self-righteousness!  You can’t come and pull the rug out from under me!  You can’t point out that I deserve punishment like that, and worse!  And Jesus says, “Oh yeah, just watch me!”

There is no room for dancing on the grave of other sinners in the Christian faith.  There is no cause to revel in the calamities and sufferings of others, even of the most wicked among us.  And the reason is this.  We deserve the same and worse.  If God treated us justly and only justly…. If he gave us what our sins deserve…  If he counted against us everything that is right and fair…. We would have bigger problems than wicked rulers and towers falling upon us.  We say it well when we confess we deserve both eternal but also temporal punishment.  That means, in time, here, now. 

So Jesus says, “Repent!  And unless you repent, you too will perish!” Jesus doesn’t answer the “why” of the question, why some suffered this calamity or that evil.  He tells us, though, to stop looking for the reasons why – and start looking at our own predicament.  Rather than playing judge and marking our scorecard, we have our own house to clean, our own sins to address.  Repent!  Mind your business, Christian!  And your business is always repentance.  Confess your sins.  Turn from them.  And turn to Christ in faith and live.

Why then do so many of the wicked, the outwardly wicked, the unrepentant – why do they get away with it?  Why doesn’t a tower fall on every bad guy?  Why doesn’t God just smite the unbeliever and the enemies of his people?  Why doesn’t he bring the temporal punishment so richly deserved?  Jesus’ next little parable addresses this question, but again, not in the way we might expect:

He tells of a fig tree which isn’t producing figs.  It’s not doing what it’s supposed to do.  It’s useless, and taking up space, for three years not doing anything useful.  So the owner tells the gardener to cut it down, tear it out; burn it up.  But for whatever reason, the gardener begs for patience.  He says, “Give it another year, master, just one more year.  Let me fertilize it, and then let’s see if we get some fruit”.  The assumption is, the master grants such patience.

So the lesson the parable is this:  God is patient;  He’s giving extra time for repentance.  He doesn’t want to destroy anyone he’s created, and patiently, faithfully, calls people to repentance.  But there is a limit to his patience, and so the best time to repent is always today!

And what of the gardener?  Some have suggested this is Christ himself, the one who stands between the sinner and God the Father and begs for mercy, the intercessor, the mediator.  Or, perhaps, and maybe also, Christ’s pastors – who carry the message of Christ forward even in this day, and who spread the fertilizer of the Gospel liberally. 

The point is, that God wants repentance from you, and he gives you multiple opportunities and occasions to turn from your sin, and to turn to him in faith.  And some of those, are even the sufferings of this life.

Martin Luther tells a delightful dialogue about what a vine might say to the gardener if it could speak:

The vine sees the vinedresser, or gardener, coming with his pruning shears and other tools to work around it and says: "What are you doing? That hurts, don't you know that? Now I must wither and decay, for you are removing the soil from around my roots and are tearing away at my branches with those iron teeth. You are tearing and pinching me everywhere, and I will have to stand in the ground bare and seared. You are treating me worse than any tree or plant."

And the gardener would then reply: "You are a fool and do not understand. For even if I do cut a branch from you, it is a totally useless branch; it takes away your strength and your sap. Then the other branches, which should bear fruit, must suffer. Away with it! This is for your own good." Then the vine would say: "But you do not understand! I have a different feeling about it!" The gardener declares: "But I understand it well. I am doing this for your welfare, to keep the foreign and wild branches from sucking out the strength and the sap of the others. Now you will be able to yield more and better fruit and produce good wine."

The same thing is true when the gardener applies the cow manure to the root of the vine; this, too he does for the benefit of the vine even though the vine might complain and say: "What in the world are you doing? Isn't it bad enough for you to hack and cut at me all day long, trimming this and cutting off that branch? Why, now are you putting that foul smelling stuff at my roots?! I am a vine, to yield delicious grapes to make wonderful wine, and you are putting that terrible smelling stuff near me, it will destroy me!" Of course, we know well that the badly smelling manure does well to put fertilizer and nutrients into the soil so that the vine might grow and prosper and produce an even better crop.

What Luther is saying here, indeed, what Christ is saying, is that sometimes life hurts. Sometimes life stinks. But God the patient gardener knows better than we the branches. And he has our best interests in mind, though it may not always seem so to us.  He does his work, in sometimes mysterious ways, always to bring about repentance and faith.

Sometimes the process is unpleasant – stinking like manure. But the fruit of faith is sweet indeed, when the sinner sees the grace of God in Jesus Christ. And the point is not so much, “get busy making fruit” as it is, “wonder at the patience of the gardener”, whose wrath at your fruitless tree is put away in the tree of the Cross, and the one who was there cut down for you.

Repent and believe, for our Lord is patient.  He works even through calamity and sorrow to draw you to himself.  Even as he has done through the cross of Jesus Christ our Lord.  May we take up our little crosses and follow him who bore the cross of Calvary for us.

Midweek Lent 3 - Matthew 26:15 and 27:3-10 - Thirty Pieces of Silver

“The Symbols of Lent”
Thirty Pieces of Silver
Matthew 26:15 and 27:3-10

[Judas said] “What will you give me if I deliver him over to you?” And they paid him thirty pieces of silver.

Then when Judas, his betrayer, saw that Jesus[a] was condemned, he changed his mind and brought back the thirty pieces of silver to the chief priests and the elders, 4 saying, “I have sinned by betraying innocent blood.” They said, “What is that to us? See to it yourself.” 5 And throwing down the pieces of silver into the temple, he departed, and he went and hanged himself. 6 But the chief priests, taking the pieces of silver, said, “It is not lawful to put them into the treasury, since it is blood money.” 7 So they took counsel and bought with them the potter's field as a burial place for strangers. 8 Therefore that field has been called the Field of Blood to this day. 9 Then was fulfilled what had been spoken by the prophet Jeremiah, saying, “And they took the thirty pieces of silver, the price of him on whom a price had been set by some of the sons of Israel, 10 and they gave them for the potter's field, as the Lord directed me.”

Perhaps no figure represents the bitterness of our Lord’s passion, aside from Jesus himself, as the one who betrayed him, Judas, the man from the town of Carioth, that is, Ish-Carrioth, Iscariot.  His very name, Judas, is a byword, a synonym for betrayal.  You don’t find many children named Judas nowadays, much more than you find many Adolphs or Jezebells running around.  And for good reason.  What’s more bitter and painful than the betrayal of a friend?

Maybe you’ve experienced this in your own life.  Someone who was once close to you, who shared your table, shared your secrets, maybe even a spouse – turns on you in an act of betrayal, stabs the knife in your back, and breaks your trust in a way you never imagined.  It’s one thing to suffer the wrongdoing of an enemy.  That, you pretty much expect.  But when a friend does you wrong.  You not only suffer from the wrong itself, but from the broken trust.  You end up going back and re-thinking your entire relationship.  How long has this person been against me?  Why didn’t I see the signs sooner?  Was it something I did that made them act this way?  And all this doubt and regret rubs into the wound as if it were salt.

Well in the case of Judas, Jesus knew he would do it.  I don’t think that took away any of the bitterness.  Maybe it made it even worse.

Then take the 30 pieces of silver themselves.  This was the traditional price of a slave.  Particularly in Exodus 31:20, it is the price paid to a master for a slave that is accidentally killed, gored by an ox.  So it is the price of a dead slave.  How fitting for Jesus.  He who is greatest among us because he makes himself to be a slave of all. He who is killed, not by accident, and not by an ox, but according to God’s own divine purpose and plan, and pierced for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities, and crucified for our salvation.

Moreover, there is an unusual prophecy in Zechariah 11, in which wicked rulers paid the prophet 30 pieces of silver for his work of prophesying their doom.  The price was considered an insult, the price of a dead slave, that’s what they thought of him.  Zechariah then says, “so I took the thirty pieces of silver and threw them into the house of the Lord, to the potter”  Just as Judas later returned the money, throwing it into the temple, and it was used to buy the potter’s field.

That Jesus was sold for this prices is also intended as an insult by his wicked foes.  A further humiliation among all the humiliations and sufferings he endured – both to his body, and to his honor.

And what a great reversal, that he who was sold for mere silver, comes to redeem us from death with a far greater treasure.  He “has redeemed me, a lost and condemned person, purchased and won me from all sin, from death, and from the power of the devil, not with gold or silver, but with his holy precious blood, and his innocent suffering and death.”

Jesus is betrayed, Jesus is sold, Jesus suffers and Jesus dies…. Precisely for the Judases of the world.  Precisely for all those who would betray him, sell him out, exchange the truth for a lie, and the eternal treasures for the earthly bric-a-brac of sin.

For while you may well identify with Jesus in this case, as someone who has been betrayed, won’t you also consider how you are like the Judas who does the betraying?

Don’t think you have?  Think you’ve always been faithful to God?  Then think again.  For Christian, you betray him every time you sin.  You sell him out every time you decide your own comfort and pleasure is worth more than his holy law.  When you despise preaching and his word, or hurt or harm your neighbor, or rebel against rightful authority, or covet your neighbor’s stuff.  When you speak ill of your neighbor and harm his reputation.  When you put some other thing, some other idea, some other anything before the one true God.  And often the price is not even worth 30 pieces of silver.

We are no better than Judas.  We can’t stand in judgment over him, wagging our fingers, “shame, shame, Judas, how could you betray Jesus?” That finger needs to point back at ourselves.

Judas, for his part, at least felt bad about what he had done.  He repented, in a way.  He got the contrition part.  He tried to take it back, but it was too late.  You can’t take back your sins.  You can’t buy your way out of your debt.  You can’t throw the sins back where they came from, for the evil comes from you!  Judas was right to regret his grievous betrayal, but as the coins clinked down on the temple floor, sadly, his story ended in tragedy.  For he lacked the second part of repentance.  He knew his sin, but he didn’t trust his savior.

Take for a contrast, Peter, who we heard about last week – Peter, who in his own way also betrayed Jesus – denying him three times.  Judas fell into despair, but Peter was restored and forgiven.  Both played a bitter role in Jesus’ passion.  But only Peter would receive redemption in faith.

And so for you, dear Christian.  Consider your own little betrayals of Christ, but do not despair as Judas did.  Hear the comforting and forgiving words of Jesus, words of restoration, like Peter did.  Do you love me?  Feed my sheep.

And look at what happened with those pieces of silver.  The blood money.  Tainted and corrupted by the sin they were used to commit.  Given and received by both the betrayer and the enemies of Jesus.  And yet, from these, God worked even some good.  Besides playing their part in bringing Jesus toward the cross, these coins purchased a field for the burial of foreigners.  It was called, “The field of blood”, in Hebrew, “Akeldama”.  In reference perhaps to the blood of Judas that was spilled when he killed himself there, or perhaps also to the blood of Jesus, who was betrayed with it.  Unclean foreigners, unclean corpses, and unclean blood money.  And then the bloody hanging corpse of Judas as the finishing touch of this picture of betrayal and sin and what it brings – ugly, ugly death.

But the bitter sufferings and death of Jesus lead to something else.  In Jesus’ death, by Jesus blood, there is hope.  Consider also the allusion to Jeremiah, which Matthew mentions.  It references an incident where Jeremiah (at God’s direction) bought a field with some pieces of silver.  For the people of Jeremiah’s day, it was a prophetic action that there was hope for the future – hope beyond the invading armies of Babylon and the troubles of the day – hope that God would remain faithful to his promises, and return the people from their exile, plant them in the land again.

In Jesus there is hope for the future, for you and me.  Even when we suffer, even when we suffer the betrayals of friends, or even if our own flesh should betray us (and it surely does), we have a friend in Jesus who will never double-cross us.  Even when our own betrayals weigh us down, we are not driven to despair, because the cross of Jesus and the blood of Jesus restore us, and bring us even from the grave, to a life in the world to come.

This Lenten season, repent and believe.  Exchange the silver coins of betrayal for the precious blood of Jesus. And rest assured that you are redeemed by him from slavery to sin and death.

Sermon - Luke 13:31-35 - Lent 2

Luke 13:31-35

“O, Jerusalem”

In 2007 I had the opportunity to visit the Holy Land.  It was a typical sight-seeing trip geared toward Christian pilgrims.  We saw all the usual sites, many of them churches.  One of the sites we stopped at was a church named “Dominus Flevit”, in Latin, “The Lord Wept”.  It was founded in the mid 1950s by the Roman Catholics to mark the location, half-way down the Mount of Olives, where Jesus stopped as he was approaching Jerusalem, the place where he wept over the city that would ultimately reject him.  It is one of the few churches that faces West instead of East, the same direction Jesus faced.  It is shaped like a teardrop, to symbolize Christ’s weeping.  And it also has, prominently featured, a beautiful mosaic of a hen gathering up her chicks, echoing these words of Jesus in our Gospel reading for today. 

It’s a powerful image, a mother hen, brooding over her chicks.  Gathering them up to lead and protect them from harm.  Of all the images that God uses to describe himself – husband, father, king – here is one that is actually a feminine picture.  It speaks of the deep and compassionate love that Jesus has for people, and for this capital of his own nation, his earthly tribe.

It’s all the more powerful, knowing the slaughter that was to come, as Jesus surely did.  Throughout the Gospels he predicts the destruction and desolation of Jerusalem that would come to pass in 70 AD under the Romans.  They finally tired of Jewish rebellions and destroyed the Holy City, even its temple.  Josephus, the Jewish historian, tells the history of those days, describes the horrors, as the Romans laid siege, and built a hill of dirt surrounding the city – and ringed the entire city with crosses.  No wonder Jesus weeps.  No wonder he describes these events and weaves it all in with his description of the end of the world.  For those ancient people, it must have seemed very much like the end of the world.

But the judgment poured out on Jerusalem is just a shadow of the final judgment that is coming to this corrupt world, and to all those who reject their savior.  This is not what Jesus wants.  He weeps over those who have gone astray, who have given up the truth for a lie, and have gone after false gods. 

What a great text this is for the season of Lent!  Jesus was on his way to Jerusalem, and so are we.  We are setting our face toward the cross, toward our annual observance of his suffering and death and resurrection – all to take place at Jerusalem.

And as we look toward Jerusalem in this penitential season, look also at the tender heart of Jesus, longing for the repentance and salvation of his people.  Look at his compassion.  He wills to gather them up and protect them, cover them from all harm, and keep them safe.  But he does this without force, without compulsion.  He says, “but you were not willing!”  No, we are not saved, nor do we come to faith of our own will.  But we can willfully reject the gifts he offers and brings.  Even repentance is a gift of God, brought about by the Spirit working in the word, and without any merit or worthiness in me.  But those who refuse to repent have to answer for that themselves.

So, repent!  Turn from your sins, again, even today, and find shelter under the wings of your Lord Jesus.  He will gather you up, keep you from death and devil and judgment.  And there, with Jesus, you can rest safe and secure.

And he laments, weeps, mourns for those who would turn away from him and from his salvation.  Not because his feelings are hurt.  But because he knows the judgment they face.  He’s much like Jeremiah, who shows up through no mere coincidence, in our Old Testament reading today.  Jeremiah is known as the “weeping prophet”, because he had the bitter calling to preach repentance to Jerusalem, a Jerusalem who would not repent.  A Jerusalem who would not hear.  And Jeremiah would live to see its destruction in 587 B.C., and himself be carried off to exile in Babylon.

Jesus also mentions that Jerusalem is the city that kills the prophets.  And while not every prophet is killed there, Jerusalem in this sense stands for the whole nation of Israel, and really, for all who oppose the Gospel.  Jesus elaborates in the parallel text to this from Matthew 23:

Therefore I send you prophets and wise men and scribes, some of whom you will kill and crucify, and some you will flog in your synagogues and persecute from town to town, 35 so that on you may come all the righteous blood shed on earth, from the blood of righteous Abel to the blood of Zechariah the son of Barachiah, whom you murdered between the sanctuary and the altar. 36 Truly, I say to you, all these things will come upon this generation.

The fate of a prophet, all too often, in Scripture, and in every day and age, is persecution, and often death.  Jesus even says in the Beatitudes, “Blessed are you when others revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you” (Matthew 5:11-12)

And if this is true for the prophets, it is certainly true for the Prophet of all Prophets, Jesus himself.  He knew his destination, and his destiny.  He knew the cup that he must drink.  He knew the betrayal was coming.  He knew his friends would abandon him.  He knew they’d let a murderer go instead of him, an innocent man.  He knew both Jews and Romans would conspire.  And he knew it would be a cross. 

Think of the parable of the wicked tenants, who mistreated servant after servant, until the master sent his own son, saying, “they will respect him”.  But the tenants murdered him.  The master then returned and destroyed them.  Yes, Jesus knew exactly what awaited him at Jerusalem.

And yet he weeps and laments, not for himself, but for Jerusalem.  For his people who would reject him, who send him to the cross.

The cross.  It is the center of gravity in all things for us Christians.  It is the chief aim and focus of Jesus’ earthly work.  It is the culmination of the Old Testament and the foundation stone of the New.  It is the fruition of the first promise, and the basis for all other promises God makes.  The Lamb of God is slain from the foundation of the world, and the people washed in his blood will sing his praises into eternity.  The cross, the death of the prophet of God in the city of God for the people of God. 

The Jews tried to shoo Jesus away from Jerusalem by threatening him with Herod.  “He’s out to get you Jesus!  Run away!”  But Jesus isn’t afraid of Herod or death.  Jesus is not deterred, and calls Herod a “fox”.  A sly and deceitful politician won’t stand in the way of this plain-speaking prophet with a mission. Death is precisely the thing.  And Jerusalem is the place.

And isn’t it interesting that Jesus has “three days” in his mind – he says, “I cast out demons and perform cures today and tomorrow, and the third day I finish my course.”  Certainly he means that his work of preaching and healing must precede his work of suffering and death.  But this talk of the third day seems an oblique reference to Easter, the resurrection of the third day – the necessary epilogue to his passion and death.  Jesus outfoxes his enemies on earth, and even the devil himself, by turning death into life – both for himself, and for all he gathers up.

If it’s good enough for Jesus, it’s good enough for you – a prophet’s reward, a prophet’s death, and a resurrection that was both prophesied and fulfilled.  So, you, bear your own cross, whatever it may be.  Repent when you sin.  Remain faithful in all things.  Take comfort under his wings of protection.  His cross was not for nothing.  And it is your everything. 

O Jerusalem, Jerusalem.  He who wept for you has died for you.  Repent and believe.  And take comfort under his wings. 

Sermon - Ash Wednesday - Genesis 3:19

Ash Wednesday
Symbols of Lent
“Ashes”  Genesis 3:19

This Lenten Season, for our midweek series, we will ponder some of the symbols of Lent.  These are some of the tangible things, the items that we associate with this season of penitence and reflection.  They are taken mostly from the Passion narrative of our Lord – markers in the text that accompany different aspects of his suffering on our behalf.

We will consider the crowing rooster, the 30 pieces of silver, the whip or scourge, the crown of thorns and the seamless coat of Christ.  May these images from the text of our Lord’s passion serve as windows to draw us in and consider the depth and breadth of both his suffering for our sin, but also of his great love for sinners.

Today, however, Ash Wednesday, a slight departure from that.  The image before us is not directly from the Passion account, but rather it is in the name of the day – Ashes.  The symbol that marks the beginning of this season for us.  A symbol that we even wear on our brows in a ceremonial expression of repentance. 

This is from the pages of Scripture.  But as we chase down this symbol and how it has been used, we will see several things:  Yes, ashes were a sign of deep sorrow and repentance.  Ashes were what was left after God’s wrath and judgment are poured out, even with fire. But ashes were also what remained of a sacrifice – a burnt offering.  And that draws us to consider the once-and-for-all sacrifice that Jesus made for us all.

Ashes as mark of repentance:  Consider some of the passages in which ashes are used as an outward expression of a deep inner sorrow over sin:

The people of Nineveh used ashes in their expression of repentance – when the prophet Jonah preached, “40 days and Nineveh will be destroyed”. 

Mordecai and the Jews in Babylon expressed their sorrow and repentance by sackcloth and ashes in the book of Esther.

Likewise Daniel speaks of his use of ashes in Daniel 9; “Then I turned my face to the Lord God, seeking him by prayer and pleas for mercy with fasting and sackcloth and ashes.” Job also repents in “dust and ashes”.  And Tamar, after she was violated, put ashes on herself, in an expression of deep shame and sorrow.

Time and again, ashes serve as an outward sign of inner sorrow, remorse, shame, guilt, grief and mourning.  While we express our thoughts and feelings with words and now emojis and other various ways, the ancients used these types of symbolic actions in a powerful display, just as they tore garments and donned sackcloth.

Today, as we partake of a similar ritual, and receive ashes on our foreheads – let it not be for show as if to impress other people – but rather as a community of faith to remind ourselves and each other that we are dust – and that because of our sins, to dust we will return.  Death is the wages of sin, and that we have each earned well.  When you see the ashes on your fellow Christians – let it remind you – that you are one of them – and that together we bear the same sin, together we mourn our own shame.  Just as together we make confession of it.

But that same community is also the baptized – so that the filth of sin is daily washed away.  This body is connected to each other and to Christ in a blessed communion, and so we will also come forward to receive the remedy – the blessed Sacrament of Christ’s body and blood.  The ashes are a temporary reminder.  But the blessings and promises of God are everlasting.

Ashes as leftovers of judgment:
Another use of the image of ashes in Scripture is to show what is left after judgment comes.  And since judgment is often served or at least pictured by fire, ashes are all that remain.  When an invading army conquers a city – they burn it to the ground.  When the hot anger of the Lord breathes from his flaring nostrils, the wicked are burned up like stubble.

Daniel 3:  [the king decreed that any] who speak anything amiss against the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, shall be cut in pieces, and their houses shall be made an ash heap.
One of Isaiah’s more colorful threats is that those who have a deluded heart will feed on ashes (Isaiah 44:20)

2 Peter 2:
[God] condemned the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah by burning them to ashes, and made them an example of what is going to happen to the ungodly.

Ashes are a reminder that the judgment of God is fierce and thorough.  His punishment is serious.  This is no slap on the wrist.  For the wicked, no hope remains. 

And this is also a reminder to us when the ashes are applied to our foreheads – remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.  Adam was formed from the dust, and because of sin Adam returned to the dust, the ashes.  You are a child of Adam, born in sin and continuing to sin.  And so one day your body will return to the ground, return to the dust, ashes to ashes.  (Genesis 3:19)

It’s a sign of repentance but also an acknowledgment of death – we wear it on our foreheads today.  But we wear it in our bodies every day.  The aches and pains, the sniffles and coughs, the conditions and diseases – all are signs of what sin has wrought.  Death is the real problem.  Only Christ has a solution.

And finally, ashes may been seen as the results of a burnt offering, a sacrifice.
Ashes as remnants of a sacrifice:

The burnt offerings of the Old Testament were some of the most important sacrifices.  There, the fires burned upward – as if lifting the sacrifice up to heaven to God himself.  A pleasing aroma to the Lord. Bulls, Lambs, Rams, small birds, all sacrificed for sins.  Abraham almost sacrificed Issac as a burnt offering, until God provided the substitute – a Ram caught in a thicket.

But not all the blood of beasts on Jewish altars slain could give the guilty conscience piece or wash away the stain – of sin.  Not all the burnt offerings we could imagine, not thousands of rams, could satisfy God’s fierce and hot wrath over sin.  Shall I give him my firstborn for my transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?  Shall I do like Abraham almost did?  Will that suffice?  No, not even that.

But also like with Abraham and Issac, for us, God himself provides the lamb for the offering.  He provides his own Son.  And Jesus willingly offers himself on the altar of the cross.  He is consumed by the wrath of God – he becomes the one sacrifice for sin.  The cross.

Now, normally crucifixion victims were burned, as was the custom of Pagan Romans for disposal of bodies.  It was the Jews who buried their dead.  So when Jesus predicts that he will be buried (and therefore not cremated) it is a notable point about his sacrifice.  Unlike all other sacrifices, which end only in a pile of ashes – Jesus has a different destiny, a burial but also a resurrection.  Not hopelessness, but the source of all hope.  Not sadness and sorrow but joy that springs eternal.  A body that died and was buried but would rise again in glory, appear to many, ascend to heaven, rule at the right hand of the Father, and will one day come again to judge the living and the dead, bodily.

Adam died, and death brought him to ashes.  All of Adam’s children follow in his deadly footsteps.  And dust you are, and to dust you shall return.  But that’s not the end of the story for you. Instead it’s, “Ashes to Ashes, dust to dust… to resurrection.”  Jesus died and conquered death, bringing death and sin and hell and devil to nothing.  And so in him you have a future far beyond the dust of death.  In him you have life, and have it abundantly.

Repent and believe.  For Jesus’ sake.  Amen.