Sermon - Pentecost 11 - Matthew 14:22–33

 

“Oh, they think he walks on water!”  Today’s Gospel reading brings us to the origin of a popular phrase that’s made it even into the secular lexicon.  Someone who walks on water – a person who can do no wrong, who’s above and beyond everyone else.  Usually a phrase applied in a sort of sarcastic way to someone we resent for the adulation and praise others give him. 

But our Lord Jesus Christ does walk on water.  And he deserves all the adulation and praise we can muster, and then some.  He is, as the disciples recognize at the end of our reading, the Son of God, and worthy to be worshipped.

In our reading from Job, it is God himself who is asking the sarcastic, or at least rhetorical questions.  Oh, were you there when I made the heavens and the earth?  Tell me how I did it, then, wise guy.  “Have you entered into the springs of the sea, or walked in the recesses of the deep?”  By his walking on water, Jesus can answer yes to this question – and it’s further proof that he’s not just the Messiah, the Christ, but also the Son of God and the Creator of all things.  Job must answer “no” to the litany of questions, but Jesus could answer “yes” to all of them.  In fact, we could see Jesus as the one asking the questions.

For our part, we are like Job.  Subject to the creation we were meant to rule and manage.  Because of sin, we are broken, and the world itself is broken.  And we cannot master it any more than we can understand it.  We fall victim to the sudden and violent effects of its brokenness, or the slow, steady march of aging and death.  We are slaves to sin and overshadowed by the grave, and longing for release from bondage like the creation itself.  Job had his troubles – loss of goods, loss of family, loss of health.  We have our own.  Some are the same.  Some are different.

Oh sure, science has made its advances.  We enjoy technology today that would seem like magic to even our grandparents.  Healthcare is better. Lifespans are better.  We can fly anywhere in the world. We even landed on the moon.  And information has exploded.  You can ask any question instantly from the little device in your pocket. But has such knowledge made men wiser?  Has it improved us spiritually?  Has it helped us to not be sinful, or made us right with God?

And furthermore, hasn’t it continued to reveal deeper and deeper mysteries the more we study this creation?  The new telescope we sent up there can peer further and deeper into space, but it just reveals new questions.  The more we study the quantum realm the stranger reality itself seems.  The digits of pi never repeat, even with our most advanced computers on the case.  These things ought to humble us.  They ought to drive us to deeper awe for the Creator.  But prideful man continues to consider himself a god, and nothing good can come of that.  We do well to consider the questions posed to Job.  We must confess God the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth, and Jesus Christ his Son, by whom all things were made.

We are helpless, like the disciples in the boat.  We may think we know what we’re doing, hey they were experienced fishermen (at least several of them).  But they knew enough to know they were in trouble, and not much more.  But here comes Jesus.

He who just made a miraculous meal and multiplied the fish and loaves for a crowd of probably over 15,000 (if we count the women and children), now again exercises his divine powers but for the much smaller audience of his 12 disciples.  He walks on the water, with the ease of a Sunday stroll on a paved garden path, on a cool summer evening.  The wind and wave that buffeted the disciples’ boat are of no consequence to him.  He made it all.  He owns it all.  He controls it all. 

But they get him wrong, at first, thinking he’s a ghost.  Their superstitions get the best of them.  Fear rears its head.  And if we regard Jesus only according to his power, we might do the same.

This is a problem for so many Christians who consider God’s sovereignty his chief characteristic.  He’s powerful.  He’s mighty.  Our God is an awesome God who reigns in heaven above.  Of course, we don’t deny his power, but confess it freely.  But his omnipotence isn’t the most important or notable attribute.  His almighty power is a terror to me if I am still in my sins.  He is a judge, and terrible one at that, if all he is to me is the higher power.

But you and I know better, because we know Jesus.  He has revealed himself to us as not just a powerful God, but a merciful and kind one.  Just as he greets the disciples not in judgement for their fears, but with encouragement.  “Take heart, it is I!”

He is no ghost.  He is the Eternal God who takes on human flesh, and he is as real as it gets.  He is flesh and blood.  But he is no mere man, subject to wind and wave like you and me.  He is master of it, for himself, and for us.  His mighty power is good news because he is kindly disposed toward us.  His mercy makes takes the terror out of his might, and his presence among us brings calm and peace, not fear.  And it all starts with his word, “Take heart, it is I!”

Now, what about this Peter getting out of the boat thing?  Many sermons I’ve heard commend Peter for getting out of the boat, and challenge Christians to metaphorically do the same.  I’m not so sure that’s the right take here.  Consider…

First, Peter doesn’t take Jesus at his word.  But, rather, he puts Jesus to the test, much the same way Jesus’ adversaries do at the cross, and even how the devil does in the wilderness temptation.  “If it’s really you, Jesus, prove it….”  Putting God to the test doesn’t usually end well, and so too for Peter.

Really, it’s Peter who is put to the test here – and he fails.  At first, it seemed ok, he actually walks on the water.  But quickly his faith falters when his eyes move from Jesus to the wind and wave.  Hebrews 12 comes to mind, “Let us fix our eyes upon Jesus…”  Peter had little faith.  He doubted Jesus. 

But true to his character, Jesus is there to save.  He doesn’t let Peter’s doubts get the best of him.  He doesn’t let the wind and wave have the final say.  Immediately, he reaches down and pulls the poor disciple back up, and into the safety of the boat.  Jesus is the Savior, after all. 

And as easily as he pulls Peter out of the water, he pulls you up out of death itself.  He pulls you out of the waters of baptism, where you were buried with Christ and were raised with him.  Thanks be to God.

Back to Job.  One of the rhetorical questions God asks Job to put him in his place is this:

Have the gates of death been revealed to you, or have you seen the gates of deep darkness?

No, the gates of death are a mystery to Job, and to all of us who wait with dread to pass those gates.  The grave is dark to us, and that’s part of what makes it so fearful.  It is unknown. But not to Jesus.

He knows the gates of death, because he passed through them.  He faced the most dreadful death of the cross, bearing all the sins that would drag us down, and he plummeted to the lowest depths along with them.  He knows death better than anyone, for he died in place of all.

And he masters the gates of death, for they are not strong enough to hold him.  He burst the gates of death like walking through a paper ribbon, like knocking down a house of cards.  He strolled out of the grave as easily as he walked on the water, like a walk in the park, for he is the Lord of even life and death.

And one day, he will pull you out of the grave to resurrection, just as he snatched Peter from the depths.  One day, you will see him in your flesh, with your own eyes, like Job confesses – I know that my redeemer lives, and in the end he will stand upon the earth.  And I will see him, I and not another.  How my heart years within me!

Until then, take heart with Jesus, dear Christian.  For you have his word.  Take heart, for he comes to you in miraculous but very real form – under bread and wine.  Take heart, for he comes not in sovereign and mighty judgment, but in kind and tender mercy.  He comes to the rescue, to help, to save, and to forgive.

So, you of little faith, why do you doubt?  With Jesus, we can always take heart, trust in him, and be saved.

Sermon - Pentecost 10 - Matthew 14:13-21

 

If you were to make a top 10 list of Jesus miracles, certainly the resurrection would top the list.  You might include the 3 people he raised from the dead.  Maybe you’re partial to his turning water into wine.  But any such list must include the feeding of the 5000.  It is the only miracle besides the resurrection itself included in all four gospels. And so this is a story that is familiar to most of us. 

It is also worth noting that some of God’s greatest works and most profound lessons for us are associated with universal, everyday experiences and situations common to every person.  We all have a father.  We all use water to wash.  We all know what it’s like to be hungry.  We all know what it is to eat.  We do it every day.

And so a basic and fundamental lesson that even a child can understand here is that Jesus feeds his people.

The story starts with Jesus withdrawing to a “desolate place” when he hears that John the Baptist was murdered by Herod.  Perhaps like his weeping at the grave of his friend Lazarus, it seems Jesus is personally affected by the death of his cousin and forerunner, John.  He seems to intend to get away from the crowds, to go out of the spotlight, and retreat for a time of prayer. 

But his plan, it seems, was interrupted.  According to his human nature, of course, things don’t always go as Jesus plans, or knows.  The crowd that he sought a break from finds him anyway.  And rather than double down and withdraw again, our Lord has compassion.  He heals their sick.  He teaches them all day.  And he already has in mind a miraculous feeding.

But first he tests his disciples’ faith.  When they begin to worry about the needs of the crowd – and that’s not a bad thing for the disciples to be concerned about their bodily needs – but they don’t seem to trust that Jesus can handle things.  We’ve got to intervene.  We’ve got to tell Jesus that something has to be done!  Send them away to get some food, already! 

Jesus pushes back on them.  “They don’t need to go away.  You give them something to eat.”  I like to imagine a pregnant pause here, as the disciples look at each other in disbelief.  Did Jesus really suggest something that preposterous?  We don’t have that kind of money.  Heck, we’ve only got 5 loaves and 2 fish.  What is Jesus talking about?  He’s really taken John’s death hard, hasn’t he?

But, no.  He tests their faith.  He wants them to confess their inability, their own need.  He wants them to come to him for aid. 

And perhaps here is a reflection point for us.  How often our Lord seems to put us also in a no-win situation.  Where our patience is stretched or our fears begin to surface.  When we are called upon to be faithful, or humble, or kind, or all of the above, and it just seems so hard.  We are confronted with our own inabilities and shortcomings.  We are limited creatures, after all, and sinful at that. 

But once we, like the disciples, fall flat on our face, Jesus comes to the rescue:  “Bring them to me.”  Bring the loaves of bread to me.  Bring the paltry few fish to me.  Bring your limited resources and your faults and failings.  Bring your frustrations and your exhaustion.  Bring your inadequacy and confusion.  Bring your sorrows, your suffering, your guilt and shame, your very life itself to Jesus.  And he will bless.

Luther makes a similar observation.  He says: “The great need of the disciples on this occasion was that, though they could think and figure, they did not believe or realize what kind of Lord they had in Christ. And that is the universal need even today, not only when we need food but also when we realize all sorts of necessities. We know how to figure and calculate carefully so that our needs might be filled. But when help does not come immediately as we would like it, we get nothing out of our careful figuring and calculating except sorrow and loss of spirit. It would be much better for us to commend the whole matter to God and not think so much about our needs.”

And so Jesus provides for people’s needs.  The Good Shepherd has the sheep to lie down in this green pasture and he feeds them.  Here we see another few details worth noting:  He has them sit down for the meal.  He gives thanks.  He gives the food to the disciples, and the disciples distribute it. 

Far from a free-for-all, Jesus does everything in an orderly fashion.  There is no rush.  There is attention to detail.  He empowers his disciples with their own role and task.

The church learns from this.  We, too, must conduct ourselves properly.  We distribute the gifts of Christ in an orderly way.  There is no free-for-all in the church, but as Paul, too, encourages the Corinthian church that all things be done decently and in good order.  We are careful and deliberate in our worship life.  We are careful, especially, with the holy things of God, the sacraments.  We are careful, also, handling the Word of God, rightly dividing law and gospel.  Pastors are called as stewards of the mysteries of God, and given the public exercise of the keys.  But likewise, every Christian is called to be a hearer of the word, and to carefully search the scriptures, and give attention to the word.  We pay attention to God’s order in creation, in the family, in the church, and in our lives.

Furthermore, Jesus gives thanks.  He prays and thanks his Father for the gifts about to be given.  And so it is fitting also for Christians to pray in thanksgiving for his gifts, recognizing all good gifts come from our loving Father.  And we pray, especially at mealtimes, giving thanks for our daily bread.  We pray after we receive those gifts, and even before we receive them, trusting him to be the good provider of daily bread and all spiritual blessings.

Jesus broke the bread and gave it to the disciples to distribute.  He could have given the bread and fish directly, but he worked through the means of his disciples, much as he works through the means of his pastors today, to distribute his gifts to his people.

All ate and were satisfied.  You see, when he gives, it’s always enough. In fact, as the disciples gather the 12 baskets of leftovers, we see it’s even more than enough.  It’s an abundance.  We cannot exhaust God’s giving by our needs.  He always, always has more to give.

You are baptized.  But there’s more there than just what happened on that day long ago.  Your baptism is a daily trove of blessings.  You have heard the word.  But that word keeps speaking to you, and you can never hear it too much.  You hear the words of absolution, abundantly, freely, and receive forgiveness even more abundant than your sins.  And you come, over and over, to this altar, to receive his holy Sacrament.  And though it’s always enough, there’s always more grace than your sin, more blessing than your need.

As I’ve talked to Lutherans about this passage over the years, I’m struck by how often people make connections between the feeding of the 5000 and the Lord’s Supper.  Of course, we Lutherans hold the Lord’s Supper in high esteem, and there are some connections here – with breaking of bread, giving thanks, and the Lord Jesus feeding his people.  While this miraculous meal was certainly NOT the sacrament, and this crowd, largely, it seems, were not true believers (for later they tried to make Jesus their bread-king).  Nevertheless, it’s certainly not a bad thing, though, to make the mental connection here with the Lord’s Supper, and I certainly don’t mind making the preaching connection either.

And perhaps also, we might consider that many, many more are fed by Jesus in the Sacrament, with a bread that is even more miraculous than that given to the 5000.  For it is his very body.  And the wine is his true blood.  And it is not given for the hunger of the stomach, but the need of the soul.  It offers the forgiveness of sins.  It brings life and salvation.  It strengthens faith.  It expresses our unity.  And it proclaims the Lord’s death until he comes.

Far more than 5000 Christians gather at this table, this Communion of Saints.  As heaven breaks into earth, and the Lamb’s high feast in eternity peeks through the ages, into our time and space, we are given us a foretaste of the feast to come, with angels and archangels, and all the company of heaven.

Truly, his body is the bread from heaven.  And his blood, shed for our redemption, is precious indeed.  Christ gave himself on the cross to provide for our deepest need, and it was more than enough.  All who trust in him are satisfied, and never disappointed.

So come today, and whatever is yours, bring it to Jesus.  And he will give you from his own abundance.  Come to his table, take eat and take drink, for the forgiveness of your sins.  Come and be satisfied.  And go, and give thanks.

 

Sermon - Pentecost 9 - Matthew 13:44-52

 

Your house is burning down and you have just minutes to escape. What do you take with you? What's your most valuable possession?

Your family? Ok, let's assume they make it out safe. What one thing would you take? A wedding album? A piece of jewelry? Maybe your computer or some family heirloom. Something irreplaceable right? Something that might not be worth a lot of money, but to you, is worth saving more than all those other things.

Today we conclude a series of parables from Matthew 13. Today we hear Jesus talking treasure. The treasure buried in the field and the pearl of great price. The kingdom of heaven is like these, he says. But what does he mean? Let's take some time this morning and consider “valued treasures”.

Well I hope I got you thinking for a moment before about what you truly value. And in a crisis situation, perhaps your true values become more clear. First make sure your family is safe. Then your own life. Then worry about what can't be replaced, and then what can. But many of these valuable things and people we take for granted until they are threatened. In normal life, we tend not to think about what's most important.

What's most important, what's most valuable, what's the best and brightest treasure for the Christian? The Gospel, of course! The good news of Jesus and what he has done for us! This is our great treasure. Or you could say, Jesus himself. Or our faith in him. Or eternal salvation. It all goes together really. But lest we take this parable too lightly, and end this sermon too quickly. Let's think about that a little more.

How often do we act like the man in the parable? Selling all we have to obtain (or maintain) the kingdom? Do God and faith and church and the Scriptures really come first for us? Or do we become distracted and complacent, do we forget the treasure before us always? Are we mindful of our baptism, and the daily forgiveness it brings? Do we appreciate that each breath we draw is a precious gift we don't deserve in the least, and that even though our sins do deserve death that God in Christ has promised us eternal life? 

The more we ponder, the more we ought to be convicted.  We have not always put God first.

Oh, but there's a sale at the mall! There's a big deadline at work. My kids have a soccer game and a birthday party. And I need to see the season premiere. And we have a busy weekend planned and company's coming over and boy gas is expensive and did you see how much a pound of meat costs now and yep there's that doctor's appointment and....

Where's your treasure? What's important? In the parable, the man sells everything else to obtain the kingdom. That doesn't mean that Jesus is telling us to do the same. Family and Work and Possessions and Reputation are all good gifts of God. They have a proper place and role in the life of God's people.

But they're not the true treasure. Martin Luther said it well, “Take they our life, goods, fame, child and wife. Let these all be gone, they yet have nothing won. The kingdom ours remaineth!”

Let's hope it doesn't take a crisis for us to see the treasure. But the beauty of the treasure is that it shines brightest when we need it most.

I recall standing in the room of a dying man of faith. It was an unusual situation that the doctors could tell him – today is your day.  Say your goodbyes.  And he still had his wits about himself to do so.

And I was privileged to observe as he said his farewells to his loved ones. He said all the things you might expect – expressing his love for each one, giving words of advice. But the most poignant moment came when he told them all, “the most important thing is this - keep the faith!” For certainly, in his last hour, he knew where the treasure was. He could see what was most important.

Paul says the same in our reading from Romans today. Nothing can separate us from the love of God in Jesus Christ – not trouble, hardship, nakedness, danger or sword. Not angels or demons, height nor depth nor anything else in all of creation – not even life or death. Such a great treasure it is.  Nothing else matters when you have Jesus, and he has you.

And while many have read these parables and said, “gee, I could do a better job of treasuring the kingdom” there is certainly more to it than that. In the parables Jesus has been telling, he is the main character. The farmer who sows the seed. The fisherman who casts the net. We could even see him as the man who sells his possessions for the treasure in the field, or the merchant who does the same for the pearl.

For certainly, Jesus gave his all. He gave his life. The one man who never deserved death, who had no wages of his own sin, died in our place on a Roman cross. He was tried like a criminal though he had no crime. He was found guilty who had no guilt. He was put to death like a common thief and buried like any other dead man.  But no one took his life from him, he laid it down of his own accord.

He gave more than just his physical life. He endured shame and ridicule. He was humiliated and tortured. They even divided his garments among them. But worst of all, he suffered the wrath of God for the sins of all mankind. All the punishments of hell and damnation were laid on him, the one who took our place. Yes, Jesus gave his all.

But why? Our catechism puts it this way, “He has purchased and won me from sin, death, and hell, not with gold or silver, but with his holy precious blood and his innocent suffering and death, that I may be his own, live under him in his kingdom and serve him in everlasting righteousness innocence and blessedness”

He gave it all – to purchase us, to redeem us. You see, if Jesus is the man buying the field or the pearl, then that makes us – you and me – the treasure! You are the people of his treasured possession.  Such is the kingdom of heaven.

The house was on fire, and Jesus ran in – to save me and you and all of us.  And he, and he only, was consumed.  It cost him his life.  But it was worth it to him.  For the joy set before him he endure the cross, and scorned its shame.  And that joy was his love for you.

We love him for he first loved us. We serve him for he first served us. We treasure him, for he has treasured us – valued us – put us before himself.

And he still gives us his riches. Sure there's the earthly wealth we enjoy – good gifts from God to be sure, but not the best. In the words of absolution, we hear his own priceless forgiveness. At the altar, we receive his own body and blood and the riches of his grace are for us again. In the font he pours out, literally, life and spirit and grace – not just then but in a daily flood of blessings.

This is the richness of the Gospel, the treasure of our faith. That Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior, treasures you. And nothing can take that away, nothing can make that irrelevant. Nothing can tarnish the treasure trove of blessings that are ours in Jesus Christ.

Such great treasuring love has implications, it has impact, it moves us to action.  When we are loved, we so love others.  When Jesus does so much for us, we cannot help but do good for our neighbor.  We can see in our neighbor the treasure that Jesus does – a sinner, yes, but one bought by the holy, precious blood of Christ, and therefore of great value to God and to us.

Then we have the parable of the Fish in the Net. Here again, Christ shows that those who belong to him are valued. But it also shows the separation between us and the unbeliever. Like fishermen separate the fish caught in the net – throwing away those not worth keeping, so the angels with separate the believers from the unbelievers on the last day.

And what separates us from the unbelievers, but faith alone. Those who believe in Christ as savior and realize we can't win salvation for ourselves but receive it as free gift from him. He saves us from the weeping and gnashing of teeth, from the punishments we deserve, from being lost forever – and he makes us his treasured possessions. Here is hope for us – when it seems that the wicked prosper and the believers only suffer. When you see Christians persecuted here and abroad. When you feel like the liars and cheaters around you enjoy all the good things in life while your honesty and hard work never pay off. Take heart. For the one who assigns true value to men has esteemed you – and has your future secured.

Finally, Jesus commends the teachers who have learned these things well, that is, the truths of the kingdom. Those who have received from him the treasures of his grace. And those, who then, set these treasures before others. Your pastor is privileged to set these treasures before you week in and week out. To proclaim to you the grace and mercy of Christ, crucified for sinners like you. To show you in new and old ways the unchanging truth that the blood of Christ covers all, renews all, revives all. To set before you the precious gifts of Christ's body and blood, given and shed for you, precious treasures which renew and sustain you, his precious treasures.

And having been so treasured, and having received such treasure, each of us daily sets these treasures before the world by our witness and faith. As we fulfill our callings in life, and as we give answer for the hope within us. All in Christ, and Christ in all of us, until the last day when all true treasures are no longer hidden but revealed.

Sermon - Pentecost 8 - Romans 8:18-27

 

Have you ever had an old article of clothing, an old favorite, an old standby, that you just can’t part with, even though it’s not in the same shape it used to be?  You know that one day you’ll have to replace it and get a new one.  Sometimes it’s the wife that makes you.  I have an old coat like that, and I don’t get to use it much in Texas anymore.  But it’s seen better days.  And eventually, that garment becomes so worn out, so threadbare, that it’s just time to throw it out.  Not even worth donating anymore.  It’s of no use to anyone. 

Isaiah says, “The earth will wear out like a garment.” We can sense that this creation is not what it used to be.  Things don’t seem to be getting really better, but only worse.  And it can’t go on like this forever. 

Christians know this world is fallen because of sin.  And the solution to sin isn’t “try harder” or “do something to fix it”.  We could no more fix this fallen creation than we could raise the dead.  Like our own sinful nature, the only hope of creation itself is Jesus Christ, who makes all things new. 

Paul teaches us more in Romans 8 this morning, using another picture – not of a worn out garment, but of a woman in labor.  And he uses it not just to show us the groaning, but also the hope that is in store for creation – and for us – as we look toward the end of all suffering and the revealing of the sons of God.

18 For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.

St. Paul knows a thing or two about suffering.  He tells the Corinthian church he has:  been in prison… been flogged…severely, and been exposed to death again and again. 24 Five times I received from the Jews the forty lashes minus one. 25 Three times I was beaten with rods, once I was pelted with stones, three times I was shipwrecked, I spent a night and a day in the open sea, 26 I have been constantly on the move. I have been in danger from rivers, in danger from bandits, in danger from my fellow Jews, in danger from Gentiles; in danger in the city, in danger in the country, in danger at sea; and in danger from false believers. 27 I have labored and toiled and have often gone without sleep; I have known hunger and thirst and have often gone without food; I have been cold and naked.  (2 Cor. 11:23-27)

We all suffer.  You could write your own laundry list of sorrows.  Some of us might even approach the level of suffering St. Paul experienced.  But take it from Paul, and the Holy Spirit who inspired him, the sufferings of this world are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.

On the last day, at the resurrection, when the glorious kingdom is ushered in… none of these earthly sufferings will matter. The Christian has a future hope.  And not just a spiritual one, either, as we shall see.  The glory that is to be revealed isn’t abstract and ephemeral, it is as real as it gets.

It is a glory that words fail to fully declare. We know, now, only in part.  But one day we will see fully.  It is a glory that will wash away every laundry list of suffering and sorrows.  And make no mistake it will be a bodily resurrection to a fullness of life, body and soul, glorified and living with God forever.  A glory derived from the One to whom is all glory now and forever, amen. 

19 For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God.

This creation, this fallen world, itself, Paul says, waits with eager longing.  The whole of creation that was affected by Adam’s sin, now waits and looks forward to the corrective – the new heaven and new earth that God will reveal on the last day, when the “sons of God” are also revealed.  All things that are now hidden will be made known then.  All these promises that remain shrouded in the uncertainty of the future.  All the hearts that we can’t see if they truly believe or not – all will be revealed.  And all will be made right at the last.  Even this creation.

20 For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope 21 that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. 22 For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now.

This whole creation has been affected by man’s sin.  Natural disasters, calamities and accidents.  Disease and epidemic.  The frailties of old age.  The violence we see in the animal kingdom.  Chaos and destruction.  All of it – the futility of this world – the bondage to corruption – began with the sin of Adam. 

Paul uses this great picture of the corrupted creation – painting it as a woman in labor. Groaning in the pains of childbirth.  Just as Eve and all her daughters now suffer labor pains because of sin, so the creation as a whole is like a woman suffering her contractions, times of pain and tears, off and on again, but with increasing intensity and frequency.  This world is groaning, lurching toward an end.  But there is a goal in site.  Just as the woman who gives birth rejoices when the baby finally arrives – so too will this creation be made glad when all things are finally renewed at the last day. 

23 And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies.

But creation, this world, is not all that is groaning.  We groan, too.  We have our own troubles and trials, and not just spiritually.  Sure we sin daily and much. We struggle with faith and doubt.

Like the creation, we also groan physically.  We suffer from aging and disease.  We have accidents and falls.  We bear the effects of sin in our very bodies.  This is not to say that you got cancer because you ate the wrong foods, or your kidneys failed because you didn’t exercise enough.  Surely we could all take better care of ourselves, but even the healthiest among us is subject to disease and death, sometimes quite suddenly.  It’s not a one-to-one correlation with our sin, but rather, an overall groaning under the entire corruption of this world, this flesh, this everything.

And so we groan, sometimes outwardly, but always inwardly, looking for something better.  And as Christians we have that hope, that future.  We know our adoption as sons of God has already begun, and God will bring it to completion at the last. 

And we know that God doesn’t just redeem our souls, but also our bodies.  I was recently at a funeral for a Christian, which I did not officiate.  And as the minister spoke kind words about the deceased and sought to comfort the family, there was a glaring omission.  Yes, there was some talk of Jesus, and I was thankful for that – as far as it went.  But there was almost no mention of the resurrection.  The hope of the Christian is that God will, at the last, redeem not just our souls, but our bodies too – our whole person – from sin and death.

24 For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? 25 But if we hope for what we do not see, we await for it with patience.

Yes, it takes the patience of faith to see this unseen hope.  And so we wait.  We wait in groaning and weakness, clinging for dear life to the promises of God.  We wait, and in this hope we are saved.  But there’s help along the way.  He concludes:

26 Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words. 27 And he who searches hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God

The creation groans.  We groan with it.  But did you catch that the Spirit himself also groans?  He groans in a way that is too deep for words.  He groans in his prayer for us, interceding for us as a perfect middle-man to the Father.  And his prayers are perfect, unlike our weak prayers.  We don’t know what to pray for, or how to pray as we ought.  Like this creation we are corrupt, and so even are our prayers.  But the Spirit has the very mind of God, and knows perfectly the will of God.  And the Spirit helps us, prays for us, according to the will of God.

And what is the will of God?  Jesus tells us, and shows us.  Not that the cup would pass from him, but that he drink it.  Not that Jesus would avoid the groaning and suffering, but face it head on.  For it is the will of God that Christ would suffer and die for the sins of the world, that whoever believes in him will not perish with this corrupt world, but have the hope that comes by his blood, and everlasting life.  His groaning and dying is your hope and your life.  He makes all things new, and that includes you.  His glory – the scorning of the shame of the cross – is now your glory.  And his resurrection is your resurrection. 

God grant us and strengthen us with this hope, through all our groaning.  In Jesus’ name.  Amen.

Sermon - Pentecost 7 - 13:1-9; 18-23

Perhaps, like me, you’ve sometimes been arrogant enough to think or even say, “If I were God, I would certainly do things such-and-such a way…”

As if we could know better. 

Jesus’ parable here, like many of his parables, confronts us with absurdity.  Sure it’s an everyday action people can all relate to – a sower goes out to sow some seeds in his field.  But this guy doesn’t seem too bright.  He’s not very careful.  You might call him sloppy.  He just takes handful after handful and tosses seed wherever.  No two inch deep holes, nicely spaced apart.  Not even careful to make sure the seed all gets into the garden.  Some falls on the path, here and there, he doesn’t seem to be bothered by any of this.  Maybe he doesn’t really know what he’s doing.  Maybe he doesn’t care if any of this seed grows or not.  Maybe he’s just a fool.

But like all Jesus’ parables, the point is deep.  The absurdity is the very lesson.  God’s ways are not our ways.  His wisdom is beyond ours. 

Far more than just a funny story about a foolish farmer, Jesus is really teaching us about how the Word of God works in the Kingdom of God.  And thanks be to God he explains this parable to his disciples, and to us.

The sower is the one who brings the seed, which is the word of God.  So any pastor or teacher of the word could be the sower.  Jesus himself, is the sower, or God the Father who sent him. That’s not really the point.

The seed, the word of God, goes out freely, far and wide.  It’s not a secret, or a riddle, something you have to search far and wide to unearth.  It simply is cast out there into the world – freely – for all to see and hear.  That’s why there’s no entrance fee to churches.  That’s why there’s no set of hoops to jump through or secret handshake.  The Word of God is like sunlight that washes the earth or rain that comes down on everyone and everything.  Or, here, like a seed that is recklessly cast in all directions.

Now, Jesus doesn’t explain why he does it this way.  We might think we know better but we surely do not.  But rather than direct our attention to the motivations of the sower, or to critique his methods, Jesus rather points to the various kinds of soil on which the seed falls.

It’s not like everyone who hears the Gospel automatically becomes and remains a believer.  We know that from our own experience.  In fact, you’ve probably seen many examples of each of these kinds of soil if you think about it.  The word generally gets four reactions or four kinds of hearing (and four, in Scripture, is the number of “the world” – as in the four points of the compass).  We might describe these four reactions as: hardened, shallow, conflicted, repentant.

Take the first – the seed that falls on the hardened path.  Out there, completely exposed to everything, the seed is quickly devoured by the birds.  Jesus later explains this is the work of the Evil One, who snatches the word away quickly at times.  The Devil does not want us to hear God’s word, or believe in it.  He wants to snatch it away, squelch it, drown it out with a cacophony of other messages.  He has his many birds, his various tactics, and sometimes he is so successful at this that a person never believes at all.  Sometimes even for Christians, the word is planted in us, spoken to us, and the devil somehow keeps us from hearing it.  “Oh, that law is speaking to other people, and no to me.” Or “Oh, this part is just too difficult I think I’ll skip it for something easier.”  Beware the birds, Christian.  They’re always trying to peck away at the Word God would plant in you.

Then there’s the rocky, or shallow soil.  These hear the word and receive it with joy, but have no root – and so when trouble and persecution come, they quickly wither.  We might call these fair weather Christians.  People who are ok with the happy talk of religion, the sweet-sounding promises and nice ideas about love and heaven and peace.  But their roots run shallow.  They don’t go very deep.  Either through lack of study or attention, or not taking the word seriously, they easily wither under persecution and trouble.  These are not the Christians who embrace cross-bearing, suffering, and patient humility under God’s wisdom and in God’s time.  And often we are tempted to be the same.  Every Christian can get a little wobbly in faith when persecution and trouble comes.  There is much that is against us in this world, against us hearing the word, receiving the word, and growing in the word.

The third soil are those who are choked out by the thorns – the cares of this world and the deceitfulness of riches.  We might call this conflicted or distracted soil.  When other cares and concerns seem more pressing than the word.  When perhaps slowly, over time, other priorities supplant our first love.  All the other things, get in the way, and slowly choke out the one thing needful.  This is why the Christian life must always be one of repentance, re-orientation toward Christ, confessing our sins and receiving his grace daily.

With so much against us, it’s a wonder that anything grows at all.  With the birds out pecking, the sun scorching feeble sprouts, and the weeds choking out the crops, it’s a wonder that anything good comes from the sowing.  But Jesus tells us of that final soil – the good soil.  To say that it’s good – well, this is not Jesus saying that people who receive the word are without sin, not good in and of themselves.  But this soil is good in the sense that it does what the farmer desires – it receives the seed and the seed grows in it.  The soil doesn’t make a decision to believe, or accept the seed.  The soil just sits there, and passively receives the gift of the seed.  So too the heart of the believer.

And then Jesus uses this word, that in this case the person “hears the word and understands it”.  Again, let’s catch the shade of meaning.  The Greek is something like, literally, “puts it together”.  We’re not talking so much about intellectual understanding here.  Rather, this is the understanding of wisdom, the understanding of the heart, that receives God’s word as it is intended – both the word of law that shows our sin, and the word of life that shows us Christ!

So many bad sermons simply amount to a challenge, “which kind of soil are you?”  When the reality is, we may all be all four kinds.  Sometimes we are distracted, sometimes hardened, sometimes choked by worry and care.  And sometimes faithful.  But there still stands the picture of the sower, casting his seed again and again, here and there, to and fro.  He may seem careless, but he cares more than we can know. He may seem foolish, but his foolishness is wiser than the wisdom of this world.

His word goes forth – to all places and all people – indiscriminately.  Because it is a word of grace.  His call to repentance and faith is for everyone, and that, dear friend, means it is for you.

Finally, this parable has implications for the work of the church, as well.  For together we work to sow the gospel that we have received, indeed, we wish to bear much fruit – perhaps a hundred fold.  The church follows the pattern of her Lord Jesus, in sowing the word freely, broadly, openly, even (some might say) recklessly.  Because we have been loved by God without deserving a bit of it – we share that love with all other poor, undeserving sinners.

We do it collectively, and individually.  We do it through the formal Sunday service and the preaching of Christ crucified, and through the humble everyday witness of faith, and good works done in Christian love.  We bear fruit when the word that has taken root in our hearts convicts us of sin and consoles us with grace, and moves us to love our neighbor.

Sometimes we see that fruit.  Sometimes we don’t.  Sometimes the word seems to work, sometimes it seems to fail.  But like the sower in the hymn based on this reading, the sower’s heart cries out either way, “Oh what of that, oh what of that!”  In other words, ours is just to be faithful, and leave the results to God the Holy Spirit.  We can’t make the word work any more than we can make a seed grow.  We can only sow the seed generously, and pray the Lord of the Harvest that it not return void, according to his promise.

Jesus doesn’t answer the question of why some believe and others do not.  But he does assure us, by this parable.  He teaches us how it is – and that he knows how it is – and that means we can trust him to know what he’s doing.

The Sower is not reckless or stupid or powerless as some may say.  Nor is he uncaring or apathetic about the success of his farming.  Just as Jesus wasn’t crucified because he was weak, or unlucky, or the victim of circumstance.  But he laid down his life of his own accord, in perfect obedience to the Father, to complete his mission of saving the world from sin.  As strange and reckless as it may seem.

So also his gospel – he knows exactly what he’s doing, strange as it may seem.  He sows the seed, plants the word, proclaims the Gospel freely and fully – intent that all would hear and believe, sprout and bear fruit.  That some seed falls on bad soil of whatever kind – we recognize, but leave it for the mystery that it is.

Trust the sower.  Believe the word, and bear the blessed fruit he will bring forth in you.  Amen.

Sermon - Pentecost 6 - Matthew 11:25-30

We Americans mostly enjoy the luxury of being able to take vacations.  We go off with our family, often in the summer, for some R&R, rest and relaxation.  Or perhaps your idea of rest is a more active “see the sights” approach, taking in the museums or doing all the activities.  But in any case, for us, vacation means stepping out of the usual routines of work, and into (we tell ourselves) some much needed rest.

Work and rest are two sides of a coin, since the beginning of the world.  God himself worked for 6 days – making everything in creation by the power of his word – and then resting on the 7^th day.  Of course, it wasn’t because he was tuckered out.  He rested for us.  To set a pattern for us of work and rest, times of productivity and times of re-charging.  He designed us to need sleep, and not to go on without rest indefinitely.  And, of course, there is some worldly wisdom also in times of rest to recharge and rejuvenate ourselves – it makes us better workers. 

But Jesus isn’t here offering a vacation.  He’s not the butler of the divine hotel ready to take your bags and set you up by the pool.  He’s not prescribing for you the proper work-life balance, and telling you that you’re too hard on yourself and you need to kick back and have a margarita.

Just as the peace he gives is not as the world gives, so the rest he gives is much different as well.

He’s offering a much deeper rest.  And he offers it for free.  It gives us rest from a different kind of labor.  And he offers it to all who are weary and burdened.

Another thing Genesis teaches us about work and rest is this:  work is not a result of the fall into sin.  Like Marriage, it is a good gift that God created and designed before the fall.  Adam and Eve had work to do, even before they sinned.  Adam was set to tend the garden, Eve would bear children and such, and together they would have dominion over all creation.  God put them in charge, but he also gave them work to do.  And this is part of what he declared “very good.”

But take note when things do go sour at the fall into sin.  Then and only then does work become labor.  The good and joyful activities and responsibilities of life become tainted and corrupted by sin and death and sorrow. 

Gardening now brings weeds, thorns, and thistles that prick and cause pain.  The ground doesn’t cooperate like it did before, and now man must sweat and toil for his daily bread.  Likewise, Eve finds trouble in her vocations as mother and wife, pain in childbirth and frustrations with her husband, Adam.  I’d argue, too, that the pain in childbirth thing extends to trouble raising children, too, at least through the teenage years.

And so we see today, that sin messes up everything, doesn’t it?  Work and relationships, joyful callings are made sorrowful, even some of the highest gifts of God are tarnished with bitterness because of the sin we bring.  People say, “I love my work, but…” and it’s just a shadow of the true nature of the problem, which runs deep, affects us all, and goes all the way back to Eden.

And into this swirling mess of chaos, this sad and tearful pit of despair, this weary well of exhaustion that is our sinful world – steps Jesus.  And the clarion call goes out from his blessed lips, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”

Jesus is not messing around.  He knows our burden and he knows it well.  He knows how the weight of sin and death press heavy upon us.  He knows, because he himself shoulders that weight.  He carries his cross, and stacked upon it, we might imagine the infinite tower of our woes – sins we’ve committed and are yet to commit, along with all the hurts and pains and tears and troubles they bring.  And at the top of that teetering tower sits death itself, whose hot breath is always down our necks, crushing us with the weight of inevitability.  Jesus takes that all, all of it.  He takes it for us.  And he nails it to the cross by his work, his labor – a labor of love for us all.

And in exchange, he gives you his yoke.  Now, a yoke, of course, is a heavy wooden beam placed on the shoulders of oxen as they plow the field.  A yoke has long been a symbol of work, or responsibility. 

The pastor’s stole, you might be surprised to learn, this colored material around my neck, is supposed to remind us of a yoke – that the pastor has, on his shoulders, a great responsibility – for teaching the pure and true word of God, both law and gospel, to the people.  It’s a reminder of the burden of office that is not to be taken lightly.

But “take my yoke”, Jesus says, “for it is light.”  What?  That’s like saying take my troubles, for they are a joy!  Take my sorrow – it will make you happy!  Take my cross, the wooden beam I bear and… well… he does call us to bear our own crosses, doesn’t he?

But the yoke that is light and easy is really the Gospel and everything that comes with it.  HIS work, accomplished for us.  His death in payment for ours.  His blood, shed instead of ours.  His righteousness, earned by his perfect obedience, placed upon us – not as a burden, but more like a victor’s wreath or a spray of flowers that marks us as the winner for the sake of his loss.

Jesus’ yoke is his gift of himself – and he invites you and me and all people to come and simply receive it, receive him, by faith, and be saved.  Be at rest.  It’s that simple and easy.

Notice, he doesn’t place a heavy yoke of law upon you, a yoke of more and more work and labor.  He doesn’t add a laundry list of commandments (we have trouble with 10 or 2 anyway).  He doesn’t tell you to be sure to dot your T’s and cross your I’s if you want your work to make the grade.  He says I will “GIVE” you rest.  He’s not selling it or offering it with strings attached.  This is pure and free grace, just like Jesus, isn’t it?

But this doesn’t mean there is no work for us to do.  Remember work itself isn’t evil.

The work of salvation is done.  The work of justification is done.  The work of accomplishing our forgiveness, winning our life, and procuring our eternal reward – well, as Jesus said, “it is finished.”

But the work for us that remains is the light and easy work of the Christian.  It is fulfilling the good works that God has already prepared for us beforehand, that we should walk in them.  It is loving God and loving neighbor, not on fear or pain of death, but in the grateful response of the New Creation that lives in us! 

It is also, like Christ’s example, work that is done humbly.  We don’t need to point to our list of accomplishments, either to prove them to God, or to our neighbor, or to ourselves.  The work that really counts is Christ’s and it’s done.  The labors of our life of faith are a joyful response, not a toll that must be paid and measured.  For the Christian, there is no need to keep record of wrongs, for all is forgiven in Christ. And there is no need to track our spiritual progress, or buff up our resume’ of righteousness, for Jesus has already done it all for us.

Or take St. Paul’s helpful comments from Romans 7 today.  What a useful passage for every Christian to consider, when we think of our yoke of good works before God.  The evil I hate, I find myself doing.  The good that I want to do, I can’t seem to do!  Like Paul, our flesh still labors under the burden of sin, but our spirit is freed from its yoke.  Or, as Paul says it, “It is no longer I who do (this evil), but sin that dwells within me.”

And so, the Christian is at rest in one sense – our salvation is secure in Christ.  In another sense there is no rest as the flesh and the spirit continue their war within us.  But even this will not last forever.  Jesus’ promise of rest will ultimately win in the fullest sense.  Paul cries out in frustration, “Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?”  And of course we know the answer is Jesus.

One day, God will call you home.  Jesus will say, in yet another way, “Come to me, weary one.  Come and leave your labors behind you. Come to me, and rest.  Come receive the reward that is prepared for you.  Come enjoy the mansions of heaven.  Come to live and not labor under death’s heavy burden.  Come to the peace and tranquility of eternal joy where all tears are wiped away by the very hand of God.  Come, dear child, and rest.  Rest in peace.

Jesus calls to you today, by his Spirit, through his word.  He calls you to a rest as he alone can give, rest for the weary, rest for your soul.  A yoke that is light and easy because he’s done all the heavy lifting at the cross.  And all that is left for us is to believe it, and live out that faith in joy until we receive our final promised rest.

In Jesus Christ, Amen.

 

Sermon - Pentecost 5 - Matthew 10:34-42

 

People think they know what the Bible teaches, or what Jesus says, and quite often they do not.  So much of who Jesus is, and what he does is unexpected, even to Christians.

Is it because he is mysterious and beyond us, because he is omniscient God who created all and knows all, and we are tiny, puny little specks in the grand scheme of his creation?  That he’s just so much smarter than us that we can’t fathom his truth?

Or is it because our sinful flesh has warped expectations of God? That even if we had the biggest brain, or a super-computer artificial intelligence juicing up our comprehension of reality – we’d still get it wrong because we are perverted by sin – corrupted through and through.  And it’s not so much intellectual capacity as it is spiritual deadness that is our problem? 

Why is Jesus always surprising us, blowing up our expectations?  Because we’re not that smart, or because we are so sinful?  Perhaps both.

Thankfully he doesn’t leave us to figure all this out on our own.  But rather, he reveals to us truth - even difficult truths.  He shows us and tells us things that we couldn’t come to on our own.  Things about ourselves, about himself, and about the meaning of his work among us.  And in many cases these things fly exactly in the face of our limited and corrupted experiences and expectations.

Today he puts some hard truths before us, concerning violence, division, families, crosses, and even some unexpected promises near the end. 

First, the Prince of Peace shocks us with talk of violence. “Don’t think I’ve come to bring peace.  No, I’ve come, instead to bring a sword!”  What? Isn't this Jesus who teaches “turn the other cheek”? Isn't this the one who told Peter, “if you live by the sword you will die by the sword”? Isn't this the Jesus who isn't a military messiah but a humble donkey-riding king whose kingdom is not of this world? Yes, to all of that. But how do we reconcile these seemingly contradictory statements? Is he a peace guy or a sword guy?  He’d probably get a 30 day ban on facebook!

But talk of violence - perhaps Jesus' own life is a starting point. For though he preached good news, healed the sick, and never thought of rebellion – violent men found him anyway, and pierced him with thorns and nails and spear. He didn't bring the sword, but his words and actions brought the sword down upon him. Like a lamb led to the slaughter, so our Lord was taken. Like a robber they came to arrest him with torches and clubs at night, though he taught openly every day in the temple.  He could have called legions of angelic armies, the mighty hosts of heaven to his aid – but he chose rather to fulfill the Father’s will, and become the victim of violence for all.

We might be reminded of the momma-always-said bit of wisdom, “no good deed goes un-punished”. Or to put it in more biblical terms, Jesus suffered violence for doing good. He was persecuted for telling the truth. He made enemies by loving people. Who would have thought?

No the world isn't fair that way, because the world is sinful and full of sinners. And if it was that way for Jesus, it will be all the more for us, his people. So he warns us, he came to bring a sword. Not a sword for us to bear, that we should be violent.  But a sword of persecution that will be pointed at us, just as it was at him.

Following Jesus does not mean peace – at least in the sense of a peaceful coexistence with the sinful world around you. In fact, being a Christian might even mean trouble for you, yes, even in your family. Holding to Christ's word may bring a sword – it may cut you, or cut you off from those you love in ways you don't expect.

I think of the sad reality of so many of us who have adult children who have left the church, departed the faith.  It’s a sword that pierces our soul.  It’s a cross to bear, about which we can often do little but pray.  Oh, it may not be a verbal or physical fight – dividing you from your wandering children.  But when the center of your life is Jesus Christ, and the ones you love wander off, or quietly drift away  – it can frustrate us, it can hurt us, and it can even tempt us to compromise, equivocate, or wander away ourselves.  Jesus knows that family ties are strong, that’s part of his good design in creation, but he knows also that the evil one will use even the family to drive wedges and create conflict.  Jesus warns us not to love father or mother, son or daughter “more than me”.  He must be first, he must take priority, even over our own flesh and blood.

But the violence and division that Jesus brings isn’t even limited to the world out there, or the members of the family.  It gets even more personal, closer to home.  The Christian is even at odds with himself.  Your sinful nature is at war with the new man!  The battleground doesn’t get any closer.  The lines are drawn up in your very soul.  The struggle against sin is daily and real.  We must take up our own cross, and not despise its shame, lose our own life for the sake of Christ if we hope to save it.

Recall how St. Paul talks about the struggle between the good that he wants to do and the evil he finds himself doing. Wretched man that I am! We could all say the same. Who will rescue me from this body of death? Jesus Christ alone!

But in another sense, Jesus does bring peace.  He even says so.  The peace that Christ does bring is a true peace – with God. “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you.  Not as the world gives, give I unto you.” (John 14:7) It is not an outward, false peace.  It is not a shallow, temporary peace.  Not even an emotional peace. In fact, sometimes it doesn't even feel peaceful. But he declares it to be so – and his word of forgiveness is the greater reality. You are forgiven. You are righteous. You belong to God, in Jesus Christ who died for you. You are at peace.

So whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for Christ will gain it. If you think you are just fine, if you think you are without sin, if you think you are at peace – Jesus comes to say otherwise. But if you are lost, if your life is a mess and fading away, if you confess your sin – Jesus brings a peace that passes understanding.

And he brings rewards. Here after all the hard words of warning about sword and trouble and family turmoil – he does not leave us without hope. He never does.

So whoever receives Jesus receives the Father, and whoever receives a prophet, receives the one who sent the prophet – namely, Jesus. This is why we hear the word of God. To receive that reward. To know that blessing. And we receive the righteous person – we care for, and love one another – righteous saints of God, even as we are already righteous in Christ.

Yes, there is reward enough in doing what is right for its own sake. But when this world rewards your faithfulness with hatred, your trust in Christ with ridicule, and your works of Christian love with derision – know that your reward isn't ultimately here, but in Heaven.

No, we don't deserve these rewards – unlike earthly rewards. Just like the peace he brings is not as the world gives.  These are not dessert for cleaning your plate at dinner, or a paycheck for a hard day's labor. The rewards Christ promises are always of grace.

Our “just desserts” would be scary. We are sinners. But what we truly deserve isn't what he promises. Instead, he gives us his own righteousness. His own blessedness. His own life – a resurrection and a glorious eternity. A kingdom that never ends. Another great surprise, eh?

Jesus never said being a Christian would be easy. No, instead he talks about crosses, and suffering, and swords. It can bring division and strife, even in the inner sanctum of the family.  There's no promise of peace this side of heaven. But for the faithful, the reward awaits. The hope endures, always, only in him, who by his cross has conquered, and by his word sustains us. Believe in that word, come what may. And look for that reward, for it is sure. In Jesus Christ, Amen.

 

 

Sermon - Holy Trinity Sunday - Matthew 28:16-20

The mystery of the Trinity is perhaps the deepest, most profound doctrine of the Christian faith.  At least it’s near the top of any list. 

And while the chief article of the faith is “justification by grace through faith in Christ”, the doctrine of the Trinity is not far behind.   

If you get the Trinity wrong, it leads to all sorts of confusion and false teaching.  If you deny the doctrine of the Trinity, you cannot ultimately even call yourself a Christian. 

The Athanasian Creed says as much:  Whosoever will be saved, before all things it is necessary that he hold the catholic faith. (Catholic, of course, meaning “universal Christian”, not Roman Catholic). 

And then it goes on to specify what that faith is:  And the catholic faith is this, that we worship one God in Trinity, and Trinity in Unity; 

And so we have a whole Sunday in which we consider, each and every year, the Holy Trinity.  We take pains to confess the longest of our creeds, reminding ourselves with each and every word, of this important truth.  And by our shared confession of the Trinity in Unity and Unity in Trinity, we find fellowship with all Christians that ever were or will be.   

But, is it really helpful to me?  Is it relevant?  Is this creed nothing more than ancient “word-salad”?  Does the doctrine of the Trinity make a real difference in my day-to-day life?   

For the Christian, doctrine is not something to be shelved in dusty old books, or kept out of sight in the ivory towers of our seminaries, studied by old men with long beards.  Rather, doctrine is life, because  doctrine is simply the teaching of the Word of God.   

And in that word, our God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, makes himself known to us.  He makes his promises to us.  He gives us his good gifts, forgives our sins, and bestows life, salvation, and every blessing. 

We need to know our Father, our Heavenly Father.  We need to recognize the gifts of his creation.  He made it all, by his word, in just six days.  We hear that again in Genesis 1 this morning. 

But our Father didn’t just make the world in general, he has created me and you.  And we are fearfully and wonderfully made.  He has given me my body and soul, eyes, ears and all my members, my reason and all my senses, and still takes care of them. 

He is a loving and kind father, who loved the sinful, rebellious world, and so sent his only son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish, but have eternal life.  Or to put it more pointedly, dear child of God, he has provided for your salvation by sending Jesus to live and die and rise… for you!  God almighty, creator of all things, highest of the high, has cared… for… you. 

But it is impossible to come to him apart from Jesus Christ, his son.  Ah, but who is he?  Again the doctrine helps us.  Jesus is true God and true man.  Yes, of course, he is a man, like me.  He’s one of us – like us in every way, yet without sin.  That means he knows what it’s like to live in this world of suffering.  He is a man well acquainted with suffering.  And he can sympathize with us.  When I suffer, I know Jesus cares.  When I hurt, he’s not going to ignore me.  He’s walked in these shoes, and then some. 

But he’s also God.  A man, but no more man.  True man and true God!  With all the power and authority that being God brings.  And he uses it all for our good.  Even now, seated at the right hand of the Father, Jesus rules everything for the good of his people, the church.  He’s true man who died for our sins.  But he’s true God so that his sacrifice counts for all.  He’s true man who lived perfectly in our place.  He’s true God who could do it perfectly because he had no sin.  He hears our prayers.  He reconciles us to the Father.  And his promises are big promises, about life, and forgiveness of sins, and even resurrection.  Yes because Christ has conquered death, you, too will rise on the last day.  Thanks be to Jesus, who is God! 

Just last Sunday, we observed Pentecost.  We know that the Father and the Son send the Holy Spirit.  He is poured out on Pentecost, and he is poured out on all nations in God’s word.  He calls us to faith and sanctifies and keeps us in the faith. He applies the blessings of Christ to us, always showing us Christ, drawing us to Christ, empowering our faith in Christ.  And the Holy Spirit also gathers the church.  Like the wind, you can’t see him, the Spirit, but you can see what he does.  Look around you today to your fellow believers the Spirit has drawn here together. 

And all this doctrine, all this teaching, all these wonderful, beautiful truths about the Holy Trinity – are for your blessing, for your edification, for the strengthening of your faith, and for your great comfort. 

If there’s any one passage that most clearly teaches us about the Trinity, it’s this one, our Gospel reading from Matthew 28.  Sometimes called the “Great Commission”.  That’s actually a fairly recent name for it, and maybe not the best one for this passage.  Jesus surely sends the 11, and really the whole church, on a mission to make more disciples.  How are they to do it?  As they go… they are to make disciples by these two verbs:  Baptizing and teaching. 

Baptizing in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Baptism makes disciples.  God makes disciples through his baptism, the baptism that is in his Triune name.  Brothers and sisters in Christ, I can call you that because you and I are baptized into the same name, the three-fold name, Father, Son and Spirit.  We bear this special name, the name of God, as a seal upon our brow.  Marking us as redeemed.  And notice he doesn’t say baptize in the nameS of… Father, Son and Spirit, but in the Name, singular name, of the Father, Son and Spirit.  The three are one. 

Baptize, he says, and teach.  Disciples are made by teaching.  We listen and learn, we hear and are taught.  But make no mistake, this is not simply an academic exercise.  The Doctrine of the Trinity, and all the doctrine of our faith and of Scripture, is not so much to be understood as it is believed.  It is not simply for our brains, but for our hearts.  God is not downloading information about himself so that we can master the topic and pass the test.  He is revealing his very nature, his very heart, himself to us… for our benefit.  He’s saying, “I love you.  And here’s how….” 

And so disciples are made when we teach the Trinity – the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and all that our Triune God has done and promises to do for us.  Disciples are made when that doctrine is believed and confessed by the power of the Spirit.  When sinners hear the doctrine of the law, and ae convicted and repent.  And when we also hear the good news of the Gospel, that Jesus has died for you, for me, and we are forgiven and comforted. 

And disciples are never done being disciple, but always live in our baptism and learn from his teaching, growing in his word. 

Disciples are made – of all nations – the widest net possible is cast.  There is no distinction.  All people, of every tribe, nation and language.  Every level of wealth and poverty.  The high and the lowly, the young and the old.  Jesus, through his church, through the baptizing and the teaching, makes disciples of all nations. 

And Jesus promises to be with us always, even unto the end of the ages.  Not that he’ll stop being with us on the last day, either.  But until then – he is with us – also in the baptizing and the teaching.  In his word, and in his sacraments.  He’s with us in the precious water of baptism that never really dries off of the Christian.  And he’s with us in the miraculous meal of his own institution – coming in, with, and under simple bread and wine.   

He’s with us, to bring us to the Father, and to send us his Spirit.  The Trinue God who places his Triune name upon us will not leave of forsake us.  And that is some good news on this Holy Trinity Sunday, and always. 

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.