Sermon - Epiphany 5 - Isaiah 6:1-6

 

Sometime or another, we’ve all been caught in a lie.  It’s not a fun experience.  You dishonesty is exposed.  You stand convicted.  What will the other person say or do now?  Will they ever trust you again?  Do you try to double down and grow the lie with more deceit? Or do you fess up and humbly ask for forgiveness?

But what if it’s not just a white lie that snagged you, but a big one, a whopper?  And what if it’s not just another person that is calling you out, but a judge?  In fact, what if it’s the heavenly judge of all, the one who sits on the throne?  The one from whom there is no hiding, who cannot be fooled, who knows our every darkest, deepest sin, and by rights could call us to account.

That’s where Isaiah found himself in his vision of Yahweh, the Lord.  Sure it was an awesome sight – God himself enthroned over the temple, his throne, his robe filling up the whole building with its train.  The angels flitting about and singing a thunderous song that shook the foundations of this great building.  You might think Isaiah would leap for joy to see such a sight.  But that is not his reaction.

He realizes this is his doom.  For as much as God is, as the angels sing, “holy, holy, holy”, Isaiah is “sinful, sinful, sinful.”  He immediately becomes acutely aware of his own sin, his own unworthiness, especially to stand in the presence of Yahweh, that his eyes have beheld such a sight.  And dread seizes him.

“I am a man of unclean lips, and I live in the midst of a people of unclean lips.”  Isaiah is caught in his lie, and it’s a big one.  There’s no talking your way out of this one.  Isaiah knew it well. 

We can sympathize.  At least, we should.  For we too are people of unclean lips.  From the same mouth pour blessings and curses, and this should not be!  From our lips come all sorts of lies and deceits, disparaging of neighbor and prideful boasting.  We do not speak well of our neighbor as we should.  We do not defend his reputation as we ought.  We find countless and creative ways to sin with our lips, our words, and our failures to speak as we ought. 

Unclean lips.  That’s just scratching the surface.  Our whole lives are a lie.  We live day to day as if we aren’t unclean – putting on a show for ourselves and others that everything is just fine and we’ve got it all together and life is good.  Sometimes the truth peeks through here and there.  But Isaiah’s vision tears back the curtain, rips off the façade, and lays bare the truth for him – and for us – we’re doomed.  Woe is me!  Woe is you, too, fellow sinner.  Woe is us all.

One thing Isaiah’s lips do get right, however, is to confess this miserable situation.  He rightly speaks when he admits and owns his uncleanness.  As do we.  Confessing our sins is one of the best things we can do with these unclean lips.  A bit of honesty about ourselves prompted and moved by the Holy Spirit, who convicts our unclean hearts by his law.  Then, when we are brought low, when faced with the stark reality of it, how dire our sinful situation is, we are ready for cleansing, for grace, for restoration, for atonement.

As holy, holy, holy as he is, God is also merciful, merciful, merciful.  He doesn’t let Isaiah languish long in his guilt, but he sends forth one of these holy angels to perform an important task.  A glowing coal from the altar, the place of sacrifice, is taken and touched to Isaiah’s lips.  And the angel speaks the good news:  “This has touched your lips.  You sin is atoned for.”  The thunderous voice that shook the doorposts now speaks a kind and gentle word of pardon.  And it came so swiftly, so fully, and so freely.  God is merciful.

That altar is the place of sacrifice, and it is a shadow itself of the great sacrifice to come.  The Lord who sits enthroned above the temple would himself come down and assume our human flesh, take on our unclean lips and hands and hearts, and carry them with all their sin and guilt to his cross.  There, at the cross, atonement is made for Isaiah, for all his people, and for all people of unclean lips, even those here today.  The fire of God’s wrath consumes Christ, and not us.  The woe that was us, he faces in our place.  The just sentence of death that should have been upon us, falls upon him, and he bears it graciously.

In many and various ways God spoke to our fathers of old.  In burning bush and fiery pillar, in cloud and smoke and awe.  In dreams and visions, like this one seen by Isaiah.  But now in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son.  Jesus has come.  And we have his word.  We have preachers who bring that good news to us, much as the angel did for Isaiah.  But we have even better.

In the vision, God forgave Isaiah with the glowing hot coal that touched his lips.  But in these last days, he forgives us also by means of the Sacrament.  Here, he touches our lips with bread and wine that deliver us Christ’s body and blood, and our sin is atoned for.  Here, the holy, holy, holy One makes us holy by the forgiveness of our sins. Here the “woe is me” becomes, “how greatly blessed I am!”

But that’s not the end of the story, either.  Isaiah, now forgiven and at peace, is given an opportunity to serve.  “Whom shall I send?” God asks, and Isaiah responds in faith, “Here am I!  Send me.” No more is he wallowing in woe, paralyzed by fear of judgment.  The forgiveness of God empowers and frees us to serve.

It wasn’t going to be a picnic.  God was sending Isaiah as a prophet to a people unwilling to listen.  But just as Isaiah couldn’t have cleansed himself, but God provided for him, so does he also equip people for service that they couldn’t otherwise imagine they could do.

See also our Gospel reading, where Jesus similarly calls his disciples to leave their nets behind and become “fishers of men.”  Surely they had no idea what was to come.  But they trusted the one who called them, and he was faithful.

God has forgiven you, in Christ.  Your sin is atoned for.  And you, too, are called to serve.  You may not be called to the divinely instituted office of the public ministry.  But you may be called to serve as father or mother, wife or husband, son or daughter, teacher or student, employee or employer, citizen or friend. 

Wherever God has placed you, whomever he has placed in your care, however he has called you to serve, do so in the courage and confidence of a Christian.  Your lips and hands and hearts are clean in Jesus Christ, the once-and-for-all sacrifice.  When God comes calling, “whom shall I send?”, join your voice to Isaiah’s and cry, “Here am I!  Send me!”

In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Sermon - Epiphany 3 - Luke 4:16-30

 

We learn from the Gospels that Jesus’ primary mission, apart from going to the cross to die for our sins, was to preach.  He did some miracles along the way – healing, casting out demons, even calming the storm, multiplying the loaves, and turning water to wine.  But his real interest, his true purpose in the three years leading up to the cross… was to preach.

We learn this also today from our reading in Luke, where Jesus visits his hometown of Nazareth.  And we are told that on the Sabbath day he went to the synagogue, “as was his custom”, read from the scriptures, and sat down to preach.

So the church continues to this day the practice of public reading of scripture and having someone preach on it.  This goes at least back to the time of Ezra, as we read in our Old Testament lesson, where the entire Law of Moses was read before the people (and it took half a day to do so!)  And they also had someone preach on the scriptures, or “give the sense of it” as Nehemiah puts it.

So also, faithful pastors today preach the word of God, and faithful Christians do well to hear it.  But what makes for a good sermon?  What should we be looking and listening for?  We can learn quite a bit about all this from the best preacher of them all – our Lord Jesus Christ, as he visits Nazareth and preaches on Isaiah.

There’s plenty of bad preaching out there.  But we are concerned primarily with substance over style.  Of course you want sermons that are well-delivered, but far more important is the content.  Luke therefore reports to us the “what” of Jesus’ preaching, and very little about the “how” of it.

So along that line….one thing we preachers learn, by way of contrast, is that we do not preach ourselves.  Jesus did – as he told them that Isaiah’s prophecy was fulfilled in him, and as the content of his preaching was about himself and his own work.  That in him, the kingdom of God had arrived.  Watch out for any other preacher who preaches himself!  Rather, we would preach Jesus.  Some pulpits even have a little plaque, affixed right up here where only the preacher can read it – a plaque that reads, “sir, we would see Jesus!”

For preachers, like all sinners, face temptations even in our preaching.  We may be tempted to preach our own agenda or some worldly “ism”.  That’s not Christian preaching.  Or we may be tempted to seek the approval of man.  To satisfy the itching ears of our listeners.  To preach sermons that feel good but may not proclaim the truth.  And all of us, as hearers, are likewise tempted to hear what we want to hear, and not what we need to hear. 

Just look at how fickle the congregation was in Nazareth.  At first, they spoke well of Jesus and his gracious words.  But when he challenged them, they changed their tune!  In wrath, they tried to throw him off a cliff!  Preaching can be a dangerous business, it seems.

But let’s not kill the messenger, nor close our ears to the uncomfortable word of God.  We all need to hear that word of law that convicts us of our sin.  We need the hardness of our hearts to be tilled by the law of God, to make ready for the seed of the Gospel.  The people of Nazareth were not having it.

Another lesson for preachers (and hearers) from this example of Jesus is this:  We preach the scriptures.  Jesus could well have spoken on any topic, for of course anything he says is de facto the word of God.  But notice, he bases his message on a reading, a text of Scripture.  He read from the prophet Isaiah and sat down to explain and proclaim it.

Just as he defeated the devil in the wilderness by reference to the written word of God, three times saying, “it is written…” So Jesus, in his preaching, also references the written word of God.  And we ought to take careful note of it.  Pastors who wander off into their own opinions and ideas, or who simply string together a bunch of entertaining stories, and congregations who go for that sort of thing, should take note of Jesus’ own preaching.

As a professor once told a group of pastors. “Gentlemen, the Scriptures are far more interesting than you are.”  Just so.  We want to hear the word of God, not the opinions and ideas of any man.

And finally, we preach Christ crucified.  Now, Jesus didn’t get to the crucifixion yet, but it’s sort of hidden in this text.  For when the crowd tried to put him to death, they couldn’t.  He mysteriously passed through them.  It wasn’t yet his time.  But that time would come, and the Gospels spend many pages telling the details of his arrest, trial, suffering and death.  Jews and Romans came together for it, the crowd cried out with one voice, “Crucify!”  And even the thief on the cross next to him joined in the mockery and hate.

But Jesus would not be deterred, and even from his cross he preached, seven precious words – not for himself, but always for us.

Therefore, Paul tells us in 1 Corinthians 1:

For Jews demand signs and Greeks seek wisdom, but we preach Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles, but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God.

It was true in Nazareth, too.  The Jews demanded signs, like Jesus did in Capernaum.  That’s what got them so mad – he called them out about it.

And doubtless others, even today, others look for wisdom: helpful hints for living, 5 keys to a health marriage, 12 steps to raising a healthy teenager, and on and on… preaching anything but Christ crucified.

But here’s a good rule of thumb.  A sermon without Christ is not really a Christian sermon.  And a sermon with Christ only as example is really not a good one either.  We want to no longer be blind, but to see Christ, and him crucified for sinners like us.  We want to hear about the Jesus who died for our sins to set us free from captivity to death and hell.  We want the preacher to proclaim the year of God’s favor. We want to hear about Christ who shed his blood for us to make us heirs of eternity. 

That’s the good news that he was anointed to preach to the poor.  Himself, and the work he was about to accomplish.  That’s the good news that we are given to preach and blessed to hear.

Scriptural preaching focused on the written word of God and proclaiming Christ crucified for sinners. 

Some may not like it.  Some may find it scandalous or foolish.  But preaching Christ crucified for sinners – it’s the very wisdom of God and the power of God.  So, hear it, dear Christian, and believe it.

For Jesus’ sake.  Amen.

Sermon - Epiphany 2 - John 2:1-12

 

For years Messiah has, like many faithful Christian churches, observed an annual “Life Sunday”.  Although a primary focus has been the battle against abortion, we’ve also highlighted the broader idea that all of life is a gift from God and is to be treasured, supported, and nurtured.  It’s also a big reason why Messiah operates a Swaddling Clothes ministry, and supports a local crisis pregnancy center. 

And while the issue of defending life remains, and in some form or fashion probably always will, today let’s broaden the scope of this emphasis even a little more to include another gift of God that has been under assault in our world, the family.  After all, marriage and family are the framework in which God desires to bring forth new life.  From a father and mother, united in marriage, God establishes the family, and through their one-flesh union continues to bless us with children.

Now, I don’t need to tell you that the family is under duress these days.  Marriage, as an institution, has been devalued and deconstructed for decades among us.  Divorce has become increasingly acceptable and easier to obtain.  Marriage has also been re-defined, less a sacred union of a man and a woman, but now a simple contract between two consenting adults, or maybe more, no matter their sex or gender. 

Even the foolish gender ideology that has run rampant these days, especially among many young people, is a twisting up and confusion of God’s intention for our life – that we are created male and female, that we are blessed to be fruitful and multiply in the bounds a sacred marriage union.

But sermons are not meant to be preached for us to feel morally superior to all those bad people out in the culture and the world.  Let’s not get on our collective high horse and just say, we love babies and families and marriage and shame on those who don’t.  We’re not here today to wag our collective finger at others.  Rather, let’s consider our own sin and how God deals with us graciously in Jesus Christ.

We come, today, to the wedding at Cana.  Here our Lord performs his first sign, turning water into wine.  The messianic implications of this are pretty clear.  John calls it a “sign” not just a miracle, to indicate it’s meant to point us to Jesus, a calling card or indication of who he truly is.

And the backdrop of a wedding for this first sign also implies a deep truth – that he, Jesus, is the true bridegroom, come to woo and win his bride.  He is the true host of the celebration, the one who invites others to the party.  He is the one who provides the best wine, without cost to the partiers. 

We aren’t told much about this occasion, who the people are getting married, or why Jesus and his mother and disciples are invited.  We know a little about the wedding customs of the day, but not much.  And we don’t know why they ran out of wine, although we know enough to know this was more than a minor problem.  A social gaffe of a pretty large scale on the most important day in someone’s life, the embarrassment before family and friends and the awkward position – well it’s not the end of the world, but it is a problem.

Mary somehow finds out, and reaction teaches us by example.  What do we do when there’s a problem, big or small?  Bring it to Jesus.  She simply reports the situation, the need, to her son, and seems to trust that he will know what to do. 

Do we bring our problems to Jesus in prayer?  Or do we try to handle everything ourselves?  Do we, mistakenly, think we shouldn’t bother Jesus with trivial matters, and only lean on him when the going gets really tough?  Ah, but the old hymn says it well, “what a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer.”

Some problems seem too small, but he is not bothered by our requests.  Even his gentle pushback to Mary doesn’t stop him from hearing her, and helping out.  It reminds us of when he seemed, at first, to turn away the Syrophoenician woman, “it isn’t right to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs…” and yet he ended up helping her, too.  Perhaps he’s giving Mary an opportunity to exercise her faith here.

And some problems seem too big for us, with no possible solution or fix.  These, too, we must always bring to Jesus.  Like Mary, we can trust that he knows best, and will deal with us according to his love and kindness.

Mary then gives the servants the best advice, and it stands for us as well, “Do whatever he tells you.”  If only we could.

This is the same Jesus who summarized the entire law with two commands:  Love God, and love your neighbor.  If only we could do what he tells us.

We have a hard enough time loving even our own family members as we should, let alone loving God with all of our heart, soul and strength.  The commandments give us particular trouble, too, don’t they?  For who really can say that she honors her father and mother as she ought?  And who can really say he hasn’t committed adultery, if not in deed, then in word or thought? 

There’s plenty of evil out there in the world – disregard for life, and despising of marriage and family. But, no, we don’t do whatever he tells us, either.  According to his law, we are sinners.  We are like disobedient children or an unfaithful spouse – and God uses both of those pictures throughout Scripture to teach us. 

But our disobedience to his law is only part of the story. He is our ever-loving Father.  He is the faithful husband to his people.  For his word creates faith in us, and we are baptized into him. We are crucified with Christ.  We are buried and raised with Christ.  We are not only the sinner, but also the saint.  We therefore receive his instructions with gladness.  We joyfully do whatever he tells us.

He tells us to trust him, to believe in him.  To come to him for rest.  To abide in his word.  To hear his voice and follow him.  Faith comes by hearing his word, and that faith, itself, a gift from him, by his Spirit.

He tells us, also, to receive the blessed Sacrament.  “Do this,” he says, “in remembrance of me.”  Not so much a command but a gracious invitation, for these, his body and blood, are given and shed for you.  And here, my dear brothers and sisters, the wine he provides is far greater than that of Cana.  It is the best wine, saved for you, flowing freely, and forgiving your sins.

And thus he receives you, again and again, like the prodigal son.  Thus he reconciles you to himself, again and again, as part of his beloved bride.  Thus he gives you life, abundant life, rooted in him and bearing the fruits of faith – love for God, and love for neighbor.

“Do whatever he tells you,” Mary tells them, and for us, forgiven in Christ our true bridegroom, it’s a joy so to do.

Sermon - Christmas 2 - Luke 2:40-52

 

Maybe you have a scrapbook or a photo album with memories of your children as they grew up (or maybe your parents have them of you).  These days, it seems like a lot of our memories are hosted digitally on social media services.  But it’s always nice to walk back down memory lane and wonder at how the years fly by, and oh, how much our children have grown.

The New Testament doesn’t present us with Jesus’ baby book, however, or serve as a biography of Jesus with all the milestones in his life for us to ponder. 

Instead, today we have that one precious story of Jesus’ life as a child of 12 years old, the only episode Scripture details about his life between the visit of the Wise men and the beginning of his public ministry at age 30.  Perhaps this, in itself, teaches us something – that Jesus holy work of perfect living didn’t require anything noteworthy or special for many years.  That he simply did what he was given to do.  He grew.  He learned.  He was an obedient son to his parents.  We assume he followed in his father Joseph’s business as a carpenter and did all the other usual things a Jewish young man would do.  And we might take note and model our lives after that – a godly life is fulfilled simply in our God-given vocations.

And then we also see, from Luke, that Jesus’ family was religiously observant.  They participated every year in the Jewish Passover feast, and took the trip down from Nazareth to Jerusalem, according to the custom.  It’s not exactly the same thing as being regular church-goers, but there’s some similarity here.  The whole family, it seems, quietly and simply did what their faith asked of them.  It was just a matter of course. 

The real action begins when the feast is over, and the family heads home.  Scholars believe such journeys were often made by larger extended families as a group, partly for safety in numbers.  And so it wouldn’t have been too unusual for Mary and Joseph to lose track of Jesus for a short time.  But after about a day’s journey, they notice they haven’t seen him, and their distress and anxiety grow as they begin searching for him in the traveling group.  He was nowhere to be found!  And so back to Jerusalem they went, ever more frantic to find their beloved son.

And when they do, it’s sort of anti-climactic.  He’s just there, sitting in the temple, of course.  He’s just been in his Father’s house, visiting with the teachers, probably both learning from them and teaching them a thing or two.  Mary gently berates him, and Jesus kindly answers her, “Why were you looking for me?  Didn’t you know that I must be in my Father’s house?”

As St. Luke records everything so carefully, here again we have more of Jesus’ story that likely came from the treasures of Mary’s heart.  She pondered these things deeply, and Luke, inspired by the Holy Spirit, invites us to do the same.  What exactly is the meaning of all this?  What does Jesus teach us with his staying behind and his answer to his mother?  What does it mean that he bust be in the Father’s house?

On one level, it’s a confession of his identity as the Son of God.  Yes, he is also the son of Joseph, as even Luke here refers to Mary and Joseph as “his parents”.  But we’ve read the back-story and we know he is conceived by the Holy Spirit.  We’ve also read John’s Gospel and we know he’s the eternal Word that was with God, now made flesh and dwelling among us. 

And yes, again, by example, we can say Jesus is teaching us something here about the centrality of God’s house in our lives.  We, too, ought to be in our Father’s house.  We, too, ought to be engaged in the study of his word, that we, too, might grow in wisdom and stature.  That this passage comes at the beginning of a new year might serve us as a reminder to re-commit to studying the Scriptures this year.  We have so many opportunities here at Messiah, and as your pastor, of course, I invite you to join one or more of our Bible studies, in addition to your own private reading and study of Scripture.  Notice even Jesus made use of the teachers of God’s word, however…

And one more point of comparison we might draw is that of anxious Mary – looking for Jesus.  I’m reminded of the cartoon with the missionaries at the front door asking the woman, “have you found Jesus?”  And on the other side of the frame we can see his robe and sandals peeking out as he stands behind the window curtains.  Jesus is not lost.  We don’t need to find him.  Rather, we are lost, and he finds us.  Mary shouldn’t have worried.  Jesus answer to her gives the same sense, “why were you looking for me?”  Didn’t you know?  Wasn’t it obvious?  He’s the one in control, and we are the ones so often frantically searching about, if not for him, then for answers and for solutions to all our lives problems, and to the consequences of sin in our world.  But Jesus calmly goes about his business.

And then, of course, there’s the deeper theological meaning of the Temple.  The house of God.  Really, this is Jesus’ house, too.  Last week we heard a little about the glory of God dwelling there in the Old Testament times, and then being revoked.  But that in the person of Jesus, God returns to his temple, the glory of God comes home.  Of course Jesus had to be in his Father’s house.  Of course he’s always about his Father’s business.

But it wouldn’t always be so peaceful.  At least once, and maybe twice, he cleansed the temple, turning over tables, making a whip, driving out man and animal.  His Father’s house is to be a house of prayer, not a den of thieves.  But we take the good things of God and misuse them, don’t we?

And then, many times, Jesus would teach in the temple.  Openly and freely, he would preach the word of God to the people of God in the house of God.  So, his word goes forth from his house today – not one temple, but in pulpits all over the world, where Christ is preached for the benefit of his people.

And once, standing in the temple, Jesus would say, “Destroy this temple and I will build it again in three days.”  But he wasn’t talking about the brick and mortar on that occasion, was he?  He was referring to his own body, his own life, which would soon be laid down as the sacrifice to end them all.  Thus the temple curtain was torn in two, access to God was no longer mediated through the priesthood of Levi, but through the priesthood of Christ, and by the sacrifice of God’s own Son. 

And soon that temple would be torn down, not one stone left upon another.  But the word of the Lord endures forever.  And the salvation of Christ is freely offered to all.  And the work of the Father is accomplished by the Son and proclaimed with the power of the Spirit to all nations, the Father’s business continuing to the very ends of the earth.

Did Mary know all this?  Surely some of it.  She pondered all of it in her heart.  She lived to see the words of Simeon fulfilled, the sword that pierced her heart at the cross.  But also to see the temple of Christ’s body rebuilt in his resurrection. 

And the boy Jesus, who grew to the man Jesus, who died as our substitute and rose as our firstborn of the dead elder brother, has also gone before us into heaven.  And one day he will bring us there, too.  He has done all things well, for us, on our behalf.  And he has even greater things in store for us in the heavenly dwelling of God.  There, no temple is needed either, for God will dwell in our midst directly, and we with him forever.

So, Christian, be in the Father’s house.  Be about the Father’s business.  And that is this:  Hearing his word, growing in his word, receiving his gifts, as is the custom.  Come to his table this day, and lay all your worries and anxieties aside.  Receive again the forgiveness of your sins, for the sake of Christ.  For Jesus is always here, for you.

 

Sermon – Christmas 1 – Luke 2:22-38

 

Sermon – Christmas 1 – Luke 2:22-38

“Depart in Peace”

The family is all gathered around. The doctors have given the grave news. “Time is short. Say your goodbyes.” The pastor is called, and he comes to the hospital. He, too, knew this might be coming. This faithful child of God, who had so often heard the word and received the gifts in the local communion of saints... was now going to join the communion of saints that rest in Christ. God's name is invoked. Scriptures are read. Prayers are said. Then the pastor sings a familiar little song,

“Lord now lettest thou thy servant, depart in peace, according to Thy word. For mine eyes have seen thy salvation, which Thou hast prepared before the face of all people. A light to lighten the Gentiles, and the glory of thy people Israel. Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Ghost. As it was in the beginning is now and ever shall be, world without end, amen.”

That child of God, that saint of God, departs in peace. That loved one leaves the family, and enters into a blessed rest, today with Christ, in paradise. Because of the promises of God in Jesus Christ, it is a departure in peace. It is sorrow, but sweet sorrow, grief, but not without hope.

We don't know much about Simeon. He was righteous, which meant he had faith in God's word. Perhaps he was a priest in the temple, or maybe just a regular fellow. We get the impression he was old, but it doesn't say exactly how old. But we know he'd been waiting. It was revealed to him by the Spirit that he would not die until he met the Messiah. Quite an unusual promise. And so those days, perhaps years of waiting made it all the more joyful when he saw the infant Lord, and he couldn't help but take the baby up in his arms. And he prayed, he sang in joy, that now he could die in peace. For I have seen your salvation, Lord, with my own eyes. And your salvation is here in this child.

God keeps his promises. He kept his promise to Simeon, and to all the people of Israel.

God's presence had been with his people – his glory – manifest among them for many years. He appeared to Moses in the burning bush. He went before them in the wilderness – a pillar of cloud by day and fire by night. And when the temple was built by Solomon, God's presence, his glory, shrouded in a cloud came to dwell in that temple. It was an ongoing miracle and blessing that God would dwell among his people, in his temple.  But it would not be so forever.  God’s dwelling there would not always be so.

The people of God got a taste of this when in 1 Samuel the Philistines were allowed to briefly capture the Ark of the Covenant from the Tabernacle under the watch of Eli and Phineas.  Phineas’ wife gave birth to a son (and died from her childbirth.) But before she did, she marked the loss of the ark by naming her son Ichabod, which means, “the glory has departed.”  A haunting name later chosen for a literary character who also met a tragic end.

The Philistines didn’t keep the ark for long, and eventually Solmon built a temple to replace the tabernacle.  A more permanent house for the Lord’s presence.

But the time came when God again withdrew that presence, that glory, and now it was Ezekiel who saw the cloud depart from the temple. We read about it in Ezekiel 8 to 11. An ominous day, for God departing was a sign of his wrath and judgment. The Abominations they were doing in his presence “drove him” away, and he showed Ezekiel, in a vision, how he was leaving the temple and saying to the people, “you're on your own”. Without God's protection, calamity would be just around the corner.

What sins of yours are an abomination before God? Oh, is that too strong a word for you? Would you prefer “character flaw” or “foible” or “peccadillo”? Perhaps a milk-toast admission that nobody is perfect and oh, gosh golly, we're all sinners so move on to the Gospel, pastor. But think for a moment of the gravity of your sin – each and every sin – which sends a message to God, “I don't want you. I don't need you. Go away. I'll make my own rules. I'll decide what's best, and it's some other god over here, thank you.”

Each and every sin is worthy of God withdrawing his presence from you. From our first parents who ate a forbidden fruit and were cast out of God's paradise, to you and I who drag his commandments through the mud on a daily basis. We don't deserve God in our life, in our world, in our presence. Our thoughts, words, and deeds tell him “Get out. Go away. Drop dead.”

And so God forsakes us, like he withdrew his presence from the temple long ago... or does he? No, instead he has forsaken Christ. He has left his own son alone to suffer the punishments of the cross. To take once, for all, the forsaking by God that all deserve. In the great mystery of Christ on the cross, God turned his back on his own Son, giving him over to a punishment that you and I deserve. To forgive all sins, little and big, peccadillo and abomination. And to bring us eternally to his presence through the blood of Christ.

Even after the exile ended and the temple in Jerusalem was rebuilt, God's glory, that cloud of his presence, didn't return. Yet his promise remained that one day his glory would return to the temple. And Simeon, in particular, was promised he would see it. What a surprise then, that God did return to his temple – not in a pillar of fire or cloud, not in a blazing chariot or bolt of lightning, but in a little baby, 40 days old. In the humility of a lowly infant, the Lord of Glory returns to his temple, to dwell with his people. “My eyes have seen your salvation” Simeon says, yes, and my hands have held him. “The Light to the Nations” Jesus, the Light of the World, and the “Glory of Israel” - the glory of God now returns.

But even more. For not only did he dwell in the building for a short time, a building which is now destroyed.... but He himself becomes the true temple, the true dwelling of God with man. In the flesh of the man, Jesus Christ, God dwells with his people forever. His permanent residence is as a human being, one of us, standing in the place of all of us. Fulfilling the law for us. Dying as a sacrifice for us. But as that temple of his body was destroyed, yes, in three days it was restored, and a new aspect of God's glory was revealed. For now not even death can contain his glory, nor can it contain the life of those who live and die in him. Jesus lives forever. We will live forever, in him.

Now that all the wrapping paper is put away and the decorations are coming down, now that all the shopping malls are putting up hearts for valentines day, and radio stations are back to their purely secular format, now that the world outside the walls of the church has moved on from Christmas – perhaps we can focus with even clearer vision. Let our eyes see, along with Simeon's, the salvation that God reveals to us in Jesus Christ.

For like Simeon, we get to see him, hold him, touch him. Not as a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes presented at the temple. But we receive him wrapped up in his word, indeed, he himself says of the Holy Scriptures, “These are they that testify to me.”

We also encounter and receive him as a crucified and risen and ascended Lord, who still comes under the humble forms of bread and wine. When you receive the sacrament, you can sing with Simeon, “Lord, you now let your servant depart in peace. For my eyes have seen your salvation”. 

Yes, in the bread and wine that are Christ's body and blood, we have the salvation he promises and accomplishes. In this simple receiving of his gifts in faith, He gives Light and Glory to all. Forgiveness, life, salvation – blessings too great to fathom, too deep to ponder.

And having been so blessed, we can, and we do, depart in peace. We depart in peace from this altar – strengthened for service in our daily vocations. We depart in peace from each other and God, knowing all is forgiven in Christ. And we are even prepared to depart from this world, like Simeon, we can die in peace, knowing our sins are forgiven and our debt is paid. Yes, even if I die today, I know my salvation is sure in Jesus Christ.

Depart in peace. Depart in peace and faith and hope and joy, Christians. For you have seen his glory, the light of the world, the salvation of our God in Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.

Sermon - Christmas Day - John 1:1-14

 

On Christmas Eve, we have the Nativity account from Luke 2, with the shepherds, the angels, the swaddling clothes and the manger.  It’s the Christmas story you see on greeting cards, and in children’s Christmas pageants.  We can picture it, even picture being there, visiting the manger and worshipping the newborn Christ alongside those shepherds.

But on Christmas Day, we read a different Nativity account, one that is admittedly a little harder to picture and imagine.  We come to John chapter 1, and hear this Gospel’s very distinct version of just how it is that Christ came into our world.  It’s less about the story, or the characters, or the events of the birth of Christ.  It’s much more about the theology, the deep and sublime meaning of Christ and his appearance among us. 

And not that the beauty and sentiment of Christmas are bad or wrong, but let’s appreciate the opportunity to dig a bit deeper this morning and join St. John in pondering the mystery of the word that became flesh and dwelled among us.

In just these first few verses John makes grand and foundational assertions about our Lord Jesus. 

John begins “in the beginning”, that is, before time itself.  Echoing the first words of Genesis, John’s Gospel roots Jesus’ birth right there with the beginning of all things.  For he is the beginning of all things. 

He, the Word, was, already, in the beginning.  In other words, he is eternal.  That’s one of the attributes of God, that he always was, always is, and always will be.

This eternal Word was with God, and was God.  Here John indicates (in part) the peculiarity of the divine nature – that we have a God who is not one person, but three.  Three distinct persons but only one God, a great mystery we confess as the Trinity. 

Here John shows us, that this living Word who became flesh also had a hand in creation.  It’s not just the Father who creates, but the Son is the agent of creation – the Word through whom all things were made.  We confess this in the Nicene Creed.  By him all things were made.  He is the agent of creation.

And he is also the one who has life.  “In him was life”, John says.  All life comes through him.  And even as we celebrate his birth, this new life born among us, yet the divine irony is all life is born from him and we can only be reborn in him.

The life that is in him – John further tells us is the light of men.  The light, not “a” light.  The one source of all that is good.  The one, the only one, who can show the way to truth and life.

And like the other Gospels, we have here mention of John the Baptist, but only briefly.  John the Baptist came as a witness, pointing to the light.  He and so many others have pointed to Christ, prepared the way for Christ, proclaimed the good news of Christ. 

And yet for all of that, some would not receive him.  Even his own people, for the most part, rejected him.  Even the world that he created, for the most part, did not receive him.

He had some followers, of course, even crowds at times.  But all would forsake him when the going got tough.  Even his inner circle of 12 scattered at his arrest.  And his own people, the Jews, handed him over to the Romans, and he was not received as the Christ, the eternal and living word.  But was rejected, crucified, done away with. Only after he destroyed death and rose again did he establish his church, and send his apostles to proclaim the good news to all nations.  The light simply had to shine.  The life had to be for the world.

To those who simply believe in him, and on the power of his name, he gives power – to become children of God.  He came, first as a child to accomplish all this, to bring us back, to make us children of God. 

In him, we are born, not of the flesh.  Though he was born in the flesh for us.  In him, we are born, not of the will of man, for man’s will is corrupt and defies God anyway.  No, he was born of the will of God, and by the power of God’s Spirit.  This is why he was conceived and born of a virgin – to show that no man can take credit for bringing the Christ into this world.  Only the gracious act of God, the will of God, could do it.

But look at this!  The Word became flesh and dwelled among us.  What a profound truth this is! 

When it comes to us, words are fleeting and failing.  We search for the right words and often say the wrong ones.  We forget words, we mangle words, we sometimes are at a loss for words.  We say, “actions speak louder than words,” and often we believe that.

But here comes a different word.  A word unlike any of our words.  A living word.  An eternal word.  A word that was always with God, because he was and is God.  A word by which all things, even you, were created.

But that word doesn’t just exist somewhere, out there, in the abstract void of philosophical intangibility.  That word becomes flesh.  Body and blood.  It’s oh, so real.  That word has DNA.  That word has internal organs, and a face, and little fingers and toes.  The word has a heart that pumps and lungs that breathe.  The word became flesh.  A little baby born in Bethlehem.  As real as it gets.

And his salvation for us is just as real.  He became flesh and dwelled among us, to bring that salvation in person.

What a strange day we live in when so much of life has become virtual.  You don’t have to shop in a store anymore.  You don’t even always have to visit your doctor in person.  And some would say, just watch your church and worship online – well, it’s better than nothing, but it’s not the ideal.  I don’t know how beneficial all this virtual life is, but we can certainly see some of its drawbacks.  And maybe, eventually, it will help us to appreciate all the more what is truly real.

But know this, the eternal Word that was God and was with God became flesh, for you.  Not virtually.  Not notionally.  Not symbolically.  But really, truly, in the flesh.  Incarnationally.

And that same living word is among us today by his promise.  His body and blood are given to us to eat and drink.  Dwelling among us in the Sacrament of the Altar, just as real as ever.  Which means so is his forgiveness, his life, and his salvation.

In him is life, and that life is the light of men, and of you and me.  So come and worship Christ the newborn king, the crucified and risen and ascended king.  The one who came, who comes, and who will come again in glory, full of grace and truth.

Sermon - Christmas Eve - Isaiah 9:2-7

 

Isaiah 9:2–7

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shined.

A blessed Christmas Eve to you.

There is a reason we light candles tonight.  We do so often, even every church service.  We have the seven and the seven – reminding us of the Holy Spirit’s presence among the churches, as pictured in Revelation 1.

We have our Advent Wreath here, which helps us countdown to Christmas over the course of four weeks, with a white Christ-candle in the center.  We light it to symbolize his birth.

Then of course there are other candles – the paschal candle (the tall one), the baptismal candles (over on the wall), and many other churches have many other traditions when it comes to lighting candles.

And I suspect that even a young child can usually tell you the basic symbolic significance of light.  As children are often afraid of the dark, and need a night light or hall light left on for comfort, they understand the basic implications of light and darkness, good and evil, fear and comfort.

It is no accident that we celebrate Christmas this time of year.  I won’t get into it, but there actually is a good argument that Jesus was born on or about December 25^th (or the evening of the 24^th by another reckoning).  But it is also the time of year, at least in the northern hemisphere, in which the days are the shortest.  The Winter Solstice falls on the 21^st, and from that point on, they days get longer.  In a way, nature itself testifies to the dawning of the light.

But to put it bluntly, we live in a world of darkness, and it doesn’t take too much looking around to see it.  We could even wallow in it.  There’s no shortage of pain, heartbreak, loss, and grief.  Time and circumstance rob us of our youth and health, and the darkness of death encroaches.  Selfish cares uproot and supplant godly desires, and people wander off into all sorts of self-destruction.  Families, the God-given safety net and cradles of love and affection, become warzones and bitterness and resentment grow like weeds, sometimes even the whole thing burns down.  And then there’s death itself, not far from the mind for many of us at the holidays – when everyone else seems joyfully ringing jingle bells, and you’re feeling the sting of loved ones unable to join the festivities.  The holidays can be some of the loneliest, darkest times, for many of us.

But light a candle tonight, friend, for the Light has dawned.  The light scatters the darkness, and the darkness has not understood it.  The people who sat and walked and dwelt in darkness have seen a great light.  On them a light has dawned.

Nothing is better in a power outage than when your one friend who is prepared lights up a flashlight.  Nothing is more hopeful when the night never seems to end, than the dawning of the sun in the east.  Nothing is more joyful to world darkened by sin than the appearing of the Light of Lights, the Light of the World, the eternal one himself – shining through all of it.  Christ the Lord is born this day.

And what an apt metaphor light is for this great happening.

Consider what we know about light, just from Science:

It is still a great mystery to physicists, as for more than a century the brightest minds have been trying to crack open its secrets.  It travels at a constant speed.  Nothing can outpace its speed, a hard limit, it seems.  It exhibits the properties of both a wave and a particle, depending on how you look at it.  And there are even crazier aspects like quantum entanglement, that far exceed even our biggest brains.

Christ, our Light, far exceeds all of this.  He is the light that exists from eternity, his divine nature, shared with the Father and the Spirit, and yet born unto us men in humble form, laid in a manger.  Christ, our Light, cannot be contained or conquered, even death had no hold on him, but he became its master.  He must ever shine.  Christ, our light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not understood him – and so his divine wisdom and majesty far exceed our paltry understanding, for, after all, he is our God and we are his creatures.

But maybe most importantly for us, is that Christ, our Light, scatters the darkness of our sin.  He chases away the shadow of death, accompanying us through its valley to bring us safely to the other side.  Therefore we fear no evil.  He is with us.

One of my favorite secular proverbs that can be understood even better in the light of Christian truth is this, “It’s always darkest before the dawn.”

I don’t know what darkness you face in this hour, in this year now ending, or in your life.  But I know the world is full of it.  We’re all under the same shadow of sin and death, we all have the same darkened understanding and murky heart full of dark desires.  We simply can’t help ourselves.  But help is on the way.  The darkness breaks at dawn of day.  And that bright spot, that spark that turns to flame, that burning sun of righteousness and glory is Christ our Lord.

Whatever your darkness, let the light shine.  Christ brings hope and healing.  Christ brings love.  Christ brings the promise of better days ahead, if not in this life, then certainly in the one to come. 

For here is the good news:  The babe born in Bethlehem has come to do more than give us a sentimental holiday.  He came with a purpose – to save the world from sin.  To chase away the darkness.  And he does it, on a dark day called “Good Friday”, when the sun itself stopped shining, and the light of his life was snuffed out.  There, it seemed, the darkness had finally won, for good.  But all is not as it seems.  There, instead, darkest before the dawn, hope was born anew.  The Christ who died in agony would rise in glory.  Good Friday gave way to Easter.  Dark drear to bright morn.  And as Christ burst from his tomb and trampled death’s power, the light dawned for us, too – death has no power over him, or us.  Darkness is a blip on the radar, and brighter days are to come.  “He who lives and believes in me, even though he dies, yet shall he live.”  So says our Lord.

And light, it has one more quality we might ponder this holy evening.  It reflects.  Whether in a mirror or the face of a pond, light bounces all around and reflects here and there, and fills the darkness with its presence.  So, too, the light of Christ.

As we receive that light, that joy, that hope, that peace, that love.  So we also reflect it.  It all starts with him, but it doesn’t stay with him.  His word goes forth from Jerusalem, to Judea, to Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.  Jesus shall reign where'er the sun does its successive journeys run, his kingdom stretch from shore to shore, till moons shall wax and wane no more.

And in our lives, among us, let it also be so. 

As tonight we partake of that yearly tradition, the lighting of candles, ponder anew.  Christ, the light has dawned.  His light is shared with others, and others, and finally, with me.  But I, also, share that light in my life, as the love of Christ reflects to those neighbors he places in my path.

And let it be so, in far more than the symbol of a candle, as you share the light that has dawned upon you.  As you bask in his promises and walk by his word - the lamp that lights your path.

And as you celebrate his birth. 

For to us a child is born,

to us a son is given;

and the government shall be upon his shoulder,

and his name shall be called

Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,

Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

For to us a child is born,

to us a son is given;

and the government shall be upon his shoulder,

and his name shall be called

Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,

Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Sermon - Advent 4 - Luke 1:39–45

 

Today we come to that portion of the broader Nativity account known as “The Visitation.”  Mary, as soon as the Angel Gabriel is done with his announcement concerning the birth of Christ, and as soon as Mary finishes singing her joyful “Magnificat”, she hurries off to the hill country of Judea to visit her relative Elizabeth.

You can imagine young Mary had a lot on her mind.  The words of the angel, the implications of this pregnancy, not only for her own life, for her betrothal to Joseph, what her friends and neighbors would think - but also the meaning of the angel’s words – that this child would reign on the throne of his father David forever.  It was all so much, so much to take in, and you can imagine why a young woman might seek out the company and counsel of a trusted older relative.

And humanly speaking, Elizabeth would have been a good person to call upon.  After all, who else could Mary go to for sage advice on an unexpected, miraculous pregnancy foretold by an angel?  These two women, each with a miracle baby in her womb, they had a lot to talk about.  And Mary did end up staying with her about three months.

But perhaps most amazing about this visitation is there’s another person involved – besides the two mothers and the two unborn babies – you also see the Holy Spirit in action.  And with his work and his testimony, there’s so much more going on here than what might outwardly appear.  It’s not just Mary visiting her relative for some good advice in an unusual situation.  It’s God visiting and redeeming his people, and giving a testimony to the incarnation of his son, our Lord Jesus Christ.

There’s no small talk.  From the moment Mary enters the door and says her hello, the action begins.  Elizabeth testifies to it: 

“Behold, when the sound of your greeting came to my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy”

The baby Jesus isn’t even born yet, he’s barely been conceived in Mary’s womb, and he’s already being recognized – and by another unborn child, even!

Notice, Mary doesn’t first explain what has happened, she didn’t send word ahead of time. She couldn’t text Elizabeth first and fill her in, “hey the strangest thing happened to me….” 

And unborn baby John certainly had no way of knowing any of this.  But by the power and working of the Holy Spirit, even in the womb, he recognizes the Christ. 

His faith is expressed in joy!  He doesn’t just kick or twitch.  Joy is the reaction of the faithful when the Christ has come!  So John begins his work of pointing to Christ, which he will continue as an adult – preparing the way for the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world, that many others may see, hear, believe and rejoice!

You and I, along with every other Christian, also recognize Jesus only by faith.  We can’t understand or explain how a virgin can conceive and bear a child.  We can’t say why we are so blessed that our Lord should come to us, except that it is by his grace.  We, too, are called by the Holy Spirit, working through the gospel, and sustained by the same.  And we, too, rejoice at his coming, celebrate his birth, and testify to others that we are blessed by his gracious visitation.

That faith comes by hearing, and that hearing by the word of God, and it is the Holy Spirit working in that word that does these great things!

The Holy Spirit, who also filled the heart of Elizabeth and gave her blessed words to say, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb!”  Like John himself, and like so many others, the Spirit testifies to Christ, in whom we are blessed.  He does it through the words he gives to his various prophets and preachers, and even here through Mary and Elizabeth.

Elizabeth, also by the Holy Spirit, asks an important rhetorical question:  “And why is this granted to me that the mother of my Lord should come to me?”

Embedded in this question is a confession, at least by implication, of Elizabeth’s unworthiness, even of her sin.  She is not deserving of this visitation, not of the Lord, nor even of his mother.  It reminds us of when Zaccheus felt unworthy to receive the Christ, but Jesus nonetheless declared, “I’m coming to your house today!”  Or Peter, saying, “God away from me Lord, for I am a sinful man!”  But Jesus comes with grace and mercy.

The whole world could echo Elizabeth’s question, “why is it granted to us, that our Lord should visit us?”  Why, indeed!  Why should God bother to send us his son?  Why should he consider us at all?  Why shouldn’t he blot us out and be done with all our foolishness?  Why not send the judgment we deserve?

But instead, by grace, from the foundation of the world, he planned to pay us a visit.  He provided for our salvation.  He sent his best, his only son, the bright jewel of his crown – to be conceived of a virgin, born in humble fashion, to learn and grow and work and serve, and to suffer and die and rise – to visit and redeem his people. 

As one Lenten hymn puts it, “Oh who am I, that for my sake, my Lord should take frail flesh and die?”

But that is just what he has done. 

And when the sound of it reaches our ears, our hearts, filled by the Holy Spirit with faith, join John the Baptist and Elizabeth and Mary.  We rejoice.  We sing for joy. 

In fact, that’s what we are about here, at Messiah.  Hearing, with joy, the Word of God, by which the Holy Spirit works.  Wondering that our Lord would visit among us, sinful and lowly though we are.  Receiving his gracious visitation in his word, and in the meal of his presence, with his very own body and blood given and shed for us, here, under humble forms of bread and wine.  Blessed is the fruit of his cross!  And blessed are we to receive it!  For therein we have forgiveness, life and salvation.

Who am I, that the Lord Jesus Christ has visited me?  Blessed is the one who believes his word, and receives his gracious visitation with joy!

Sermon - Advent 3 - Luke 7:18–28

 

This Sunday is the Sunday of “Joy”. 

We see it in our reading from Philippians, “Rejoice in the Lord always!  I will say it again, rejoice!”

We see it in our Old Testament reading:

“Rejoice and exult with all your heart, O daughter of Jerusalem!”

We see it in the Advent wreath, where the pattern of blue candles is broken by the pink candle, the “Joy” candle.

Joy, Joy, Joy everywhere.  Everywhere except in our Gospel reading.  At least at the beginning.  Where we see John the Baptist sitting in Herod’s prison.  Waiting, wondering, longing for salvation.

Advent sets this strange tension before us.  The words of our hymn, “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel…” say it well, praying that Emmanuel would “ransom captive Israel that mourns in lonely exile here, until the Son of God appear”  That part seems to fit John sitting in his cell.  But the refrain goes, “Rejoice!  Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, oh Israel!”

One of the great Bible interpretation debates centers on this reading and why, why exactly did John the Baptist send his disciples to question Jesus? 

One side of the debate claims John was despairing in prison.  That he had lost hope, and who wouldn’t?  He was sending his disciples to get some reassurance from Jesus that yes, Jesus really is the one who is to come, the Messiah, and that all John’s preaching was not in vain.  That John wasn’t seeing Jesus act like the Messiah he expected:  Where was the winnowing fork of judgment?  Where was the baptism of fire and spirit?  And while you’re at it Jesus, remember me over here in my cell.  Don’t forget your cousin when you come into your kingdom.

But the other side of the debate has a higher view of John.  That his faith was unwavering, and that these disciples of his were sent by John to Jesus for their own benefit!  That they needed the reassurance.  After all, their teacher was in prison.  All the preaching of repentance and the baptism of the crowds had been squelched and squashed.  There John sat and rotted, and maybe we are next.  John had put his trust in Jesus, and now he directs his disciples to Jesus.  John always points to Jesus.  So the debate goes.

Maybe the whole debate really misses the point.  Whether John despaired or was unwavering, whether he meant the question for his own sake, or was trying to teach his disciples.  The answer to the question is clear, and instructive for us.  The answer is always found with Jesus.

Whether you are despairing or depressed this Advent season.  If your world seems a prison cell of sorts, with chains and fetters you can’t escape – grief, anxiety, stress – the guilt and shame of sin, or the physical impacts of sin’s brokenness borne out in your body.  This dark world is a mournful exile for all of us at times.  We long for salvation, for ransom and freedom. 

Or maybe your faith is strong, unwavering.  Perhaps you feel that joy that the pink candle represents.  You, too, can learn from John’s question and Jesus’ answer, and appreciate anew the cause for all rejoicing.  Emmanuel has come to you, oh Israel!

So how does the conversation go?  Jesus, John wants us to ask, are you really the one?  Or should we be looking for another?

Luke tells us that at that very hour Jesus had done quite a few miracles, healings, and wonders, which surely these disciples of John would have seen.  Then Jesus answers them, not with a simple yes or no, but like he does:

Go and tell John what you have seen and heard: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, and the deaf hear, the dead are raised up, the poor have good news preached to them.

All of these miracles and wonders are signs.  They are the signs of the Messiah.  The Old Testament is replete with prophecies about the Messiah, when he comes, doing these sorts of things.  Healing, casting out demons, even raising the dead.  Jesus does it all.  He lets his actions speak for themselves.  Tell John what you see and hear.  He’ll know what it means.

But the best of all, the topper of the whole list, isn’t even that he raises the dead.  The point of it all is this:  the poor have good news preached to them.  The Gospel!  Yes, even for the poor.  The good news of salvation in Jesus Christ.  That in him, the kingdom of heaven has come.  That in him, forgiveness of sins is proclaimed.  That in him, the lamb of God, the sins of the world are taken away, just as John preached, so does Jesus.  Only Jesus is also, himself, the very content of the Gospel.  It’s all about him.

With the words, ““Blessed is the one who is not offended by me” Christ is prophesying that people will take offense at his teaching and they will become despisers of the gospel. They will reject a Christ who appears weak to them; a Christ who refuses to tell them what they want to hear; a Christ who condemns them as sinful and unclean, as in need of his salvation.

Only the penitent are prepared to meet the true Messiah. That is why John had to prepare the way. To the humble and lowly Jesus comes with salvation. To the meek and mild the Christ comes with a peace that surpasses all understanding (Phil. 4:7). With a comfort that calms the fears of even the most terrified consciences. With a joy that causes the heart to break forth into singing and dancing.

Soon John would go his way into death.  A greater man never born among women.  Jesus heaps on him some of the highest praise.

But greater than John, even, is the one who is least in the kingdom of heaven.  Greater than John is the one who dies for the sins of the world.  The one who lays down his life for his friends.  The one who lives a perfect life of righteousness and covers you with it, like a fine robe.  The one who does baptize with the spirit and fire, cleansing you to live as his own - ransomed, redeemed, regenerated, renewed. 

Christ is the Messiah, the one who came and who is yet to come.  See his wonders, and hear his good news.  And rejoice.  I’ll say it again, rejoice!  Emmanuel has come to you, oh Israel!