Sermon - Lent 4 - Luke 15: 1-3, 11-32

 

Is there any greater parable of Jesus than that of the Prodigal Son? 

The whole chapter of Luke 15 is a treasure.  In it Jesus tells several parables on this same theme – of that which is lost and later found – the Parable of the Lost Sheep, and the Parable of the Lost Coin.  Then we get to this one, also called the Parable of the Lost Son.  Some have therefore, tongue-in-cheek, called Luke 15 the “Lost Chapter of Luke.” 

Jesus actually speaks this parable against the Pharisees, who were upset that he was eating with sinners and tax collectors.  That Jesus would receive such people and even go so far as to eat with them!  It was a shock to the Pharisees, who wouldn’t give such sinners the time of day, let alone sit down with them for a meal, share fellowship, and treat them as equals.  That might pollute their self-righteous sense of holiness.  It might give the wrong impression that they condoned sin and tax collecting.  And it might just maybe make them think a second time about their own supposed righteousness, about who is truly unclean and how, and whether they, too need God’s grace and mercy. 

Nonetheless, we can profit from this parable even today.  For we are all the prodigal son, and we are all the older brother at times.   

A man had two sons.  They are both of them, already in his family, in his house.  They are, both of them, entitled to an inheritance.  As we later learn, the Father says the older son could have benefitted from his father’s wealth all along – “what is mine is yours” he tells him.  Likewise, the younger son also had access to all of his father’s wealth, such that he could even ask for his inheritance, boldly, and the father would give it. 

Even in this small detail Jesus teaches us something of the generosity of his Father.  That we are members of his household is notable enough, but that as such, we are rightful heirs of all that is his.  And God the Father does give to us freely, richly, and generously.  If we would only see it.  And we pray that we would treasure the treasures, and not squander them. 

That’s just what the younger son did.  He took his inheritance and spent it, frittered it away in “loose living” as one translation puts it.  And here we have a universal picture of sin, don’t we? 

As a human we fit the bill.  Adam had all of these riches of a perfect creation that God placed into his hands, and he squandered it by his sinful rebellion. 

But the apple doesn’t fall far from that tree.  Even as individual Christians, how many times to we turn away, run off, and squander the inheritance we have been given?  We go rogue, off into the loose living of sin, even though we know better.  We treat God’s grace, this precious treasure, as nothing.  Cheap grace.  Sinning now and planning to be forgiven later. 

But like the younger son learned the hard way, sin doesn’t end well.  Sooner or later you find yourself covered in mud, slumming it with the pigs, and longing for better days.  That’s when the law of God knocks some sense into you, and that call to repentance rings clear.  Repent.  Turn from your sin.  It’s only a road to destruction and death.  Turn from your sin, and turn in faith to Christ your savior.  Repent, dear Christian.  Come home. 

And each time we do, it’s the same story, over and over again.  The loving Father is just waiting, watching, eager to receive us back without question or condition.  There’s no hoop to jump through to get back in his graces.  There’s no raking over the coals or letting us stew and fester in the mess we’ve made.  Like the father in the story, he’s only interested in loving his dear child.  Throw a party.  Get some proper clothes on this one.  Kill the fatted calf.  This son of my was lost, but is found!  He was dead, but is alive! 

It’s like Jesus says with the first two parables of the lost sheep and the lost coin  - when one sinner repents there is much rejoicing in heaven!  The angels throw a party when the Gospel is applied to the sinner. 

That means even here and now, today, when you confess your sins and receive the absolution, the party commences.  When you hear the word of God proclaimed that your sins are covered by the precious blood of Christ – the angels rejoice even more.  And when you come in contrition and faith and receive the body and blood of Christ for the forgiveness of your sins,  heaven rocks the house as the party goes into overdrive.  What a joyous commotion it must be! 

And speaking of commotion, that’s what the older son heard, as he was out working in the field, like another hired hand.  He didn’t consider himself a son anymore than his brother did when he told dad to drop dead. But his rebellion is more subtle. He rebels by rejecting dad’s grace, and making it all about his own works.   

Older son is like the Pharisees, you see, jealous of God’s grace for the sinner, while not seeing that they too need that grace.  And while this whole parable truly was told about them, or against them, we can also sympathize at times. 

For we forget the grace of God is both for us, and for others.  We slip into self-righteous indignation, and consider that WE and we alone deserve God’s grace, unlike those lousy sinners over there. But that is forgetting exactly what grace is – undeserved love.  Such is the danger of comparing your sins to someone else’s, rather than taking a good look at the mud and filth in which you wallow.   

The father so gently corrects the older son, who needed to hear the law.  “This son of yours” the older son referred to his brother, but the father turns it back, “This, your brother, was dead but is alive, he was lost, but is found.”  And maybe the older son needs to see that he, too is lost, and needs some finding. 

This Lenten season, we do well to hear again the call to repentance.  The confess and acknowledge that we have all gone astray, each to his own way.  That every time we turn to sin we turn away from our gracious father.  For the Christian, every turn toward sin is an escapade into a foreign land, where we squander the wealth of our inheritance.  This lent, find the rock bottom pig sty of your sins and come to your senses again, confessing and being accepted again by the father who’s always eager to forgive and forget and celebrate your sonship. 

And give thanks when you see others coming from the filth of sins to the cleansing waters of God’s grace, and the life-giving blessings of his Son, Jesus Christ.  For you were just a lost as they, and you are just as much a recipient of his grace and mercy. They are, after all, in Christ, your brothers. 

Christ has died for all.  Sinner and tax collector, pharisee and scribe.  Young and old, rich and poor, all the unrighteous children of Adam who bear the filth of sin.  And his call to repentance is for all – come to your senses.  Turn from your sin.  Come home.  Come to Jesus for grace and mercy.  He’ll run it out to you every time. 

Sermon - Lent Midweek 3 - Matthew 26:62-63

 

So far our Midweek services have considered especially those individuals who were close to Jesus in the passion account.  First, Judas, who was close enough to dip bread in the same bowl as Jesus, one of the 12 and treasurer of the group, but also the betrayer.  Then there were Peter, James and John, the inner circle of the inner circle, with a front row seat to the Transfiguration, but also to Jesus’ intimate prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane.  Close to Jesus, about a stone’s throw away, but still overcome with sleep. 

Jesus’ prayers and their slumber would be interrupted however when Judas came with the soldiers who arrested Jesus.  And quickly the disciples scattered, and Jesus was bound and taken to the palace of the High Priest to be put on trial.  Here our series picks up tonight, with the High Priest, and his “close questioning” of Jesus.

To be sure, this wasn’t a fair trial.  It wasn’t even legal or legitimate, as the law said trials couldn’t be conducted under cover of darkness.  Also, it seems, the whole Sanhedron (the Jewish Council) wasn’t present, and so in modern terms we might suggest they didn’t even have a quorom. 

Add to that, the evidence was scant, and most had no case.  In fact that the witnesses testified falsely, until they came with the half-truth that Jesus talked about destroying and rebuilding the temple.  The verdict seemed to be assumed before the evidence was heard.  No presumption of innocence here.  The fix was in for Jesus.  His enemies had just been waiting for this opportunity.

It really is one of the great ironies of the Passion account, isn’t it?  That Jesus is put on trial, when it is you and I who should be on trial before him.  Indeed, he is the one who will one day judge the living and the dead, as we say in our creed.  And even more ironic that the High Priest is the one to question Jesus here, as Jesus is the Great High Priest, of a higher order than this Levitical office bearer.  Jesus’ priesthood is of the order of Melchizedek.  Jesus makes the ultimate sacrifice of himself, for the sins of all people.  Christ the victim, Christ the priest.

And that this man, Caiphas, would question Jesus is even deeper irony.  That he would interrogate and demand answers from the one who has all the answers, and who alone has the right to question mankind.  But here we are in the farcical court of Jesus’ trial, the divine irony running thick as molasses.

But Caiaphas isn’t, wasn’t, and wouldn’t be the only one.  Sinful man has a long history of putting God on trial.  Of questioning our creator in great arrogance and pride.  Close questioning of God with doubts and cynicism.  Subjecting his holy word to all manner of tests, just like the Serpent did in the garden, “did God really say?”

And if it’s a courtroom you want to talk about, it’s not God who is really on trial, but you and me.  We stand condemned by the just evidence and the impartial judge.  Our record is clear – we have broken God’s commandments and deserve the death sentence.  We are put to the test by the law’s accusations, and found wanting.  We stand guilty as charged.

That old Caiaphas had no problem close questioning Jesus, getting right up in his face.  And the devil himself does the same to us.  Satan means “accuser” after all, and he excels at it.  The devil loves to question us, question our faith, God’s word, and to get us to do the same.  He sows doubt and fear and confusion wherever he goes, and would plant those in your very heart.  He gleeful throws your sin in your face and tells you even God can’t forgive something so foul.  Or else he lies and tells you your sin isn’t that bad, isn’t really sin, or doesn’t really matter.  Anything but the truth, anything but repentance and faith.  Anything but a sure confidence in the steady and unchanging truth of God’s word.

But there stands Jesus before Caiaphas, on trial for sins he didn’t commit.  Faced with accusations that don’t belong to him.  It’s a travesty of justice, but in a divine mystery beyond comprehension, it is the very plan of God from eternity.  That this man, this Son of God, would bear the guilt and punishment that by rights belong to us.  He takes our place under the verdict of death.  He becomes the one to bear all of it, for the sake of us all.  The innocent for the guilty, the righteous for the unrighteous, the divinely provided scapegoat for the sins of all people.

The truth did come out at this trial, however, as Caiaphas questioned Jesus closely.  After all the accusations and all the false testimony, after all the attempts to get Jesus to break, to give them something to use against him, finally the high priest spoke up, putting the question to Jesus – the only one that really mattered:

And the high priest stood up and said, “Have you no answer to make? What is it that these men testify against you?”[i] 63 But Jesus remained silent. And the high priest said to him, “I adjure you by the living God, tell us if you are the Christ, the Son of God.” 64 Jesus said to him, “You have said so. But I tell you, from now on you will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of Power and coming on the clouds of heaven.” 65 Then the high priest tore his robes and said, “He has uttered blasphemy. What further witnesses do we need? You have now heard his blasphemy. 66 What is your judgment?” They answered, “He deserves death.”

Are you the Christ?  If he claimed that falsely, it was blasphemy, and deserved death.  But Jesus is the Christ, and the Great High Priest, and the Son of God all rolled up into one.

His priesthood is not one of accusation, but of absolving us of sins.  He comes not to put us on trial, but to free us from the guilty verdict. 

He would answer Caiaphas truthfully, for he would not divert from his cross or turn away from bitter death.  He would embrace the penalty.  All for you, dear Christian.  In Christ, you are “not guilty.”, before God, forever.

One day, we, along with Caiphas, and all people, will see the Son of Man coming on the clouds of heaven.  And then he will judge the living and the dead.

But there is no terror in that day for those who are not guilty, whose sin is paid for, who stand in the righteousness of Christ.  There and then, we receive the completion of the good work begun in us.  There, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is.  There we will no longer weep or suffer any evil thing, for Christ our Lord has saved us, and we are ever safe and sure with him.

Sermon - Lent 1 - Luke 4:1-13

Charles Dickens' famous novel “A Tale of Two Cities” begins with these words, of which you probably recognize the first part at least: 

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way. 

Today, on this First Sunday in Lent, let us consider “A Tale of Two Adams” as we accompany Jesus into his wilderness temptation, and as we prepare ourselves for this penitential season. 

Of course we’ve all heard of the First Adam, he was the first man, after all.  He was created by God in his Father’s image.  Made from the dust of the ground and into his nostrils God breathed the very breath of life.  God gave Adam everything.  He created a whole world for Adam full of plants and animals, sky and sea, sun, moon and stars.  It was all his, to rule over, to have dominion, and to subdue it. 

God called the First Adam to be fruitful and multiply, along with his wife Eve, that special companion God fashioned from his rib while Adam slept a deep sleep.  It wasn’t good for Adam to be alone, after all, he needed a suitable helper, and an object of his affection.  When he finally saw her, he exclaimed, “At last!  Bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh!  I’ll call her ‘woman’” 

And everything was great.  They lived in an actual paradise.  Adam and his wife could eat of the fruit of every tree in this garden that God had planted for them.  Except one. 

God gave them a word about that tree, that they were forbidden to eat of it, and in the day that they did so, they would die.  Adam must have told his wife this word he had received from God about the forbidden fruit.  Adam, then, became the first preacher of God’s word. 

But then the trouble started, when in slithered the serpent.  Wise but not in a good way, with subtlety and deception matched only by his audacity.  “Did God really say...?” he injected doubt, and then the little lie that followed, “you will not die.”  And so Eve ate, and Adam ate.  And so they sinned, and so they would die. 

The First Adam was fruitful and multiplied, but his fruit was rotten, and all his children inherited his sin and death.  The Serpent became the prince of this world after Adam handed him the keys to the kingdom, and it must have seemed that all was lost.  But not so fast. 

God made a promise.  He cursed the serpent and promised a deliverer, an offspring of the woman who would come and crush the serpent’s head.  A second Adam, who would stand in contrast to sinful First Adam, and undo everything Adam got wrong. 

He, the Second Adam, was not created in the image of God, but is the very exact representation of his Father.  He, the Son of God, not created from dust, but, with his Father, the Creator of all things.  God breathed into Adam’s nostrils the breath of life, but the Second Adam breathes out the very Holy Spirit, the Spirit of Life! 

God gave the First Adam all of creation to steward, but the Second Adam is Lord of all creation by divine right.  Sun and moon and stars, animals and plants and humans, all bow to his authority.  Fig trees wither, donkeys are untethered, and water turns to wine at his command.  And one day he will renew this entirely corrupted creation and establish a new heaven and new earth for his people. 

The Second Adam took no earthly wife, but instead created for himself a bride we call “the church”, and just as the blood and water flowed from his pierced side, so does he create his bride, the church, by baptism and the blood he shed at the cross.  There, he entered the deep sleep of death, only to be reunited with his beloved on the other side of the three day rest in the tomb.  He would have been fine alone, but he desired an object of his love, and so from heaven he came and sought her to be his holy bride, this church, whose one foundation is Jesus Christ her Lord. 

When the Second Adam arrived, everything wasn’t so great.  Man had been living in exile, outside of the garden of paradise, with no access to the life God had intended for us.  We were in a wilderness of sin, a wasteland of our own making.  Chaos ruled.  The devil reigned.  But remember that promise? 

When our Lord Jesus Christ went into the wilderness to face the temptations of the devil, he did so full of the Spirit, fresh from his baptism in the Jordan River, where God declared him to be his beloved Son.  But the devil tried to introduce doubt, “IF you are the Son of God...” his temptations began. 

Ah, but where the first Adam failed, the Second Adam would not.   

The first Adam sinned by eating forbidden fruit.  The Second Adam prevailed when tempted to turn stones to bread and eat. 

Where the first Adam turned from God’s word, the Second Adam relied on it, cherished it, and used it each time to disarm the old evil foe.   

Where the first Adam couldn’t defeat the devil on his own, Jesus defeats the devil for us all.   

Where the first Adam brought sin and death into the world, Jesus comes to destroy sin and death, by taking it on himself, and away from us.   

A tale of two Adams.  The first, a man of paradise who fell into sin, and all creation with him.  A willing victim of the devil’s lies with sinful descendants and a legacy of death meted out on all creation.  But the Second Adam destroys sin and death, defeats the devil and his lies, and brings an abundance of life to all people, along with a new creation.    

Now, children of Adam, you and I can see our first father in us.  For we are conceived and born in sin, brought forth in our first father’s image.  We share his inclinations, his corrupt nature, and one day we, too, will die.  The Old Adam must go the way of all flesh. 

But you are also Children of God in Jesus Christ.  You also have a New Adam, won for you by the Second Adam.  This new creation – born in the waters of baptism – is nothing like your Old Adam.  The New Adam is righteous and holy, justified by faith, confessing Jesus as Lord with his mouth and believing in his heart.  The New Adam does good works for the sake of Christian love, and walks joyfully in God’s commands.  The New Adam has a future, an eternity marked out ahead of him, with abundant and eternal life in Christ. 

We learn about this New Adam in the Small Catechism, which teaches us: 

What does such baptizing with water indicate? 

It indicates that the Old Adam in us should by daily contrition and repentance be drowned and die with all sins and evil desires, and that a new man should daily emerge and arise to live before God in righteousness and purity forever. 

Where is this written? 

St. Paul writes in Romans chapter six: “We were therefore buried with Him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life.” (Rom. 6:4) 

So, it’s really a tale of 4 Adams.  The first Adam, who fell into sin, and the Second Adam, who saves us from sin.  The Old Adam, our old sinful nature, and the New Adam, who God has created us to be in Christ.   

Dear Christian:  drown that Old Adam daily, by baptism, in repentance and faith.  And live in the abundant life of the Second Adam, Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen. 

Sermon - Ash Wednesday - Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

It might strike you funny that we practice this very visible ceremony – the imposition of ashes – when we have the words of Jesus warning us, “Beware of practicing your righteousness before other people in order to be seen by them, for then you will have no reward from your Father who is in heaven”

He goes on to unpack that general principle with further commentary on how we pray, how we fast, how we give.

It’s not that praying, fasting, or giving are to be avoided.  In fact these are all pious practices that Jesus assumes the Christian will do.  These are all helpful Lenten disciplines, but the key is this:  do not do them “in order to be seen by other people”.

Jesus is teaching us the danger of show-boating our faith.  Warning us against making a display of our righteousness.  And it’s a well-taken point.

For everything we do, even as Christians, even the good and helpful and holy practices of the faith – can be a playground for the sinful nature to pervert and profane.  Where God builds a cathedral, the devil builds a chapel, Luther said.

And so the temptation for us, even in our pious practice of Christianity, is to take this things which are meant to be helpful and spiritual, and turn them into something else:  perhaps just another way of boasting of our own righteousness.  Wouldn’t it be nice if other people see how good I am?  Maybe even God will recognize how good I am, and reward me!  So the twisted sinful thinking goes.

But the penitent season of Lent calls us to do just the opposite.  We have nothing to boast about, ourselves.  Our best works are as filthy rags.  We are dust, and to dust we will return.  Let the ashes on our foreheads remind us of this, as a sign of repentance, that we are sullied by sin, stained by its guilt, and deserving of death.  

Consider fasting this Lenten season.  Many have a practice of “giving something up” for lent, as sort of a fast from a certain food or some other pleasure.  We may consider literally fasting, even, for certain hours of the day, or some such discipline.  

Consider Jesus, who fasted for 40 days in the wilderness, but even more, did battle with the devil and won!  For him, the fast served as a time of testing and proving before he undertook his public preaching, his miracles, and his suffering and death.  For us, let the fast of Lent also lean forward toward Holy Week and Christ’s crucifixion and resurrection.

Prayer, another Lenten discipline, really a much wider and deeper part of the Christian life.  We call upon God’s name not as an act of show, to be seen, but in humble need, like a poor beggar.  We call on him because we need his good gifts.  We call upon him because he invites us to do so.  And we call upon him in the name of Jesus, whose life and death alone make our prayers acceptable, even pleasing before God.  

Likewise our giving, not just a Lenten discipline, and our Lord assumes will do it, but warns us not to do it to be seen.

Lent is a good time to commit to a greater and deeper discipline of prayer, fasting, or giving.  A good start might be taking up a family devotion, or committing to our Wednesday evening services.

But back to the ashes – here is something that is less a private practice of self-discipline, or even a personal act of piety – but more a corporate confession of repentance at the beginning of the penitent season.  Together, we bear upon our flesh an outward sign of death, that we are dust and to dust we shall return.  Thus the wages of sin are shown forth in a very outward way.  This isn’t “practicing our righteousness before other people” as much as “confessing our unrighteousness apart from Christ.”  

We take our cues from the Joel reading, rending our hearts in repentance, and so many others of the Old Testament, in which things like sackcloth and ashes served as outward signs of contrition and repentance.  Like the people of Nineveh, who repented at the preaching of Jonah, and wore sackcloth and sat in ashes from the king on down to the slave, and even the animals!  

We mourn our sins and look to Jesus for our only salvation.  Let these ashes testify to this.  Thus, the ashes are marked upon us in the shape of a cross – a reminder that the sin and death we deserve was imposed upon him, and he bore it unto death for us.

But Jesus doesn’t just warn us and scold us about improper piety.  He doesn’t just exhort us to keep our spiritual practices of faith from becoming a show.  He also reminds us where true treasure is found.

It’s not on earth.  It’s not in the finer things of life.  It’s not in the outward, the flashy, the showy, the silver and gold.  The true treasure is in heaven.  

That is to say, the eternal reward that is not like earthly rewards, which are earned and deserved.  His reward is heavenly, and Christ gives it to us for free – the promise of a resurrection and life without end.  

You are like your sinful first father Adam.  You are dust, and to dust you shall return.  Everything you have in this life is perishable, and will also fade and pass away.  Nothing in this life, even the best things, will last forever.  

But we have something more.  We have something that moth and rust cannot destroy, and no thief can steal.  We have an imperishable treasure kept secure for us in the mansions of heaven.  We have the cross of Christ, the blood of Christ, and the life of Christ.  

Therefore repent and believe in him.  Practice your piety, but not to be seen by man.  And know that your reward is great in heaven.  In Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.  

Sermon - Transfiguration - Luke 9:28-36

So far Epiphany has presented us with various pictures of Jesus as the True Bridegroom, the Holy One of God, the one who preaches with authority, casts out demons and heals the sick.  He’s the one who calls disciples to follow him and calls us to love even our enemies.  He’s the savior of the nations and the glory of Israel.  He’s the Redeemer of Jerusalem and the King of the Jews shown by a star and worshipped by sages.  He is, at his Baptism, declared to be God’s beloved Son, with whom the Father is well-pleased.

Now we reach the pinnacle, the mountain top of the Epiphany season, and we see Jesus transfigured.  Changed.  His appearance all bright and shiny and glorious.  Moses and Elijah appear.  Even the voice of the Father thunders forth from heaven.

I remember hearing this story as a child, and being captivated as I imagined it.  Who can blame poor Peter for not knowing what to say when confronted with it all – the glory, the great men of old, the voice of the Father, the radiance of Jesus?  What would you or I say if we had a front row seat to all of this?

And yet there is so much more going on here than the spectacle of it all.  There’s a reason we visit the Mount of Transfiguration every year in the church calendar.  The riches of this event keep on giving, year after year.  Let’s undertake again this morning to plumb the depths of the Transfiguration, as we prepare for Christ’s departure, his exodus, his journey to the cross.

It’s maybe worth revisiting that when the Second Person of the Trinity, the very Son of God came down to set foot on this earth, he did so humbly.  He took on human flesh in a very unassuming way.  There was very little hint of his true glory, if one were to see him swaddled up in the manger, or as a young boy in the temple, or even as an itinerant preacher from Nazareth.

Theology calls this his “state of humiliation”, that time in Christ’s earthly life, in which he set aside (for the most part) his divine power and majesty and glory – and lived humbly, like any one of us, yet without sin.  And here’s the difference between his lowliness and ours – we are humiliated by sin and death, the natural consequences of our rebellion against God.  We are brought low by our own doing, subject to the prince of this world by casting our lot with him in the garden long ago.

We lost whatever glory we might have had back then, and ever since we’ve been stumbling and bumbling through life wending our way to the grave trying to deny the reality of it all.  The truth is we are much worse off than we seem, far less glorious.  We are, apart from Christ, more helpless and hopeless, utterly humiliated and laid low by a corrupt nature, wicked thoughts, words and deeds, and a destiny down in the depths of the grave. 

Christ’s humility, however was different. He, though being in the very form of God, made himself nothing, taking on the form of a servant, taking on our human flesh, in order to redeem all flesh.  He became like us in every way, yet without sin, and that makes all the difference.

I say he set his power and majesty aside “for the most part” however, because even though he ate and slept and wept and walked and did everything we do – he also showed flashes of his divine nature, especially in his miracles.  There we get a glimpse of his true identity, that he is indeed, the Holy One, the Son of God.  

But even then, some denied it.  They said he cast out demons by the prince of demons.  They failed to understand about the loaves.  They were afraid when they saw him walking on water, or giving a miraculous catch of fish.

At the Transfiguration, it’s staring us, almost slapping us in the face.  It’s undeniable.  It’s clear as day, brighter than the sun.  Christ shines with the glory of God, for he is God’s own beloved Son.  And we do well to listen to him.

Not just look at him, the voice of the Father urges us, but listen to him.  As astounding to see Christ’s glory revealed here, yet more astounding are his words, his message.  So what does he say?

St. Luke actually tells us the topic of conversation - what he was talking about with Moses and Elijah:  his departure.  The Greek word here is, “exodus”, literally, his “going out”, which we are told he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem.  What can this mean?

It can only be his cross.  Jesus knew he was going to Jerusalem, and he knew exactly what that meant.  He had begun to teach it to his disciples, but they were slow learners.  He was going to be handed over to sinful men, the chief priests and the scribes, and he would be crucified, and on the third day rise.  The closer they go to it, the more plainly Jesus seemed to speak about it.

Like so many other things in the faith, what is most important is not what is seen, but what is said.  Romans 10:17 doesn’t say “faith comes by seeing” but, “faith comes by hearing.”  Jesus told Thomas that even though he believe when he saw, yet more blessed are those who do not see and yet believe.

Jesus speaks of his cross.  And any preacher of Jesus worth his salt will do the same, never veering too far from the topic, the only one that ultimately matters, the good news of Jesus Christ, crucified for sinners.

Now, to be sure, the disciples were given this vision for a reason, and that was not just to wow them with a lightshow.  They were blessed to get a peek behind the veil of Christ’s shrouded glory, which of course they would only later understand.  But they needed to see that this Jesus who was going to the cross was not just a great prophet like Elijah, not just a great deliverer like Moses.  But he is the very Son of God.  And if the Son of God dies for your sins, then you know you are saved.

Moses and Elijah appear, not to wow the disciples with their star-power, but to witness, to testify to Jesus as the fulfillment of all their hopes and all their lives’ work.  Jesus is the greater Moses who comes to lead his people in an exodus from sin and death.  Jesus is the greater Elijah who comes not just as a prophet bearing God’s word, but as the very Word of God made flesh.  All the law and the prophets testify to him, Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith.  The one who for the joy set before him would endure the cross.

And it is also, then, in the Transfiguration, that we get a glimpse of our own future.  For just as Christ would not stay forever in his state of humiliation, but would after his resurrection ascend back to glory – so do we have a future hope and promise.  We will be like him, for we will see him as he is, in that day, at the resurrection of all flesh.  We will be more than transfigured in appearance only, we will receive a glorified body fit to live in the mansions of heaven eternally.  A promise we know not by seeing, but only by hearing and believing his word.  By listening to him.

We might be tempted to see this Transfiguration of Christ only according to the outward, the seen, the visible glory of Christ shining forth on the mountain.  

But don’t be fooled, Christian.  Jesus has even better surprises in store.  Something more important than a glimpse of glory.  He’s going to face death, face it head-on, endure it for us all, and come out victorious on the other side.  That’s the true glory.  In the cross of Christ I glory, and so do we all as we listen to him.  On this Transfiguration Day and always.  Amen.

Sermon - Epiphany 7 - Luke 6:27-38

It would have made a great reality tv show scene.  Joseph had been wronged.  His brothers really did a number on him.  They almost killed him, really, but to his father and the rest of his family, he was as good as dead.  They sold him into slavery, and he ended up in Egypt, first as a slave, then as an unjustly accused prisoner.  Finally, after much suffering, God not only restored Joseph but set him at the right hand of Pharaoh himself, ruling all of Egypt.  A rags to riches story if there ever was one. 

But he never forgot what they did to him.  And for most of us, it would be hard to forgive.  So when one day his brothers appeared before him, strangers from a strange land begging for food and help in the midst of a famine, they didn’t even recognize him.  But he hadn’t forgotten them! 

It's a dramatic moment when he reveals his true identity to them.  What’s he going to do?  Call them out for their sins against him?  See how they like it rotting in a dungeon?  Or will he put them to death for their crimes, as he surely could have done?  They betrayed him, they hurt him, they were his enemies.  But Joseph surprises everyone.  He loves them.  He forgives them.  He weeps and embraces them and kisses them.  There’s perhaps no more dramatic Old Testament story of forgiveness than this. 

It's hard to imagine forgiving your enemies like that.  But that’s Just what Jesus calls us to do, as we read today a bit more from the Sermon on the Plain.  “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.” 

But sin programs us to do the opposite.  Sin wants us not only to be the judge, but the jury and the executioner.  Sin wants its revenge.  Sin wants us to remember and catalog every little slight, every insult, every disrespect our neighbor shows us.   

And it takes so little.  Your neighbor doesn’t have to throw you in a pit and fake your death, or sell you into slavery to raise your sense of enmity.  An unkind word, perhaps even misunderstood.  A thoughtless slight, “oh, you bought everyone else coffee but me?”  Maybe it’s their politics that put them on the opposite side of you. 

Or even just some annoying habit or personal trait that bothers your delicate sensibilities and all of a sudden that person is no longer worthy of your love, your respect, your kindness. 

We don’t usually go around calling other people our enemies, though.  We try to save that word for the nazis or the communists or maybe a characters in some movies.  But I’m kind of glad that Jesus uses the word.  It pushes us to see the seriousness of our unloving-ness.  We are too quick to make enemies of people, even in our own family, if even only for a time.   

Love them.  But we want to hate them.  We feel justified in hating them. 

Do good to them.  Ah, but we think they deserve anything but good. 

Bless those who curse you.  Now, that just doesn’t seem fair! 

And… get this… pray for those who abuse you!  Our sinful nature must think Jesus is off his rocker.   

This is a hard teaching of Jesus.  And we could try to water it down or explain it away, but isn’t it just better to let this application of law cut us down and expose us as the sinful sinners we are?   

It’s not like we’re the innocent victims, even of our enemies.  And haven’t we done enough to harm others, that we should rightly be judged and found guilty? 

But there is one who had far more enemies than he deserved.  There is one who truly suffered unjustly at the hands of evil men.  And he prayed even for those who abused him, “Father, forgive them!”  He loved even those who denied him.  He blessed those who cursed him.  He even died for those who killed him. 

Our Lord Jesus Christ dies for us, even while we were enemies of God!  He loves us when we were and are unlovable. He does good to us who know nothing but evil.  And he prays for us who deserve nothing of the sort.  His radical grace, the undeserved love shown to us when he saved us from sin, death and hell, is truly remarkable.  And it serves not only as an example to follow, but, far more than that.  It changes us. 

Christ turns us from enemies to friends.  He takes rebellious people who shake their fist at God in anger and arrogance, and he humbles us, restores us, and renews us for service.  He changes the heart.  He changes lives.  He baptizes and feeds us and his Spirit is ever sanctifying us, working to bring that good work to completion at the day of our Lord Jesus Christ. 

And at the same time, he defeats our true enemy, our old evil foe, that ancient serpent who deceived our first parents in the garden.  God put enmity between the woman and all her offspring, and promised the One offspring that would come and crush the serpent’s head.  Jesus Christ has done just that.  Our enemy is destroyed, his power come undone, and all that’s left for him is bluster and threats.  He knows his time is short, and the victory belongs to Christ and all who are in him. 

Christ must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet.  He reigns even now, ascended on high, seated at the right hand of the Father, governing all things for the good of his church.  But one day he will come again, finish off all his enemies, and the last enemy which is death itself.  He’s already won that victory for himself – risen and alive and never to die again.  But on that final day, he will give us a full share of that victory as we too triumph over death in the resurrection of the body and the life of the world to come. 

Until then, we mortify the flesh even while we live in it.  Each day we drown our old Adam in the waters of baptism, by repentance and faith, and the new man arises.  Each time we come to the altar and receive the risen and victorious body and blood of Christ, we partake of his victory, and are strengthened unto life everlasting.  We are strengthened in faith – a faith that loves our neighbor, and even our enemies.  A strength that forgives and turns the other cheek, and blesses and even prays for those who don’t deserve it.  Because we don’t deserve the good grace he shows us in Christ. 

And then, one day, you will die.  It will seem the enemy has won.  But with Christ, all is not what it seems.  The pastor will stand at your grave and proclaim, “O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.” 

Love your enemies.  For you were once an enemy, and God has made you his friend, his child, his treasured possession in Christ.  Love your enemies, for your neighbor isn’t your true enemy.  But Jesus Christ has given you victory over the real enemies – sin and death and hell.