Sermon - Matthew 21:23-32 - 17th Sunday After Pentecost

Matthew 21:23-32

“Jesus and the Jerusalem Authorities”

If I were to write a ticket or arrest someone for speeding down Whitley Road, I would probably be arrested for impersonating a police officer, and rightfully so. I don’t have the authority to do such a thing.

 If I were to walk into an operating room at Baylor Grapevine and perform a surgery, I could very well be charged with attempted homicide, and for good reason…I am not a physician. I don’t have that authority. 

Or, if I were somehow able to sit behind the president’s desk in the oval office and make executive decisions, I would be promptly seized by secret service and escorted to jail. I don’t have that authority.

The question of authority is worth asking, and worth knowing.

And when Jesus entered the temple, the chief priests and the elders of the people came up to him as he was teaching, and said, “By what authority are you doing these things, and who gave you this authority?” 

In today’s reading from Matthew 21 it’s a matter of authority. The Jerusalem religious authorities are challenging Jesus’ authority. “Who does he think he is,  riding into Jerusalem on a donkey like a some kind of Messiah? Turning over tables in “His house”. Strolling into the temple and teaching the people as though he owned the place?” 

“By what authority are you doing these things, Jesus?  Who gave you this authority?” 

We need to understand the question before we can understand the answer. The keyword is authority. And in the minds of 1st century Jews, no one operated on their own authority. Authority had to come from somewhere and someone. We tend to equate authority with power. And it involves that, but much more. Authority, even today, is given, not claimed for oneself. Someone is granted, vested with, appointed or elected to a position of authority. It’s a matter of permission granted by another to do certain things. The police officer for law enforcement. The doctor for surgeries and physical wellbeing. The president to be the chief executive officer of the United States. To have authority is to have permission from someone greater, or higher to say and do certain things.

The same thing happens when I pronounce the absolution: I forgive you all your sins in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. I do so in the stead and by the command of our Lord Jesus Christ. By His authority. His permission. At his command, even.

So they ask, “By what authority are you doing these things, and who gave you this authority?” 

Now, we, and anyone who’s even been paying half attention to Matthew’s Gospel, already know the answer to this question. Jesus teaches the crowds with authority. Jesus heals and forgives the paralytic man with authority. Jesus calms the wind and waves with authority. Jesus sends out his disciples with authority. After Jesus’ death and resurrection he declares, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.” Yes, we know where Jesus’ authority comes from. From God the Father.

But of course, the religious authorities have no real interest in Jesus’ authority. What sounds like a holy, pious question only reveals their hypocrisy, unbelief, and rejection of Jesus – which only intensifies as Matthew’s Gospel continues on to Jesus’ trial and crucifixion.

So Jesus takes the bait. Plays their game. And ends up turning the tables on more than the money changers.  “I also will ask you one question, and if you tell me the answer, then I also will tell you by what authority I do these things.  The baptism of John, from where did it come? From heaven or from man?” 

There’s a lot of freight behind Jesus’ question.  Jesus essentially asks them, “was John sent from God or did he just make all that Messiah stuff up? And if John was sent from God, what does that say about my baptism in the Jordan River? You see, the answer to Jesus’ question is the same answer to the chief priests’ question.  If John was from God, then so is Jesus.  If John was a true prophet, then why didn’t the pay attention when John pointed to Jesus and declared him the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world?

So, Jesus artfully, skillfully sets the trap and the religious authorities walk right into it, and they know it. They go into their corner, like contestants on Family Feud, and deliberate. “Well, if we say, ‘From heaven,’ he will say to us, ‘Why then did you not believe him?’ But if we say, ‘From man,’ we are afraid of the crowd, for they all hold that John was a prophet.” 

Jesus beat them at their own game. They make a political play. A cowardly answer, taking no stand at all. “We do not know,” they answered Jesus. It’s an answer of self-condemnation. They’re caught in their hypocrisy and sin. They fear the loss of their popularity, prestige, and political power more than they fear, love, and trust in God and his Christ.

But isn’t the same true of us as well? When Jesus reveals their pride, hypocrisy, and sin, he also reveals ours. Jesus challenges our authority too. For like the chief priests we so often act and speak as if we are our own authority. I have lived as if God and my neighbor do not matter, and that I matter most. My kingdom come. My will be done. Yes, Jesus’ words reveal the chief priest in all each of us. 

That we would presume to judge him – to challenge and question his right to ask things of us.  That we would act as if we know better, is the height of arrogance.  It is taking for ourselves authority that isn’t given.  It’s putting ourselves in the place of God.  This is what sinners do – and have always done – try to be like God, usurp God, bump him off the throne and take it for ourselves.

And yet, Jesus’s conflict with the chief priests reveals something even greater than their sin and ours. It reveals his love for sinners, even those who reject him and will crucify him. He longs to bring them to repentance and faith, just as he spoke through his prophet Ezekiel so long ago, that he desires not the death of the wicked but that they repent and live – all by God’s grace in Christ.

It’s a matter of authority. And this is how Jesus exercises his authority. Not selfishly, but selflessly. Laying down his life for the chief priests and us chief of sinners. Not in power but in his passion on the cross for you. Not in hubris, but in humility. For you, Jesus emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.

The Author of Creation itself submits to death in humility – for you.  And so he re-authors, re-writes your destiny.  

Now you live under the authority of Jesus crucified and risen. He calls you to repentance. He gives you faith in Him. He baptizes you in His name. He gives you love for your neighbor. He continues to teach you with authority in his life-giving Word. He continues to heal you miraculously in his body and blood. 

Trust the Lord of your Baptism and you will live. He is authorized by the Father to save you, and He has done it. All for you.

(Thanks to Pr. Sam Schuldheisz for sharing this sermon, which has been used and edited by me, with his permission)

Sermon - 16th Sunday after Pentecost - Matthew 20:1-16

"God's Strange Ways"

Matthew 20:1-16

Today we hear God speaks to us through the prophet Isaiah:  My ways and thoughts are higher than yours, as much higher than the heavens are above the earth. 

In a similar way, Paul says in the Epistle that his imprisonment has really served to advance the Gospel.  Well that’s strange.  When is prison ever a good thing?  When does a prisoner ever talk like this?  When his thoughts are shaped by God’s thoughts.  When God’s ways and thoughts are to take something evil and make it good (like Joseph being sold into slavery).

God’s ways and thoughts are to take fishermen and make them apostles.  To take enemies and make them friends.  To take sinners and make them saints.  To take the things that are not, the things that are foolish and despised and make them the things that are, the things that are wise and glorious.

So here, again in our Gospel reading, God’s strange ways are on display.  The kingdom of heaven is like….  Like a master of a house, an owner of a vineyard… who acts in very strange ways.   At least, strange to us, in our limited and fallen human sense of fairness.

The master of the house goes and hires laborers early in the morning.  And that’s not strange at all.  Happens every day.  They agree on a price and he sends them to work.  It’s maybe a little strange that he goes out to hire more and more workers, again and again, throughout the day.  But maybe the labor market is scarce or he realizes he has more work that needs to be done.  We can cut him some slack here.  It’s fairly strange, though, that he would bother to hire workers at the eleventh hour of the day.  I mean, with only one hour of work left, why even bother?  So Jesus sets the table, and we are about to see just how strange are the ways of this master.

You see, while at first pass this parable seems to be about the laborers, it’s really even more about the master himself.  It’s not about the work that they do, or even how much of it they do.  Nowhere does it mention the quality of their work.  But here we say a master acting in strange ways, with thoughts that are not our thoughts.

The master, of course, is the Lord.  The vineyard is his kingdom – the number of all who belong to him in Christ, or, the Church.  They are “hired” by him, in that he calls each and every one of us to faith, individually.  Be it through the word, or in our baptism, he finds us “standing around” in the idleness of our sinful nature – with nothing useful or good to do.  Worthless to anyone and everyone, and nothing but trouble.  But with a word he makes us his own – brings us into his fold.  This is the call to faith.  And faith gets busy doing what faith does – expressing itself in words of witness and works of love for neighbor.  So the hiring is the master’s grace, and the work is our grateful response.

That the master would go again and again to market is also in his character, though beyond our comprehension.  This reminds us of the persistence of God’s call to faith – that it is for all people, at all times in all places.  Yes, some are baptized as infants, born into and raised in the Lutheran faith, Missouri Synod, no less!  Some of us even love to wear it as a badge of honor.  But it is all God’s grace that we are in the vineyard at all.  And even those Johnny-come-lately’s, the new Christians, and the new-therans among us, are of equal place and value to a Christ who shed his blood for all.

Now, of course, this flies in the face of our sense of fairness.  And that, too, is part of Jesus’ point here.  While the master is full of grace and mercy, that’s not what makes us tick, by nature.  Children of Adam, by nature, live in a very different type of market and vineyard.  For us, it’s all quid-pro-quo.  You get what you pay for.  You earn what you deserve.  We are concerned with justice and fairness and making sure everything is done according to the letter of law.  Even from a young age we learn those words, “it’s not fair!” and we never really un-learn them. 

And this assumes we are just and good in our own sense of fairness – when we so often are not!  Don’t you dare slight me!  But if someone else is slighted to my benefit – well, we don’t expect it to ruffle any feathers.  We’ll just enjoy the benefits.  And what if we actually applied the same harsh standards we use for others, the same judgment, the same criticism of their every fault and failing – and scrutinized ourselves by the same standard?  I doubt we would fare so well.  But rather we excuse our own sins, give ourselves a pass, or at least a rationalization for our misdeeds.  And thus we corrupt the fairness we feign to exercise, and bend our sense of justice in our own favor.

Then, sometimes, we even dare apply our human sense of fairness to almighty God.  Like the fool in the parable who balked at the master’s goodness to others. Well, friend, has he got news for you.

Our God does not treat us as we deserve.  And you oughtta be thankful he does not.  He does not mark our iniquities and repay us the wages of sin we deserve.  His ways are not our ways.  His thoughts are not our thoughts.  His way is, rather, to grant us a different reward, unearned share that isn’t based on our works, our labor, or on the debt of sin we owe, but on his grace in Jesus Christ.

Jesus Christ, “hired”, if you will, at the beginning of all days – appointed as the Savior before the forbidden fruit had even turned brown.  A seed of the woman set to crush the serpent’s head. 

Jesus Christ, who labored perfectly, fulfilling all righteousness, and whose righteous work counts for all of us in his field.  See, he has done all things well. 

Jesus Christ, who paid the wages of sin and death by his own blood, at the cross.  As foolish as it seems to us, as strange a way to love his people, is the Master not allowed to do what he wants with what is his?  Does he not give to each sinner according to his great mercy?

But sometimes we do begrudge God’s generosity.  Certainly the Jews in the early church struggled with the idea that God’s grace includes also the Gentiles.  Sometimes churches today become insular and clique-ish, and don’t do such a good job of welcoming the newcomer.  Save us from this, Lord!

I recall a lady at my church in Michigan who once remarked in a Bible Study, we had been discussing the news story about a local serial killer, who, now imprisoned, had professed to become a believer in Christ.  She remarked, “if that murderer goes to heaven, then I don’t want to be there” Friend, the master might say, my dear lady, do you begrudge my generosity?

Maybe it would help us to begrudge the master’s generosity less to see ourselves in the parable not as the most deserving servant, but as the least. As the 11^th hour workers.  We are the ones who are late to the party.  We are the ones who bring less deserving work.  Each of us could say with St. Paul, “I am the chief of sinners”.  Oh how our perspective would change!  According to the law, we are like the early workers – out for ourselves, concerned with our own sense of justice.  But according to the Gospel, we are the beneficiaries of a generous and kind master, who lavishes blessings upon us that we in no wise deserve. 

So come to his table today and receive yet again – not the just desserts for your sins, but the grace desserts of his gifts.  Take joy in the strange ways of our good master – enjoy his generosity – and be fed and strengthened for further service in the vineyard, and in the world. 

Sermon - 15th Sunday after Pentecost - Matthew 18:21-35

Matthew 18:21-35

“How Much Forgiveness?”

Last week I mentioned the preaching challenge of tying together a number of seemingly disconnected thoughts in the Gospel reading.  Today, in the same chapter, there is another preaching challenge.  This parable, called the parable of the Unmerciful Servant or the Unforgiving Servant – is a tough one.  And I’d like to take an unusual approach to this reading today and work backward.

It’s tough, partly, because it ends on such a harsh note.  “So also my heavenly Father will do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother from your heart.”  Those are tough words from Jesus.  For several reasons:

It’s a threat of punishment for being unforgiving.  And we saints who are still sinners – don’t always forgive as we should.  This is some harsh law for us.  In the parable, it meant that the wicked servant was thrown into prison until he could pay his debt – which was really a life sentence since his debt was so great.  But for us, the debt of sin would leave us with an eternal sentence.  We can never hope to pay back our sin, our unforgiving-ness.  And so the punishment Jesus threatens is serious indeed.

But not only do we not forgive as often as we should, but he also adds this little qualifier:  “From the heart”.  Stick the knife in deeper, Jesus!  For how many times have you SAID you forgive someone, but you don’t mean it, not truly, fully, from the heart.  It’s an outward act of forgiveness – done out of obligation, or so you don’t look petty before others – but in your heart of hearts you hang on to that hurt.  You nurse the little grudge and keep that sin on your scoresheet.

The point of this parable is that this is not how it should be for us.  It’s a word of law – that Christians ought to forgive.  In fact we must.  Our Lord Jesus Christ is not in the business of idle threats.  His words are true.  But, of course, this isn’t the only word on the matter.

Earlier in the parable we see another picture.  It’s the man who had a great debt and begs for mercy.  The servant himself.  Notably, he begs for time to pay – as if he ever really could – he asks for patience from the master.  But the master doesn’t put him on a payment plan.  He just forgives the debt. All of it.  Every last penny.  He gives far more and far better than servant asked.  And he gives it freely. It is, of course, a picture of how God forgives us in Christ Jesus.

What a picture of forgiveness!  It’s very similar to the example we have from Genesis this morning – where Joseph forgives his brothers.  Joseph, who was sold into slavery by his brothers, who then told his father Jacob he was dead.  Joseph, whom God had blessed nonetheless, even to the point of making him the second most powerful man in Egypt and probably the whole world at that time.  Joseph who now stood in judgment over his brothers, the shoe on the other foot finally, they found themselves literally at his mercy.  He had forgiven them before – but now their father Jacob was dead, and they feared Joseph would feel free to show his true colors, to finally exact the revenge they knew they deserved.  After all, we know how this works.  You were being nice to us for the sake of old Dad, right, Joseph?  But now that he’s gone… will you finally unleash your vengeance?  Will we see the grudge you’ve surely been harboring?

But in a poignant moment of brotherly reconciliation, Joseph shows his faith by again forgiving his brothers.  He comforts and cares for them, speaks kindly to them.

What a picture of Christ!  The brother who loves us, though we have wronged him so deeply.  The one who forgives us our sins freely, comforts and cares for us.  Joseph was as good as dead, but made an amazing comeback with the blessing of Almighty God.  Jesus really did die – horribly so, for the sins of the world, for the sins of those who crucified him.  But even then he was praying for their forgiveness.  And then, Jesus was restored, resurrected, ascended and enthroned on a throne much higher than Joseph’s!  And one day he will come to judge the living and the dead. How will it be when his brothers stand before him?  Will he finally give us what we deserve?  Or will he welcome us, comfort us, and speak kindly to us?

This is one of those passages that is unlocked by the distinction of law and gospel.  According to the law, we must be lost – for we do not “forgive from the heart”.  But according to the Gospel – we must be forgiven, for Jesus Christ is the kind judge, king, master and Lord.  He has paid the debt, canceled it and removed it, blotted out our iniquities and forgiven our transgressions.  Otherwise his cross means nothing.

And so, if we look at ourselves, our lives, our behavior, our heart – we will see only judgment and death.  We will have that threat of punishment ever ringing in our ear.  But if we look to Christ – there is only love, forgiveness, and mercy.  He forgives our every debt each time we fall before him in repentance.  Each time we pray the prayer he gives us – and say – forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.

And working even further backward in the text, we come to what precipitated this whole thing.  Peter’s question about forgiveness. 

Dear Peter.  Always the first to speak and act, but not always to his credit.  Yet his question here is instructive.  Jesus had just been discussing forgiveness of your brother who sins against you… and so Peter asks for clarification. “How many times shall I forgive my brother, seven times?”

Now it’s often been said that Peter thought he was being generous.  How many wouldn’t even give one shot at forgiveness?  Or maybe once, but then they won’t be fooled again.  But this is more.  This is no three-strikes-and-you’re-out standard of forgiveness.  Peter picks seven – forgive the brother once for every day of the week!  But surely there must be some limit, right Jesus?  Isn’t there a line, eventually?

And Jesus’ answer blows Peter out of the water. Not 7 but 70 times 7!  Which is, not to say, literally 490.  But that we should forgive and not keep count.  That’s kind of the whole point of forgiveness – the sin is gone.  It’s off the books.  Erased, blotted out, forgotten.  Forgiveness is exactly the opposite of keeping score, tallying sins.  It’s letting it go, and never looking back.

Such is God’s forgiveness of us in Christ.  He remembers our sins no more.  He separates them as far from us as the East is from the West.  He does not count men’s sins against them, for if he did, who could stand? 

We would need a number far larger than 490 or 490 million if our sins were marked and charted.  But thanks be to God for the mercy of Christ, who takes them all away.  Now Peter, now Christian, go and do likewise.  Your debt is paid.  Your sins are forgiven.  Why would you hold even one sin against your brother?  If Christ has done so much for you, why wouldn’t you earnestly desire to do the same for your fellow Christian, especially?

Forgiveness is free and unlimited, or it’s not really forgiveness at all.  It’s not just the quantity, either, it’s the quality.  It’s the big sins and the little sins, the few and the many.  It’s the sins of thought, word, and deed.  The sins done and the sins of things left undone.  The sins against God, the sins against neighbor, the sins against self.  All are forgiven in Christ.  Thanks be to God.  Now go and do the same for your neighbor.  Forgive from the heart. 

In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Sermon - 14th Sunday after Pentecost - Matthew 18:1-20

 

“How Serious Is Sin?”

At first it may seem that this section of Matthew’s Gospel is a bit of a patchwork – 20 verses in four paragraphs – touching on different topics that seem to have little to do with each other.  Who’s the greatest?  Temptations to sin.  The Parable of the Lost Sheep.  And what to do if your brother sins against you.  I have to confess that as I studied this text I also grappled with which direction to take things this morning.  What, if anything, connects these thoughts?

And the best I can say is this:  In each section here, Jesus teaches us to take seriously the problem of sin.  

It’s a lesson we need to learn.  We live in a world that thinks about sin less and less.  Let alone the secular world – which by and large doesn’t consider sin to be a major problem.  For that matter we see churches that barely ever mention the word “sin”.  Instead they may talk about “mistakes” or even “poor ways of thinking”.  

Moral relativism has destroyed the once universally held concepts of “right and wrong”, and now we have “what’s right for me, and what’s right for you”.  For many, no external objective standard determines what is sin anymore, as each person must simply be “true to himself”, whatever that means.

And if sin is even acknowledged on some level, is it really even a big deal?  There’s maybe about 2 or three sins left that seem to outrage most everyone – and even those things are becoming more accepted.  Sins that most people only whispered about decades ago are today shouted out and paraded about, as our depravity and decadence seem ever more out of control.

But it’s not just the culture or the prevailing moral philosophies out there today that teach us this.  It’s not just the mushy churches that have sold out to the culture.  Let’s not think that because we go to Messiah Lutheran Church in Keller, that we are somehow above all this, better, smarter, more holy.  We have the same problem with minimizing sin.  It’s rooted in our own sinful nature.  Sure, on paper, Lutherans have a strong teaching about sin – we confess what scripture teaches.  Thought, word and deed, and all that. In theory we say all the right things about sin in our catechism and our confessions.  But in practice we fall far short of it. If you’d look at our lives, our actions don’t seem as if we consider sin to be all that serious.  

Man has been minimizing his own sin since the fall into sin.  He has been blaming others since he pointed the finger at Eve, and she at the serpent.  He has been denying it since he retorted, “am I my brother’s keeper?”  We have been rationalizing sin away, comparing our sins with others who certainly sin more, and sometimes even calling evil good.  And in the hypocrisy of legalism, we imagine that if we follow some set of man-made laws that it makes up for our shattering of God’s law, like little Pharisees on our own self-righteous pedestals.

Jesus knocks this all down in Matthew 18.  He shows us how serious sin really is.

First he teaches humility.  That the greatest in the kingdom is the least.  That we would be like – a child.  Helpless.  Humble.  Lowly.  Someone who comes with nothing to offer, but only has needs.  Greatness in the kingdom consists of such things.  Turn, he says, and become like children.  This is talk of repentance.

And then a warning – sin is so serious that if you lead another into sin, especially one of these little ones, it would be better for you to get the millstone treatment.  A sure and certain death.  Sin is that serious.

Then on to temptations – woe to the world, and to the one by whom temptations to sin come!  Jesus doesn’t speak woes very often, but here the woe is earned.  Sin is such a cancer that the treatment is also severe – cut off whatever causes you to sin, pluck it out – eyes, hands, feet, whatever.  Better to be crippled or maimed than to go with all your members into the hellfire.  Here again the language is strong – but not literal.  As if cutting off sinful parts could make us clean – when even our heart is corrupt.  No, the remedy here is the same – repentance – an entire renewal of our being that only Christ can accomplish.  Death and rebirth, really.

When we humble ourselves in repentance and faith, we become one of the “little ones” the Lord cherishes.  We become the lost sheep that the Lord seeks out.  Sin is so serious, lost-ness is so bad, that he forsakes the 99 to go looking for that one.  He takes extreme measures.  He goes to great lengths.  He humbles himself and becomes obedient even unto death, even death on a cross.

There’s the ditch where he finds the lost sheep.  A ditch so deep it’s really the grave.  Jesus faces death – which is really the wages of sin – physical, spiritual, even eternal death – he takes death, in all of its seriousness and fullness, and takes it all on himself at the cross.  He wears the millstone.  He is cut off.  He suffers the woes we deserve.  He is lost so that we are found.

One of our great Lenten hymns, “Stricken, Smitten and Afflicted” says it well:  

Ye who think of sin but lightly

nor suppose the evil great

here may view its nature rightly,

here its guilt may estimate.

Mark the sacrifice appointed,

see who bears the awful load;

'tis the Word, the Lord's Anointed,

Son of Man and Son of God

Thanks be to God Jesus took sin seriously for us.  Thanks be to God that the Father sent his beloved Son.  Thanks be to God for the Spirit who convicts us of sin and calls us to faith in Christ, that we would not perish, but have eternal life.  

Sin is serious business.  But our Lord Jesus Christ is equal to the challenge, and takes care of business for us.  In him our sin is covered, atoned for, forgiven.

So then there’s this last section of our reading – which is the sort of “so what” of it all.  The implications of all this for life in this Christian community we call the church.  We might put it this way:  take sin seriously when it comes to your fellow Christians.  But be Christlike in your handling of it.

Notice, sin is not ignored between Christian brothers.  It’s not something we pretend doesn’t ever happen.  It’s still very real and present among us – though some may find that surprising.  Jesus forgives sin but he doesn’t eliminate it from our midst.  We still struggle with sin daily, and Christians in community will still sin even against one another.  

But how do we address it?  If your brother sins against you, do you pay him back in kind?  No.  If your brother sins against you, start gathering your forces and make sure you have a mob with you when you go to get your revenge? No. Post about it in a rant on social media? No.  But back to humility.  You seek to win the brother back.  You seek reconciliation.

If your brother sins against you… and it will happen…. Go to him privately.  Sin is serious and it should be addressed – but with care for your brother’s reputation.  Show him his sin, with the hope that he will listen – that is, repent – and you will win back your brother.  

And yes, sin is so serious that if repentance and forgiveness can’t follow, then what is bound on earth is bound in heaven – and the church on earth treats the sinner as one who is no longer in the church – a “Gentile or a tax collector”.  Yes, we still pray for them and encourage them to repent – but we can’t consider someone a Christian who refuses to do so.  Sin is just that serious.  In fact, the whole point of such a drastic step as excommunication - is for the church, the whole church, to show the unrepentant sinner his sin – to intervene, and speak with one voice, and urge him toward repentance, and life.

So how serious is sin?  Deadly.  It’s “amputations and millstones” serious.  It’s maybe even excommunication serious.  But it’s also “let me drop everything and find the lost sheep” serious.  For Jesus, it’s lay-down-his-life on the cross serious.  And for us who are in Christ, we would follow his lead.  May we ever have the courage to reconcile with our brother who has sinned, since Christ has reconciled each of us to the Father by his blood.  

In Jesus Name.  Amen.

Sermon - Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost - Matthew 16:21-28

“Taking Up Crosses..."

Crosses hurt.  They are not pleasant.  You know, the Romans designed crucifixion to maximize pain and suffering.  We sometimes forget this.  We see crosses as decorative artwork to hang on the wall.  We might wear them as jewelry.  We have so many around us, perhaps they lose their sting. But it is a reminder of something very bitter. A cross is an instrument of death. 

Jesus knows this, of course.  When Peter makes his great confession, “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God”, Jesus begins to explain what that means – the Christ is the one who will be dying.  He will suffer many things.  He will be killed. And on the third day he will rise.  Yes, I’m the Christ, Peter, but this is what being the Christ means. It means a cross.

And then Jesus gets to something else unpleasant.  He says, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.”  Following Jesus might not sound so bad if it just means going for a walk.  If it just means trying to follow his example of good deeds and compassion for people.  If that’s all Jesus meant by “follow me”, he could have stopped there.  But he says “deny yourself” and “take up your cross”.  And there’s where the suffering comes.  There’s where the trouble begins. Crosses hurt.

Again we’re often like Peter.  He didn’t want any talk of suffering and death.  He didn’t want any crosses.  Not for Jesus.  Not for himself.  Not for anyone else, mind you.

Even today, for some Christians, talk of the cross is a downer.  It’s too depressing.  It’s not the main thing.  We’d much rather hear about God’s love and mercy.  We want the blessings, not the curses.  Let’s have life and salvation and glory.  Not shame and suffering and death.  There’s enough of that going around already.  Look at the news.  The pandemic.  The riots.  The shootings.  Wars and rumors of wars.  Hurricanes.  Fires.  Abortions.  Injustice.  Corruption.  Families in disarray.  Economic woe.  Stress.  Anxiety.  Depression.  Addiction.  No thank you, Jesus, we have enough troubles without talking about all these crosses you want us to take up.  We’ve reached our quota of corsses already, thank you very much.  Now if you could kindly get back to the puppies and rainbows we’d appreciate it.

But Jesus rebukes Peter.  And he would rebuke us too if we try the same tricks.  He says, “Get behind me, Satan! You are a hindrance to me. For you are not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of man.”

Don’t get in the way of Jesus going to the cross.  That’s Satanic.  Don’t think that there’s a Christ without the cross.  That’s having in mind the things of man, not the things of God.

Rather, receive the Christ on his own terms – Christ crucified for sinners like you and me.  A humble, lowly, man of sorrows.  A lamb of God led to the slaughter who opens not his mouth.  A willing and obedient victim, honoring his Father’s will, drinking the cup of wrath down to the dregs.  Stricken for you.  Smitten for you. Afflicted for you.  By his stripes, you are healed.

You need this Jesus of the cross.  For your sin problem runs deep, as deep as mine and anyone else’s.  The ugliness of the cross is the only ugliness ugly enough to match your sin.  And we need to see our sin.  We need to see what it cost Jesus.

Sometimes I think this is why Christians balk at the sight of a crucifix – you know, a cross depicted with the corpus, the body of Christ still on it.  Oh they’ll say it’s “too Catholic”, when really, there’s no truth in that.  Maybe we’re just not used to it from growing up, or it brings up certain associations in our mind, and that’s fair enough.  But I do think some people want their cross bare so they don’t have to be reminded of what that cross really means – that their Savior had to die an excruciating death – and that on account of sin – yours, mine, everyone’s.  For some, it’s maybe just too stark a reminder.

But we preach Christ crucified.  Just as Jesus preached a Christ that would be crucified.  And anything less, anything other, was of the devil.  Anything that got in the way, or offered another way, was the things of man, and not the things of God.

So what does it mean for us to take up our crosses and follow him?  Well, it doesn’t mean that we go out asking for trouble.  We don’t seek suffering, or pursue martyrdom.  Rather we pray for peace and well-being, for protection and provision, indeed as Jesus taught us, for daily bread.  He never taught us to pray for tribulations.  Rather, to pray that we would withstand them when they do come.

And taking up your cross certainly doesn’t mean you get to be the Savior from sin.  Your cross always follows in the wake of his.  Your cross is never bigger than his, more effective, more worthy.  Your crosses are merely an echo of the true cross, a participation in the sufferings of Christ, but only ever a small part.

But taking up one’s cross means accepting the sufferings of this life, and especially those we undergo for the sake of Christ – and still walking in faith.  It means seeing the silver lining of the clouds of life – and knowing that God who worked so much through the sufferings of Christ, will also work for good through your own suffering, just as he promises.  It means holding on to our joy, even in the midst of sufferings, persecutions, and trials.  For we know that all of our sorrows are fleeting, and cannot last forever.  One day we will put down all these crosses, and the final cross of our death will become the gate to eternal life. 

Yes, even the most bitter thing for most people to face – death itself – is redeemed by Christ and used for his good purposes, for his people.  If you are in Christ, you don’t need to fear death.  For you have the promises of Jesus – promises of life, even though you die, if you believe in him.  Promises of a place in the Father’s house which he prepares for you, even now.  And you can trust Jesus to be stronger than death for you, because he conquered the grave himself – that’s the kind of Christ he is.  That’s also what he told Peter and the disciples – that the Christ must suffer, die, and on the third day rise.  And he did. Just. That.

Whoever will save his life will lose it.  Whoever loses his life for the sake of Christ will gain it.  So we take up our crosses with joy, we face death all day long, we are as sheep to the slaughter – because even then, especially then, we know Christ comes with life, abundant, eternal life, for his people.  With Christ we can’t lose, even if we lose our life, we gain it, for eternity.

And finally Jesus promises that some who heard all this would live to see it.  Surely, Peter would.  Though he would deny Christ to the servant girl, and run away for fear his cross would be next.  Though he and the other disciples would scatter like sheep when their shepherd was struck.  Though they locked themselves up and away for fear of the Jews.  Still they would live to see the words of Jesus fulfilled.  The Son of man would suffer and die and rise on the third day.  Coming in his kingdom.  It began at the cross – where he was crowned with thorns and enthroned in his suffering.  Where his glory was revealed in perfecting our salvation.  But it would not stop there.

For the Christ who predicted his suffering, death and resurrection, also promises a return in glory with all his angels – a return to judge the living and the dead.  Then each will be repaid. Then all that is wrong will be made right.  All who have shunned the cross of Christ will be repaid.  We, who are in him, will receive the full measure of our inheritance. 

So take up your cross, Christian, whatever it may be, and follow Jesus.  For he has taken up his cross for you.  But the cross was not the end of him, and your crosses will likewise come to an end.  Remain faithful to him, for he is always faithful to you, and his promises always come true.

In Jesus Christ, Amen.