Sermon - Pentecost 21 - Genesis 4:1-15

Cain and Abel

The oldest story of sibling rivalry.  The first murder.  A study in contrasts between acceptable and unacceptable worship.  And, finally, another striking glimpse of God’s mercy for the sinner.  The account of Cain and Abel this morning gives us much to consider.

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.  Adam and Eve’s firstborn son, Cain, became a farmer like his father.  Only it soon becomes clear that Cain also inherits the sin of his father.  Here we learn the first lesson from this passage – that we are sinners. That we, too, inherit sin from our fathers.  When Adam fell into sin, all his future children were also doomed, like Cain, to suffer the same corruption.  And how quickly the sin goes from simply eating a forbidden fruit – to premeditated murder.   We often like to think we are better than previous generations – more enlightened, more civilized, perhaps even with better morality.  But none of that is really true.  We’re cut from the same contaminated cloth of sin.

And of course their second son, Abel, was a shepherd.  But Cain and Abel are different for more than just their profession.  When it comes time to worship God, another difference becomes clear.  God accepts Abel’s sacrifice.  God has no regard for Cain’s offering.

At first blush we might not understand why.  After all, grain offerings are just as acceptable throughout the Old Testament as animal sacrifices.  Both can be appropriate ways for God’s people to show him thanks.  It’s not that God preferred them because of what they were.  As if he needed either.  As if he needs anything from us.  He of course doesn’t.

So why was Abel’s offering accepted and Cain’s was not?  Here’s a clue in the text.  Cain gave some of his harvest.  Abel gave the first and the best.  Cain gave a portion, but it seems, nothing special.  Abel gave of the fat portions.  Abel gave from the firstborn of his flock.  And now it begins to become clear.  The book of Hebrews makes it even clearer.  Abel’s sacrifice proceeded from his faith, whereas Cain’s did not.  Abel gave from the heart, Cain gave for show.  Abel gave in true thanksgiving, Cain gave for other reasons – whatever they were.  To get something from God?  To keep up appearances of piety?  So that everyone would think he was good and faithful like Abel?

God cannot be mocked.  He sees through the outward appearance of religiosity and straight to the heart.  Let Cain stand as a warning to us all, first of all, not to consider our own works, even our worship as pleasing to God apart from faith in Christ. 

You can see why this Old Testament reading was paired with this Sunday’s Gospel, too.  You have the comparison of two men who bring and offering, and two men who pray.  Cain is like the Pharisee – coming in pride, trusting his own devices.  Making worship to be seen, and not in genuine faith.  Abel is like the Tax Collector, bringing what pleases God – in Abel’s case his best and first, and in the Tax Collector’s case, a contrite and broken heart.  This is worship that exhibits faith and righteousness, not the showboating of the Pharisee or the half-hearted offering of Cain.

And then, when Cain’s offering was not regarded by God, when it was not accepted as Abel’s was – however he knew it – Cain became angry.  Angry with God, perhaps.  Angry with his brother, for sure.  Anger in the heart is a hothouse for breeding other sins.  It often bubbles over into sharp words, and even violent actions.  Jesus warns us of anger and hatred in our hearts – and shows that words and thoughts of anger are sinful just as actions of violence and murder.

But Cain’s indignation was misplaced.  If he had done well, he’d have no problem.  It’s his own fault.  He should blame himself.  But that’s rarely what prideful sinners do.  Let Cain stand also for us as a warning against sinful anger.  And when we find our own faces falling let us beware, lest sin come and crouch at our door.

And so Cain’s problems started long before he talked his brother into going out into the field.  But it’s still shocking.  Here we are in the second generation from paradise.  Not so long ago everything was very good. The world fresh, new and clean.  Death was unheard of.  And now.  Death comes through violence at the hands of another – a brother killing his own brother – premeditated.  No remorse shown.  And when questioned, “where’s your brother?” the murderer arrogantly thinks he can get away with it.  But not so fast.  Abel may be dead but his very blood cries out from the ground.  Calling for justice!  And God is just… so….

One of our hymns does a nice job of finding the Christological connection here.  “Abel’s blood for vengeance, pleaded to the skies, but the blood of Jesus for our pardon cries”.  Yes, Jesus is the greater Abel!

Abel was a shepherd, Jesus the Good Shepherd.  Abel offered a sacrifice of a lamb.  Jesus is the Lamb of God who is sacrificed.  Abel was killed by his own brother.  Jesus is killed by his own people.  Abel’s blood cried for justice – but here’s the glorious twist – Jesus’ blood speaks a better word (says Hebrews).  Christ’s blood is poured onto the earth to save and redeem and pardon the whole world.  Jesus cries for our forgiveness, even from his very cross.

And while Abel stands as the prototype of all the martyrs – all those whose blood is shed by violent men, yet kept the faith unto the end.  Cain stands as a figure of all Christians who have blood on our hands and yet find mercy from a the one who by rights could condemn us.

Cain faces the consequences of his sin – the earth no longer yields its strength to him (for that’s where his brother’s blood was shed – out in the field, onto the ground).  And Cain, rather than living off the land shall wander the land in exile.  And for Cain it all seems to much – even though by rights he ought to have been struck dead himself.  Even in this punishment, God is showing mercy.

But in answer to Cain’s pleading, he shows even more.  “Whoever finds you will not kill you, Cain, for I’m putting a mark on your head.”  And who knows what that mark was exactly, but I like to imagine it as a cross.

God protects Cain from retribution, and threatens to punish anyone who kills him with vengeance 7 times over!  7 is God’s number.  It reminds us of God’s work of creation.  This is no small promise God is making to Cain, a promise Cain in no way deserves.

Dear Christian, you, too, have been marked by God.  You too, have a promise of God’s protection.  All new-born soldiers of the crucified bear on their brows the seal of him who died.

At your baptism, you received the sign of the holy cross, both upon your forehead, and upon your heart, marking you as one redeemed by Christ the crucified.

You were sealed in those precious waters with the promise of God’s protection.  You are God’s own child – so gladly say it!  Though your grave stares at you open-eyed, even there you’ll sleep secure.  For not even death can conquer those who have overcome by the blood of Christ!  We are under his protection.  No harm will come to us from sin, death or devil.  All our enemies were Christ’s enemies, and he has defeated them all.

So what is left for us to do but give thanks?  What is left for us but to remain faithful, and to express that faith in worship of God and love for neighbor.  Yes, we too give gifts of thanksgiving to God.  And may we render them in faith, like Abel, always giving of our first and our best.  But when sin crouches at our door, and even if it overcomes us, let us live as Christians and repent – ever to find that forgiveness and mercy in Christ.  God be merciful to me, a sinner.  And he always will, in Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.

Sermon - Pentecost 19 - Luke 18:1-8

 

One of my little areas of interest within the broader subject of Theology is the way the Bible, and especially Jesus, uses humor.  I think we have an example of that today, with the parable of the persistent widow.  Now, of course, Jesus is no stand-up comedian.  And his humor always serves the purpose of teaching.  So, today, as Luke tells us, the purpose of the parable is this:  that his disciples should always pray and not lose heart.  So too, for us.

Take this persistent widow.  We might fill in the gaps of the story a bit with our imagination.  Jesus says she’s seeking justice from her adversary.  But he doesn’t say what exactly the matter is.  Surely, it must have been something that seemed of no consequence to the high and mighty people of the world.  The concerns of a widow are lowly, like the widow herself.  Scraping by on a day-to-day basis, begging perhaps and relying on the kindness of strangers.  She had little, and had little hope.  Little standing in society, or in a court of law.  She was one of the least of the least, forgettable and insignificant.  Especially to someone like this judge.

 

Jesus tells us the judge is someone who neither feared God nor respected man.  Sounds like a nice fellow, eh?  You can imagine he rose to this high position through treachery and politics, trampling over whomever he needed to in order to get ahead and climb the ladder.  He’s the very opposite of this poor widow – he’s respected, or at least feared in the community.  People know not to cross him or get on his bad side.  He’s probably mean and grumpy and self-centered and just a real specimen of a person.

 

And here comes this widow, pestering him.  Persistently, over and over again, she begs the judge for justice.  Something about this is just funny.  She may have seen him first in the courtroom, but that won’t be the last he’d see of her.  She finds out where he lives.  She camps out by his front door.  She nags him on the way to work.  She nags him on the way home.  For a while he ignores her, hoping she’ll get tired and go away.  But this woman is tenacious, like a dog champing down on a meaty bone.  She simply will not give up until the judge grants her the justice she demands. 

 

And finally, after she practically exhausts the fellow to death, he says to himself,  “Though I neither fear God nor respect man, yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will give her justice, so that she will not beat me down by her continual coming.”  In other words, “I know I’m a scoundrel, and I’m not doing this out of some sense of justice, but I’m just plain tired of this woman and want to get rid of her.  So I’ll give her what she wants!”  He’s annoyed.  He’s exasperated.  He’s sick and tired of this woman and her badgering!  Enough already!  I’ll do what you want!

 

It's a funny picture.  The characters are a bit exaggerated.  But the point is clear.  Jesus is making an argument from the lesser to the greater.  It goes like this:  If such a wicked, callous, disrespectful earthly judge can be made to answer by a lowly widow who is simply persistent…. And if he does so only because he wants to be done with her pestering….  Then how much MORE will your loving, kind, gracious, merciful judge – who is also your father – how much more will he hear YOU, his dear people when you pray?

 

The answer, of course, is much more.  We have a God and Father who wants us to bother him, and bother him persistently.  Who delights in our prayers because Jesus makes them delightful, and the Spirit brings them before him.  They’re a pleasing aroma to him.  He invites us to pray, and to pray without ceasing, and to never lose heart.  Will God not give justice to his elect?  Of course he will.  And will he not do it speedily?  Of course he will.

 

Justice.  Not the kind of justice that we deserve – where we are on the receiving end of punishment for our sins, oh no.  That kind of justice has already been done to Jesus.  He took the guilty verdict.  He suffered the death penalty.  He bore the wrath of God that had our name on it.  He made it his own.  Divine justice is done in the strangest of ways at the cross – but what wonderful, beautiful, alien justice it is!  Thanks be to God!

 

What Jesus is referring to here is more so the justice over our adversaries.  That we, like the little old widow, would find help against our adversaries from the judge.  Only, her adversary may have been someone who stole her mites, or cheated her at the market, or took advantage of her weakness.  Our adversary is a roaring lion seeking to devour us.  He’s a great dragon who sweeps stars out of the sky.  He’s a foul tempter, and old evil foe who seeks to do us woe.  And he wants nothing more than to drag us away from Jesus and to the misery of his company for eternity.  He is a fearsome adversary, and we ought not take him lightly.

 

The Devil would have us, if he could.  He would accuse us, that’s what Satan means, accuser, and he would love to rub our noses in our sin so much that we doubt even God can forgive us.  Or, if he can, he would blind us to our need for Christ, harden our hearts, and lull us into a false sense of security and into the lie of self-righteousness. 

 

Sometimes, it seems like the adversary is winning.  It seems like my own sins get the better of me.  My Old Adam gets the upper hand on the New Man.  Sometimes, it seems like the righteous judge has forgotten me, or is even judging me for my sins, giving me what I surely deserve.  Sometimes it seems like his ears are deaf to my cries, and he can’t or won’t answer my prayers or regard them at all. 

 

In fact, sometimes it can seem that God himself is our adversary!  Take Jacob in our Old Testament reading.  He wrestled with “a man” all night long.  That’s all we’re told at first, this was “a man”.  But later that man shows himself to be more – as he pops Jacob’s hip with a touch like a kung-fu grandmaster.  He could’ve beaten Jacob all along. 

 

But still Jacob persists, “I will not let you go unless you bless me!”  And so the man, the angel, the Lord himself, blesses.  He changes Jacob’s name to Israel, “He wrestles with God”.  And he becomes a picture of every believer, every true Israelite, who wrestles with God, who clings to God and persistently seeks blessing, and is not disappointed. 

 

Likewise, Jesus, with this parable, calls us here to persistence in prayer.  And that’s not him speaking law.  He’s not saying, “pray night and day or else!”  He’s encouraging us.  He’s inviting us.  He’s reminding us of the character of our righteous judge who desires to give us all good things, and promises to deliver us from the Adversary, and who delights to be bothered by the prayers of his people. 

 

Nevertheless, Jesus concedes that all this calls for patience.  “When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on Earth?”  He seems to be referring here, to his second coming.  When he comes again to judge the living and the dead.  When he comes to bring his final justice, to close out the books, and to give to each either a final reward or final punishment.

 

And what will the Son of Man be looking for when he comes again in glory to judge both all flesh?  Faith.  Faith in him.  Faith, trust, belief – a reliance upon him and him alone.  He will not regard kindly those who bring their own resume, but only those who rely on his. But rather he’s looking for faith, dogged, unwavering, unflinching, patient, persistent, pestering faith.

 

And if your faith doesn’t seem that persistent, no matter.  We can all pray, “I believe, Lord, help my unbelief”.  He would point you not to the quality of your faith, but to the character of the Judge.  We don’t put our persistent faith in our faith.  We put it in the character of the judge who always, always wants to answer our prayers with good things.  The one who loved us so that he even sent his own Son that we would not perish but have eternal life.  Won’t he also graciously give us all things?

 

And that faith – the assurance of things hoped for and the certainty of things not seen – will be fulfilled at his coming.  When all that we have hoped for comes true.  When every eye will see him.  And when all of our prayers are answered with an eternal, “Yes”.  We will not be disappointed.  We will see justice done, and we will receive eternal joy.

 

Do not lose heart, dear Christian.  Do not lose faith.  Pray for blessings spiritual and earthly, temporal and eternal.  Ask that your sins be forgiven for the sake of Christ, and know that they are.  Ask that God will save you at the last, and he will.  Pray, day and night, for we have a righteous, kind, loving, merciful judge who loves to be bothered.  So bother him.  In Jesus Christ our Lord.

Sermon - Pentecost 17 - Luke 17:1-10

 

Let us focus on the third paragraph from our Gospel reading today, in which Jesus says,

 “Will any one of you who has a servant plowing or keeping sheep say to him when he has come in from the field, ‘Come at once and recline at table’?  Will he not rather say to him, ‘Prepare supper for me, and dress properly, and serve me while I eat and drink, and afterward you will eat and drink’? 

Does he thank the servant because he did what was commanded? So you also, when you have done all that you were commanded, say, ‘We are unworthy servants; we have only done what was our duty.’ ”

In our house we have a little saying, “The Lawn Looks Nice”.  It’s one of those family inside jokes I guess.  I suppose one too many times someone who mows the lawn went fishing for a compliment or something.  And now it’s become a catch-all response when someone goes looking for a pat on the back.  Any sort of, “Hey, didn’t I do a good job at that?”, really.  Cleaned the kitchen?  The lawn looks nice.  Did your homework?  The lawn looks nice.  Mowed the lawn again this week?  Well.  How about that.

I suppose most of us like to be appreciated.  We want our good works not to go unnoticed, but secretly – or maybe not so secretly – we want everyone to see them, and with the more fanfare the better.  And it’s best if you notice my good works and appreciate them all by yourself, because if I have to tell you to notice them….  Well, then do you really appreciate them?

You know this perhaps best when you experience the opposite.  When you do something nice for someone and they don’t seem to appreciate it at all!  When there’s no regard for your hard work and consideration. When there’s no thank you!  How dare they!?

And maybe there’s even a part of us that somehow expects the same from God.  In fact our relationship with God is closely connected to our relationship with our neighbor.  How we consider one affects the other, shows something about the other.

That fact that we look for such recognition and appreciation for our good works is a sign to us that they really aren’t that good after all.  Good works are simply the starting point.  They are what is expected of us.  This is what Jesus gets at with this illustration or parable.

It was a servant’s job to serve his master – not just in during the day, out in the field, but also when dinner time comes.  The servant would have been called upon to bring his master’s meal first – and only then to go eat his own dinner. 

And when the servant does what he is commanded, it is enough that he did his job.  He’s not looking for extra kudos and accolades.  He doesn’t expect the master to invite him to feast alongside the master.  He’s fine to go back to the servant’s quarters and eat with the other servants.

And at the end of the day, the faithful servants say, “we are unworthy servants.  We have only done our duty.”

Well, that’s as it should be.  And maybe that’s how it is in the world of fiction.  If you watch a period drama like Downtown Abbey, where the servants take great pride in their work, and know their place, and above all want to see the masters receive good service!  That’s the ideal.  But of course we don’t live in a fiction novel, or a fantasy world.  We live in the real world, the fallen one.

And we, ourselves, are not that kind of servant.  Not by nature, anyway.  We are unfaithful and selfish and irresponsible servants who are often more concerned about how we look to others than if we have done our duty. 

We bristle under the commandments – which teach us how to serve rightly.  We would rather explain our failings away and rationalize why this or that commandment doesn’t really apply – than to admit our failures.

Or else we would rather see our shabby good works as shining examples of duty, and be commended for them – rather than face the reality that our best works are like filthy rags, and that even our most selfless and righteous good deeds still bear the stink of sin. 

Like the rich young man who tried to claim before Jesus, “All these (commandments) I have kept from my youth!”  You’re not fooling Jesus, there, buddy.

We are far better at critiquing our neighbors’ duties and failure of duty than our own.  And we are far kinder on ourselves, excusing away what we would condemn in others.  Gossip!  Jealousy!  Short-tempers!  Pride!  Callousness!  Pick your sin.  We don’t do as we should, and we do as we should not.  Some servants we are.  What will the master do with us?

And even if we could keep the law perfectly, we wouldn’t sit around waiting for a big “thank you” from our Master.  We are his created beings.  We are made for him – not for ourselves.  We have a duty to him, not a privilege of our own self-determination and self-fulfillment.  But even this though might bring out the worst in your sinful nature, which despises the master because you want to be the real master.

No, we are unworthy servants.  And we don’t even do what we should.  We are unworthy because of our sins and because even our best good works are unworthy of the greatness of the master.

But there is one worthy servant.  There is one who fulfilled his duty well.  There is one who did all things he was asked to do to perfection, and never expected thanks for it.

He who was in the very nature God, took on the form of a servant and was made flesh.  He labored in the field of this world the long day of his life.  He did all things he was called to do, and he did all things well. 

He served no other gods, but always did the will of his Father.  He hallowed his Father’s name by always walking in truth, teaching the truth, leading people into truth.  He gave Sabbath rest, true rest, even on the Sabbath when man-made laws would have stopped him.  But the Sabbath is made for man, and the Lord of the Sabbath was made man for all people.

This worthy servant loved God, but he also loved man, his neighbors.  He was an obedient son to his parents, submissive and respectful, keeping the 4^th Commandment – even though he was the Word by which they and all the world were created.  He never killed, never harmed his neighbor unjustly, and never hated in his heart.  He was always faithful to his bride, the church.  He never stole, never lied, never slandered a good name.  And he never coveted what belonged to another, though everything that ever was and is belongs to him.  He came not to abolish the law, but to fulfill it – and in great service to us, he dutifully crossed every T and dotted every I.  Yes, service to us – because his perfect righteousness is credited to us.  His obedience is counted as ours.  When we stand before the master and judge on the last day, he will see all of Christ’s good works – and consider them ours.

But there’s more.  After laboring all the day of his life to fulfill the law on our behalf, the worthy servant became the suffering servant.  He filled our cup of righteousness by his righteousness, and then he drained the cup of God’s wrath by his sacrificial death.  In both cases he served in our place – both in doing the good we cannot, and in bearing the punishment for our evil thoughts, words and deeds.  This dutiful servant did not turn away from the task appointed to him, but prayed, “not my will, but thy will be done, Father.”  He didn’t speak in his own defense.  He didn’t call his servants – men or angels – to fight for him.  He didn’t even hold a righteous grudge against those who swung the hammer, but prayed, “Father, forgive them…” 

Martin Luther’s great hymn, “Dear Christians, One and All, Rejoice” has a wonderful little section about the dutiful Son obeying the Father’s will:

God said to his beloved Son:

“It’s time to have compassion.

Then go, bright jewel of My crown,

And bring to all salvation.

From sin and sorrow set them free;

Slay bitter death for them that they

May live with You forever.”

                And then,

The Son obeyed His Father’s will,

Was born of virgin mother;

And God’s good pleasure to fulfill,

He came to be my brother.

His royal pow’r disguised He bore;

A servant’s form, like mine, He wore

To lead the devil captive.

And this worthy servant, he serves even further.  He doesn’t stop at the active obedience of fulfilling the law.  He doesn’t stop at the passive obedience of laying down his life for our sins.  He reclaims that life from death, and promises us a resurrection like his own.  And he gives us a truly blessed pledge of that new life in the form of sacraments – a washing and a meal.

Yes, that servant in his parable came in from the field after a hard day’s labor, and he served even more.  He prepared his master a meal.  But wonder of wonders, our master becomes the servant.  And he prepares for us a meal.  Just as he has done all things well for our salvation – so now he continues to serve us and bless us with gifts fit for a king.  He serves at table.  He spreads a feast.  He feeds us with bread that is his own body, and wine that is his own blood.  He serves us himself, and brings us forgiveness of sins.  He makes us who are unworthy servants in our sins, worthy by faith in him, worthy even of life eternal.

At the end of the day, we Christians need not count our good works and expect to be recognized for them – for we already have more than we could imagine.  We are unworthy servants, but made perfect by the worthy servant, Jesus Christ our Lord.  And so we do our duty as Christians with joy – loving God, and serving our neighbor.  May it be so, for Jesus’ sake.  Amen.