Sermon - Lent 5 - John 11:1-45

 

The season of Lent is more serious, contemplative, and even slightly somber. It is a penitential season.  At the end of Epiphany, we sing a “farewell to Alleluias” in which we find the lyrics, “the solemn time is coming, when our tears for sin must flow.”  This is a poetic description of our Lenten penitence.

Today, it's Jesus who is even brought to tears at the grave of his friend Lazarus. But it is not tears of repentance as we might weep.  Jesus weeps, according to his human nature, in a very real and human reaction of grief. 

Most of us know that this verse, John 11:35, “Jesus wept”, is the shortest in the Bible. But let's zero in on it today, especially, and there in our Savior's tears find a message of sin and grace.

First, some context. Jesus was approaching Jerusalem. Bethany, where Lazarus and his sisters lived, is really a suburb of the Holy City. And there, in Jerusalem, Jesus knew he would meet his fate at the hands of the Jews. He knew his own death was approaching. Even his disciples seemed to sense things were reaching this turning point, for Thomas said, “Let us also go, that we may die with him”.

We too, know that Holy Week and Good Friday are approaching. We too should be preparing mentally, emotionally, spiritually, for the observance of our Lord's suffering and death.

But here in Bethany, it was Lazarus who had died. Jesus had been called when Lazarus was still alive, but sick. But his arrival was, it seemed, too late. By the time Jesus got there, Lazarus worsened and died.

For two days Jesus delayed.  Strange to us, and even more disturbing to Mary and Martha.  Why didn’t Jesus drop everything and hasten to the bedside of Lazarus?  Why didn’t he seem to care that his friend was dying?  Why did he wait, delay, and not answer the prayers of his people, and honor the needs of his friend?

Here is an experience with which we can relate.  When we call upon God for aid, healing, peace, or a way out of our troubles.  So often the answer seems to be, “Not quite yet.  Be patient.  Your prayer will be answered, but not when you desire, and perhaps not how you desire.”  We are often mystified and repeat our own little mantra, “If only God had answered me…. If only this or that had been different…. If only my prayers were heard”.  And our faith forgets itself.  We forget who we are praying to, and that his wisdom far exceeds our own.  We forget that his timing is always best.  His will is always perfectly done.  So here, we must learn with Mary and Marth, that our “if only you would have” sentiment is not well placed onto Jesus.  He knows best.  We ought to trust him.

So why did Jesus wait?  Jesus tells us.  This illness does not lead to death.  It is for the glory of God.  Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I go to awaken him.

Jesus certainly knew what he was going to do.  He knew he was going to raise Lazarus from death.  He had already prayed to the Father about it and had been answered.  But knowing all this, it is perhaps even harder to fathom why he wept at the grave.

So was Jesus crying at the grave of his friend out of guilt? Knowing that he could have saved him, had he not dilly-dallied? No, of course not. Jesus knew how this would end. He told his disciples, “for your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe.” He tells Martha the same, “I am the resurrection and the life” and “Your brother will live”. No, Jesus knows how it ends. That's not why he was weeping.

Why then? Was he weeping in some sort of show or sham? Like the hired mourners who wailed along with the funeral procession and at the tomb? Was he faking these tears? Of course not. Our Lord is always honest, even in his actions.

Was this an example for us to follow? To let us know that it's ok for us to weep at the graves of our loved ones? It might not be why he wept but that certainly is true. The scriptures never tell us not to cry when death comes, but only not to grieve like those who have no hope. Yes, even for Christians who believe in the promises of God about life after death, paradise and resurrection, even for us death is troublesome and painful. There is grief even when there is hope.

So too for Jesus. And perhaps we are approaching the reason for his tears. Even knowing fully well that Lazarus will rise again, and shortly, Jesus is still moved by the sorrow of death. Death is no friend to God and his people. Death is the wages of sin. Death is the interloper, which does not belong in this creation but has come to stay. Like Satan, it is the enemy. It is the necessary result of sinful flesh to die, and return to the dust from which it is formed. And with death comes pain, sorrow, grief, and fear. Nothing pleasant, there. This is why Jesus weeps.

So too, his soul would be deeply troubled in the Garden of Gethsemane, a few days later. “My soul is very sorrowful, even to death” he said. For again, Jesus would have to face death. Now, even his own, but nonetheless.

And even though he knew how it would end – even though he knew the resurrection was coming afterward – still he is troubled. There is much to learn here about godly suffering.

My dear friends, Christianity is no trite system of positive thinking in which we are to simply put on a happy face. It is no promise of a life free from tears. Indeed, the opposite. Christians are told of the persecution, suffering and cross-bearing that goes along with our faith. And God never makes a promise that he will keep us from all pain and unpleasant experience.  No, this side of heaven we are sure to face every manner of cause for weeping, and no one can escape the pall of death that covers all people. 

But it’s not all tears.  There is hope.

There are beautiful promises about the world to come – a heavenly Jerusalem in which all suffering ends, and where God will wipe every tear from our eyes. There will be no more mourning there, for even death itself will be destroyed. And the hope of that day, the promise of that future, does give comfort to us in, even in the midst of our worst earthly tears.

As does the promise of his presence. We know that he is with us always, even in our suffering, even to the end of the age. We know that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Jesus Christ – not trouble or nakedness or danger or sword. He says, “I will never leave you. I will never forsake you.” And we are comforted, even in our tears.

And we know that he sympathizes with us in our weakness, for he, Christ, was like us in every way, yet without sin. He experienced all of our human sorrow and then some. He is the “man of sorrows, and well acquainted with grief”. He even knew the pain of death – death of a loved one, death he would face for us all on the cross.

I imagine those tears of sorrow turned to tears of joy as Lazarus came out of his grave at the command of the Lord. I imagine the mourners, and the sisters, and perhaps even Jesus himself – wept tears anew, tears of joy seeing Lazarus walking and talking and alive.

So too, the empty tomb of Christ would give all of us, his people, cause for weeping tears of joy. For not only is our Lord alive again, but his resurrection means that he has conquered death for us all. He is our forerunner in death and in resurrection – going where we will someday follow. In Jesus we can see our future. In Jesus we have hope and comfort.

When life brings you to tears, remember that Jesus wept. Know that he understands. And far from dismissing your tears of pain, he offers sympathy and hope. For as Lazarus was raised, Christ was raised, so we all shall be raised on that great and glorious day when God will wipe every tear from our eyes. In Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.

Sermon - Lent 2 - Romans 4:1-8; 13-17

 

“Counted”

Romans 4:1-8;13-17

For what does the Scripture say? “Abraham believed God, and it was counted to him as righteousness.”

From an early age we learn to count.  1, 2, 3….  I remember laying in bed at night, as a child, seeing how high I could count before falling asleep.  We learn numbers and counting for lots of good purposes in life.  But we also quickly learn to count as a way of keeping track of what is fair.  If he gets three candies and I only get two – wait, no fair!  If I’m making $17 an hour and that person hired after me makes $20!  That’s not right.  If I do the dishes and laundry but all he does is play video games, well, then, the math isn’t gonna work.  The account’s not square and settled.

But it’s not just numbers.  It’s the broader “counting” of fairness, justice. What is right?  The kids on the playground who know that if your toes are over the line when you make a shot – “it doesn’t count”.  And every little lawyer will call out his objection if anyone says otherwise.

But our counting, like everything we do of ourselves, is tainted by sin, and applied in a way that benefits self over neighbor.  Our sense of justice is often twisted, and so our measurement of what is right and proper is skewed.  We cook the books, as it were, in our own favor.  As a U.S. president once quipped, “Fuzzy Math”.  So also, when Jesus warns us about judging our neighbor he says, “ For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it will be measured to you.”

The Old Adam in us is all about the counting, the reckoning, he keeping track and keeping score.  We are tempted even to do this in our churches.  A whole school of thinking has gripped many churches – which sounds innocuous enough, “Church Growth”.  It even sounds good!  After all, who wouldn’t want their church to grow?  But this misguided movement imports all manner of worldly wisdom, and often uncritically so, in order to grow the church (numerically, at least) at all costs.  Counting, counting, counting – the numbers in the pews, the balance in the bank, the offerings in the plate, the activity of its members.  And if your numbers go in the wrong direction, then surely your church is going in the wrong direction!  There is little room for the idea that faithfulness matters most, even if it means a congregation might numerically wither and die.  There is little room for the idea that spiritual growth, which is often unseen, is far more desirable than numerical growth, which is often deceptive and fleeting.  So beware of the counting, church of God!  Beware of how we measure and mark our ministry here at Messiah.  It’s not wrong to count and track things.  It’s not wrong, either, if something is excellent or praiseworthy, even secular wisdom, to think about these things.  But let us avoid the dangers that lead us away from faithfulness to Christ and his word, and to a worldliness that runs the way of measurable results, which is really only of the law.

Now, we could even say that God also counts.  He marks and notes, carefully records things.  I suppose you could say it’s part of his omniscience – he’s all knowing.  Scripture alludes to this with its talk of “books” that are opened for the final judgment (Revelation 20:12) It’s not like we could ever hope to get away with something that escapes his notice.  Even your “secret sins” are no secret to him.  And if all he considers is justice, that is, what our deeds deserve, then we are in a bad situation to say the least.

But the Psalmist reminds us there is hope:

If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities,

    O Lord, who could stand?

But with you there is forgiveness,

    that you may be feared. (Psalm 130:3-4)

But how does this happen?  How is it that God no longer counts our sins, marks our iniquities, or considers all the evil we do and have done?  How is it instead, that we can hope to stand before his judgment seat on the final day and not be condemned?  How is it that with him is forgiveness, that he may be feared?

Of course it’s Jesus.  It’s always Jesus, and that is no surprise to you, dear Christian. 

Jesus is numbered among the transgressors for us.  He is counted as, reckoned as, made to be, even, sin, for us – though he had no sin of his own.  God imputes our sin to Jesus – that is, he transfers the balance of our sin account onto Jesus.  His debt-load of sin becomes immeasurable, and in exchange, our ledger is wiped clean.  The great exchange.  Christ’s righteousness in exchange for our sin.  Christ’s death in place of ours.  Christ’s perfect keeping of the law, credited to us.  Our guilty deeds go to  him, to be put to death in him.  It is marvelous, mysterious counting that runs counter to the reckoning of this world.  It is divine mathematics, and only God can accomplish it.

But again, how does his come to us?  How do all the wonderful things that Jesus has done benefit me, personally?  Here’s where Father Abraham helps to teach us.

Abraham was revered as the great patriarch of the Jewish people.  When Jesus was challenged by the Jews, they appealed to their status, “We are children of Abraham, and have never been slaves of anyone!”  (Well that’s not really true, there was that 400 year episode in Egypt.)  But nonetheless, they looked up to Abraham, and some even considered he was so good, so righteous that he was justified before God by his works!  If that were true, Paul indicates, then he had something to boast about – especially before men, who fail to measure up to that standard.  But Paul quickly dismisses this idea.  Abraham can’t boast before God – who knows even great father Abraham isn’t righteous of himself.

Paul quotes Genesis 15, in which we are told, “Abraham believed God, and God counted it to him as righteousness”.  No, it wasn’t Abraham’s work that counted in the end, or at all.  It certainly wasn’t his lineage (for he came from a pagan background).  It wasn’t his great wealth or family loyalty.  It wasn’t anything else about Abraham that God regarded as righteousness – but his faith.

God counted Abraham righteous – because Abraham believed God’s promises.  And God counts you righteous, child of Abraham, because of your faith in those same promises.  And all of this, for the sake of Jesus Christ.

And what God DOESN’T count against us is our sins.  Paul also quotes David, who writes about it in Psalm 32:

“Blessed are those whose lawless deeds are forgiven, and whose sins are covered;

Blessed is the man against whom the Lord will not count his sin.”

And so we are doubly blessed.  God doesn’t count our sins against us.  But he does count our faith as righteousness! 

Now, Abraham looked forward – God’s promises to him were of future blessings.  I’ll give you this land. I’ll make you a great nation. All nations will be blessed through you.  Abraham believes, as was counted righteous, then and there.

These promises find their ultimate fulfillment in Jesus Christ.  Through his blood shed for the forgiveness of sins, and through his life lived for the fulfillment of all righteousness – God brings blessing to all nations. And all who have faith in Christ are counted as children of Abraham.

Your faith looks both backwards and forwards.  You look back to Christ, to his earthly work fulfilled.  You trust in what he has done, and that his words are true, “It is finished”.  You believe in his glorious resurrection, and you confess the faith that has been handed down to you in the church through the ages. 

But like Abraham, you also look forward. You look forward to Christ’s promised return, to the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come.  You look forward to his glorious appearing, to being like him and seeing him as he is.  You look forward to the eternal city from above, to a kingdom that has no end, and to the hand of God wiping every tear from your eye.  You look forward in faith, and God counts that faith in Christ as righteousness.

So keep the faith, Child of Abraham.  Keep the faith, believer in Jesus Christ.  Know that your sins were counted against Jesus, and will not be counted to you.  But that God counts you as righteous for Jesus’ name’s sake.