Sermon - Pentecost 12 - Matthew 15:21-28

“We are all beggars, this is true”. Some of the last words of Martin Luther – found by his secretary on a scrap of paper the day before Luther died. We are all beggars. We come with nothing to Jesus, and he gives us everything. We can't bargain or deal, purchase or sell. We can only beg for his mercy and grace that we do not deserve in the least. Beggars, all. 

She had no earthly reason to expect help from Jesus. This woman wasn't a Jew, or from Israel. She was a Canaanite. A heathen. How did she know about David? And how did she know Jesus was the “Son of David”? Did she know that was a loaded term – indicating he indeed is the Messiah? Had she heard the good news of his kingdom, even before he arrived? Surely somehow. 

 

The Syro-Phonecian woman was a beggar. Perhaps she had money and wealth, but she didn't have what she wanted most. Her daughter was beset by a demon. And when the great teacher and miracle worker, who some even whispered might be the Messiah, when he came to her neck of the woods, she went out to find him. And she cried out, pleaded, begged for mercy. 

 

Like her, we are unworthy to ask for anything good from the Lord. We have no pedigree but original sin. We have no works of righteousness, only works of lawlessness. We have no holiness of our own, but only a life stained by sin and destined for death. We are helpless and hopeless without Christ. Beggars. 

 

She cries, “Have mercy on me, O Lord, Son of David; my daughter is severely oppressed by a demon” 

 

And Jesus does something strange. He doesn't say yes. At first, he is silent. 

 

How often do our pleas and petitions meet with silence from our Lord? Often. So we can relate. Did he hear us? Is he ignoring us? Does the silence mean “no”? Or is something else going on? 

 

The disciples are getting tired of it already. They want Jesus to send her away – that is, they want him to give her what she asks and be done with her loud crying and begging. (Notice, the disciples are beggars too, by the way). But still, he seems to resist. 

"I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel." 

 

To be clear – Jesus doesn't mean that he came as Savior of Israel only. But in his preaching and healing leading to the cross, his commission was to Israel. Only after the resurrection are all nations drawn into the kingdom. Still, a number of outsiders receive help from the Lord, even before his work is done. They would be a kind of first-fruits, a foreshadowing, of the many nations who would receive the kingdom. 

 

The woman begs some more. She kneels down, in a show of humility. A good posture for the sinner to take before Almighty God. And if not physically, we should all bend low before God in the same humble acknowledgment of our own unworthiness. 

 

"It is not right to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs." 

 

“The children” are the Israelites. “The Dogs” that's what the Israelites called the Gentiles – outsiders. Dogs. Not a term of endearment. But Jesus isn't quite so harsh. He throws the woman a bone, if you will. When he calls her a dog – he uses the term for a house dog, a pet... rather than a mutt wandering the streets. A “little dog” or a “pup” might be a closer English equivalent.  Or even a lap-dog. 

 

And now the woman sees. Her faith, which had brought her this far – out from her home and to where Jesus was – following persistently, falling on her knees.... over against Jesus' silence and his protest, her faith begs, and begs. And she prevails upon Jesus... 

 

Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table." 

 

A beautiful three-fold confession of faith. One, that she is a dog – unworthy to sit with the children. Two, that he is the master. Three that he, Jesus, would grant her this request out of his mercy. And so he does. 

 

And here's the mystery. He meant to all along. Why put her through all this before he grants the request? Why ignore her, put her off, 

make her think he might say no? 

 

Was it to strengthen her faith? Was it an exercise? Was it to teach us persistence in our prayers and petitions? Or was it to give her also the blessing of an opportunity to show her faith – to make a confession? Surely all of the above. 

 

So often in our lives, we call on the Lord for help and hear silence. We are tempted to think he doesn't hear, or doesn't care. We may grow discouraged and think that God is indifferent, or worse that he’s punishing us in some way.  But as one of our recent hymns puts it well, “behind a frowning countenance, faith sees a smiling face”. 

 

Faith holds God to his word of promise. Martin Luther said it well: 

 

She catches the Lord Christ with His own Words. Yes, still more, with the rights of a dog she gains the rights of a child. Now where will he go, the dear Jesus? He has caught Himself and must help her. But know this well, He loves to be caught in this way. If we only had the skill of this woman to catch God in His own judgment and say: 'Yes, Lord, it is true, I am a sinner and not worthy of Thy grace, but you have promised forgiveness and didst not come to call the righteous, but, like St. Paul says, 1 Timothy 1:15, 'to save sinners.' Behold, the Lord must then through His own judgment, have mercy on us. 

And one more thought. As we are all beggars, so we are all the dogs waiting for crumbs from the table. But as we receive faith, so we become children. And so also, share the food with others. 

 

What child hasn't fed the family dog from the table – accidentally, and even with glee. So does the Christian share the Gospel. Accidentally, through works of love and service, by witnessing to the faith that drives us. Inadvertently, as we go about our callings in the world, doing all that we do for the Lord. Or even pointedly, purposely, as we have the opportunity to share the love of Christ in words, even the Gospel. Or else by supporting the work of the church with our time, talents, and treasures. Yes, in many ways, we throw the crumbs of the Gospel to those hungering for it. Just as we have received, so we generously give. 

 

For what precious food this is! That even the crumbs are worth begging for. But he gives us so much more. He gives a lavish feast – a full course meal. He feeds us with his word, and even literally feeds us with his own body and blood. Not food we deserve, but the food of faith which sustains and strengthens us and delivers us forgiveness, life and salvation. 

 

Oh, to be a beggar. Oh to be fed from the Master's table. Oh to feast on the fine food he gives. Faith begs, and faith receives, from Jesus Christ our Lord and merciful Master. Amen. 

Sermon - Pentecost 11 - Matthew 14:22–33

 

“Oh, they think he walks on water!”  Today’s Gospel reading brings us to the origin of a popular phrase that’s made it even into the secular lexicon.  Someone who walks on water – a person who can do no wrong, who’s above and beyond everyone else.  Usually a phrase applied in a sort of sarcastic way to someone we resent for the adulation and praise others give him. 

But our Lord Jesus Christ does walk on water.  And he deserves all the adulation and praise we can muster, and then some.  He is, as the disciples recognize at the end of our reading, the Son of God, and worthy to be worshipped.

In our reading from Job, it is God himself who is asking the sarcastic, or at least rhetorical questions.  Oh, were you there when I made the heavens and the earth?  Tell me how I did it, then, wise guy.  “Have you entered into the springs of the sea, or walked in the recesses of the deep?”  By his walking on water, Jesus can answer yes to this question – and it’s further proof that he’s not just the Messiah, the Christ, but also the Son of God and the Creator of all things.  Job must answer “no” to the litany of questions, but Jesus could answer “yes” to all of them.  In fact, we could see Jesus as the one asking the questions.

For our part, we are like Job.  Subject to the creation we were meant to rule and manage.  Because of sin, we are broken, and the world itself is broken.  And we cannot master it any more than we can understand it.  We fall victim to the sudden and violent effects of its brokenness, or the slow, steady march of aging and death.  We are slaves to sin and overshadowed by the grave, and longing for release from bondage like the creation itself.  Job had his troubles – loss of goods, loss of family, loss of health.  We have our own.  Some are the same.  Some are different.

Oh sure, science has made its advances.  We enjoy technology today that would seem like magic to even our grandparents.  Healthcare is better. Lifespans are better.  We can fly anywhere in the world. We even landed on the moon.  And information has exploded.  You can ask any question instantly from the little device in your pocket. But has such knowledge made men wiser?  Has it improved us spiritually?  Has it helped us to not be sinful, or made us right with God?

And furthermore, hasn’t it continued to reveal deeper and deeper mysteries the more we study this creation?  The new telescope we sent up there can peer further and deeper into space, but it just reveals new questions.  The more we study the quantum realm the stranger reality itself seems.  The digits of pi never repeat, even with our most advanced computers on the case.  These things ought to humble us.  They ought to drive us to deeper awe for the Creator.  But prideful man continues to consider himself a god, and nothing good can come of that.  We do well to consider the questions posed to Job.  We must confess God the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth, and Jesus Christ his Son, by whom all things were made.

We are helpless, like the disciples in the boat.  We may think we know what we’re doing, hey they were experienced fishermen (at least several of them).  But they knew enough to know they were in trouble, and not much more.  But here comes Jesus.

He who just made a miraculous meal and multiplied the fish and loaves for a crowd of probably over 15,000 (if we count the women and children), now again exercises his divine powers but for the much smaller audience of his 12 disciples.  He walks on the water, with the ease of a Sunday stroll on a paved garden path, on a cool summer evening.  The wind and wave that buffeted the disciples’ boat are of no consequence to him.  He made it all.  He owns it all.  He controls it all. 

But they get him wrong, at first, thinking he’s a ghost.  Their superstitions get the best of them.  Fear rears its head.  And if we regard Jesus only according to his power, we might do the same.

This is a problem for so many Christians who consider God’s sovereignty his chief characteristic.  He’s powerful.  He’s mighty.  Our God is an awesome God who reigns in heaven above.  Of course, we don’t deny his power, but confess it freely.  But his omnipotence isn’t the most important or notable attribute.  His almighty power is a terror to me if I am still in my sins.  He is a judge, and terrible one at that, if all he is to me is the higher power.

But you and I know better, because we know Jesus.  He has revealed himself to us as not just a powerful God, but a merciful and kind one.  Just as he greets the disciples not in judgement for their fears, but with encouragement.  “Take heart, it is I!”

He is no ghost.  He is the Eternal God who takes on human flesh, and he is as real as it gets.  He is flesh and blood.  But he is no mere man, subject to wind and wave like you and me.  He is master of it, for himself, and for us.  His mighty power is good news because he is kindly disposed toward us.  His mercy makes takes the terror out of his might, and his presence among us brings calm and peace, not fear.  And it all starts with his word, “Take heart, it is I!”

Now, what about this Peter getting out of the boat thing?  Many sermons I’ve heard commend Peter for getting out of the boat, and challenge Christians to metaphorically do the same.  I’m not so sure that’s the right take here.  Consider…

First, Peter doesn’t take Jesus at his word.  But, rather, he puts Jesus to the test, much the same way Jesus’ adversaries do at the cross, and even how the devil does in the wilderness temptation.  “If it’s really you, Jesus, prove it….”  Putting God to the test doesn’t usually end well, and so too for Peter.

Really, it’s Peter who is put to the test here – and he fails.  At first, it seemed ok, he actually walks on the water.  But quickly his faith falters when his eyes move from Jesus to the wind and wave.  Hebrews 12 comes to mind, “Let us fix our eyes upon Jesus…”  Peter had little faith.  He doubted Jesus. 

But true to his character, Jesus is there to save.  He doesn’t let Peter’s doubts get the best of him.  He doesn’t let the wind and wave have the final say.  Immediately, he reaches down and pulls the poor disciple back up, and into the safety of the boat.  Jesus is the Savior, after all. 

And as easily as he pulls Peter out of the water, he pulls you up out of death itself.  He pulls you out of the waters of baptism, where you were buried with Christ and were raised with him.  Thanks be to God.

Back to Job.  One of the rhetorical questions God asks Job to put him in his place is this:

Have the gates of death been revealed to you, or have you seen the gates of deep darkness?

No, the gates of death are a mystery to Job, and to all of us who wait with dread to pass those gates.  The grave is dark to us, and that’s part of what makes it so fearful.  It is unknown. But not to Jesus.

He knows the gates of death, because he passed through them.  He faced the most dreadful death of the cross, bearing all the sins that would drag us down, and he plummeted to the lowest depths along with them.  He knows death better than anyone, for he died in place of all.

And he masters the gates of death, for they are not strong enough to hold him.  He burst the gates of death like walking through a paper ribbon, like knocking down a house of cards.  He strolled out of the grave as easily as he walked on the water, like a walk in the park, for he is the Lord of even life and death.

And one day, he will pull you out of the grave to resurrection, just as he snatched Peter from the depths.  One day, you will see him in your flesh, with your own eyes, like Job confesses – I know that my redeemer lives, and in the end he will stand upon the earth.  And I will see him, I and not another.  How my heart years within me!

Until then, take heart with Jesus, dear Christian.  For you have his word.  Take heart, for he comes to you in miraculous but very real form – under bread and wine.  Take heart, for he comes not in sovereign and mighty judgment, but in kind and tender mercy.  He comes to the rescue, to help, to save, and to forgive.

So, you of little faith, why do you doubt?  With Jesus, we can always take heart, trust in him, and be saved.

Sermon - Pentecost 10 - Matthew 14:13-21

 

If you were to make a top 10 list of Jesus miracles, certainly the resurrection would top the list.  You might include the 3 people he raised from the dead.  Maybe you’re partial to his turning water into wine.  But any such list must include the feeding of the 5000.  It is the only miracle besides the resurrection itself included in all four gospels. And so this is a story that is familiar to most of us. 

It is also worth noting that some of God’s greatest works and most profound lessons for us are associated with universal, everyday experiences and situations common to every person.  We all have a father.  We all use water to wash.  We all know what it’s like to be hungry.  We all know what it is to eat.  We do it every day.

And so a basic and fundamental lesson that even a child can understand here is that Jesus feeds his people.

The story starts with Jesus withdrawing to a “desolate place” when he hears that John the Baptist was murdered by Herod.  Perhaps like his weeping at the grave of his friend Lazarus, it seems Jesus is personally affected by the death of his cousin and forerunner, John.  He seems to intend to get away from the crowds, to go out of the spotlight, and retreat for a time of prayer. 

But his plan, it seems, was interrupted.  According to his human nature, of course, things don’t always go as Jesus plans, or knows.  The crowd that he sought a break from finds him anyway.  And rather than double down and withdraw again, our Lord has compassion.  He heals their sick.  He teaches them all day.  And he already has in mind a miraculous feeding.

But first he tests his disciples’ faith.  When they begin to worry about the needs of the crowd – and that’s not a bad thing for the disciples to be concerned about their bodily needs – but they don’t seem to trust that Jesus can handle things.  We’ve got to intervene.  We’ve got to tell Jesus that something has to be done!  Send them away to get some food, already! 

Jesus pushes back on them.  “They don’t need to go away.  You give them something to eat.”  I like to imagine a pregnant pause here, as the disciples look at each other in disbelief.  Did Jesus really suggest something that preposterous?  We don’t have that kind of money.  Heck, we’ve only got 5 loaves and 2 fish.  What is Jesus talking about?  He’s really taken John’s death hard, hasn’t he?

But, no.  He tests their faith.  He wants them to confess their inability, their own need.  He wants them to come to him for aid. 

And perhaps here is a reflection point for us.  How often our Lord seems to put us also in a no-win situation.  Where our patience is stretched or our fears begin to surface.  When we are called upon to be faithful, or humble, or kind, or all of the above, and it just seems so hard.  We are confronted with our own inabilities and shortcomings.  We are limited creatures, after all, and sinful at that. 

But once we, like the disciples, fall flat on our face, Jesus comes to the rescue:  “Bring them to me.”  Bring the loaves of bread to me.  Bring the paltry few fish to me.  Bring your limited resources and your faults and failings.  Bring your frustrations and your exhaustion.  Bring your inadequacy and confusion.  Bring your sorrows, your suffering, your guilt and shame, your very life itself to Jesus.  And he will bless.

Luther makes a similar observation.  He says: “The great need of the disciples on this occasion was that, though they could think and figure, they did not believe or realize what kind of Lord they had in Christ. And that is the universal need even today, not only when we need food but also when we realize all sorts of necessities. We know how to figure and calculate carefully so that our needs might be filled. But when help does not come immediately as we would like it, we get nothing out of our careful figuring and calculating except sorrow and loss of spirit. It would be much better for us to commend the whole matter to God and not think so much about our needs.”

And so Jesus provides for people’s needs.  The Good Shepherd has the sheep to lie down in this green pasture and he feeds them.  Here we see another few details worth noting:  He has them sit down for the meal.  He gives thanks.  He gives the food to the disciples, and the disciples distribute it. 

Far from a free-for-all, Jesus does everything in an orderly fashion.  There is no rush.  There is attention to detail.  He empowers his disciples with their own role and task.

The church learns from this.  We, too, must conduct ourselves properly.  We distribute the gifts of Christ in an orderly way.  There is no free-for-all in the church, but as Paul, too, encourages the Corinthian church that all things be done decently and in good order.  We are careful and deliberate in our worship life.  We are careful, especially, with the holy things of God, the sacraments.  We are careful, also, handling the Word of God, rightly dividing law and gospel.  Pastors are called as stewards of the mysteries of God, and given the public exercise of the keys.  But likewise, every Christian is called to be a hearer of the word, and to carefully search the scriptures, and give attention to the word.  We pay attention to God’s order in creation, in the family, in the church, and in our lives.

Furthermore, Jesus gives thanks.  He prays and thanks his Father for the gifts about to be given.  And so it is fitting also for Christians to pray in thanksgiving for his gifts, recognizing all good gifts come from our loving Father.  And we pray, especially at mealtimes, giving thanks for our daily bread.  We pray after we receive those gifts, and even before we receive them, trusting him to be the good provider of daily bread and all spiritual blessings.

Jesus broke the bread and gave it to the disciples to distribute.  He could have given the bread and fish directly, but he worked through the means of his disciples, much as he works through the means of his pastors today, to distribute his gifts to his people.

All ate and were satisfied.  You see, when he gives, it’s always enough. In fact, as the disciples gather the 12 baskets of leftovers, we see it’s even more than enough.  It’s an abundance.  We cannot exhaust God’s giving by our needs.  He always, always has more to give.

You are baptized.  But there’s more there than just what happened on that day long ago.  Your baptism is a daily trove of blessings.  You have heard the word.  But that word keeps speaking to you, and you can never hear it too much.  You hear the words of absolution, abundantly, freely, and receive forgiveness even more abundant than your sins.  And you come, over and over, to this altar, to receive his holy Sacrament.  And though it’s always enough, there’s always more grace than your sin, more blessing than your need.

As I’ve talked to Lutherans about this passage over the years, I’m struck by how often people make connections between the feeding of the 5000 and the Lord’s Supper.  Of course, we Lutherans hold the Lord’s Supper in high esteem, and there are some connections here – with breaking of bread, giving thanks, and the Lord Jesus feeding his people.  While this miraculous meal was certainly NOT the sacrament, and this crowd, largely, it seems, were not true believers (for later they tried to make Jesus their bread-king).  Nevertheless, it’s certainly not a bad thing, though, to make the mental connection here with the Lord’s Supper, and I certainly don’t mind making the preaching connection either.

And perhaps also, we might consider that many, many more are fed by Jesus in the Sacrament, with a bread that is even more miraculous than that given to the 5000.  For it is his very body.  And the wine is his true blood.  And it is not given for the hunger of the stomach, but the need of the soul.  It offers the forgiveness of sins.  It brings life and salvation.  It strengthens faith.  It expresses our unity.  And it proclaims the Lord’s death until he comes.

Far more than 5000 Christians gather at this table, this Communion of Saints.  As heaven breaks into earth, and the Lamb’s high feast in eternity peeks through the ages, into our time and space, we are given us a foretaste of the feast to come, with angels and archangels, and all the company of heaven.

Truly, his body is the bread from heaven.  And his blood, shed for our redemption, is precious indeed.  Christ gave himself on the cross to provide for our deepest need, and it was more than enough.  All who trust in him are satisfied, and never disappointed.

So come today, and whatever is yours, bring it to Jesus.  And he will give you from his own abundance.  Come to his table, take eat and take drink, for the forgiveness of your sins.  Come and be satisfied.  And go, and give thanks.