Sermon: Trinity 12 (Pentecost 13)

29 August 2004 at Mt. Olive Lutheran Church, Metairie, LA

Text: Luke 12:49-53 (3 Year)

In the Name of + Jesus. Amen.

Today’s Gospel reading is the kind that pastors make jokes about. Jesus is speaking very harsh words, preaching about divisions among people, even families being at war against one another – after which, the pastor sings: “This is the Gospel of the Lord!” Today’s Gospel is a text that seems to be missing the Gospel. It seems that Jesus has very little good news for us at all today.

Although it has probably been like this all along, it really seems as though we are more divided today than ever before. The Supreme Court hardly makes any decision that isn’t settled by a 5-4 vote. Presidential elections are so close that the candidates will spend millions upon millions of dollars in order to secure a majority of what may only be a couple hundred votes. Unruly children are in rebellion against their parents, and these days, we even have responsible and upright children in rebellion against their parents who came of age in the divisive 1960s.

The Church is terribly divided as well. These days you cannot take for granted that a church believes in the resurrection, or in the miracles of Jesus, or even in the Gospel that our Lord, who is both man and God, died on a cross to forgive sins. In our own synod we are in a civil war over participation in prayer services with non-Christians, worship styles, the role of the synod, closed communion, the nature of the office of the ministry, and the role of women in the Church.

And our Lord brings us strange words of comfort today: “Do you suppose that I came to give peace on earth? I tell you, not at all, but rather division.” He tells us that not only nations and cultures will be divided, and that Christian churches will be in a state of disunity – but even families, those tiny building blocks of society where children are nurtured, will be plagued by disharmony. Parents against children, children against parents, and in-laws against in-laws.

But dear Christian friends, this is a word of Gospel – though it is of the type we would rather not hear. As distressed as we are over division and strife among our families and institutions, we can take comfort that our Lord is himself distressed. He does not leave us to suffer alone. It is Jesus who takes our suffering upon himself, manifesting itself in his upcoming baptism – not a baptism like ours of water, but rather a baptism in blood – his holy, precious, and saving Blood – the very same Blood we share today. The baptism Jesus refers to is his crucifixion, the ultimate division, the baptism that would bring forth fire upon the earth. Jesus dreads this baptism, and the raging war and its fallout troubles our loving and compassionate Lord in a way we will never truly experience.

For this really is good news. This baptism of blood, this crucifixion, this death of the very God upon a cross as a criminal is good news. The world does not understand this. As St. Paul reminds us, Jews see our crucified Lord as a stumbling-block, while the Greek world of the Gentiles see the crucifixion as foolishness. The world looks at us Christians shaking their heads at us, people who put images of a condemned criminal with nails in his hands and feet on our walls and around our necks. They find it inconceivable that we describe the day our Lord and Master was tortured to death as “Good Friday.”

But dear friends, this is indeed the Gospel. Our Lord describes his crucifixion not only as a baptism, but as a fire upon the earth – and the Greek word for fire is where we get the word “purify.” The Lord’s cross is the very thing that purges evil from the universe. The tongues of fire that appeared at Pentecost are part of that fire that emanates from Calvary, from the bloody baptism of our sacrificial Lamb upon the altar of the cross.

But evil does not go quietly into the night. Fire is violent, and it results in combustion and heat, it changes the very chemical properties of that which it consumes and purifies. The result of the cross, the result of the Gospel, is the division our Lord speaks of. For the Gospel to which we cling is a confession. It is a line in the sand. It is not negotiable, and it is not something we can compromise about. The certitude we Christians have about our faith is interpreted by the world as arrogance, as exclusiveness. This confession of the truth is what fuels the hatred against the Old Testament prophets and the New Testament martyrs whose blood was shed by those on the other side of the line in the sand.

The reason for all of this is sin. Sin rejects the good gift of our Lord. Sin mocks the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross. Sin refuses to believe that such grace from God is real. Sin causes the purifying fire of our Lord’s crucifixion to be spurned, to be hated. Sin is the real cause of all the strife our Lord describes. For instead of surrendering to our Lord’s will, to our Lord’s plan, to our Lord’s grace – sin rebels. It asserts its own way. It makes war on the co-worker and brings hatred against family members.

This same sin caused the prophets of old to be murdered for their testimony. This same sin has caused millions of faithful Christians – the “great cloud of witnesses” in our Epistle text – to be martyred for the faith. This same sin causes us heartache and strife today – in our nation, in our places of employment, in our churches, and even in our families.

And yet this division makes a clear distinction between good and evil, between our Lord and Satan, between the world and the kingdom of God. We are engaged in this war, and we dare not give in to the temptation to retreat, to make a deal with the enemy, to surrender. We must continue to confess our Lord with integrity and clarity, we must proclaim the saving Gospel with boldness – even when it brings division and hatred.

But how do we do this? Must we wage this war alone? Is it up to our will power, our courage, our might? If that were the case, dear friends, we may as well lay down our arms right now and hoist the white flag. But it isn’t up to us. For Jesus himself sends the purifying fire. Jesus himself endures the baptism of blood for us. For our baptism of water links us to Jesus’s crucifixion, and our participation in the Lord’s Supper connects his Flesh to our flesh and his Blood to our blood. And by his Word – the Word the prophet Jeremiah compares to fire - we are tempered and steeled for battle. When we are absolved of our sins we are prepared for combat.

Many of you here have been in military combat. It is not glorious. It is not beautiful. It is not a happy endeavor. There are casualties. There are wounds. There is blood, sweat, and tears. The Christian’s combat with Satan is no less bitter and relentless. But our Lord uses a word today that tells us the victory is ours. He says that his distress anticipates his bloody baptism’s being “accomplished.” Just as a successful military campaign results in a “mission accomplished!”, our battle with evil, our struggle for the faith, our war against sin, death, and the devil has already been won. The very same Greek word Jesus uses here that is translated as “accomplished” is the same word in John’s Gospel as our Lord’s last word from the cross: “It is finished!” As our Lord dies on the cross, he shouts to the entire universe that the mission has been accomplished.

There, dear friends, is the highest expression of the Gospel. Jesus has died for you. Jesus has forgiven your sins. Jesus has conquered the Evil One and has restored paradise. We live in the great “now” of the victory, but the “not yet” of its completion. The war has been won, but the treaty has not yet been signed. Those who align themselves with evil continue to rebel, while our Lord, in his mercy, continues to beckon to them to lay down their arms. Our Lord, with open arms, offers a great amnesty to the whole world. But in spite of this glorious offer for full pardon and full citizenship, those who bring division continue their guerrilla tactics.

But the Church must not become distraught by the division. As our Epistle text reminds us: you must “consider him who endured such hostility from sinners against himself, lest you become weary and discouraged in your souls.” No, the Church must not despair – for her Lord has already won the war. Christians must continue to confess the faith firmly, without wavering, and without compromise. She must demand with her Lord nothing but unconditional surrender by those who resist our Lord’s dominion. And yet Christians also have the luxury to be merciful, to speak the truth in love, knowing that her Lord still controls the field.

Though divisions torment us, we have the Gospel. And the divisions are a blessing in disguise. For if our faith were not met with resistance, we would not be carrying out our Lord’s work.

So take heart, my dear brothers and sisters. By virtue of your baptism – which joins you to our Lord’s, and by virtue of his Flesh and Blood which he joins to yours, you are free to boldly confess the faith, and you are empowered to show mercy to those who continue to hate us. For our Lord reminds us: “Blessed are you when they revile and persecute you, and say all kinds of evil against you falsely for my sake. Rejoice and be exceedingly glad, for great is your reward in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you.” And so we rejoice and are exceedingly glad as our Epistle text encourages us: “Strengthen the hands which hang down, and the feeble knees, and make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be dislocated, but rather be healed.”

Thanks be to God. Amen.

In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: Thursday of Trinity 11 (Pentecost 12)

24 August 2004 at Chapel of Lutheran High School, Metairie, LA

Text: Phil 3:1-11

In the Name of + Jesus. Amen.

In last week’s text, St. Paul waged war against teachers in Galatia who incorrectly turned the Christian faith into a series of rules and regulations. In today’s text, he writes to Christians at Philippi, warning them of these same false teachers – whom Paul calls “dogs,” “evildoers,” and those who “mutilate the flesh.” These are the people who trust in their own flesh as a source of righteousness. These are the people who believe they are actually capable of overcoming sin on their own, by their own will power, or due to their own high station in life.

St. Paul tells the Philippians: “Look, if anyone could be saved by doing good works, by associating with all the right people, by keeping all the rules, that would be me!” Paul lists all of the things he has going for himself – and it is an awesome list. Most people would be impressed by St. Paul’s accomplishments. But what does Paul call all of these things? Compared to his confession of Jesus Christ as the Lord, Paul considers all of them to be “rubbish.” This is actually a cleaned-up version of what the Greek text really says.

Paul gets right to the point, the central point of the Gospel. Paul cuts to the heart of who Jesus is and why he’s still important today. Paul sums it up like this: my righteousness, or my “right-ness” before God does not come from myself. It does not come from my obedience to the law. It does not come from my ancestry or obedience to certain rituals. It does not come from my accomplishments. Rather, my righteousness, my being right with God, comes from God himself. It’s not about me at all. Paul calls it the “righteousness from God that depends on faith.” In other words, God is so merciful to me, that as miserable, as guilty, as undeserving as I am, God gives me a gift. And that gift is his own goodness. So when God the Father looks at me, he doesn’t see the poor, miserable sinner that I am, but rather he sees his own Son, his perfect Son, his obedient Son. God credits my account with the righteousness and perfection of Jesus, and he also removes all traces of my sin, my guilt, my punishment.

This goes for St. Paul, it goes for you, and it goes for me. This is the gift that comes wrapped in baptismal water and given to you on the day of your second birth, on the day you were, in the words of our Lord, “born again of water and the Spirit.” This gift comes tied up in a cross-shaped bow, and presented to you with a card engraved with your name on it. The extreme obedience of Jesus in going to the cross becomes your own. This is why we make the sign of the cross when we recall our baptisms.

And Paul points out that this amazing act of mercy comes with yet another gift attached to it – the gift of eternal life. As we say in the Creed, the “resurrection of the body and the life everlasting.” And we remember this gift when we make the sign of the cross at the end of the creed. For this gift is bundled together with the first.

These gifts make all other worldly things seem like trash. The gift of the righteousness of Jesus Christ makes anything we can do, anything we can earn, any high position we have, seem like garbage. There is no amount of money, no position of power, no status symbol that can even look like anything other than rotten banana peels and used milk containers when placed next to the glorious treasure freely given to us at baptism. And that priceless gift is this: Your sins have been forgiven, not by your actions, but rather by the death and resurrection of God’s Son for you. You have been freed to be a blessing to others instead of worrying about your own soul. We Christians are free to do good works for others out of sheer gratitude – not out of a “what’s in it for me” attitude.

This is why Paul tells the Philippians to rejoice! They have gotten a great gift. They have cheated the hangman. They have received more than all the combined wealth of the world as a present from Almighty God himself. Well they should rejoice. And so should we. Amen.

In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: Thursday of Trinity 10 (Pentecost 11)

18 August 2004 at Chapel of Lutheran High School, Metairie, LA

Text: Gal 5:1-15

In the Name of + Jesus. Amen.

There is nothing on this earth more misunderstood than Christianity.

Most Christians even miss the point. If you ask the average person to define Christianity, they will say it is a religion of obedience to ethical rules. They will put Jesus in the same category as the Buddha, Mohammad, and Oprah Winfrey. Most people think Christianity is all about “being nice.” Don’t get me wrong, being nice is a good thing! Being obedient to the rules is a good thing. I don’t think any of you in my classes would accuse me of being in favor of letting you do whatever you want whenever you want. But if God came into our world for the sake of teaching us to “be nice,” to give us a series of “Thou shalts” and “Thou shalt nots,” why did he choose to die on the cross? Why not just leave us a list of rules, be a good example, and go back where he came from? Moses already gave us the Law, why did Jesus have to go to all the trouble that he did? Why did Jesus allow himself to be handed over to Pilate, to be whipped almost to the point of death, to be stripped and mocked on the cross as a criminal, dying an agonizing death?

This sacrifice of the God-man on the cross is the main point of Christianity – and in this church, it is the focal point above our altar. It is the first thing you see when you come into my classroom. This is no accident. But it is also a scandal to those who “don’t get it.” Why not have a plain cross instead of this bloody statue? Why not have bunny rabbits, smily faces, kittens, and sunsets instead of a sweaty, bloody man with nails in his hands and feet? Why can’t we just ask “What would Jesus do?” and be nice to each other – why this whole “cross” thing?

This disconnect from the crucified Jesus is frustrating for preachers of the Gospel. So many people see Jesus only as a theoretical moral example and not as a flesh-and-blood sacrifice on our behalf for our sins, that we preachers can become inpatient.

St. Paul had just this problem with the church at Galatia – which prompted the text I just read. In this congregation, there were people who misunderstood Jesus and his mission. They saw the Christian life as following a series of rules and regulations. These folks were hung up on the Jewish ritual of circumcision, which was done to little boys when they reached 8 days old. To them, this issue became definitive of the Christian life. Instead of the cross and blood of Jesus – which forgives us all our sins and enables us free access to God – they fretted over the Old Testament laws. They caused St. Paul such headaches that Paul expressed a very impious thought toward them in verse 12.

Instead, Paul stresses the freedom we have in Christ – which is what the Gospel is all about. He tells us the important thing is “faith working through love.” This faith (the faith of Christ) comes to us through God’s Word and through God’s Sacraments. Faith is given to us at Baptism, in confession, and at the Sacrament of the Altar. Faith is given to us when we hear God’s Word, God’s “Logos” proclaimed and preached. The Christian life is all about what Paul calls “the offense of the cross.” The Greek word translated here as “offense” is “skandalon” – which is close to the English word “scandal.” A scandal is something shameful and embarrassing. Those who believe works of the law – like circumcision, like “being nice,” like obeying the Ten Commandments – will bring you close to God or admit you to heaven when you die – believe the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ is a scandal. Because the focus is no longer on themselves, but on Jesus. Not on what we do, but on rather what he has done for us, and continues to do for us.

We Christians are free from the law. But Paul reminds us that this freedom is not merely “an opportunity for the flesh” – which is to say, an excuse to do whatever we want. Rather this freedom is given to us as a gift that we should use wisely, taking care of each other in love. We don’t do this because there’s a rule to obey, but rather because Christ frees us from our selfishness so that we can be free to show our love for one another by serving each other. Where the love of Christ reigns, there is no need for a rule to force you to love, to compel you to “be nice,” or to make you do good works out of a guilt trip.

And if you want to be reminded of true love, eternal love, love that never withers or wavers, never runs away when it gets tough – look to Jesus on the cross. For to us Christians, the crucified Lord is not merely a great person to imitate, nor is he a scandal to be ashamed of, but rather he is God in the flesh who not only creates us, but who also protects our lives, brings us into fellowship with God, and uses us as instruments by which he shares his love in this world.

In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: Thursday of Trinity 8 (Pentecost 9)

12 August 2004 at Chapel of Lutheran High School, Metairie, LA

Text: 2 Cor 1:1-11

In the Name of + Jesus. Amen.

As St. Paul the pastor greets his flock in the City of Corinth, so now I greet all of you here in Metairie: “Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.” Amen.

In our text, Paul preaches about affliction and comfort. He tells us that we Christians will suffer, and yet we Christians will receive relief – relief by which we are free to comfort others.

By the world’s standards, this is a strange sermon, isn’t it? Why talk about things like suffering and affliction at all? It doesn’t exactly make the Christian life look appealing. Why doesn’t Paul say that by becoming a Christian, you will be popular and wealthy, you will never have school problems, parent problems, or friend problems, no acne, nothing physical about us to be made fun of, we will never lose a sporting event, or be embarrassed? Why doesn’t Paul guarantee us no problems of health, no problems of sin and guilt, and especially, no death itself? Why bring up the “suffering” thing at all?

According to our culture’s ways, shouldn’t St. Paul try to sell the message of Jesus the way TV ads sell french fries and athletic shoes? Maybe the Church should hire McDonald’s and Nike to help us make Jesus and the Christian life more marketable, more acceptable. Maybe Paul should do a better job of telling us what we want to hear. In the eyes of the world, this Christianity stuff is really pretty stupid.

But the beauty of Christianity is it tells us the truth. While our popular culture snuggles up next to us and whispers in our ear just what we want to hear, that we can have it all, we can be rich without responsibility, we can be popular without being merciful, we can buy whatever we want, and enjoy youthfulness forever – the reality is different. The serpent hisses sweet lies to us, tells us what we want to hear, and sells us a false Jesus, a Jesus who is a genie in the bottle, a Jesus who does not tell us to take up a cross, a Jesus that looks and sounds like a Hollywood celebrity or rock star.

But St. Paul tells us the plain truth. It may be a truth we don’t want to hear, but it is the truth. We will “share abundantly in Christ’s sufferings.” Because of sin in the world, ours included, we too will be bullied as was our Lord. We too will have our own cross, as did our Lord. We too will die – just like our Lord. And the world laughs at such a silly notion. Why would anyone be part of such a religion of weakness, when one can be “empowered” by crystals and mysticism, or by money and possessions, or by doing whatever we want whenever we want?

But the truth doesn’t stop with our suffering and death. No, St. Paul promises us “comfort… salvation… unshaken hope… deliverance…. blessing.” Through Jesus Christ, God truly empowers us in a way no silly crystal or sports car can: for since we “rely not on ourselves, but on God who raises the dead,” we Christians have already overcome everything that will hurt us: including death itself.

Our culture tells us to rely on ourselves. But there has never been a self-reliant person who was able to walk out of his own grave. But Jesus Christ, relying on his Father, did just that, and gives us the same gift of eternal life. Because we have been transformed by his Flesh and Blood, by virtue of having been baptized into his death and resurrection, we are indeed more than conquerors, able even to overcome death and the grave.

This is the comfort Paul gives us. It’s not about you at all. It’s not about your strength. It’s not about your ability to be perfect. The Christian life won’t eliminate your problems, but rather Christ himself will carry you through the good times and the bad. My dear friends, let us remember that all of the burdens and struggles we will face together in this coming year are for the purpose to “make us rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead. He delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us.” Amen.

In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Ordination of Larry Beane at Zion, Fort Wayne, IN

Sermon: Pentecost 6

11 July 2004 at Holy Trinity L.C., Columbia, SC (Vicarage)
Text: Luke 10:25-37 (RCL)

In the Name of + Jesus. Amen.

In today’s Gospel text, Jesus gives the world a new expression: the Good Samaritan. This tale told by Jesus is so beloved and so familiar that even the secular world uses the phrase “Good Samaritan” to describe a person who helps another person in need. In fact, one will occasionally see a “Good Samaritan” truck on the highway, carrying jumper wires, spare gasoline, and a cell phone to help stranded motorists at no charge. If you were to perform CPR on a stranger in a restaurant, you would be immune to lawsuits for any damages under a “Good Samaritan” law. The story of the Good Samaritan is a true classic. It is timeless, and never gets old. Its charm transcends Christianity and it has become a universal teaching on ethical behavior.

And the story opens with a discussion of behavior.

A lawyer comes to Jesus with a question: “What shall I do to inherit eternal life?” The Gospels are full of people who ask Jesus all sorts of questions. Some ask out of pure motives – a genuine desire for truth; while others have ulterior motives – seeking to trap Jesus, or trying to outfox him. The other Gospel accounts of this incident tell us more about our questioner. Mark tells us he is a scribe – a professional clerk. Matthew tells us he is also a Pharisee – a member of the religious sect of Jews who sought communion with God through a rigorous life of religious discipline, of laws and rules and regulations.

And so, our questioner’s motives seem dubious – which is why Jesus answers him indirectly. Jesus in effect tells him: “You’re an expert in the law, you tell me!” The lawyer gives the standard legal answer: “love God and love your neighbor.” Jesus himself has taught that the entire Law, the Ten Commandments, can be summarized in these two rules of thumb. In fact, we often speak of the “two tables” of the Law – the first table defining our vertical relationship to God, the second defining our horizontal relationship to our fellow men. If we love God and love our fellow man, we will be keeping the Law without even thinking about individual rules. This is a simple thing to define, but an impossible thing to live out perfectly!

But something is still nagging at the back of the mind of our lawyer. As the text words it, he is “seeking to justify himself.” In other words, he knows that he is not really just, or righteous. He knows full well that he has failed to love God and love his neighbor – and so he needs a loophole. He needs a technicality. He needs the judge to declare him “not guilty” – even though he is guilty. But rather than seek God as the judge, to throw himself on the mercy of the court, instead he seeks to “justify himself.” He seeks to make himself the judge, so he can find himself “not guilty.” In order to do this, our lawyer realizes he needs some wiggle room in defining the meaning of the words. If this word “neighbor” can be restricted somehow, if it can be defined only as people we like, then it would make it easier to keep this law.

The thought process here calls to mind the Promise Keepers’ bumper sticker that says: “I love my wife.” Well, of course you love your wife, is that anything to boast about? In the Sermon on the Mount Jesus tells us to love our enemies, since even the heathen love their friends. It’s not an accomplishment to love your friends. It seems even less a thing to boast about because you love your wife.

But in the mind of our lawyer, a definition of “neighbor” that includes maybe one’s wife and best friend would be a much easier hoop to jump through than, say loving Saddam Hussein, or Timothy McVeigh, or Adolph Hitler. Somehow, I don’t see the Promise Keepers putting out a bumper sticker that says: “I love Osama bin Laden.” And yet, this is what Jesus tells us is what we are to do. We are to do the impossible.

This is the context of the Parable of the Good Samaritan. The Pharisee sees the law as doable, within reach of himself by his own power. He seeks to “justify himself” using the law as a yardstick of his good conduct, judged by his own standards, and perhaps in comparison with others who seem worse than himself: such as tax collectors and prostitutes. Based on that yardstick, our lawyer is a pretty good guy. Of course, we do the same today. How often do we think: “I’m a pretty good person. I go to church, I more or less obey the laws. I have never killed anyone. I’m not a rapist or homosexual. God has no idea how fortunate he is to have me on his side”?

It’s like the story of the man who buys lumber, only to find it is too short. Taking out his yardstick, the unhappy customer shows the flaw to the carpenter. In response, the carpenter cuts the customer’s yardstick – thus making the yardstick conform to the imperfect lumber.

When we do this, we seek to “justify ourselves.” We turn the Law into a means of salvation, a bar we think we can leap over. In reality, our Lord asks the impossible of us: love your enemies. Be perfect. Don’t even think of doing something sinful. And our Lord tells the lawyer matter-of-factly: “Do this, and you will live.” We can indeed earn our way to heaven by being perfect in thought, word, and deed – all the time, never veering to the left or right, loving all people perfectly.

There really are only three responses we can have to this understanding of God’s Law which demands perfection. First, we can realize it is impossible, become angry at God, and just do whatever we want. Live a completely self-centered life, only to die in despair when it comes to an end. Or, we can follow the pattern of the lawyer in our text: redefine the Law to make it doable, justify ourselves by playing games with what words mean. Put on a pious front, and make a great show of how religious we are. By seeking the praise of men, we can fool ourselves into thinking we can earn our way into God’s graces. But there is a third way: we can understand, like St. Paul in his letter to the Galatians, that the Law condemns us. It is a yardstick that we cannot trim. It is a mirror that shows every blemish. And once we have been exposed, we plead for our lives before the judge. We say “Lord, have mercy” over and over.

The concepts of “mercy” and “neighbor” are difficult to explain and understand, since we are all sinners like our lawyer friend. We naturally want to see the Law as our friend, and not as our prosecutor. So Jesus tells us all a little story.

Like every great author, the Author of Life itself creates meaningful characters. There is the victim, the priest, the Levite, the Samaritan, and the minor characters of the robbers and the innkeeper. The tale opens with a crime scene, a robbery. The victim is “half dead.” He is obviously unable to help himself, nor is he able to do anything at all for anyone who might assist him. He is headed straight for death. The priest and the Levite are both religious professionals. Both of them know the Law, and yet both of them see no connection between what God demands and this bleeding victim. They avoid doing anything to help. Perhaps they cannot see in the Fifth Commandment: “Thou shalt not kill” the reality that life is a gift of God to be nurtured. All they see is a narrow rule not to murder. Perhaps they even “justify themselves” with self-congratulations that they are not robbers, that they did not beat up this man. Good for me! God is so lucky to have me on his side!

The Samaritan is not only a layman, no expert in the law, no “professional church worker,” no pastor, not even a member of the church. Samaritans were treated by the Jews as racially inferior, half-breeds with a confused religious doctrine. Jesus’s character development here is as subtle as a sledge-hammer. The Samaritan “had compassion.” This compassion flows from love – and has nothing to do with self-justification. It has nothing to do with seeing the Law as a series of tests to pass on our way to Heaven. The Samaritan goes to seemingly ridiculous lengths to help this total stranger. He uses his own property for his care, he spends two months of wages to house him, he uses valuable supplies to minister to his health, and even pledges more to the innkeeper should the victim need more time to heal.

Jesus then turns to the lawyer and asks him who is the better neighbor: the priest, the Levite, or the Samaritan. The answer is obvious. The key here is “mercy.” In being merciful, in looking out for others with no desire for anything in return, we keep the law. When we treat others with love, we are not breaking the commandments.

And of course, this parable is an indictment against the Pharisees, against this lawyer, and against all of us. Do we go out of our way to help those in need – even strangers? Do we “pass by on the other side” and congratulate ourselves on how good and pious we are? Do we treat God’s law not as a prosecutor, but rather as a friendly witness?

What Jesus is getting at in this exchange is that the attitude inside trumps the actions of the outside. Good works flow from pure motives. But from evil motives, even works which seem good are really evil. For such deeds pervert the law and seek only to “justify ourselves.”

And so, the law convicts us, shows us our blemishes, and leaves us with only one alternative: to plead for mercy. Once the Law has done its work, the grace of God can take over. For our Lord has come to save the world, not to condemn it. He has come to take away the evil of our hearts, and give us his love so that we can share that love with others. He has come to justify us so that we don’t have to delude ourselves into believing we can justify ourselves.

Jesus himself is truly the Good Samaritan. When he came into the flesh, he was treated as an illegitimate child. He was taunted that “nothing good comes from Nazareth.” He was chided for sharing a table with “tax collectors and sinners.” The Son of Man had no place to lay his head. He was stricken, smitten, and afflicted, and by his stripes we have been healed. Our Lord has had compassion on us, and forgives us all our sins. Our Lord has mercy on us, even as we sing: “Kyrie eleison! Lord, have mercy!” As we have fallen among robbers, into the grips of Satan and our own evil, our Good Lord anoints our broken bodies with the oil of his forgiving love, and cleanses our wounds with the wine of his very own blood. He gives all of his possessions for our care, even his very life. He tells the Innkeeper that no matter the cost for our redemption, he will pay it. His mercy endures forever, as he forgives us even as many as seven-times-seventy times.

And our Lord seeks no payment for what he has done, what he does, and what he will do. But he does tell us: “You go, and do likewise.” When we imitate our Good Samaritan Master, we, the church, as his body, continue his work in the world. We provide the oil and the wine, the mercy and the care, the love and the forgiveness that the entire world hungers and thirsts for. When we love our enemies, it is Christ who loves through us. And when we give up the notion that we can justify ourselves, it is then that we are truly justified. When we stop trimming the yardstick so as to short-change the law, it is then that we are able to appreciate the full measure of God’s love. It is only then that we allow the Lord to apply oil and wine to our wounds, to welcome his payment for our lodging, and accept the eternal hospitality of the Innkeeper.

In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: Sts. Peter and Paul

30 June 2004 at Holy Trinity L. C., Columbia, SC (Vicarage)
Texts: Ezek 34:11-16, 1 Cor 3:16-23, Mark 8:27-35

First Lesson: Ezek 34:11-16

This wonderful message of Good News was delivered by the prophet Ezekiel at the height of bad news. Jerusalem had just fallen. And even worse, the Lord has spoken to Ezekiel a frightening and explicit prophecy that Israel would be laid waste, utterly destroyed, and that this was due to the Lord’s anger against them. The people are crushed, mourning their fallen city and those who defended her.

But in the midst of this suffering, the Lord also gives Ezekiel good news. Though the people will be scattered like sheep, the Lord himself will gather them, shepherd them, feed them, and rescue them. The destruction of the Lord’s judgment will be undone, and they will once again feed on lush grazing land.

Again and again the Lord declares in this passage that he will do the job himself. He will seek the lost. He will bring back the strayed. He will bind up the injured. He will strengthen the weak.

Of course, our Lord Jesus Christ himself fulfills this promise of the Shepherd-God, the divine do-it-yourselfer who himself takes up the pastor’s crook and chases away the wolves of sin, death, and the devil.

It is no accident that this image of the Good Shepherd is of such comfort to the bereaving. For even in death, the Lord himself, the Author of Life, gathers his own sheep to himself - those branded his own by Holy Baptism, those who hear his voice and know him as their Master. For as the Shepherd-king David, the ancestor of our Lord Jesus proclaims: “The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want.” And, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.” For the Good Shepherd’s rod and staff comfort us, as he fills our cups to overflowing with blessings and eternal life, so that we may “dwell in the House of the Lord forever.”

Second Lesson: 1 Cor 3:16-23

In this lesson, our Lord uses the apostle and martyr St. Paul to remind us of the holiness of our bodies. While the Greeks taught that the body was evil, Christians hold the radical view that the body is holy. It is part of creation that our Lord declared “good” in the beginning, and though corrupted by sin, the Christian’s body has been reclaimed and sanctified by baptismal water, and nourished with the holy Body and Blood of our Lord. The body of the Christian is a vessel of holy things. Our bodies are indeed temples of the Holy Spirit, and these same bodies will be resurrected, just as our Lord’s body – still bearing the holy scars of his passion – was raised from the dead.

The sainted apostle Paul further warns us not to put too much stock in human reason. “For wisdom of this world is folly with God.” What the world calls clever, God calls foolishness. And the Lord uses what appears to be weakness and foolishness to accomplish his task of saving the world. As Paul tells us elsewhere, to those who are perishing, the cross is folly. But to those who are being saved, it is wisdom.

We do well to be mindful of this distinction between the nearsighted ways of the world versus the glorious ways of God Almighty. For it’s an easy thing to be trapped into pettiness, or to be wrapped up in the things that are esteemed by this world, but Paul points us to the big picture: “whether Paul or Apollos or Cephas or the world or life or death or the present or the future – all are yours. And you are Christ’s, and Christ is God’s.”

Gospel: Mark 8:27-35

On this holy feast day of the apostles and martyrs Sts. Peter and Paul, we have this passage that shows Peter in two different contexts. In the first part of the passage, Simon Peter makes his bold confession that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God. The other Gospels tell us that at this point, Jesus gives Simon an “attaboy,” giving him the nickname “Peter” – which means “rock man” – and prophesying that upon the rock of his confession, upon the rock of the ministry entrusted to Peter, our Lord would build the Church. For this reason, Peter is considered the chief apostle, and would later be considered the first Bishop of Rome.

However, only a couple verses later, we have our Lord calling Peter “Satan.” This is not a very flattering passage the lectionary committee has selected to honor St. Peter on this day – he, who according to tradition, would be crucified upside down as the penalty for his faithful service to our Lord.

The Lord’s harshness with Peter came as a result of Peter’s refusal to accept the passion and death of our Lord as a necessary part of the divine plan. Peter was relying on his own sense of logic, the wisdom of the world – and criticizing the seemingly “foolish” divine plan of sending Jesus to his cross. Peter was indeed being manipulated by the devil, and Jesus loves him too much to allow it to go unspoken.

For the lives of both Peter and Paul bear witness to our Lord’s words which conclude this Gospel reading: “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake and the gospel’s will save it.”

Sermon: Pentecost 3

20 June 2004 at Holy Trinity L.C., Columbia, SC (Vicarage)
Text: Mark 5:21-43 (RCL)

In the Name of + Jesus. Amen.

Today’s Gospel text finds our Lord interrupted during the course of one miracle in order to work another miracle. Both of these miracles are so intimately related that the Gospel writers, including the evangelist Mark, felt compelled to retain this odd sequence in their accounts, weaving them together in an interlocking series of events.

Both of these miracles demonstrate Jesus’s divinity, his almighty power over life and death, and his mastery over disease. These miracles give us a clear picture of the central mission of our Lord in his earthly ministry – to free those held captive to the frailties of the flesh, and to reverse the ravages of death itself, a mission only God can accomplish. These miracles also demonstrate Jesus the man, a compassionate human being who speaks kindly and lovingly to people who are grieving, who are harassed by fear and imprisoned by death.

Shortly before this couplet of miracles, our Lord has made other demonstrations of his divine work: calming a storm (causing the disciples to ask “who is this, that even the wind and sea obey him?”), exorcising a legion of demons from a possessed man (causing the observers to react with fear of Jesus’s power). And immediately after our text, in which our Lord cures the hemorrhaging woman and raises Jairus’s daughter from her death bed, Jesus goes back home to preach – where he, and his preaching, are rejected.

Miracles such as these provoke strong reactions – either of belief or unbelief. Either people see the miraculous work of our Lord, and believe in him, repent of their sins, and in some cases, give up everything to follow him, or, they react with fear (asking him to leave) or even hostility (forcing him to leave). When confronted with our Lord’s miraculous works – which are never harmful or arbitrary, but rather are helpful and healing – people will respond in one way or the other. Either they are strengthened in their faith, or they are entrenched in their disbelief. Those who are healed are typically grateful and filled with faith, and those who mistakenly believe that they have nothing from which to be healed, usually react with scoffing or violence.

And nothing has changed today. When confronted with the truths of Holy Scripture, when forced into a consideration of Jesus, when visited with disease, death, or the fallout of sin – people will react strongly – and sometimes with violence. Those who understand their plight, their imprisonment by sin, the devil, their own flesh, disease, and death itself – will be forced to consider the person and work of Jesus Christ. Those who do not understand, or who simply reject, the relationship between our broken universe and sin, will push Jesus away and will not accept the free gift of healing and restoration from death.

The two miracles in our text are similar, and yet distinct. The woman who suffers bleeding seeks out Jesus. She has believed in Jesus because of what she has heard. She has heard testimony of Jesus, and she believes in him. In response, her faith moved her to seek out our Lord to pray for healing. The girl’s situation is quite different. She is dead. She is in no position to have faith. She cannot believe based on accounts of the work of Jesus. She is in no position to do anything at all for herself. And yet, our Lord heals both.

In his ongoing ministry through the Church, our Lord heals the adult convert to the faith, who believes because of what he has heard, because of the testimony of our Lord, because of the preaching of the Gospel. And our Lord also heals the child, the infant, who is clearly dead in sin and unable to seek out Jesus. A child at the baptismal font can do nothing for himself, just as Jairus’s daughter couldn’t. Both the baby at the font and the 12-year old girl in our text were granted second births, both were born again in a way beyond their control or will. Jairus’s daughter was in no position to make a decision for Jesus, or accept him as her personal Lord and Savior. All she could do was passively receive his free gift in spite of her own situation. In every infant baptism, our Lord says: “Little child, I say to you, arise.” In fact, every baptism, infant or adult, is a resurrection from the dead.

Although we usually don’t think of the healing of the woman in our text to be a resurrection from the dead, in reality that’s just what it is. Just as surely as Jairus’s daughter was freed from death’s dark bands, the dear woman in our text was likewise liberated from death. She had been bleeding for twelve years, and her condition was growing progressively worse. She could see where this was going. A person’s blood contains a person’s life. The Old Testament confesses that blood is life, and the spilling of blood is the draining away of life. Sacrifices were the spilling of blood as a way to atone, as a way to satisfy the judgment of the Lord when he told Adam and Eve that they would surely die.

As this woman helplessly watched blood issue forth from herself for twelve years, she understood what this meant. Her life was literally draining from her. This can only go on so long before the body will suffocate cell by cell. She has been dying for the same period of time as Jairus’s daughter has been alive.

From the day we are all conceived, our bodies are on a collision course with death. Over the course of time, our cells will begin to malfunction, our organs and joints wear out, our bodies’ abilities to ward off illness diminishes. It has been said that life is a terminal illness. But this is really not the case. Of course, each one of us is on “death row” so to speak, but the problem, the terminal disease, is not life. Life is a gift from God. Life is good. The problem is sin. The problem is the fall of man back in Eden. The problem is that we have exchanged paradise for a damaged universe, swapped a glorious eternal body for a piece of rotting meat. Sin has corrupted the good gift of life – and so we all die – some suddenly, others gradually, cell by cell, perhaps even over the course of a century.

And so it is with the woman who is bleeding. Her date with death is more obvious than it is for most of us. For the most part, we carry on as though we will never die, will never become sick, will never be ravaged by the devil, will never be tempted to doubt. Sometimes it takes a scrape with death, a serious illness, or some other trauma for the Lord to get our attention. As a result of her affliction, the woman in our text has a clarity, a true understanding of her need to have a relationship with Jesus. She seeks out his healing in faith that this power will restore her. She doesn’t understand how it works, she doesn’t even really know if Jesus would want to heal her – but it doesn’t matter. Her faith compels her to take a chance, to seek life. And once the power has emanated from the God-man, it is received into her own body by faith, and the power of the Lord has done its mighty work. Jesus assures her that her faith has made it possible for the Lord’s power to work on her. “Your faith has made you well. Go in peace.”

This restoration is the mission of Jesus in the world. He is the life-giver who re-creates and cleans up the mess we’ve made of the universe.

The example of Jairus’s daughter is even more explicit. She was dead. There was no blood draining out of her – the life was already gone. The funeral procession has already started, with mourners carrying out their grim duties. The girl of twelve, an age at which the flow of blood becomes a natural rhythm in the Lord’s plan of creating new life, lies cold. The remaining blood in her body is motionless and of no use. What a bitter icon to the corrupt, sin-laden universe we inhabit after the fall in Eden – a dead child. As bitter a pill death is when it comes to those who have lived a long, full life, it is unthinkable when death comes to a child. Even the unbelievers who think death is natural, who have been fooled by Satan into believing the lie that death is “just a part of life” or the completion of some pagan “circle of life” – even the most cynical materialist will instinctively gasp when a child dies. The unnaturalness of it slaps us in the face. This is when death is at its most appalling, when Satan is at his most brutal and mocking, laying evil bare before us, tempting us to curse our Lord and to blame God Almighty for the corruption we have brought on ourselves.

And yet, in spite of it all, walking straight through the mocking mourners, in full view of the child’s heartbroken parents, our Lord sets his face like a flint to carry out his Father’s will to give life to this girl. He touches her, and speaks his word to her. The physical Flesh of Jesus and his divine Word do what reason tells us cannot be done: the girl’s dead heart begins to pulse, the blood in her body stirs and begins to course anew, through cells that have been revivified. She awakens from death as though from a nap. Jesus tells her bewildered parents to feed her, to give her the nourishment that every living creature needs to sustain the gift of life.

In these two miracles, the Lord Jesus Christ gives all people – believers and non-believers alike – a glimpse into their own future. We are all, like the woman with the hemorrhage, counting down the days as our corrupted flesh dies, the life ebbing from us day by day, moment by moment. We will all, like Jairus’s daughter, lie lifeless – cold, bloodless, and corrupting. What happens next is in the hands of God – who is not only a Creator, but also a Redeemer. The same God who gave us life and called it good, also gave His life on a Friday we now call “Good.” This sacrifice upon the altar of our world sanctifies all creation. God has reclaimed his own from the Enemy – giving the gift of healing, the gift of faith, the gift of a resurrection, and the gift of life eternal in paradise to every creature. Amazingly, most people are not interested in the gift. They are content to bleed their days away, pushing away the One who can heal and resurrect them with a touch of his Holy Flesh, or a single drop of his Holy Water. Though most people fear death, they are content to call it “natural” and figure there is nothing to be done about it except to try to die with the most toys.

However, those who have been called, redeemed, sanctified, healed, forgiven, and raised from the dead – the members of the holy catholic and apostolic Church, on earth and in heaven – gladly receive the words of our Lord: “Your faith has made you well. Go in peace… I say to you, arise.” And having been revitalized and reborn, our Lord instructs our spiritual fathers to give us something to eat. Our Lord himself feeds us with the eternal Bread of Life, his very Flesh which nourishes us unto eternal life. And just as the life of any living thing is in the blood, our Lord does more than simply wrap a tourniquet around our limbs and stop us from bleeding to death – rather he gives us of his own Blood, giving us his own life as a gift, a gift of life unto eternity.

For we have a far more intimate relationship with Jesus than even the woman and the girl in our text. Whereas they only saw, heard, and touched Jesus, we have the gift of communing with him, of making his Flesh our flesh, and his Blood our blood. Jesus pours the life of the Godhead into us, reversing the unnatural decay of our flesh and the Satanic wasting away of our blood. We too are healed. We too are raised from the dead.

While the world scoffs at us, just as they scoffed at our Lord, we believe. While the world wallows in death and calls it “natural,” we live unto eternity and call death what it really is: “evil.” While our culture can’t make up its mind whether it is anti-life (singing the praises of infanticide and euthanasia) or whether it is terrified of death to the point of ghoulish measures to avoid it (such as cryogenics and ever-increasing and invasive “laws for our own good” to regulate any form of behavior that might be risky) – the Church simply confesses that death has been conquered by God himself, who himself died, and who himself rose again. And this God is also a man, a man who speaks the gentle and yet bombastic words to us as well as to the people in our text: “Your faith has made you well, go in peace… I say to you, arise.” Amen.

In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: Pentecost 2

13 June 2004 at Holy Trinity L.C., Columbia, SC (Vicarage)
Text: Luke 7:36-8:3 (also 2 Sam 11:26-12:10, 13-15; Gal 2:15-21) (RCL)

In the Name of + Jesus. Amen.

In today’s gospel text, Jesus uses a man’s rude behavior as the backdrop to give a lesson on the Christian life. In fact, Jesus sums up all of the doctrines of the Bible by making reference to what we would today call “bankruptcy:” being relieved of one’s debts that one cannot pay.

Jesus’s dinner host is not very gracious. He ignores the basic duties that one should attend to when one has a guest. Today, we might offer a visitor a drink, put out some snacks, and invite them to sit in a comfortable chair. Although the customs of the first century middle east are different than those of twenty-first century America, the idea is still the same. Especially, if one invites a person of honor to one’s home. Jesus is a well-known rabbi, and a polite person would surely see to his comfort – something Simon the Pharisee is lax in doing.

Now, whether Simon is being deliberately rude, or is just a social clod, we don’t know. But Simon’s lack of manners also manifests itself toward the woman in our account. While our text only tells us what he was thinking, one can hardly imagine that his utter distaste for the woman can easily remain hidden. He not only questions Jesus’s standing as a prophet, he also condemns – at least inwardly – the woman’s actions based on her reputation.

So, instead of seeing her devotion to the Lord (a devotion which, by the way, highlights his own failure as a host), Simon sees only her past sins. He judges her worthiness by her former wickedness. Instead of a redeemed and repentant sinner who is filled with love, Simon sees only a sinner, filled with iniquity. He sees her service not as a good and noble work, but rather as hypocrisy. Who does she think she is, and why is this rabbi allowing her to do such things?

Jesus, seeing the irony of the boorish behavior of the “righteous” man versus the loving behavior of the “sinful” woman, takes advantage of this “teachable moment” and tells Simon a story about creditors and debtors. Asked who is most appreciative, a debtor who is forgiven much debt or a debtor who is forgiven little, Simon correctly answers the one forgiven much. Jesus congratulates him: “You have judged rightly.” Simon’s earlier judgmental attitude has given way to sound judgment of a hypothetical accounting matter. Having guided his pupil to the correct conclusion in the abstract, Jesus then applies this logic specifically to matters of sin, redemption, and the Christian life.

Jesus sums up the entire Christian faith – both doctrine and practice – as a matter of debt. This is not the only time our Lord refers to our sins in financial terms. In the Lord’s Prayer, we pray “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who tresspass against us.” These days, we usually use the word “trespass” with regard to property lines. However, the older meaning of the word reflects the original meaning: “debts.” This is why our Bibles normally translate this petition as “forgive us our debts as we have forgiven our debtors.” Our Lord is not referring to our car payments and Visa bills. He is using the word “debt” as a way to express our sins.

We don’t normally describe sin in financial terms – but it’s a beautiful analogy. Having recently finished seminary, I know a little something about debts. I’m sure I’m not alone here. Debt is a powerful and dangerous thing. If not managed, it quickly balloons into a monster that can take over one’s life. When debts grow large enough, they become such a burden that a person may not even be able to pay the interest – thus theoretically making it impossible to ever get out of debt. In former times, a person in such a situation was sent to prison. The only hope of ever leaving debtor’s prison was either the unexpected grace of the creditor in forgiving the debt, or the appearance of a redeemer who would pay the bill on behalf of the prisoner. Without either forgiveness or a redeemer, one would rot away in prison year after year, until dying only to pass on one’s debts to one’s heirs.

In our text, Jesus tells a story of debt forgiveness, and the gratitude and joy that follows such forgiveness. Jesus tells a slightly different and expanded version of this motif in his Parable of the Unforgiving Servant in Matthew 18. In that parable, our Lord presses the analogy further, equating debtor’s prison to hell itself, whence there is no escape, that is, without forgiveness or redemption.

Like our bills, our sins are debts. They compound on one another like interest. They rack up every moment of the day. They hang around our necks like the proverbial albatross. They weigh upon us, and drag us down. Unless discharged, debts can eventually spiral out of control, and become a burden that threatens to send us to debtor’s prison.

But our Lord doesn’t end his discourse on such a note. For what good is it to instruct the Pharisee Simon (as well as the rest of us Pharisees today) about debts and the forgiveness of those debts unless there is a benevolent creditor willing to cancel our bill, a wealthy benefactor with an open checkbook ready to balance our accounts?

Jesus not only alludes to himself as the kind creditor and great redeemer, he makes it happen right in front of his pupil. Speaking to the woman whose debt is beyond her ability to pay, our Lord pronounces the words of absolution: “Your sins are forgiven.” He has paid her tab – not with cash, but with his blood. He has picked up her check, not with a credit card, but with his flesh. He has brought her balance down to zero, not by a balance transfer, but rather by a blessed exchange which was to take place on the cross.

While the other guests at the table ponder Jesus’s authority to give such absolution, while they wonder among themselves who is this man with the power and right to cancel the debts of people who otherwise would be trapped and left without hope, Jesus teaches them something else, something equally important: the woman’s acts of devotion, her kindnesses to Jesus, are not what saves her. Her debts are no more wiped out by her loyalty and kindness any more than our Mastercards are paid by being nice to the collection agent on the phone or promising never to use American Express. The women’s love for Jesus is not what cancels her debt. Rather, our Lord proclaims: “Your faith has saved you. Go in peace.”

Her works – though beautiful and clearly a demonstration of her faith – did not achieve her salvation. They did not forgive her debt. Her love – though genuine and heartfelt – did nothing to wipe out her liability. Her love and her good works were results of her forgiveness. They did not initiate her forgiveness. They did not earn her forgiveness. They did not pay her check. Rather, they grow out of her gratitude, they explode from her as a result of having her debts paid. Her love and her deeds flow from the Gospel, the good news that she will not have to spend a miserable lifetime in a debtor’s prison, she will not have to waste away eternally in hell. Jesus, by his blood and with his word, has stamped her bill “paid in full” and she is filled with joy.

Dear friends, there is no greater expression of the Gospel than today’s text. Every one of us baptized Christians are exactly the same as the sinful woman in our reading. Each one of us has racked up a debt so large that we can’t even begin to pay the interest on the debt. And as St. Paul reminds us in his letter to the Romans: “the wages of sin is death.” But as Paul continues, “the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.” We hear our Lord say those precious words to us every Sunday: “your sins are forgiven.” And of course, we are also just like Simon. In spite of our Lord’s cancellation of our debt, we continue to judge others by their past, even as we ignore our Lord. Instead of anointing our Lord with our tears, how often we treat him as if he isn’t even there. This too is part of that debt that we can never repay, that we can only ask our Lord to forgive.

Christians often struggle with how to approach the Christian life without lapsing into “works righteousness.” In other words, how should we live a life of good works without falling into the trap of taking credit for them? Paul, in our second lesson, reiterates our Lord’s words about faith and salvation: “a person is not justified by works of the law, but by faith in Jesus Christ, so we also have believed in Christ Jesus, in order to be justified by faith in Christ and not by works of the law, because by works of the law no one will be justified.” Emphasizing salvation by grace through faith, and not by works of the law, is a teaching that has always been central for Lutherans. But this is not Luther’s teaching, nor even Paul’s teaching, but rather our Lord’s teaching: “your faith has saved you. Go in peace.”

On the other end of the spectrum is the trap of presuming that since we are sinners and debtors, and since we can’t defeat sin, we may as well give in to sin and treat it as a trifle. Since Jesus died for our sins, sin is really no big deal, nothing to get worked up about. This is a particular danger for Lutherans. If someone calls us to repentance, we may be tempted to ignore our sins and simply take our baptisms for granted. Since we are baptized, since good works don’t save us, we can sin all we want, knowing that all we need to do is receive absolution every Sunday.

Such a diluted and matter-of-fact view of sin is a satanic delusion. In our first lesson, we heard the familiar account of David’s murder and adultery – repugnant and shocking acts which he somehow didn’t even recognize as sinful – until Nathan the prophet told him a parable about a pet lamb. When presented as a hypothetical situation – apart from his own life – David judged wisely, rightly concluding that such sinful behavior deserves nothing less than death. Sin is no trifle, it is deadly serious, and the Lord cannot and will not abide it. It is so serious, in fact, that God took flesh, and gave himself on the cross in order to redeem our debts. As the Lutheran pastor and martyr, the blessed Dietrich Bonhöffer reminded us: grace is free, but it’s not cheap – it cost the life and death of our Lord on the cross. We receive it as a gift – but it’s the most expensive gift in the universe.

In our text, our dear Lord condemns both errors – the error that we are saved by good works and by the law, as well as the error that sin is just no big deal, that our good works aren’t necessary. Just as Jesus makes it clear that salvation that is by faith, he also points out that actions flow from forgiveness. We don’t need bestselling books and slickly-marketed programs to direct us how to live the Christian life. What we need to do is surround ourselves with reminders of the tremendous evil of our sins, the terrifying wrath of God, our helplessness to get out of debt, as well as the indescribable act of love that paid our debts in blood and sealed that forgiveness in baptismal water. We would do well to surround ourselves with crucifixes, in our homes, in our churches, on our persons. Plain crosses are simply not as vivid a reminder. They’re too sterile. We need reminding. We need to eat his Flesh and drink his Blood often. We should regularly confess our sins to our pastors, confronting our own debts, so we can hear them wiped out with our Lord’s words: “your sins are forgiven.” And we do well to make the sign of the cross on ourselves often, as a constant reminder of how our debts were, and are, paid in full. Recalling the Lord’s cross and our baptism is a greater encouragement than all the TV evangelists and “motivational speakers” put together.

The so-called sinful woman in our text provides a model of the Christian life. She is not driven by a purpose, not motivated according to a programmed list of hoops to jump through. Nor is she deterred by what others may think. And although she is overwhelmed by emotion, her feelings are not motivating her deeds. She responds in love with good works out of her overwhelming gratitude for having her huge debt cancelled. It’s that simple.

Dear brothers and sisters, let us revel in our bankruptcy. Let us thank the triune God for the payment of all of our debts, and for springing us from the debtor’s prison of hell that we all deserve. Let us keep the image of our crucified Lord ever before our eyes, that we may be grateful in thought, word, and deed for what our Lord has done for us. And with the cancellation of our debt comes the freedom which enables us to anoint our Lord with the oil of our love and the ointment of our good works, freeing us to join him at table in celebration for all eternity. “Your faith has saved you. Go in peace. Amen.”

In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.