Sermon: Trinity 19

Date: 17 October 2004 at Faith Lutheran Church, Harahan, LA

Text: Luke 17:1-10 (Historic)

In the Name of + Jesus. Amen.

Dear Christians, our Gospel text is quite a lot to swallow. We’re told we can’t do the impossible, and yet we’re told to do the impossible.

Jesus tells us it is “impossible that no offenses should come.” What a powerful statement of original sin! What a harsh way to point out our inability to not sin!

In the early centuries of the church, a famous debate happened between two well-known theologians. They lined up on opposite sides of the question: “Can a person not sin?” On one side of the argument was a very pious, strict, and popular churchman named Pelagius. Upset by the bad conduct of Christians, Pelagius argued in the Latin of his day: “posse not peccare” – it is possible not to sin. On the other side of the debate was a bishop named Augustine – a man who admitted to numerous sins in his life, including the keeping of a mistress outside of wedlock for many years. Augustine’s position was, not surprisingly, “non posse non peccare” – it is not possible not to sin. Their debate has been remembered for centuries, and will always be called to mind by historians long after the names George Bush and John Kerry have been forgotten. For although governments rise and fall, the church will continue unto eternity. And the debate between Augustine and Pelagius touched upon the most central teaching of the Bible, God’s grace.

In the end, Augustine, the great sinner who argued that it is impossible not to sin, won the day. His position was that of the “one holy Christian and apostolic church.” Pelagius, the pious and devout man who claimed it was possible to live a sinless life, was condemned a heretic by the church. His heresy – “Pelagianism” is also known as “works-righteousness.” And it would later be our own Reverend Doctor Martin Luther – a monk of the Augustinian order, followers of St. Augustine – who would point out the church of his day had once-again fallen into the trap of Pelagianism – the belief that one could reach up to God by not sinning.

And the heresy of Pelagiansim continues to plague us. We find it all over so-called “Christian bookstores,” in the lyrics of so-called “contemporary Christian music,” and among respected and revered Christian preachers. This emphasis on our good works, our righteousness, our holiness, and our faith always obscures the work of our Lord, the Gospel. It turns Christians into self-righteous moralizers and hypocrites. It saps the Christian faith of the very thing that saves us: the atoning sacrifice of our Lord. And it reduces Jesus Christ, God in the flesh who became the sacrifice for the sins of the world to the status of a mere great moral teacher. It takes our eyes off of the cross and onto ourselves – with the false hope that our works will impress God. Scripture tells us our so-called righteousness is only “filthy rags” before our Lord.

As much as our flesh would like to believe we have the potential not to sin, the revelation of our Lord himself says otherwise: “It is impossible that no offenses should come.” Non posse non peccare. But our Lord doesn’t say that since it is impossible not to sin, we’re off the hook, we’re not responsible. In fact, he says the opposite: “Woe to him through whom they come.” If you are a sinner, and your sins draw others into sin, our Lord says you would be better off dead. You deserve to have a millstone put around your neck and be tossed into the sea. So, it is not only impossible not to sin, it is impossible to weasel our way out of responsibility for the evil we cause, the sins we induce in others, the destruction we bring about by our own rebellion against God. “Take heed to yourselves,” says our Lord.

And if that weren’t enough, it gets better!

We are ordered by our Lord to forgive anyone who sins against us, even seven times a day. So a person can hurt us, lie about us, steal from us, and make our lives a living hell. They can do this over and over, again and again, and we are to forgive them over and over, again and again – based on nothing more than their claim: “I repent.”

And this is probably the most difficult instruction our Lord has for us. We are to forgive – even if the same person commits the same sin against us time and again. We are not to retaliate, we are not to reply in kind, we are not to carry around hatred. Rather, we are to do as our Lord tells us elsewhere: to turn the other cheek. But even more, we are to forgive them.

The apostles must have been flabbergasted at our Lord’s words. In four verses, Jesus tells us we cannot escape sin, that those who do sin deserve death, and when people sin against us, we are obliged to forgive them in an unlimited manner. It’s no wonder the apostles cry out: “Increase our faith.”

They know they don’t have the kind of faith – in and of themselves – to enable them to live the kind of life our Lord demands. They know whose faith they need - not their own doubting, sin-ridden faith - rather they need true faith: the faith of Jesus.

In our Old Testament lesson, the Prophet Habakkuk asks the age-old question: “Why is evil allowed to persist in the world?” Our Lord responds to him: “The just man, the righteous man, he will live by his faith.” The kind of faith that does overcome evil is the faith of a righteous man. And we know there has only been one truly righteous Man, one truly just Man – and ultimately we know that our faith comes from Him, is grounded in Him, and finds its fulfillment in Him.

And speaking of faith, our Lord compares faith to a mustard seed. To the senses, it doesn’t look like much - but contained in the tiny DNA of the seed is a mighty tree. Faith is often hidden from the eyes, appears weak and not of much consequence. But as our Lord testifies, a tiny seed’s worth of faith can lead to a mighty yield, even miraculous works. And faith’s being packaged this way, like that of a tiny seed, allows men to scatter the seed, sowing faith through the preaching of the Word.

The apostles, who at times seem to have no faith at all, are entrusted to sow these mighty seeds. As the servants, the very slaves of Jesus, they are called to sow faith in the ground of their listeners. And though faith is mighty, though the apostles are given charge of something potent and powerful, the apostles are reminded of what they are: slaves. They are not to take credit for any work that they do. They are not to think of themselves as masters. They are not to seek the praise of the master for simply doing what they are told to do. As pastors sow the seeds in their preaching, they are not to pat themselves on the back and congratulate themselves on their “effectiveness.” They are not to look for success in programs or sing the praise of their own efforts. Rather, they are to give credit where credit is due. And all of the credit is due to our Lord Jesus Christ, who packs the seeds with his own faith. The preacher is only the scatterer of the seed. He is only a parrot who repeats our Lord’s words. He is the humble instrument for the forgiveness of the sins of the world, though he himself is as flawed and as sinful as anyone else.

For the only gift the preacher has that is worth one red cent is not his eloquence, nor his speaking voice, nor any quality of his own. Rather the only gift he has that is worth boasting over doesn’t come from himself at all. It is only the gift given to him at his ordination, the gift of the Holy Spirit handed over to him in spite of himself. Paul mentions this gift in our epistle lesson: “the gift of God which is in you through the laying on of my hands."” This gift, along with the gift of the Christian faith itself that came from Timothy's devout mother and grandmother, are the only gifts the pastor Timothy has that can bring anyone to salvation.

A recent ad in a synodical publication claims that we can, like Martin Luther, make things happen. The ad proclaims: “Luther did it then… You can do it today… we will set the world Ablaze! for Christ.” Of course, Martin Luther would only shake his head in puzzlement if he could read such things today. For Luther said, “I did nothing. And while I slept, or drank Wittenberg beer with my friends Philip and Amsdorf, the Word… did everything.”

Our impressive-sounding words, our catchy slogans, our red-hot programs, our Madison Avenue marketing schemes, and our grandiose boasts are only so much hot air - but the words of our Lord are truly powerful. The words of our Lord make his Body and Blood present with us for eating and drinking. The words of our Lord forgive sins, uprooting even our offenses that seem as tall and permanent as a mulberry tree, and sending them sailing into the sea, drowning them forever. Even demons are obliged to obey the words of our Lord on account of the faith of Jesus – even faith as tiny and seemingly insignificant as a mustard seed.

And so we, like the disciples, must continually pray: “Lord, increase our faith.” Like the disciples, we know “to whom shall we go” – to the one who has “the words of eternal life, alleluia.” While TV preachers prance about and boast of the great deeds attributed to their own so-called powerful faith, we know the nature of true faith. It is a gift. It really isn’t “our” faith at all. It is the faith of Jesus himself. We poor, miserable sinners are faithless of ourselves. In fact, the greatest act of faith is to acknowledge our lack of it, to confess our deficit, and to plead with our Lord for him to give us that which we lack.

And though our Lord responds to our sins by rebuking us with his Law, he also has something else for us. Even when we come before our Lord seven times a day to confess our sins, to repent over and over - we know that our Lord himself does the impossible. Our Lord has the faith that we can only get from him. This faith of Jesus contained in the seed of the Gospel forgives us, over and over, without limit, world without end.

Jesus keeps his promises. He does what he exhorts us to do. Our Lord must forgive us. He is faithful, and he will do it! And the mulberry tree of our sin is ripped out by the roots and hurled headlong into the mighty waters of baptism.

And so the church continues to pray with the apostles: “Lord, increase our faith.” Amen!

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

Sermon: Thursday of Trinity 16

23 September 2004 at Chapel of Lutheran High School, Metairie, LA

Text: Luke 15:1-10

In the Name of + Jesus. Amen.

You might be shocked to find out that the Bible contains fiction.

In fact, the best-selling short-story writer of all time is not Alfred Hitchcock or Stephen King, but rather Jesus of Nazareth. There are 40 short stories credited to our Lord that appear in the Bible – and the Bible is the best-selling book of all time. Jesus’s fiction has been translated into every imaginable language.

Jesus’s works of fiction, though brilliant from a literary standpoint, are much more than good writing. These stories reveal great truths to us about ourselves and about God. These stories are worded so that oftentimes the “wise” of the world miss the point, but the so-called “foolish” of the world understand.

These stories are called “parables,” and they are filled with symbolism.

Last Sunday’s Gospel reading contains two such short shories: The Lost Sheep and the Lost Coin. St. Luke is careful to tell us to whom Jesus tells the stories. There are two groups of listeners in his audience: the tax collectors and sinners group, and the Pharisees and scribes group.

The second group are the religious people. They were the oh-so-pious folks who would never be seen with the “wrong” kind of people (such as the “sinners” in the first group). These religious folks are shocked because Jesus behaves differently: “This man receives sinners and eats with them,” they grumble.

Aware of the two groups listening to him, Jesus tells two stories. The second of the two is the story of the Lost Coin. The Christian life (or as Matthew calls it, the Kingdom of Heaven) is like a woman who loses a coin. This coin is valuable to her, so she seeks after it. She makes use of the flashlight, takes up the carpets, pulls up the seat-cushions of the couch, drags a coat-hanger under the refrigerator, and even runs the vacuum cleaner and sifts through the dusty sweeper-bag. After all that work, you can just imagine her joy to see the glittering silver amid all of the filth. She rescues her coin, washes it off, wipes it with a clean cloth, and gently places it back in the box, and calls up all her friends to announce her good fortune.

Now we might be tempted to think that we are like the woman seeking the coin – the coin being the Kingdom of God. Maybe it’s up to us to rearrange our lives, go over every dirty spot, and work as hard as possible in order to find God. We seek and seek, and only after much striving, do we find him and are rewarded for our labors. But this is not what Jesus means. Rather we are the lost coin. We are the glittering and precious piece of silver that has rolled under the sofa, covered in dirt and dust. And God seeks after us relentlessly, lighting the lamp (as Christ is indeed the Light of the World), and sweeping away the dust in order to pull us safely from the dirt. He smiles at recovering his beloved possession, and rejoices with all of the angels at this, our repentance, our being found and made clean by God himself.

This same conclusion rings true in the first story in our reading. The Good Shepherd discovers one of his flock has wandered away. The lost sheep is in danger. There are wolves waiting to devour him. The shepherd loves his sheep, and is so devoted to them, that he leaves the rest of his flock to seek out and save the lost one, the one who needs him the most. He places the sheep on his shoulders, carries him home, and rejoices with his friends. This is really the same story of God doing whatever he must do to save the lost, to defend every one of us from the Evil One. Even if it means becoming a slaughtered Sheep himself, our Good Shepherd rescues us. And when he finds us, when he brings us back repentant, washed in our baptismal waters, he rejoices with his friends. Jesus invites all of us sinners to a grand feast, an eternal celebration joined by all of the saints and martyrs of all time – all other such lost coins and lost sheep – where they feast with the Good Shepherd for eternity.

And the two groups listening to Jesus’s tales hear very different things. Sinners who hear these parables of Jesus rejoice. For we know that as far away from the flock we have wandered, our Good Shepherd brings us safely home. And no matter how far we have rolled away from the rest of the coins, we know that our Lord will sweep and sweep until he finds us, and puts us back where we belong.

This Jesus who eats with sinners continues to eat with us. He invites us to his table every Sunday to join in the eternal feast, the glorious banquet of the Eucharist. At this banquet, we sing hymns with all the saints, we joyfully pray to the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and we join Jesus at a Holy Table where we will dine with him and with all the angels, rejoicing for eternity.

So, dear sinners, take heart. You are not lost forever, you wandering sheep and hidden coins. For we “poor, miserable sinners” are just the kind of folks Jesus hangs out with. If you’re not a sinner, you don’t need Jesus. If you’re perfect, you can ignore Christ. If you don’t need rescued, than Jesus’s stories make no sense. But like the old Billy Joel song says: “I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints.” For Jesus came for us sinners – not for the so-called righteous. He came for the wandering sheep and the misplaced coin – people who know they are hopeless without their Lord. And we will have an eternity to thank him for all that he has done for us. Thanks be to God. Amen.

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

Sermon: Trinity 15 (Pentecost 16)

19 Sept 2004 at Redeemer L.C., Mandeville, LA

Text: Luke 14:25-33 (3 Year)

In the Name of + Jesus. Amen.

In our Gospel text, Jesus starts off with a large group of listeners. They are all “walking together” along the road, which in the Greek is closely related to our word “synod.” Jesus is enjoying an ideal situation for a synod that is obsessed with numbers, with worship and preaching designed to increase numbers, and various programs put in place to bolster numbers. So Jesus has a growing congregation, and what does he do? Does he entertain them, or tell them what they want to hear? Does he give them a simple message designed to keep the numbers on the upswing? Well, no, he doesn’t exactly do that.

Jesus is one of those preachers that District Presidents lose sleep over. Jesus tells his congregation to hate their families, to hate their own lives, and to bear a cross, or else they are out of the church. He compares being a Christian to being an architect who doesn’t get involved in a project unless he calculates the cost and determines whether or not he can pay it. He further compares the Christian life to being a military strategist, holding off going to battle until one has sufficient might to win the war. Jesus then gives the ultimate stewardship sermon, demanding that his parishioners renounce all possessions as a requirement for church membership.

Of course, such preaching won’t win our Lord a feature article in Lutheran Witness, nor make him a model of the Ablaze program. Furthermore, Jesus’ use of the word “hate” can be troublesome to Christians – many of whom will not even allow their children to use the word as though it were the foulest of four-letter words.

One can just imagine the reaction of Jesus’ congregation to this sermon. One has to wonder if the “great crowds” thinned a little at such harshness. A couple weeks ago, Jesus had similar things to say about division and families – telling us that he, the Prince of Peace, the one who admonished Peter to put away the sword, did not come to bring peace, but a sword. This same Jesus who orders us to love our enemies is now commanding us to hate our parents.

Non-believers point to such passages and call them “contradictions.” They gleefully tell us that the Bible is filled with such “contradictions.” In the Ten Commandments, we are told to honor our parents, only to have Jesus tell us to hate them. In one passage, Jesus tells us his burden is light, and in another he tells us we must take up our cross. We Lutherans cite Paul that we are saved by grace, through faith – and yet Jesus tells us there is a cost of discipleship, a cross that we must bear, possessions that we must renounce, family members we must hate. Again, the scoffers (those referenced by our Old Testament lesson) sit on the sidelines and mock. They tell us our faith is a superstition, that Jesus is a lunatic, and that we Christians can’t decide what we believe.

So, dear Christians, what are we to make of a Jesus whose remarks seem at odds with our own synod, with our own sense of devotion to family, with the world, and with reason itself?

Perhaps the first difficulty of this passage concerns the word translated here as “hate.” This word is very strong in English. It is closely tied to emotional rage, to prejudice, to violence. It is a word that conjures up images of concentration camps and burning crosses. And to complicate matters, “hatred” in Scripture often has this connotation. But there is another sense in which the word is used. It is often used comparatively. In fact, it often means “to love less.” It is a comparative word. It is along the lines of Jesus telling us we cannot serve two masters – one we will love, and the other we will hate. In other words, we can only fear, love, and trust one thing above all else – the rest we will “love less,” we will, by comparison “hate.” And of course, we should “fear, love, and trust in God above all things” – even above our prized worldly possessions, even above our own families. Jesus is speaking here not of a hatred that would do violence and hurls profanity – but rather a “hatred” that places God in a position of priority. And Matthew’s rendering of this same passage confirms this is how Jesus uses the word “hate.” Instead of hating our family members, Matthew writes of not loving our relatives more than God. The “hatred” Jesus speaks of here is a way of emphasizing our love for God, even over and above our families, our property, and our very lives.

And what about this cost of discipleship? How are we to understand the Gospel of salvation by grace alone when Jesus speaks of our bearing the cross? Why must we also be crucified if our Lord’s sacrifice on the cross atoned for all of our sins?

Many of you may be familiar with Dieterich Bonhoeffer. He was a brilliant young German Lutheran pastor and professor who spoke out against the Nazis. He would eventually be martyred while a prisoner of the Nazis only days before the end of World War II. Dr. Bonhoeffer’s most well-known work is called “The Cost of Discipleship.” In this book, he coins the terms “cheap grace” and “costly grace.” Of course, grace doesn’t cost us anything. We Lutherans sometimes use the Latin expression “sola gratia” – by grace alone. This word “gratia” is where the term “gratis” comes from. It means “without charge.” So if grace is, by definition “free,” how can a Lutheran theologian speak of “costly grace”?

The answer is this: “free” does not mean “cheap.” In fact, “free” can mean “costly.” During the recent hurricane, many of us in the New Orleans area evacuated. We could not bring everything with us. We had to determine what was irreplaceable – maybe pictures, heirlooms, things of great value. Certainly, many of our most valuable things didn’t cost us anything. They were given to us by friends, or were willed to us by family members. The most precious things we have are often things we received for nothing, without charge, gratis, by grace. And yet they are not “cheap,” not trifles to be treated frivolously, not things to abandon like a dirty napkin when a storm threatens.

This is how salvation is. It is precious, though free – for us. But it was not free for our Lord. Grace is a gift that is given to us, but was purchased at the ultimate cost – the life of our Lord Jesus Christ. Our free salvation was bought and paid for with the flesh and blood of God. And so this grace, though free, is not cheap. Rather it is costly. Though it is handed to us, his heirs, on a silver platter – though we don’t deserve it – it was indeed earned by the blood, sweat, and tears of our benefactor. And like spoiled rich kids, we often see that which is given to us for free as “cheap.” We don’t appreciate how fortunate we are, how precious the gift of salvation is. We see sin as a trifle, after all, we get forgiven every Sunday – and don’t even need to confess in person to a pastor. We can come again and again to the rail to receive the holy Body and Blood of the Lord and we aren’t required to do anything. Like the playboy grandson or party-girl heir of the business mogul, we enjoy the good life without concern of the cost, the work, the sacrifice that earned the benefits we enjoy.

While our Lord indeed gives us all that he has with no strings attached, we can indeed spurn his good gifts by holding them in contempt. Can a person truly be a Christian without praying? Without reciting the Ten Commandments? Without receiving the Lord’s Body and Blood as often as possible? Without confessing the faith at every opportunity? It’s not that we earn the gift, dear friends, it is a gift. But if we are honest, we must all confess that we take the gift for granted. We “poor miserable sinners” love ourselves, our families, our property and hate the Lord. We fling down our cross and seek to serve the Lord carrying bags of loot instead. We cling to cheap grace and want no part of anything that calls us to repentance, that demands that we make the Lord a priority, that confesses the costliness of grace and our unworthiness as heirs. And, dear friends, this is why we are here. This is why our Lord preaches such an admonition to us. For when we confess these things, our Lord lovingly places the cross back on our backs and bids us to join him once again on the road. As Bonhoeffer puts it, when Christ calls a man, he bids him to come and die.

So what is this cross we bear? According to St. Paul, we share in the Lord’s cross. “I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I that live, but Christ lives in me. And the life I live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God who loved me and gave himself for me.” In sharing our Lord’s cross, we share in his death and resurrection. How does this happen? Must we seek out suffering so we can share our Lord’s burden? Must we become martyrs in order to share in our Lord’s cross and resurrection? St. Paul again preaches: “We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life.”

And this, dear friends, is how we are to “hate” our families, our lives, and our possessions, having a proper priority of God, being able to “fear, love, and trust in God above all things.” This sharing in our Lord’s cross, this living in the newness of life is also a gift, it is also grace, it is also paid for by our Lord’s sacrifice. It is given to us through water and the Word at Holy Baptism. This is the mystery of how our Lord’s burden is light, and yet demands our very lives. This is how we can be heirs who receive everything by grace, for free, and yet we are able to follow our Lord renouncing all that our sinful flesh lusts after. This is how we poor, miserable sinners can indeed love God over and above even our families. We are truly sinful saints, and saintly sinners. We are at the same time dead in sin and alive in Christ. We are certainly unworthy, yet worthy recipients of God’s grace.

For our Lord did indeed do the math for us. As the creator of all things, he indeed “counted the cost” and then paid it with his own body and blood. He did indeed, as a warrior-king, calculate the forces needed to conquer his enemy, and then proceeded to go into battle – without a thought of asking for terms, or seeking peace. Our Lord did indeed come with a sword to make war on sin, death, and the devil – and we unworthy sinners benefit from his warfare.

The truth of the matter is that Jesus has hated his family in obedience to God – even leaving his mother without a Son – and yet loving her enough to give her to John. Jesus did indeed hate his own life in order to save ours – allowing his flesh to be beaten and his blood to be drained, so that his Flesh and Blood could be given to us today. Jesus did renounce all possessions, as the king of the universe to be mocked as a false king, crowned with thorns, and enthroned on a cruel instrument of torture – all so that we might reign with him eternally, sharing in his glory and kingship, sharing with us his ownership of all of heaven and earth for eternity.

So, dear friends, let the synod search in vain for worldly formulas for the Church’s success, let the world mock our faith as a house of cards full of contradictions, and let our own sinful flesh, in league with the devil, argue that we are not worthy. Our Lord says otherwise. And as a result, we heirs with silver spoons in our mouths are free to walk with Jesus, free to give him thanks by serving him, free to let our light shine before men as a testimony to the very Light of the world, free to put all things into proper perspective, knowing that our Lord will tend to our physical needs and will take care of our families. We are free to love him who first loved us – even while we were yet sinners. We are free to revisit our baptismal waters every time we confess our sins and repent. Our Lord takes us by the hand as we walk with him, and he has promised not to let us go. We are his disciples not because we follow him, but rather because he leads us.

Thanks be to God!

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

Sermon: Thursday of Trinity 13 (Pentecost 14)

8 September 2004 at Chapel of Lutheran High School, Metairie, LA

Text: 1 Tim 3:1-16

In the Name of + Jesus. Amen.

This week’s text (which is selected by the Church) once again deals with the ministry.

The Office of the Holy Ministry is in a state of confusion today. Pastors today are expected to be corporate CEOs, therapists, and motivational speakers. They are either admired by the public as great leaders, counselors, or peddlers of positive thinking, or they are derided as self-righteous hypocrites, busy-bodies, or people who only want to rain on everyone else’s parade.

In today’s text, St. Paul the pastor, the bishop, the apostle writes to his fellow pastor and bishop, St. Timothy. Paul explains carefully the qualifications for bishops and deacons. Notice Paul does not say a bishop or deacon must be a “dynamic motivational speaker” with a “revelant message” and a sure-fire way to “do church-growth ministry.” Rather, Paul says a bishop must be a man who has one wife, who oversees and leads his family well, who has a good reputation, does not abuse alcohol, is level-headed, and a good teacher.

Paul does not say that a pastor must be perfect, but rather that he must be respected by the community as a trustworthy person of good reputation.

If pastors are supposed to be CEOs, therapists, and motivational speakers, why should they need to have such a reputation to begin with? In fact, many corporate CEOs are far from faithful to one wife, many therapists are far from being “not given to much wine,” and many successful motivational speakers are colorful figures , hardly the “sober-minded” type.

So why does Paul harp on this reputation thing? It’s because pastors are not there to “run an organization,” nor to “raise levels of self-esteem,” nor to be a “corporate cheerleader,” but rather to be a minister of Jesus Christ, a proclaimer of the Gospel, and a provider of soul-care to redeemed sinners. Yes, the issue, once again, is sin. The pastor’s calling is to identify sin, call the sinner to repentance, and then forgive him. In order to do this, the people must trust the pastor. They must see that the pastor’s conduct reflects his commitment to reject sin and promote the Gospel.

The pastor stands in the place of Christ when he preaches, baptizes, gives out the holy Eucharist, and forgives sins. And our Lord is indeed blameless, the husband of only one wife (that is, his bride the Church), temperate, sober-minded, of good behavior, hospitable, and able to teach. And just as our Lord is all of these things, our Lord’s ministers, his servants, must likewise mirror this image – even if imperfectly. For the pastoral office is not just a “job,” but rather it is a gift from God established by Jesus himself.

The Lutheran confessions put it this way: “That we may obtain this faith, the Ministry of Teaching the Gospel and administering the Sacraments was instituted. For through the Word and Sacraments, as through instruments, the Holy Ghost is given, who works faith, where and when it pleases God…” In other words, through pastors, imperfect men though they are, the Holy Spirit gives faith.

So a pastor has so much more to offer than a get-rich-quick scheme, or a slick program of church growth, or a sure-fire way to win friends and influence people. Rather, pastors offer the forgiveness of sin. They hand out eternal life to everyone in the form of the Gospel. They cleanse the dirty with living water, they give life to the dying with a medicine made of bread and wine, and they open and close the very gates of heaven with the keys entrusted to them by their Lord.

Of course, the world looks on and laughs. All they see is an unimpressive man in a silly robe, saying some words, and tracing a cross in the air. All they see is a wafer and a cup, a splash of water, and a boring sermon. Not very impressive compared with the high-powered preachers we can tune in on the TV any time of day. But what the world does not see are the tens of thousands of angels who rejoice when a person repents, the howling in hell as baptismal water flows over a tiny infant, and the throngs of saints who praise God in our very presence as we partake of a communion with Jesus that transcends the grave.

All of these gifts are given to the pastor – not for his own glory, but rather for him to give away. Just as our Lord gave of his very life for his sheep, so must a bishop likewise see to his own flock. And this is why Paul tells us this “faithful saying: If a man desires the position of a bishop, he desires a good work.”

May our Lord bless the ongoing ministry of bishops and pastors around the world, both now, and unto eternity. For through their “good work” we receive the faith in Jesus Christ that saves us. Amen.

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

Sermon: Trinity 13 (Pentecost 14)

5 September 2004 at Mt. Olive Lutheran Church, Metairie, LA (?)

Text: Luke 13:22-30 (Heb 12:18-24, Is 66:18-23) (3 Year)

In the Name of + Jesus. Amen.

Today’s Gospel reading is scary. Jesus tells us the gateway to heaven is narrow, that many will not find that door. And the fate that awaits them is not pleasant. They will stand outside desperately pounding at the door while Jesus says: “I don’t know you.” He will also say “Go away, you evildoers, to a place where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth.”

Jesus is answering the question as to how many will be saved. At first glance, his answer is not encouraging.

But what does this mean that the door is narrow? Does it mean the chances of us finding it will be small? Does it mean that it won’t accommodate the number of people striving to get through the door? Will there be people in hell who genuinely tried to get through the door, but were forced out? Is this what Jesus means?

To be sure, Jesus’s warning about hell is very true, it is sobering, it causes us to think seriously about sin and about our friends and relatives who are alienated from the Lord, who reject the Gospel. But the narrowness of the door is really of comfort to us Christians. For we know that Jesus is the door. He is our gateway to eternal life. He is our assurance of heaven. The narrowness of that door assures that we are indeed on the right path.

The world is offended at Jesus’s assertion that the door is narrow. The world says there are many paths to God, many doors to heaven, many ways to bridge the gap that separates sinful man from the perfect God. In fact, the world says there are many gods – and your god is right for you, my god is right for me, and no god is better than any other. The world believes the gateway to heaven is wide – big enough to fit all people, regardless of what they believe. The world does not believe there is a place of weeping and gnashing of teeth – except for maybe a dozen dictators and mass murderers. The world believes that mankind is basically good, and that we will all enjoy the afterlife – Christian, Jew, Moslem, Buddhist, Sikh, Wiccan, and Atheist. For the world rejects our Lord Jesus Christ’s description of a narrow door – a door that is Jesus himself. A door that opens in front of the cross, a door that leads to the empty tomb. A door that welcomes guests into an eternal, heavenly banquet. For this door is exclusive, it opens only one way, and it does not open for anyone except those who confess Jesus.

This is the narrowness that our Lord speaks of. The door is narrow because it is Jesus only. And those who grab the doorknobs of other doors find the way locked. They can twist and turn with all their might, but they will never prove strong enough to break the lock. But the door of Christ opens without effort. It is easily opened by a tiny infant at the font. It is opened without exertion by a person on his deathbed, unable to even breathe without help. It is effortlessly opened by the weak and despised of the world who have been forgotten by the strong and powerful. “And behold, some are last who will be first, and some are first who will be last.” In fact, if you try to open the Christ door using your own strength, the door will lock. The harder you try, the more worthless your effort becomes. Only when we depend on the strength which is not our own does the bolt fly open, and the door fling wide, inviting us into paradise.

And the way this door works is also hated by the world. According to them, it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t follow the world’s ways. The world says: “survival of the fittest,” “to the victor goes the spoils,” “he who dies with the most toys wins.” The world admires strength, wealth, being on top. The world despises a door that opens to the newborn, the elderly, the cancer patient, the one who struggles with sin, the average Joe, and even the mass murderer – and yet slams shut in the face of mighty emperors, pampered celebrities, barons of industry, and even the super-religious who rely on their own strength, their own clout, their own connections, their own ability to intimidate. For intimidation has the opposite effect on this door. Because the Door himself says: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” and “For the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men.”

Another peculiar thing about this Door is that it comes knocking to us. While most doors remain passive, waiting for us to open them in our own sweet time, this Door speaks, calls, beckons, and even pleads for us to “strive to enter through the narrow door.” He doesn’t tell us to grope around in the dark looking for the doorknob. Rather, the Door comes right to us, no matter where we are – even if we are where we shouldn’t be.

Christ is the strangest Door in the universe. He is a Door that crosses space and time, allowing a baptismal font to stand in the shadow of the cross. He is the Door that leads from death to life. He is the Door that bypasses sin and leads directly to the throne-room of God. He is the Doorway that opens into the Great Banquet Hall where the eternal feast rages, with unlimited joy.

And for all of the wonders of this Door, whose miracles are offered freely to all, most people don’t care to use it. They seek a window, a fence to climb over, a different door, or they don’t mind staying right where they are. Some people don’t see the need for a door, because a door leads away from where they are. Others maybe see the Door as “too good to be true.” Regardless, they are content to stay in the courtyard of sin and miss out on the celebration of life. Even though remaining outside the banquet hall means exposure to the elements and starvation. Pride prevents many people from entering – although the invitation has been extended and the place at table has been reserved.

But invitations don’t last forever, doors eventually close, and those who reject the host must deal with the results of the prideful refusal of the greatest gift of all. There is no greater insult to a person than to reject an invitation. And those who refuse this invitation spurn God’s only Son, his beloved Son whom the Father sacrificed for the sins of the world. And in refusing this invitation, by their own choosing, they “sit in darkness and in the shadow of death” – a place of “weeping and gnashing of teeth” where “their worm shall not die, their fire shall not be quenched.” A prominent Lutheran theologian observed that God doesn’t send anyone to hell for sins. The sins are all paid for. People send themselves to hell by spurning the invitation to heaven. And pride certainly goeth before the fall.

But what is the Church to make of this Gospel text? Should it frighten us? Should it fill us with doubt about our salvation? Is our Lord scaring us to spur us on to good works, to church attendance, to stewardship, to “getting right with God”? Certainly not! For we have been invited by name to pass through the Door – no matter how narrow, no matter how many others refuse. We have been sealed with the waters of baptism, one little splash of which is powerful enough to quench the fires of hell. We have nothing to fear. Now, our Lord’s sobering words may well encourage us to pray for those who are lost, to bring them to church so that they might hear the Word of God. We should continue to pray to our merciful Lord for the world that rejects the invitation, that seeks wider doors, that wants a door that opens based on the world’s standards. For the days of grace will not extend forever. Once we are safely inside the Banquet Hall, and the eternal meal has begun, those who have chosen to reject the Door will remain outside forever. God doesn’t force his grace on anyone.

So, dear Christian friends, don’t despair! For our Lord is merciful, and he continues to hold the Door to eternal life wide open for those whose invitation has been signed by the cross, sealed by water, and delivered with bread, wine, and his Holy Word. Like the door of Noah’s ark, this Door also protects the Church inside from the destruction that will take place outside. For we will “come from east and west, and from north and south, and recline at table in the kingdom of God” for all eternity – just as we do today. Remember our Lord’s promise that he did not come to the world to condemn the world, but rather to save! The narrowness of that Door should assure us that we are in the right place. There is one way to the banquet, and our weak, feeble hands are holding the doorknob – or more accurately, the doorknob holds us by the hand, refuses to let us go, and pulls us into eternal life. 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 12/Pentecost 13

2 September 2004 at Chapel of Lutheran High School, Metairie, LA

Text: 1 Thess 2:1-20

In the Name of + Jesus. Amen.

St. Paul is writing to his beloved Christians in Thessalonica. He reports that he has been “shamefully treated” in Philippi. The reason for this is Paul’s boldness to preach the Gospel. And this is an amazing thing. Being a pastor is like being the guy who drives the van with a million dollars in prize money and gives it away. When a pastor preaches the Gospel, he gives away God’s free forgiveness of sin. He has nothing but the love of Christ to distribute to anyone who wants it. He doesn’t sell it. He doesn’t give it away with strings attached. He doesn’t cut deals. The preacher tosses the priceless gifts about like a farmer throws seeds. So why would anyone persecute a pastor for preaching the Gospel?

Our sinful flesh hates the Gospel. Why? Because to admit we need the Gospel is to admit our weakness. Instead of receiving charity, we would rather convince ourselves that we have earned God’s favor. Instead of a pastor preaching about our sinfulness that needs forgiving, we would rather our pastor flatter us with compliments. Instead of leaving our salvation in the hands of God, we would rather be in control.

This is why Paul and other preachers who stick to the Gospel of Jesus Christ are “treated shamefully.” But as Paul points out, preachers are “approved by God to be entrusted with the Gospel.” And “so we speak, not to please men, but to please God.” Paul points out that he does not preach in order to flatter, nor out of greed, nor to be glorified by men. Rather, he preaches the Gospel out of genuine love and affection for his hearers. Like a nursing mother, faithful pastors see to the needs of their flocks. They are willing to go even beyond preaching the Gospel, to the very giving of themselves – not for any glory, or money, or approval – but rather out of love. And this love continues to motivate pastors even when it seems their flocks don’t seem to love them in return.

Paul compares his ministry to that of a father caring for his children. This relationship is why pastors have been traditionally called “reverend father.” A father loves his dear children so much that he will correct them when they need it. He will exhort them to be the best they can be. He will encourage them to act in a worthy manner before God. A father doesn't do this for money, or praise, or power. He does it out of love – both love for his children and love of God who has placed him into this vocation.

And as St. Paul reminds us in his letter to the troubled church at Corinth, love always “rejoices in the truth.” Love is not merely emotional, warm-fuzzy feelings, but rather love is faithfulness and integrity. A true father deals with his children as they are, where they are, giving each one the care he or she needs. A true pastor is a theologian who deals with his parishioners as they are, where they are, giving each one the care he or she needs.

A faithful pastor knows when to administer the law – to terrify and motivate those who refuse to repent. And he also knows when to apply the Gospel – to bring comfort and assurance of the love of God to a person who is willing to ask God for help.

And when a pastor preaches the Gospel – the good news that Jesus Christ is God in the flesh, who was crucified for you in order to give you eternal life – he is giving you the Word of God – not the word of men. He is not giving you his own opinions, but rather the unchanging reality that Jesus Christ is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. He is not doing this to please men, but rather to please God who has called him – even when he finds opposition, hatred, or oppression. St. Paul suffered for the Gospel in ways that very few pastors today ever do. And yet he provides the example for being faithful as a preacher, as well as the example for all Christians: to persevere in the faith, to cling to what is true regardless of the cost, and to put our trust in the sure Word of God instead of the fickle opinions of men.

We are not to be people-pleasers, but rather we are to strive to please God. We are called upon to be faithful, motivated by the truth of the Gospel, and not by what is popular or politically correct. The Lord calls us to be willing to take our lumps in order that we may continue to put into practice Christian love, the same love our Lord had for us in going to the cross for us.

May God grant us the grace to persevere, to not lose heart, to always act in faithfulness and love – no matter how shamefully we may be treated as a result. And the grace of God is sufficient for us, through Christ Jesus our Lord. Amen.

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

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.