Lenten Midweek V

Lenten Midweek V

Christian Questions with Their Answers: Our Great Need for the Lord’s Supper[1]

March 29, 2023

Text: Christian Questions 19-20

            I invite the congregation to turn to page 330 in your hymnal as we examine Questions 19-20 of “Christian Questions with Their Answers”…

 

            The Sacrament of the Altar is a gift, but it isn’t only a gift.  It is also a Commandment.  Our Lord Jesus says, “Do this in remembrance of me” (Luke 22:19).  Sometimes our sad sack of flesh has to be reminded that the Lord’s Supper isn’t just an add-on option.  Jesus tells us to do it, so we should do it, according to His institution, and for the purpose for which He has given it.  That is the Law, and it should bring us to repentance for our ungrateful and begrudging reception, or even excluding ourselves from our Lord’s gift, because we think we have something better to do, or whatever the reason may be.  

            More important than the Commandment, though, is the Promise.  It is the Promise that here, by the power of His Almighty Word, the Lord Jesus gives us Himself under bread and wine, His true body, His true blood, given and shed for us for the forgiveness of sins.  To help us.  To strengthen us.  To enliven us for spiritual warfare in our daily life in Christ against our three main enemies: The devil, the world, and our own sinful nature. 

            In short, we need the Sacrament.  It is our own pressing need that should admonish and encourage us to receive the Sacrament frequently, as often as possible, preferably every week, as a matter of first importance.  More important than Sunday brunch.  More important than the big game.  More important than sleeping in or catching up with the laundry.  You need the Lord’s Word preached into your ears.  And you need the Lord’s body and blood delivered into your mouth.  St. Ambrose famously said, “Because I always sin, I always need the medicine.”   And we could add, because your three main enemies will never give it a rest, you always need the Lord Jesus in you to keep you from falling in the battle. 

            Question 20 is my favorite question in all the Questions and Answers.  Here is pastoral Luther at his best, with a gleam in his eye, but applying wisdom to a very common Christian malady.  What should you do if you are unaware of your great need for the Sacrament?  If you have no hunger and thirst for it?  I’ve been a pastor for some time now, and I can tell you, Christians this side of the veil are pretty good at coming up with reasons maybe we don’t need to have the Sacrament so often.  It hasn’t happened in a while, but some have even told me so, to my face.  If we cut out Communion, it would cut the Church service down by half an hour so I could get on with more important things.  Well, I’ve been a Christian for some time now, too, but always on this side of the veil, where we have to contend with the old bag of bones, so I do get it.  I do know where people are coming from.  I confess to you my own most grievous sin, that there are days when even I think to myself, “Can this be over already?  I’m tired, and I’m hungry, and I’m a little grumpy.”  Instead of rejoicing in every soul receiving in their mouth the Bread of Life, the Blood that washes away their sins.  Instead of rejoicing that there is also a place at the Table for me, a miserable beggar, for whom the King has set a Feast.

            It happens to all of us.  We forget our need.  And, by the way, the longer we’re away, the less aware we are.  Like the starving man, so hungry he no longer feels the gnawing hunger pains.  It’s a demonic trick.  But so often it works like a charm.  So, what to do?

            First, Luther says, reach in under your shirt and just check and see…  Are you still flesh and blood?  Yep.  Okay then, let’s remember and believe what the Scriptures say about human flesh and blood this side of the Resurrection.  We had one of the readings today, Galatians 5: “Now the works of the flesh are evident: sexual immorality, impurity, sensuality, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, fits of anger, rivalries, dissensions, divisions, envy, drunkenness, orgies, and things like these” (vv. 19-21; ESV).  Boy, if I’m going to weed out those works, and instead bear the fruit of the Spirit (vv. 22-23), I need Jesus in me.  And then there is what Paul says in Romans 7 about his struggle as a Christian living in the sinful flesh, asking the age-old question, “Why do I keep doing that?”, not doing the things he wants to do, but doing the very things he hates (vv. 15-20).  We can relate.  We can say with Paul, “Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?” (v. 24).  And then we can confess with him, “Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!” (v. 25).  The Lord, who is given us to eat and to drink, right here in the Supper.  He overcomes this body of death, the old Adam, the sinful nature.  He delivers us from the tyranny of our own flesh.  We need the Sacrament for our daily battle against this main enemy. 

            Then, Luther says, just take a look around you and ask yourself, “Am I still in the world?”  Yep.  Sure looks like it.  Let me just check the headlines a minute to be certain.  Oh, sure enough.  All bad news.  Okay then, let’s remember and believe what the Scriptures say about how there will be no lack of sin and trouble in the world.  Again, we had one of the readings this evening, John 15 and 16.  If you are a Christian, the unbelieving world will hate you.  Because it hates Jesus (15:18).  Because the servant is not greater than his Master.  Because you are no longer of the world, and it is clear that you belong to Jesus, and your loyalty is to Jesus, and not to the world.  So you can expect persecution (vv. 19-20).  Indeed, the hour is coming when whoever kills you will think they are doing a good and holy work (16:2).  St. John reminds us in his first epistle that the world, along with its sinful desires is passing away, while the will of God abides forever (1 John 2:17).  He says that the one who has been born of God, which is to say, the one who is baptized, the one who believes that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, that one overcomes the world (5:1-5).  What we need to sustain us in our baptismal life and in the one true faith through all the world’s hatred and persecution, is Christ Himself.  And so He comes to us in His Supper.

            Third (and now, this is no joke…  Luther gets right to the point): You will certainly also have the devil around you, who with his lying and murdering day and night will let you have no peace, within or without.  This is just what the Scriptures say.  In our first reading, St. Peter tells us, “Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour” (1 Peter 5:8).  Jesus teaches us that the devil is a murderer from the beginning, a liar, and the father of lies (John 8:44), and for now, until he is judged, he is the ruler of this world (John 16:11).  St. Paul teaches us that our struggle is not against flesh and blood, “but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places” (Eph. 6:12).  It is the devil who shoots his fiery darts of temptation, affliction, and despair at us (v. 16).  It is he who lays his snares for us (2 Tim. 2:26), to trip us up, and trap us.  So we must be outfitted with the whole armor of God (Eph. 6), clothed with Christ Himself (Gal. 3:27), the Lord Himself in us, to fight the battle for us, and so to win the victory.  And so we have the Supper.

            Luther takes us through essentially the same self-examination with regard to our three  main enemies in the Large Catechism, and there he reminds us: “If you could see how many knives, darts, and arrows are every moment aimed at you [Ephesians 6:16], you would be glad to come to the Sacrament as often as possible.”[2] 

            We should come often to the Sacrament because our Lord commands it.  “Do this,” He says.  We should come because He promises that He, Himself, is bodily present in it, and here feeds us with Himself for the forgiveness of our sins.  We should come because of our fallen flesh, and because we are in the world, and because the devil won’t leave us alone for a moment.  Luther says that if all that fails to convince you of your great need for the Sacrament, you have much bigger problems.  “Then take this advice,” he says, “and have others pray for you.  Do not stop until the stone is removed from your heart [Ezekiel 36:25-26]…  With God’s grace, you may feel your misery more and become hungrier for the Sacrament, especially since the devil doubles his force against you.  He lies in wait for you without resting so that he can seize and destroy you, soul and body.  You are not safe from him for one hour.”[3]

            “We must never think of the Sacrament as something harmful from which we had better flee,” writes the good doctor, “but as a pure, wholesome, comforting remedy that grants salvation and comfort.  It will cure you and give you life both in soul and body… Here in the Sacrament you are to receive from the lips of Christ forgiveness of sin.  It contains and brings with it God’s grace and the Spirit with all His gifts, protection, shelter, and power against death and the devil and all misfortune…  If, therefore, you are heavy laden and feel your weakness”… and I suspect you are and do if you have felt your flesh, and looked around you at the world, and know the devil’s oppression… “then,” says Dr. Luther, “go joyfully to this Sacrament and receive refreshment, comfort, and strength [Matthew 11:28].”[4]

            Beloved in the Lord, these questions and answers are no child’s play.  They help us to examine ourselves, what we know and believe from the Scriptures about God, about our sin, about the saving work of our Lord Jesus Christ, and about His Holy Supper.  Having thus examined ourselves, remembering and proclaiming His death, let us come now to His Table to be filled with all good things.  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son X, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.                

---

[1] This year’s Lenten Midweek meditations make use of the resources at https://resources.lcms.org/worship-planning/worship-suggestions-for-2023-midweek-lenten-services/

[2] LC V:82 (McCain).

[3] Ibid, 83-84.

[4] Ibid, 68, 70, 72.

Fifth Sunday in Lent

Firth Sunday in Lent (A)

March 26, 2023

Text: John 11:1-53

            Our Lord Jesus knows your grief.  He is with you in it, and He weeps with you when you weep.  He knows that, ultimately, all grief results from the tyranny of death.  Everything dies, and everyone dies.  People die.  Beloved pets die.  Dreams die.  Relationships die.  You will die.  And you are dying.  Sickness and pain are just symptoms of the coming physical death.  And of the present spiritual death that is so pervasive in a fallen world, and into which you, yourself, were born as a son or daughter of Adam.  Born spiritually dead.  Headed for physical death, all of us.  And, apart from Christ, eternal death.  And so, grief.  It’s enough to drive God Himself to tears.  Death is not His plan.  It was never His plan.  But here we are, and so… at the tomb of His friend Lazarus, and at the tears of dear Mary and dear Martha… “Jesus wept” (John 11:35; ESV).

            But He isn’t only sympathetic to your tears, or even empathetic, though He is most assuredly those things.  No, you know what Jesus does?  He gets right up in the face of your enemy, death.  Toe to toe.  Eye to eye.  He marches right up to the tomb and commands the stone to be rolled away.  It doesn’t faze Him that there’s a rotting, stinking corpse inside.  Nothing can deter Him.  He marches right up to the carcass.  And He speaks.  He cries out in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out” (v. 43).  And the dead man comes out.  All wrapped up, mind you, in the bonds of death.  So Jesus speaks again, and this is very important.  “Unbind him, and let him go” (v. 44).  Loose him from the bonds of death, and set him free to live.

            Beloved, what Jesus does for Lazarus of Bethany, He does for you.  He knows your grief, and He knows your death, and He weeps with you, and He is “deeply moved in his spirit and greatly troubled” (v. 33).  But He marches right up to all the places death has touched you… all the tombs, graves, and mausoleums; all the shattered dreams and broken relationships; all the sickness and pain, the people you’ve buried, the brokenness in your own body and soul, the sin, the guilt, the humiliation and shame…  He marches right up to the rotting, stinking corpse.  And He speaks.  He cries out in a loud voice, “Dear Christian, come out!”  And that speaking is the life of you.  It happened when Jesus spoke you His own in Holy Baptism.  It happens every time He speaks your sins forgiven in Holy Absolution.  He preaches the life into you every time you hear His Word.  He is doing it right now.  And not just any old life.  His life.  Himself.  The Risen One.  It’s the beginning of the end for death in you.  No longer spiritually dead, and no more threat of eternal death.  And what He does for you now, of course, He will do finally, and fully… bodily… on that Day when He comes again.  He will undo physical death.  Jesus is Life, so death doesn’t stand a chance around Him.  “I am the resurrection and the life,” says Jesus.  “Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die” (vv. 25-26).

            I always marvel at words in the beginning of our Holy Gospel, when Mary and Martha send word to Jesus, “Lord, he whom you love is ill” (v. 3)…  First of all, what a great example of prayer for us all to follow.  The sisters don’t tell Jesus what He needs to do, and how He needs to do it, although we know from the text they have their thoughts on the subject.  But they simply tell Jesus the problem, where it is that death is touching them, and they leave it in His hands.  But the part I marvel at is how John tells us, “Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus.  So, when he heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer in the place where he was” (vv. 5-6; emphasis added).  He loved them, and because He loved them, He didn’t immediately come to their aid.  He waited for the situation to get worse!  What on earth is going on here?

            Well, this does let us in on a little secret about how Jesus operates in response to our prayers and cries for help.  He doesn’t always immediately deliver us.  Sometimes He does.  But often He doesn’t.  But He knows what He is doing, and He always does all things well.  When He delays, it is for the glory of God, so that the Son of God may be glorified through the particular affliction (v. 4).  Now, we don’t have time for a full explanation of this, but in the Gospel of John, the glorification of the Son is specifically His suffering and death on the cross.  In the case of Lazarus, the raising of the dead man leads directly to the Son’s glorification by His murder on the cross: “from that day on they made plans to put him to death” (v. 53).  “We can’t have a guy going around raising the dead, or people will think He is actually the Messiah!  And that will ruin the good thing we have going.”  But in the case of your afflictions, the Son is glorified as you come to know that there is no escape from death’s tyranny apart from Jesus Christ, and Him crucified.

            He delays because he loves you.  If death is any less dire than… well, death… then you can live with it, and you don’t need Jesus.  You certainly don’t need a crucified, dead, and buried, and on the Third Day risen Jesus.  So for your good, and out of love for you, Jesus lets the situation get worse.  He brings you to the very bottom, to the grave.  Because you have to be dead for Jesus to raise you from the dead. 

            You don’t have to understand it when it happens.  Mary and Martha certainly didn’t.  “Lord, if you had been here…” (vv. 21, 32).  But that, also, is a prayer.  It is a lament, like so many of the Psalms.  One of the purposes of the Lord’s delay is to drive you to that kind of prayer.  To drive you to see how utterly dependent you are upon the Lord’s saving presence with you, so that you cry out to Him. 

            And it is to open your ears to the preaching.  We take so much for granted when things are going well, but when the ground is pulled out from under us, all of a sudden, we’re all ears.  He wants us to hear, to listen, to take to heart what He says here: “I AM the resurrection and the life.”  “I AM.  Not your job.  Not your money.  Not the government.  Not your dreams or your loved ones, or even your own health and sense of well-being.  I AM the resurrection and the life.” 

            And it is to lead you to confession of that very thing.  Martha doesn’t understand what Jesus is about to do for her brother, but she does get it right in her confessional response to the Lord’s preaching: “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day” (v. 24).  He will, of course.  This was not Lazarus’ ultimate resurrection from the dead.  Just a sign of it.  Lazarus had to die again.  But anyway, Martha has a right faith and confession that, whatever happens now, at the moment, in terms of this affliction, the ultimate deliverance is yet to come in the resurrection of all flesh.  And Jesus is the One to do it: “I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who is coming into the world” (v. 27).  Jesus delays to bring us to confess that, and in the very face of death. 

            Because He loves you, Jesus delays, so that you’re good and dead, and everyone knows that you stink.  But He never leaves you in death.  Never.  He speaks.  “Dear Christian, come out.  I baptize you into My death, and My life.  I forgive you all your sins.  I take your death away.  I died it.  I’ve come out of it.  Follow Me to resurrection and life everlasting.  Do you doubt?  Here are My death-wounds to prove it.  Take, eat.  Take, drink.  My body, My blood, given and shed for you.”  The answer to all the places where death touches you is the speaking of Jesus Christ.  “Come out.  Come out of the grave.”  And to His called and ordained servants, “Unbind My beloved one.  Loose them from the bonds of death, and set them free to live.”  When He says that, and in all the ways He says it, you have life.

            Now, what you don’t do when Jesus speaks, is stay all snuggled up in your death-shroud in your nice, comfy coffin.  That is, hearing the life-giving Gospel, you don’t hang on to the binding strips of self-righteousness or despair.  You don’t stay swaddled in anger or bitterness toward your neighbor, in lust, or greed, or miserliness.  You don’t hold grudges and you don’t re-break the things Jesus mends.  That is the stuff of death.  It closes your eyes to the Lord’s mercy, shuts your ears to His Word, and wires your jaws shut against prayer, praise, and confession.  That is to say, it makes you a corpse again. 

            No, when Jesus speaks, “Come out,” believe His Word.  And act accordingly.  Come out.  And live!  Live as though you’ll never die again, because you won’t.  Oh, there’s that pesky funeral we have to take care of coming up in a bit, but we’ll use that to proclaim that you aren’t really dead, because you’re not, because Jesus is the resurrection and the life, and anyway, He’ll be raising you bodily very soon.  So, live now, in spite of wherever death touches you, in hope, and peace, and joy.  In the forgiveness of sins.  Forgiveness from God.  Forgiveness for, and from, one another.  And in patient endurance.  The Lord won’t delay long.  The Third Day is coming.  Good Friday has its end.

            By the way, you know why Jesus had to call Lazarus by name to come out of the tomb?  Because if he hadn’t, every corpse within earshot would have come tumbling out of the cemeteries, bones rattling together, clothed with sinews and skin (Ez. 37).  That would have been jumping the gun.  Kind of like the saints who were confused and rose when Jesus died (Matt. 27:52-53).  It’s not quite time for that.  This one is just for Lazarus.  Everybody else, rest a little longer.  Soon.  Soon, it will be your turn.     

            Beloved, Jesus knows your grief, and He weeps with you.  But it is also true that He has defeated death.  He died, and He is risen from the dead.   And so, God will wipe away ever tear from your eyes (Rev. 7:17; 21:4).

            And by eyes, we mean risen ones.  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son X, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.                                 

Lenten Midweek IV

Lenten Midweek IV

Christian Questions with Their Answers: Why Christ Died and Why We Go to the Sacrament[1]

March 22, 2023

Text: Christian Questions 17-18

            I invite the congregation to turn to page 330 in your hymnal as we examine Questions 17-18 of “Christian Questions with Their Answers”…

 

             What could possibly motivate the sinless Son of God to take on human flesh, suffer, and die for poor, miserable sinners, who rejected Him, and murdered Him?

            Love.  Love for His Father.  Love for you and me. 

            “Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13; ESV).  We know this.  It is a rare and precious thing when a person makes such a sacrifice.  “For one will scarcely die for a righteous person—though perhaps for a good person one would dare even to die” (Rom. 5:7).  We rightly honor those who put their lives on the line for our safety and freedom, and especially those who make the ultimate sacrifice.  Our military.  Police officers.  Fire fighters.  The occasional ordinary citizen becomes a hero in a time of crisis.  When a person risks, or gives, his life for another, he hopes that it will be worth it in the grand scheme of things.  That the person he saves is righteous and good.  That saving that person will be for the greater good of society.  Perhaps you remember the scene from the movie, Saving Private Ryan, as Captain Miller lay dying, whispering into the Private’s ear (whom he’d now given his life to save): “Earn this.  Earn it.”  It’s a noble death.  A tremendous sacrifice.  A life given, the Captain hopes, for a man who will be good, and do good.  We get it.  We understand the motivation for such a death.  And we honor it.

            But “God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Rom. 5:8).  Think about that.  As great as the sacrifices are of our heroes, our Lord’s sacrifice is unimaginably greater.  For with Him, there is no “earn this.”  There is no worthiness on our part, for whom the Lord Jesus gives Himself into death.  He is not motivated by any hope that we will make His death “worth it” by being good and doing good.  His sole motivation is love.  Love for God.  Love for us. 

            While we were still sinners.  While we were still at enmity with Him.  In a state of rebellion.  Rejecting Him.  Clothing ourselves in our own fig leaves.  Exiled from Paradise, East of Eden.  For us, who still, even though we are now clothed with Him, believe in Him, and love Him, must constantly be called back from turning away from Him.  And for many who will never receive Him.  For the Church.  For the unbelieving world.  That is God’s love.  That is His sacrifice.  While were still sinners, Christ died for us. 

            The closest we come to such utterly selfless love in ordinary human experience, is the parent who would give anything and everything in love for their child… the husband who would die for his wife… the wife who would sacrifice herself for her husband.  Teachers often have similar instincts toward their students, pastors for their parishioners… any relationship modeled upon the prodigal love of God for His rebellious children.  But all of these are imperfect examples, because they involve sinners, and insofar as they do serve as examples, that is because they flow from God’s love.  “We love because he first loved us” (1 John 4:19).

            But God’s love is perfect, and it flows from the love generated within the Communion of the Holy Trinity.  The Son saves us because He loves His Father, as he says in our Holy Gospel this evening, “I do as the Father has commanded me, so that the world may know that I love the Father” (John 14:31).  It is the Father’s will to save us, and so the Son obeys, for He wills what the Father wills.  And so, the Son Himself loves us, as St. Paul writes in Galatians 2, “the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me” (v. 20).  And again, Ephesians 5, “Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God” (v. 1).  “Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her” (v. 25). 

            The Scriptures bear incalculable testimony to God’s great love for us in sending His Son, and Christ’s own self-sacrificial love for us.  “God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16).  Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his own beloved son, Isaac, is but a picture of this love.  God gives His only-begotten Son, Jesus, into death, in order to rescue us from eternal death, and make us His sons who call upon Him as “Our Father.”   

            But it is hard for us to believe this love.  After all, we know how undeserving we are.  We know what rebels we are.  We know our own hearts and minds, our sins of thought, word, and deed.  And if ever we forget, Satan is right there to remind us.  And so often our brothers and sisters are there to remind us, too. 

            That I may know and believe “that Christ, out of great love, died for my sin” (Question 18), God has given me the Sacrament of our Lord’s true body and blood.  In this world, where my eyes see all that is contrary to God’s Kingdom and my redemption in Christ… where I cannot see Jesus and His victory over sin, death, and the devil… where it appears to my eyes as though the forces of evil have won… where I must live by faith, and not by sight… here, God has given me something tangible.  God’s sure Word becomes accessible to all my senses.  Even as my ears hear the Promise as it comes to pass when His Words are spoken over bread and wine, that these are His very body and blood, given and shed for me, for the forgiveness of my sins… so my eyes behold the elements, and I bow in adoration to His presence.  His body is placed on my tongue, His blood poured out upon my sin-parched lips (LSB 624:6).  I smell the tokens of His grace, taste them, touch them, as I eat and drink them.  Christ comes into me, and becomes one with me in a Holy Communion.  And I literally taste and see that the Lord is good (Psalm 34:8; 1 Peter 2:3).

            And so, His love becomes mine.  Love for God.  Love for my neighbor.  Love for those with whom I am one in this same Holy Communion.  Love for those who are not in this Communion, but for whom I long that they would come into it, into Communion with Jesus Christ, and with us, and so be saved.  And I know, because I’ve tasted it, and I’ve seen it, under bread and wine, that we all live under the grace and mercy of Jesus Christ, who forgives us all our sins.  For He has died for us.  And He is risen.  He lives and He reigns.  And here are the fruits of His cross.  Take, eat.  Take, drink.  God’s great love for sinners in Christ Jesus, given and poured out for you.

            That is why we desire to go to the Sacrament.  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son X, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.           

---

[1] This year’s Lenten Midweek meditations make use of the resources at https://resources.lcms.org/worship-planning/worship-suggestions-for-2023-midweek-lenten-services/

Fourth Sunday in Lent

Fourth Sunday in Lent (A)

March 19, 2023

Text: John 9:1-41

            Blindness to sight, darkness to light.  The miracle in our text is a sign of the grand, cosmic healing and restoration the Lord has come into the world to accomplish.  And it is a sign of the miracle that He does for you.  To heal you and restore you.

            Aside from Jesus, every character in our Holy Gospel this morning is groping in blindness.  Of course, we understand that the man born blind quite literally, physically, can’t see out of his eyeballs.  But that isn’t the worst of it. 

            The disciples are blinded by the theology of Job’s three friends.  If this man is suffering, it must be because he, or perhaps his parents, sinned some grievous sin, and so he deserves this as a punishment from God.  Divine justice.  Divine retribution.

            The neighbors who had seen him before as a beggar aren’t even sure if this is the same guy.  They were blind to him before.  Blind to his value as a human being.  Blind to his need.  Sure, they tossed him a few coins now and then.  Alms are impressive before the eyes of God and others, and most of all, my own eyes.  Alms are also good for easing the conscience and hiding the plight of miserable people, like this blind man, from the eyes of my heart.  Plus, the neighbors are probably also operating on the theology of Job’s three friends.  Why was the man born blind?  Sin.  Maybe his own, in the womb, or foreseen by God.  Maybe his parents’.  But it’s only natural to assume that great suffering is merited by the sin and guilt of the sufferer.

            The Pharisees…  If anyone should see with eyes wide open, it’s them.  Experts in Torah, masters in Holy Scripture.  But they are blinded by their clouded interpretations of the Law, their darkened hearts, and frankly, the lightless rays of their own self-righteousness.  In their zeal for the Sabbath regulations, they are blind to the miracle that has taken place before their very eyes.  In fact, they are worried that the manner of the man’s healing, making mud on the Sabbath, may have broken, not God’s Law in Holy Scripture, but the man-made oral prohibition against kneading dough on the Sabbath... Right?  To make mud with dust and spit, you have to knead them together.  If there’s one thing God would not want, it’s for a blind man to receive sight on the Sabbath at the cost of rubbing one’s hands on the ground!  Blindness.  Utter blindness.

            The man’s parents?  They are blinded by fear.  They don’t want their fellow Church members to think badly of them.  They don’t want to risk being thrown out of the Synagogue.  At least they acknowledge their son, I suppose.  But they also throw him under the bus.  He is of age.  Ask him.  If he’s stupid enough to follow this Jesus character, he’ll have to suffer the consequences himself.  Notice, the parents are willfully blind.  That is what fear does to us.  They cover their own eyes.  They just don’t want to see.  They are afraid to see.

            But Jesus…  the Word of God made flesh, who was with God in the beginning, and who is God (John 1:1-2, 14)… the Word God spoke at creation, “Let there be light,” and there was light (Gen. 1:3; ESV)… the true Light, that gives light to everyone, who was coming into the world (John 1:9)… He comes to open the eyes of the blind (Is. 42:7), and flood His light into every corner, obliterating the darkness (John 1:5).  “As long as I am in the world,” He says, “I am the light of the world” (9:5).

            He comes to the blind man, and it’s probably a good thing the man can’t see what Jesus does next.  It’s pretty gross.  He spits on the ground and makes mud with His saliva.  And then He smears it on the man’s impotent eyes.  What is Jesus doing?  Actually, He is undoing what has gone wrong in His good creation.  This is an act of New Creation.  The man of dust.  Water from Jesus’ mouth.  Water included in God’s command and combined with God’s Word.  A refashioning of the eyes.  “Go and wash in the pool of Siloam” (v. 7), which means, “Sent.”  Jesus is the Sent One.  “Immerse yourself in Me.”  So the man does.  And he comes back seeing!

            It is a tremendous miracle.  But notice that it is only the beginning.  The man hasn’t even seen Jesus yet.  There will be a growth in his sight.  First the eyes are opened by the washing connected with God’s Word.  The lights have been turned on.  From here, the man will progressively come to believe and confess that Jesus is a prophet (v. 17), then a man from God (v. 33), all, mind you, in the face of great pressure and repugnance from the Pharisees.

            But it is only when the man comes face to face with Jesus that the eyes are fully opened.  “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” (v. 35).  “And who is he, sir, that I may believe in him?” (v. 36).  “You have seen him, and it is he who is speaking to you” (v. 37; emphasis added).  This is the greater miracle.  Not just that the eyeballs see images, but that the eyes of faith have been opened.  Jesus speaks it so.  You have seen Him, He says, and so it is, by the same creative Word that fashioned the heavens and the earth.  And the man confesses, “Lord, I believe” (v. 38).  And he worships Him.  No longer blind.  Not physically.  Not spiritually. 

            Jesus has refashioned our eyes and given us sight by washing us in Holy Baptism.  Water included in God’s command and combined with God’s Word.  Water from His mouth.  He has given us His Holy Spirit, and faith that ever looks to Him, to His cross and death for the forgiveness of our sins, to His resurrection for life and salvation. 

            But there is always the danger that we will close our eyes in blindness once again.  It happens whenever we turn our eyes away from Jesus, when we turn our ears away from hearing His Word.  When we listen to the serpent’s temptations.  When we follow the example of the unbelieving world.  When we give way to our own fleshly desires, what we call in theology, “concupiscence.” 

            What are the things we look to that lead us back into the dark abyss?  What are the things that lead us to look away from Jesus?

            The theology of Job’s three friends.  It blinds us to our responsibility for our suffering neighbor.  It blocks out love.  It blocks out compassion.  That guy deserves it.  Or… At least it isn’t me.  Blindness.  Utter blindness.  We don’t see that our fellow human being is precious in the sight of God.  That God created him.  And we don’t see Jesus.  We don’t see Jesus in him.  We don’t see that Jesus died for him. 

            A clouded interpretation of God’s Law.  Reading the Law in such a way that I’m better at keeping it than others, and particularly those who suffer.  Being a stickler for the rules in such a way that there is no place in me for mercy.  In fact, adding my own man-made rules on top of God’s Law, and treating my rules as more important than God’s Law.

            Self-righteousness.  That is the big one.  Self-righteousness appears exceedingly bright to blinded eyes.  But it is really the darkness of self-delusion.  I’m righteous enough within myself, I don’t need Jesus’ righteousness.  Not really.  At least not much of it.   

            Or, despair.  Despair is the mirror image of self-righteousness, and it comes from the same place.  Namely, gauging my merit before God on the basis of my works.  In self-righteousness, I think I’ve done enough good to merit life and salvation.  In despair, I think I’ve done enough bad that God cannot possibly save me. 

            In either case, I’m looking, not at Jesus, but at myself.  And that never ends well.  It always ends in the blindness of the outer darkness, where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth. 

            And then, fear.  Fear causes us to be willfully blind.  Don’t look at Jesus… don’t confess Him… because, if you do, what will other people think?  What will they say?  What will they do to you that will cause you suffering?  Okay, I promise you won’t get thrown out of this Church for it.  But you may be unfriended on Facebook.  Or more seriously, you may be rejected by friends and family members to whom you dare to speak the truth.  And persecution appears to be right around the corner, my friends.  We’ve had it so good, for so long, but we shouldn’t, for that reason, let suffering take us by surprise.  Fear of such things makes us cover our eyes.  Hide under the blankets.  Maybe even under the bed.

            That is why Jesus comes to us.  He continually comes to us, and He speaks.  He speaks our eyes back open again.  Repentance.  Faith.  He gets right up into our face and says, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?  Now, you know who He is.  You have seen Him.  And it is He who is speaking to you.  Eyes and ears on Me.” 

            Beloved, confess the things that tear your eyes away from Jesus.  Those who claim they can see just fine betray their utter blindness.  Those who know they are blind receive new eyes from Jesus.

            Eyes that see what the man born blind saw.  Jesus alone is our healing.  He is the Prophet sent from God.  He is the Son of Man, Messiah, the Son of God.  We believe.  And we worship Him.

            Fixing our eyes on Him, our eyes are now open to others as He sees them.  With eyes full of compassion.  With eyes full of love. 

            And our eyes are now open to ourselves as He sees us.  Sinners forgiven.  Born blind, but who now see.  Created anew.  Washed clean at the pool.  Water from Jesus’ mouth.  Included in God’s Command.  Combined with God’s Word.  “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation.  The old has passed away; behold, the new has come” (2 Cor. 5:17).  “For at one time you were darkness, but now you are light in the Lord… Therefore it says, ‘Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you’” (Eph. 5:8, 14).  Healing you.  Restoring you.  Blindness to sight.  Darkness to light.  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son X, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.     

 

 

 

 

Lenten Midweek III

Lenten Midweek III

Christian Questions with Their Answers: Receiving Christ’s Body and Blood and Proclaiming His Death[1]

March 15, 2023

Text: Christian Questions 13-16

            I invite the congregation to turn to page 329 in your hymnal as we examine Questions 13-16 of “Christian Questions with Their Answers”…

 

            Tonight’s questions with their answers lead us to confess what it is that we receive in the Lord’s Supper, and why we believe we receive it.  And then in so receiving, what it is we are remembering and proclaiming.

            The confession is straightforward and simple.  No Aristotelian philosophical terms about substance and accidents.  No end runs around the plain words of our Lord so as to make Him say the opposite of what He is saying.  No handwringing about how to make this mystery accessible and acceptable to human reason.  Just the bare meaning of the words.  What is this bread in the Supper?  It is the body of Jesus Christ.  What is this wine in the Supper?  It is the blood of Jesus Christ.  What on earth would convince you to believe this?  Jesus says it, and that’s good enough for me.  “Take, eat, this is My body; drink of it, all of you, this is My blood” (Question 14).  In the Lord’s Supper, we eat Christ’s body, and drink His blood.  Because that’s what He says.  His Word makes it so. 

            So that dispenses with the first two questions.  We don’t deny, by the way, that we are eating bread and drinking wine.  But that bread is Christ’s body.  And that wine is Christ’s blood.  Lutherans are not transubstantiationists.  We do not believe the bread changes into Christ’s body, and the wine changes into Christ’s blood.  Nor are we, as we are often accused of being, consubstantiationists.  That theory probably fits Calvinism better than Lutheranism, though the Calvinists probably wouldn’t agree.  The idea in consubstantiation is that, here is the bread, and it is just bread, but along with it in some way, Christ’s body is received.  That works very nicely with Calvin’s idea that the faithful eat the earthly bread, and then, by faith, stretch up to heaven to feed on Christ’s body spiritually (and, by the way, unbelievers, as a result, according to this theory, get nothing but bread, because they don’t have any faith to stretch).  But that’s not what we’re saying.  We’re saying that the “is” in “this is My body; this is My blood,” is essentially an equal sign.  This is bread that is Christ’s body, because He says so.  This is wine that is Christ’s blood, because He says so.  As a result, whether it is or isn’t has nothing to do with my faith (faith receives the benefit, the good, of the Sacrament, but it doesn’t make the Sacrament what it is).  It depends wholly and alone on Christ’s sure Word.  His Word that does what it says.  His Word that makes it so (“Let there be,” and there is).  His Word that cannot lie.  He says it is, and so it is, and that is what the communicant eats and drinks, the believer to his salvation, the unbeliever to his judgment (1 Cor. 11:29).

            Perhaps you’ve heard the colorful story of Luther and Zwingli at the Marburg Colloquy in 1529.  Zwingli and his colleague, Oecolampadius, marshalled their arguments why it is unreasonable to think the communicant is actually, bodily, eating anything other than bread, and drinking anything other than wine, in the Lord’s Supper.  Luther, for his part (with Melanchthon at his side), wrote the words, “hoc est corpus meum,” “This is My body,” in chalk on the table, and covered it with the tablecloth.  And at each of Zwingli’s arguments, Luther would simply lift the tablecloth and point to the words.  On the basis of those words, regardless of reason’s objections, we must believe the bread is Jesus’ body, and the wine His blood.  In spite of all the other things Luther and Zwingli agreed on at the Colloquy, because they could not agree that the Lord’s Supper is what Jesus says it is, Luther sadly concluded, “We are of a different spirit.”  We must hold to the words of our Lord Jesus Christ.  Our reason must be captive to the Word. 

            Now, every time we come to the Sacrament, we are both remembering and proclaiming the Lord’s death for our sins.  As He says, “This do in remembrance of Me,” and as St. Paul says, “as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes” (1 Cor. 11:26; ESV).  Remember and proclaim.  To remember here means so much more than simply to “call to mind.”  In the Scriptures, to remember often means to participate in.  It means to take action.  So, for example, the Passover seder was a memorial meal for the Israelites, which they were to observe throughout their generations in remembrance of the Lord’s great deliverance from Egypt.  When they spoke of the Passover during the seder, they spoke of it as something the LORD did for them, even if they were not yet born at the time of the Exodus.  For in eating the Passover meal, the Passover was really present (a present reality) for them, and they were actually participating in it.  That is what the remembrance was all about.  So it is for us when we eat our Passover Lamb, Jesus Christ, and drink His blood, in the Holy Supper.  We do this in remembrance of Him, which is to say, we actually receive all the benefits of His suffering and death for our sins.  What was done there and then becomes ours here and now.

            And it is a sermon that you are preaching every time you gather here around the altar to eat and drink what the Lord here gives you.  You proclaim the Lord’s death until He comes, Paul says.  That is a profound statement.  When you receive the Lord’s Supper, you are proclaiming that the God who became flesh, conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, who suffered, died, and rose again for you, who ascended into heaven, and who is coming again to judge the living and the dead, has not left you alone as orphans (John 14:18).  He has not abandoned you.  He is, as He promises, with you always until the end of the age (Matt. 28:20).  He comes to you.  Really and truly.  In the flesh.  In the Supper.  He comes, and you can walk right up to Him here, at the altar, right up to the Holy of Holies… because He died for you, the perfect Sacrifice of Atonement for your sins, to take your sins away, and wash you clean, so that you are holy, and may bask in the very presence of God.  That is to proclaim the Lord’s death.  And it is to proclaim that this is now the way Jesus manifests His presence among His people, in His Church, until He comes again visibly and in great glory. 

            You are also proclaiming some other things when you come to the Supper, and we should remember this.  You are proclaiming that no mere creature could make satisfaction for your sins.  Not the bulls and goats and sheep of the Old Testament sacrifices.  Those all pointed forward to THE Sacrifice of Jesus’ body on the altar of the cross.  Nor the satisfactions of mere human beings.  Not even super Christians and saints.  Even Jesus Christ, if He were not true God, could not make satisfaction for our sins by His bodily death.  His death can only count for us, and for the sins of the whole world, because this Man who died is God. 

            And so we proclaim, to ourselves and others, that our sins are so serious that the death of God is demanded to make atonement for us.  We must not underestimate the grievous offense of our sins before God, nor the damnation they merit for us.  We have to be honest with ourselves about who we are apart from Christ… poor, miserable sinners. 

            And this then fills us with all-the-more joy and comfort when we hear that our Lord Jesus Christ, true God and true Man, has come to suffer the damnation our sins deserve, to pay the penalty in full, to free us from our sin and guilt, and to give us eternal life.  And that all of this is ours by faith in Christ.  When we receive the Lord’s Supper, we proclaim this very thing. 

            Now the “you” who eat this bread and so proclaim, is a second person plural.  That is, Paul is saying “y’all eat, and so y’all proclaim” in this verse.  That is to say, this is something you do together.  Your sermon is preached in unity with those who are communing with you.  When you commune at a particular altar, you are proclaiming your “Amen” to the theology taught at that altar.  That is an important thing to remember.  If you cannot say “Amen” to the things that are taught at a particular Church, you should not commune at that altar.  That is not to say they aren’t Christians, but it is to say you are not yet in agreement with them such that you should go to the Lord’s Supper together.  You will, when Jesus comes again and sets everybody straight, and you should pray that this can be the reality now, in this life, by all of us coming to theological agreement on the basis of the Scriptures.  But that is an ideal that isn’t true yet.  So, if you can’t say “Amen” to the theology at a particular altar, don’t commune as if you can.  And in communing at this altar, understand, you are proclaiming your “Amen” to what is taught here.

            And may what is taught here ever be Jesus Christ, true God and true Man, who died for your sins, who is risen from the dead, who is present with you here, giving you His true body and blood under bread and wine, that you ever receive from Him forgiveness of sins, eternal life, and salvation.  When you come to the altar, you remember that.  That is, you participate in that reality.  And you proclaim it. 

            And how do you know it is true?  For one reason, and one reason only.  That is what Jesus says.  And our Lord Jesus Christ, the Truth incarnate, cannot lie.  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son X, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.               

 

           

             

---

[1] This year’s Lenten Midweek meditations make use of the resources at https://resources.lcms.org/worship-planning/worship-suggestions-for-2023-midweek-lenten-services/