Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost

 Video of Service

Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 20A)

September 20, 2026

Text: Matt. 20:1-16

            They were picked first, early in the morning, 6 am.  They went into the Vineyard, and they got to work.  As a matter of fact, they worked twelve hours straight.  They bore the burden of the day, and the scorching heat.  If you’ve ever worked sunrise to sunset on a farm (I haven’t, but I have it on good authority), you have some idea of what that is like.  The dust.  The heat.  The aching muscles.  This was no walk in the park.  

And at first, perhaps, they were relieved when, at 9 am (the third hour), more workers came into the Vineyard.  And again at noon, and 3 pm, and even some more an hour before quitting time.  Because there is this pressure to get as much work done as possible during the daylight hours.  More workers, more to share in the burden.  Although the first workers, naturally, felt they had some seniority.  And humanly speaking, they were right.  

What they forgot, though, is that apart from the grace of the Master who called them, they’d still be standing in the marketplace, idle, unemployed, and probably starving.  Destitute.  These were day laborers.  That meant they had no permanent employment situation.  They came to the marketplace each day, hoping someone would pick them.  This Master came along and hired them all.  He agreed with them for a denarius a day.  And that is just.  A denarius is the typical day’s pay for a laborer.

Now, those who came late to the marketplace received even more grace, it is true.  They’d really missed the boat.  With each succeeding hour it is less and less likely there will be any employment that day.  Maybe that’s the point.  Maybe their heart just wasn’t in it.  Maybe they didn’t really want to work. Still, here comes the Master, and He hires them all.  He calls them into the Vineyard.  Gift.  Grace.

But it’s when the time comes to distribute the wages that things really take an unexpected turn.  Those who worked only one hour?  They are given a full denarius!  They haven’t earned it, and everybody knows it.  Even they, surely, expected far less than a full day’s pay.  Now, this tells us something extraordinary about the Master.  He’s crazy!  He is recklessly generous.  Gracious.  Gratuitously distributing His gifts to those who don’t deserve it.  

Those who worked three hours, six hours, nine hours… same thing!  A full denarius.  A full day’s pay.  Amazing!  And then… those who worked the full twelve hours, backbreaking labor under a hot sun.  Surely the Master  will give us even more.  But what do they get?  A denarius.  A day’s pay.  The wage they agreed to in the beginning.

“It’s not fair!”  What’s not fair?  That you were called into the Vineyard, when otherwise, you would have been left standing in the marketplace, idle all day, hungry and penniless?  That the Master gave you a place and a purpose and a wage you otherwise would not have had?  Yes, you worked harder and longer than the others.  Don’t think that goes unseen.  There will be more work tomorrow, and if you want it, you will have a place here again, and more wages.  You will be well provided.  Perhaps those who came late will show up early, now, too.  They were given more grace, because they needed more grace.  The Master has been exceedingly gracious to one and all.  He didn’t have to hire anyone.  But He did.  He hired you.  Now, if you begrudge Him His generosity… literally, if your eye is evil because He is good… that is, when you see His goodness toward others, you begin to think evil of Him… then fine.  Take what belongs to you, and go.  But you know what belongs to you?  Apart from the Master?  Idleness.  Unemployment.  Destitution.  The denarius will be spent, and then what?  You’ll be left with nothing.  

Well, that’s all great, but how does this apply to us as we hear it today?  The Vineyard is the Kingdom.  The Master is God.  We are the workers, called into the Vineyard by the Holy Spirit in the Gospel.  Some of us were called when we were baptized as babies.  And we never left.  We’ve been here from the first hour, and we’ve served here in the Kingdom all along.  Giving our offering.  Boards and committees.  Ushers.  Sunday School teachers.  You name it.  We’ve done it.  Some of us came later, as youth, or adults.  Maybe we didn’t serve in all those capacities.  Maybe we left and, by God’s grace alone, were called back again in repentance.  Some even came in the eleventh hour.  That is, at life’s end.  Like the thief on the cross.  We shouldn’t count on that, by the way, but we should rejoice when it happens.  One hears the Gospel, and heeds the call, so very late.  And they enter the Vineyard, and do what they can.  But perhaps that isn’t much at this point in their life.  Still, they’re in it.

And to be in it, that’s the point.  Beloved, you don’t want the Master to be fair.  You don’t want God to treat you as you deserve.  The most chilling words in our Holy Gospel are these: “Take what belongs to you and go” (Matt. 20:14; ESV).  What belongs to you?  Apart from the Master?  Sin.  Death.  Eternal condemnation.  “For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Rom. 6:23).  The free gift of God is to be given a place, and a purpose, and a life in His Kingdom.  You don’t want what belongs to you.  You want what belongs to Christ.  You don’t want to be told to take your things and go.  You want to be told to take Jesus’ things and stay.

And the work?  You’re not earning anything by it.  The work, too, is actually a gift of the Master’s grace.  You are given to tend the Vineyard, to steward the Kingdom, like Adam and Eve in Paradise.  You are given to do this in your daily life and vocation, as you live, love, and serve those around you in your areas of responsibility.  And here at Church. Beloved… look what you’ve been given!  In addition to the treasure that is Augustana Lutheran Church, and the Lutheran Church – Missouri Synod, and the holy Christian Church of all times and places… you’ve been given to be a steward of it.  A caretaker.  As though it’s your very own.  Because, in Jesus, it is.

That looks different for every one of us.  A couple of us in the room are pastors.  But there are also elders and council members and Sunday School teachers in our midst.  There are those whose work is to pray for their pastors, and for the Church, for their brothers and sisters in Christ, and for the world (and oh, how we need that!  What a precious and holy work!).  There are those who toil, and those who sing, and those who bring an offering, and those who show mercy and compassion to dear people in need.  And so much more.  Every last one of us has a place.  Every last one of us is given a position from which to steward.  And it is all gift.  It is all grace.  Don’t look with a jealous eye toward somebody else and the grace God has given them.  Never resent a brother or sister in Christ.  Rejoice in them.  Rejoice your common salvation.  Rejoice in the death of Christ that takes away all your sins.  Rejoice in His resurrection from the dead that brings you into His life and Kingdom.  

He built this, right?  He bore the burden of our sin and the heat of God’s wrath.  Behold Him on a Friday afternoon, beaten, bloodied, languishing.  Pierced for our transgressions.  Crushed for our iniquities.  He takes what belongs to us and goes… to the cross.  Water and blood seeping from His sacred body into the accursed ground.  Penetrating the clay.  Hydrating the dust.  Softening the hard heart.  Driving out thorn and thistle.  Enlivening dead seeds so that they sprout.  Roots grown deep.  Life shooting up from the belly of the earth.  The Lord is risen.  Branches now growing from the Vine.  Nourishing sap flowing to the extremities.  Pruning, yes.  The cross touches every branch.  That is, there is suffering to be borne.  But now look.  Blossoms.  Fruit.  Luscious fruit.  Clusters of ripe, juicy grapes.  Overflowing wine.  Christian love.  Faith and hope.  Joy.  Life!

Well… what a gift it is, simply to be here.  You know, the Vineyard, as it is manifested here, in this place… it’s a beautiful thing.  The Gospel preached and heard and believed.  Nourishment from the Altar.  Zeal in witness.  A loving Church Family.  A House (even if it is just a rental at this point).  A Home.  No room for grumbling about what God gives others.  No room to resent those likewise called.  Beloved, whenever you enter this Sanctuary, say this prayer (or one like it): Lord, I’m just thankful to be here.  With everyone else, who is thankful to be here.  Thank You for calling me.  I don’t deserve it.  But Jesus does.  Let me take what belongs to Jesus and stay, for His sake.  And God says to you, “Friend… Yes!  Enter into the joy of your Master.  Welcome Home.”  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son +, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.          

 

Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

 Video of Service

Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 19A)

September 13, 2026

Text: Gen. 50:15-21; Matt. 18:21-35

            They see him coming a long way off.  That dreamer.  Their little brother.  Daddy’s favorite, with his coat of many colors.  Bow down to him?!  Us?!  That’ll be the day!  Resentment.  Jealousy.  Bitterness.  Seething below the surface.  The pressure builds.  Now’s our chance to teach him a lesson.  Let’s kill him!  Or, for now, just cast him down in this pit while we eat our lunch and decide what to do with him.  Oh, here come some Midianite traders.  Let’s sell him to them.  Better than killing him.  Money for us (he owes us, after all).  Chains, servitude for him.  Let’s just see what becomes of this dreamer.

And that’s when Joseph’s hellish nightmare really begins.  The slave market in Egypt.  Potiphar’s wife and her lewd behavior.  Then, allegations, character assassination, and no chance to plead his case.  Once again, cast down into a pit.  Down and down goes Joseph.  Hard time in prison.  A little hope when he interprets some dreams, but his cellmate is ungrateful.  Pharaoh’s cupbearer, restored, but forgetful.  In captivity, a man has a lot of time to think.  And one could hardly blame Joseph if he dwelt long and hard on all the wrong done to him at the hands of his brothers who were supposed to love him.

But now, their fortunes have entirely changed.  Joseph is exalted.  Second in command of all of Egypt.  Administrator of grain in a time of famine.  The cupbearer eventually had remembered Joseph, when Pharaoh was in need of a little dream interpretation.  And when Joseph delivered, Pharaoh raised him up from the pit.  Up and up goes Joseph.  A veritable resurrection from the dead.  Now, who should come along to buy Egyptian grain, but these very brothers?  The ones who, for all practical purposes, had murdered Joseph!  They don’t recognize him.  But he recognizes them!  And now, they need him.  And they bow down to him (Gen. 42:6).  And… you know the story.  You’re all spies!  Bring your youngest brother!  Then, I’ll believe you!  The trips back and forth.  Simeon held captive.  The “stolen cup.”  Joseph puts the brothers through their paces.  He has a little fun at their expense.  That is descriptive, by the way.  Not prescriptive.  That is to say, you shouldn’t do that.  But then, he can stand it no more.  The big revelation.  I am Joseph!  I am your brother!  Weeping.  Embracing.  Come down to Egypt!  Bring my father, Jacob.  I will provide for you and your little ones.

By the time we get to our Old Testament reading for this day (Gen. 50:15-21), Joseph has changed.  He’s grown.  He’s matured.  He’s had time to reflect.  On his life.  On the things that have happened, good and bad, over the course of a lifetime.  Look what God has done… for me, and for all… by means of the wrongs and the suffering I’ve endured.  Egypt and the nations kept alive through famine.  Israel preserved.  And that means the Promise!  The Seed of the Woman.  The Seed of Abraham.  God’s chosen people from whom would come Messiah!  And He certainly has worked all things well for me, thinks the man who rules all Egypt, second only to Pharaoh himself.  Beloved, that kind of perspective comes only… with age, to be sure… but really, with faith.  Looking back from the perspective of faith, and realizing that God really does work all things for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose (Rom. 8:28).  Even evil things.  That He really is merciful.  That He does not deal with us according to our sins, but pours out His grace and gifts upon us.  Not because we are good, or deserve it.  But because He is good.  And He loves us.  

So, when Joseph’s father died, and the brothers… at first, they didn’t even appear themselves, but sent messengers, asking in their father’s name that Joseph really and truly forgive, and not do evil to them… and then, they themselves, bowing to the ground, begging that Joseph not exact vengeance… Joseph weeps.  Why?  Because Joseph has come to understand the Gospel.  For him, and so, for them.  Oh, my dear brothers… Am I in the place of God?  Who am I to withhold forgiveness and demand retribution from you, when my God has been so unimaginably merciful and good to me?  You meant it for evil, that is true.  There is no denying it.  You put me through hell!  But God meant it for good, to bring it about that all these people have been saved!  And, little does Joseph know… saved, not just from famine, but the whole world, saved from sin and death and hell, because, from the nation of Israel… from Joseph’s iniquitous brother, Judah… would be born our dear Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.  

“Lord, how often will my brother sin against me, and I forgive him?” (Matt. 18:21; ESV).

            How often should God forgive you?

            He doesn’t forgive you only seven times, though that would be generous.  He doesn’t forgive you only seventy times seven, though that is particularly magnanimous.  He just keeps forgiving you.  Even when you’re not all that sorry.  Even when you take His love and forgiveness for granted.  Even when you keep doing the same thing, over and over.  He keeps applying the all-sufficient blood and death of Jesus Christ to you, for your forgiveness.  He just keeps covering you over with His mercy.  You live continually in His mercy.  You live continually in light of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ for you, and for all.

            And that, then, is the answer to Peter’s question.  How often shall I forgive?  The answer is always, “one more time.”  Because God just keeps forgiving you.  And who are you, then, not to forgive your neighbor?

            Now, we’re not talking about whether there should be civil penalties for crimes committed.  We’re not talking about whether you will continue to struggle with your feelings toward your neighbor in the aftermath of sin committed against you.  And sometimes, in extreme cases (but only in extreme cases), the boundaries in a relationship have to change. I get that.  You know, forgiveness is messy.  You, essentially, have to die to yourself for the sake of your neighbor in order to do it.  That hurts.  It’s an image of the cross.  Jesus, dying for your sin, and the sins of the whole world.

And it takes practice.  We practice forgiveness as Christians.  Sometimes you think you’ve forgiven a person, and next thing you know, you’re obsessing over the thing you thought you’d forgiven, and you have to forgive that person all over again.  You know what you do when that happens?  Take to yourself the petition: “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.”  We’ll do that again in just a few minutes.  That prayer is forgiveness in action.  Every time you pray it, you’re declaring your neighbor forgiven once again.

            That is what forgiveness is.  The declaration that, even as the blood of Jesus covers all your own sins, so it covers your neighbor’s sins.  Yes, even that neighbor, who committed that sin.  It is the Holy Absolution, flowing from God to you, and from you to your neighbor.  AND (don’t forget), that works the other way, too.  Isn’t it just possible that you’ve also sinned against your neighbor? God’s Absolution also flows from your neighbor to you.

            Who, in this assembly, has sinned against you?  Who in your family?  Who out there?  Today, bring that sin with you to the altar, and plop it down in front of Jesus.  It belongs to Him, anyway.  He bought it, with His own blood, to forgive it.  Plop it down, and leave it there.  Don’t pick it up again.  Instead, receive Him.  His body given, His blood shed, for you and for them.  And then, immediately, go and love that person who sinned against you.  You’re free to do just that.  In Christ.  You can!  

            Like Joseph.  Oh, my brothers.  Oh, my dear, fellow Christians.  Am I in the place of God?  Who am I to hold your sin against you, when God does not hold my sin against me.  Let’s be reconciled.  Let’s love one another.  Let’s care for one another.  We can, because our God has freed us to do just that.  And what we often mean for evil, God works for good.  He does all things well.  He turns all things well.  And so, we all live, every one of us, by mercy.  The mercy of God for us in Jesus Christ.  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son +, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen. 

 

 

Fifteenth Sunday after Penteocst

 Video of Service

Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 18A)

September 6, 2026

Text: Matt. 18:1-20

            What about here, among us, in our congregation?  Who is the greatest in the Kingdom of heaven as it is manifested here, at Augustana?  The answer might surprise you, but it shouldn’t.  What would Jesus say?  What does He say?  It’s the babes in arms.  The ones who cry and coo and fill their diapers.  The ones who don’t really understand what is going on here, but they just receive it without question.  By grace.  By grace alone.  It’s shocking, isn’t it?  The disciples were shocked.  But Jesus even takes one such child and puts him in their midst, and says… not “this child needs to grow up and be like you guys”... but “you have to turn (and that’s the idea of repentance) and become like this child!”  “Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children,” not only are you not the greatest in the Kingdom of heaven, “you will never enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matt. 18:3; ESV).  

            Jesus says a number of provocative things in our Gospel this day, each one of which merits a sermon of its own.  There is the idea of plucking out eyes and sawing of limbs if they lead you to sin.  Suffice it to say, for now, please don’t mutilate yourself, because the point of that whole thing is that it would be better to enter into life maimed, than go into death whole, and even if you started whacking off body parts, guess what you’d still be?  A sinner, because what you really need is a heart transplant, and that is what the Spirit gives you when He brings you to faith in Christ.  

Then, there is the shepherd who leaves the ninety-nine and goes after the one lost sheep.  That’s our Lord Jesus, isn’t it?  And we, hopefully, understand that we are that one lost sheep, and not one of the ninety-nine who supposedly need no repentance.  And when that sheep is found… when a sinner repents… when another lost one is brought to faith in Jesus… every Baptism, every conversion… the Shepherd Himself rejoices, and the angels in heaven rejoice.  

And then, there is the confrontation of the brother who sins against you.  No, not because you just want to tell him off.  That is a sin of pride, beloved.  But because you want to bring him to repentance, and so gain him back for Jesus.  You’re concerned about his salvation.  And so, there is the encounter between you and him alone (and you may do that again and again, by the way, until it’s clear that it will bear no fruit… Matthew 18 is not a checklist to go through until you can be done with your brother).  And then the bringing along of one or two others to beg and plead with your brother to repent.  And if that doesn’t work, the whole Church.  And finally, Church discipline.  Excommunication.  Not as an act of retribution, but an extraordinary act of love, designed to show the sinner just how dangerous his rebellion has become, such that his very salvation is in peril. 

And, finally, the beautiful promises, echoing those we heard a couple weeks ago: The Office of the Keys.  Whatever the Church and her ministers bind on earth is bound… by Jesus Christ… in heaven, and whatever the Church and her ministers loose on earth (which is to say, the forgiveness of sins) is loosed… by Jesus Christ… in heaven.  And when two of us agree on earth about anything we ask, the Father will act.  He will do it, Jesus says.  And, where two or three of us are gathered in Jesus’ Name, there He is.  And, indeed, He is!

A lot in this Gospel.  But I think the most radical idea in all of it is that these little ones, these children, these babies, are the greatest of us all.  Scandalous, isn’t it?  But then, if it upsets you, please remember, Jesus said it, not me.

Who is the greatest in the Kingdom of heaven?  It is not the great saints and heroes of the Bible.  It is not those who seem to be pillars, the ones we consider to be wise, great moral exemplars.  It is not those entrusted with high Church office (be they pope or Synod president).  And it is most certainly not the pastor of this congregation.

Little Hannah, God willing, will be baptized next Sunday, and that is Jesus, once again, putting a child in our midst, in answer to our question.  There are babies in utero, here, for whom we pray, and whom we hope to baptize soon, and little ones who squawk and squirm.  Jesus brought them here, and Jesus puts them in our midst, and they are precious and holy to Him, and so they must be precious and holy to us.  And not only that… we should be like them, Jesus says.  We should emulate them.  Not in squawking and squirming (though, frankly, some of you adults are pretty good at that, too), but in what?  First of all, in unpretentious humility, making no claims for ourselves before God, and under no illusions that we can do anything on our own.  And then, the simple reception of all the things of God, by grace alone.  

That is, little babies are the model of faith.  When you think about it, it makes sense.  Babies have to count on Mom and Dad, and ultimately, God, for everything good.  They just lay there and cry and make a mess until they’re delivered from it.  That’s a pretty good picture of us, isn’t it?  Whether we know it or not, totally dependent on God for all good things.  We can do the bad things ourselves.  But the good must come from Him.

Now, you may ask, how can a baby have faith in God… and, in fact, in Jesus Christ… when that baby doesn’t even know the word, “God,” or the Name, “Jesus”?  Well, do babies believe in Mom?  Of course they do.  Do they know the name, “Mom”?  Do they reason, logically, about Mom?  Of course they do not.  But that isn’t faith.  Faith is not knowledge.  It is not the ability to reason or confess.  It is simply trust.  Dependence.  Baby is happiest with Mom (Dad may be a distant second).  So, if Baby can possess faith in Mom, what does that say about a baptized child’s faith in Jesus?  Of course a baby can believe in Jesus.  

Now, faith is never content with ignorance.  Faith, as it grows, always seeks understanding and clear confession.  And because our babies are a holy trust to us from God, we have a duty to carefully teach them the Name of God, and their Savior, Jesus, and all about Him and His love for them.  So that they grow in that.  And, we should teach them not to squawk and squirm.  And when they do, and especially when they become a distraction to others, we should take them out for teaching (discipline), and then we should bring them right back in again, where they belong, and teach them to participate in the Service.  And everyone else, we have a sacred responsibility to be patient and supportive in that (“See that you do not despise one of these little ones,” Jesus says [v. 10].  Let us all take that to heart!).  But the faith, we want to remain a simple, expectant, joyful reception of all the things of God.  Total dependence.  That’s what we should emulate.  That faith.  Because, as we get older, we have a problem with that.  We start to think we’ve earned our good things, or can acquire them ourselves.  Or, we worry that God is unreliable and leaves us to clean up our own messes, and lift ourselves up by our own boot straps.  Babies know better.  

Now, Jesus gives us a chilling warning, here.  We must not, by our own negligence or obstinance, cause one of these little ones to sin.  Literally, to stumble.  As in, place their faith in peril.  How do we do that?  The number one way is to prevent them from being here.  Parents, you have to bring them.  You have to teach them.  It’s hard, but God has entrusted them to you for this very purpose.  God picked you specifically to be the parents of your children, to raise them in the holy faith of Jesus.  That means Church.  That means Sunday School, and Catechesis, and home devotions, too.  And all of us, we have to support the parents in that.  Pray for them.  Encourage them.  Be patient with them.  Love them.

We can also cause our children to stumble by our own bad example.  Or by placing temptations in our children' s hands (careful, especially, with those devices).  Or failing to protect them from spiritual dangers.  Or leading them away from Christ, and to other gods, be they the gods of what are literally other religions, or simply our own idols (the things we treat as more important than Christ and His Word… We don’t even realize we’re doing that, oftentimes, but children catch it every time).  What does Jesus say about causing children to stumble in this way?  It would be better to have a millstone hung around your neck, and be drowned in the depths of the sea (v. 6).  Christ, have mercy.  (He does.)

But we are not alone in this, in our responsibility toward the children.  What beautiful Promise does Jesus give us, even in the midst of His warnings?  I love this.  Their angels always see the face of my Father in heaven (v. 10).  That is, we have the help of the holy angels (and we get the teaching of guardian angels from this verse… whatever that looks like.  Mighty angels guard us and our children).  And, we have the help of the heavenly Father Himself, whose face the angels see, and who loves our children… and this is unimaginable, but also exceedingly comforting… who loves our children even more than we do.  Infinitely more than we do.              

            What should we take home from this?  Beloved, bring your children always and ever into the saving presence of the One who became a Child for them… and for you.  Bring them to Church.  Bring them to the gifts of Christ.  Bring them into the hearing of the Lord’s Word, and to encounter Him in His Sacraments.  Teach them Jesus.  Give them Jesus.  And everybody else, do the same thing.  These children… they are the greatest in the Kingdom in this place.  We should be like them.  Receiving Christ like them.  With faith like theirs.  In the Image of THE Greatest in the Kingdom of heaven.  The Christ Child.  Who loves us, became one of us, suffered and died for us, is risen, and lives, and reigns for us… who, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, is one God, now and forever.  Amen.  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son +, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.