Lenten Midweek IV

Lenten Midweek IV: “We Love Because He First Loved Us”

April 2, 2025

Text: 1 John 4:17-21

            “(P)erfect love casts out fear” (1 John 4:18; ESV).  Well, that’s just great!  If I could only have perfect love, I would no longer have anything to fear.  We know that, in and of ourselves, the quest for perfection when it comes to loving God, or our neighbors, is unattainable.  So… what do we do with this?

            Well, the first thing to say about it is, I’m not so sure “perfect” is the best translation of the Greek word in this context.  The word is τελεία, the same root as the word Jesus says from the cross in our Holy Gospel, Τετέλεσται, “It is finished” (John 19:30).  Though “perfect” is certainly a fine translation of the word in general, the idea here is “complete,” “full-grown,” “accomplished,” or perhaps best here, “having reached its goal.”  I suppose, in some sense, all of these come into play.  But at the end of the day, the love we have in view here is a love that has come into its fulness. 

            The second insight that will help us is theological, and it is the insight given to Luther that blew the doors open for the Reformation.  It is this: What God demands of us, He gives to us, perfectly, completely, in all its fulness, freely, in Christ Jesus.  He demands righteousness.  We don’t have it.  But Jesus does.  And Jesus’ righteousness is given to us freely in His Word and Sacraments, and we receive it, not by our works, but by faith in Christ.  Christ’s righteousness is our righteousness.  And it is that which makes us righteous in God’s sight.  So it is with other things God demands: the work of God: “that is, what God works in us; the power of God, by which he makes us powerful; the wisdom of God, by which he makes us wise; the strength of God, the salvation of God, the glory of God.”[1]  Etc.  And so it is with perfect love.  It is the love with which God loves us.  And then (as a result) makes us loving.

            So where does love come into all its fulness, achieve its goal, its telos, τελεία?  In the Τετέλεσται of Christ.  The cross.  Jesus’ death for sinners, for you, and for me.  That is perfect love in every sense of the word.  And it is that love that casts out fear: The love of Christ for us, having reached its goal in His sacrificial and sin-atoning death for our forgiveness, life, and salvation.

            Now, it casts out fear, because fear has to do with punishment (1 John 4:18).  Think of the things you fear.  You know what they are, your fears?  They are symptoms, microcosms, of your true Fear with a capital F: Fear of God’s Judgment.  Fear of God’s condemnation (eternal death and hell).  Fear that God will reject you and abandon you.  You may not even be conscious of this.  In fact, you probably aren’t.  But think about it a minute.  Think about what causes you anxiety and dread.  Physical death?  Just one component of spiritual and eternal death.  Pain (physical, mental, or emotional)?  An appetizer of eternal suffering apart from God’s gracious care and protection.  Loneliness?  You are only truly alone if God abandons you.  Rejection?  If God is for you, who can be against you?  But then, what if God is not for me?  Unemployment?  Foreclosure?  Destitution?  Social chaos?  Or tyranny?  Again, all a foretaste of eternal punishment.  Fear has to do with punishment. 

            But Jesus has taken your punishment upon Himself.  He has suffered to take away all your sin and guilt.  And as a result, the things we fear in this life lose their teeth.  It isn’t to say they don’t hurt when we suffer them, but it is to say, that suffering is only temporary.  There is a happy ending, and that happy ending is eternal.  We know the end of sufferings, the end of our fears, because Christ, who died for us, is risen from the dead.  He loves us with a perfect love, a love that has reached its goal.  So He won’t forsake us now.  As He is risen, He will raise us.             

            And so, we have confidence in the Day of Judgment, John says.  Because as He is, so are we (v. 17).  That is, we are in Him.  He is in us.  He covers us with His righteousness.  He envelopes us in His love.  So we already know the verdict on Judgment Day.  We hear it every time the Holy Absolution is pronounced.  What is that verdict?  Forgiven.  Innocent.  Righteous on account of Christ.  This is justification and restoration to God.  Then, He fills us with His righteousness.  He fills us with His love.  He fills us with His Holy Spirit.  He does this by Baptism, Word, and Supper.  And that righteousness, and that love, then overflow in us in the form of the fruits of the Spirit, so that we love our neighbor with righteous works that help and support him and provide for his needs.  This is sanctification, the beginning to do according to who we are in Christ.  Doing as He does.  Loving as He loves, with His own love for us.

            John sums this whole thing up for us in these words: “We love because he first loved us” (v. 19).  That is, we are in His perfect love.  Therefore we love.  Now, needless to say, being filled with God’s love, God having justified us and saved us in Christ from all that we fear, we love God.  We love Jesus Christ, His Son.  But God has a very particular way for us to love Him.  That is, by loving our neighbor.  We love the One we cannot see, by loving those around us.  Our families.  Our brothers and sisters here in this congregation.  John is getting at a very practical concern, here.  It’s easy to say, “I love God,” when all I can do is receive from Him.  I can’t give anything to Him.  By definition, God already has everything He needs.  All things belong to Him.  I can’t help Him.  He helps me.  He is my Help.  I can’t even see Him, so it’s all just theoretical and abstract at this point.  But if I say “I love God,” there is a way for me to show it.  Love is action, remember, not mere feeling or emotion.  So, I can act for my neighbor.  And I don’t mean my theoretical neighbor.  I mean, look around you.  These are the faces of the people you are given, by God, to love.  Act for them.  Give to them.  Help them.  Sacrifice for them.  If you don’t love them, you are a liar when you say “I love God.”  That’s what He says here.  We all struggle with this, but… repent of it.  Turn around from it.  Change your mind about it.  Do not despise your brothers and sisters in Christ.  Love them.  Decide on it.  Act on it.    

            And it’s not as though you have to dig deep down within yourself to drum up some love for these people by your own resources.  Repent of that thought, too, because, in that case, you’re back to relying on your own works, and living once again in the economy of Fear.  No, remember, who are you?  Who are you in Christ, baptized into Christ?  You are one immersed in His love.  Covered by His love.  Hidden in the depths of His love.  And His love is in you.  To the overflowing.  Don’t look deep in you so you can love your neighbor.  Look deep into Christ.  Look at the Τετέλεσται.  Look at the cross, Christ crucified for you, loving you to death… Christ, risen from the dead, living and reigning and loving you unto your eternal life. 

            And then realize His love puts you in a specific place and time, in a specific set of circumstances, to love the real, flesh and blood people around you.  His love puts you in relationship.  Again, we see this in our Gospel.  Just before He pronounces His Τετέλεσται, declares the whole work of atonement finished, complete, in all its fulness, what does He do?  He looks upon the disciple whom He loves, St. John, and on His beloved mother, Mary.  And he puts them in relationship.  “Woman, behold, your son!” (John 19:26).  “Behold, your mother!” (v. 27).  And from that very hour, John takes Mary into his home, and they actively love one another.  That is, they care for each other. 

            Now, here you are, beloved, and understand, you are the disciple whom Jesus loves.  He looks at you.  Then He looks at His Church.  And He says to His Church, “Woman, behold, your son… your daughter!”  And He says to you, “Behold, your mother!”  Love her.  And love your brothers and sisters who are born of her. 

            All of which is simply to say, live in God’s perfect love for you, which casts out fear.  Live in Christ Jesus, and in His Τετέλεσται.  When our Lord gives us His new command, that we love one another as He has loved us (John 13:34), He is simply bidding us to live in this reality.  His love.  His sacrifice for us.  His resurrection life for us.  Live in that, beloved.  How?  Faith toward God.  Fervent love toward one another.  Under the cross.  By this is love perfected (τετελείωται) in us (1 John 4:17).  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son X, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

 

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[1] https://www.gottesdienst.org/gottesblog/2020/10/30/luthers-tower-experience

Fourth Sunday in Lent

Fourth Sunday in Lent (C)

March 30, 2025

Text: Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

            This parable is not about the son, but about the father for the son, or even better, for his sons.  We call this parable “The Prodigal Son,” but it would be more appropriate to call it “The Prodigal Father.”  “Prodigal” means reckless, wasteful, or extravagant… which, to be sure, describes the younger son’s behavior and disposal of his inheritance.  But even more, it describes the behavior of the father toward his sons.  Yes, his sons.  Let me explain.

            First, we should note, the father character represents God.  The younger son, of course, is the reckless sinner… like the tax collectors and prostitutes Jesus is always hanging around, the sinners who draw near to Jesus, whom He receives, and with whom He eats.  Ah, but the older son… he represents those who grumble about Jesus receiving sinners and eating with them.  He represents those who think they are righteous and need no repentance.  Specifically in our text, he represents the Pharisees and scribes, the Jewish religious establishment.  But we could also say that he represents the “good Christian folk” who always maintain an outward piety and respectability, who outwardly obey God’s Commandments (which is good, by the way), but who inwardly resent God’s mercy toward obvious sinners.

            Toward both sons, in his great love and mercy, the father in this parable, is prodigal.

            Behold the prodigality of the father toward his reckless son.  You have to understand what this son is saying to his father.  When he asks for his share of the inheritance, he is essentially saying to his father, "I wish you’d drop dead!  I want my money now.  I want to live for myself.  And I don’t want you around to spoil it for me.”  Now, what would any parent in their right mind say in response?  “Listen here, Sonny!  I can just as easily write you out of the inheritance.  You want to know what it’s like to live without me?  We can make that happen.  Take a hike, Junior!”  And by the way, the whole community, not to mention everybody gathered here this morning, would have stood up and cheered! 

            But that’s not what the father does.  No, no.  He’s prodigal, reckless.  If we didn’t know he represents God in the story, we might even be tempted to call him foolish.  He gives the son what he wants.  And hang on to this until we get to the older son: He doesn’t just give the younger son his share.  He divides the property between the sons.  Both of them.  Assuming there were only the two, 1/3 of the property would have gone to the reckless and despicable younger son, 2/3 to the older and “responsible” son, for according to custom, the oldest boy gets twice as much inheritance as everybody else. 

            Well, we know what the younger son is going to do.  We could have told the father this would happen.  The good-for-nothing so and so gathers up all his ill-gotten gains and sets out on a journey to a far-off country.  As far away from his father and his goody-two-shoes brother as he can get.  A self-imposed exile.  You know, like sinners who turn their back on God, gather up as many of His gifts as they can from this life, and run as far away from Him as possible.  And he squanders it all in reckless, prodigal living. 

            But what is the father doing all this time?  He’s waiting.  He’s watching.  He’s praying.  He’s hoping against hope.  He’s loving his estranged son.  Maybe some of you parents can relate to this father.  Maybe your children have made some prodigal decisions about their lives.  Maybe they’ve gone astray, wandered various distances from you, and from God.  Maybe they’ve wandered very far away.  Here is a Scripture that can be of great comfort to you.  Be like this father.  Wait.  Watch.  Pray.  Love.  Hope.  Speak the truth, yes, of course.  But remember, God’s Word is not only Law, but Law and Gospel.  And the Gospel must predominate.  Wait on the Lord.  Wait and watch.  Pray for the child’s repentance.  Be ever ready to forgive and restore.  To speak words of grace and mercy.  And no matter what, keep loving.

            That is all this earthly father does to this point, to bring back his younger son.  What else can he do?  But the heavenly Father is working His work.  He is bringing this prodigal son to the end of himself.  To rock bottom.  All his resources stripped away by his own sin.  He finds himself where no good Jewish boy ought to be.  Working for Gentiles.  Feeding unclean pigs.  Starving.  In the midst of a famine.  Longing to be fed with pods from the pig slop.

            And now the beginning of the turn.  Just the beginning.  But it is a beginning.  I’ll go back to my father.  I’ll make a great show of repentance.  I’ll confess that I’ve sinned against heaven and before you, Dad.  I’m no longer worthy to be called your son.  Make me as one of you hired servants.  It will be a humiliation.  But at least I’ll be warm and well-fed.  And I can pay off my sin over time.  This, by the way, is the kind of repentance Pharisees and “good Christian folk” can respect.  Works of satisfaction.  Salvation that is earned.  So, the boy sets out for home.

            And there is the father, waiting, watching, praying, and loving.  And then…  Could it be?  It must be.  It is!  It’s my boy!  And note this: While the younger son is still a long way off… in physical distance, yes.  But we know his heart is still a long way off, thinking he will come and work off his sins, bribe the old man to take him in… While he is still a long way off, the father has compassion… before the son can even confess!  Before he can even begin to beg forgiveness!  Before the father even knows the son is sorry…  the father has compassion, and he runs, and he embraces his long-lost son.  What recklessness!  What prodigality!  No self-respecting man in the ancient world (or even the Middle East today), especially a man of means, ever, for any reason, runs.  To do that, he’d have to hike up his robes.  That would be like showing his underpants in public.  And to embrace this… rebellious, good-for-nothing, so and so?  It’s an embarrassment!  All the onlookers are scandalized. 

            But the father is more prodigal yet!  The son begins his confession: I have sinned against heaven and before you.  I am no longer worthy to be called your son.  Yes.  True.  That is what God has shown you in His Law.  But the father cuts him off there.  None of this “hired servant” business.  None of this “I’ll work it off” nonsense.  Quick!  Bring him a change of clothes.  (And frankly, he could do with a bath.  The boy smells like a pigsty!)  Put the best robe on him.  Put a ring on his hand.  The family signet ring.  I’m giving him access to the checkbook again.  And for goodness’ sake, get him some shoes so he can walk home.  Prodigal.  Reckless.  But there is even more extravagance.  Slaughter the fattened calf!  (There are only two reasons you would slaughter the fattened calf, by the way: 1. If the King is coming to your home for a visit, or 2. If the first-born is getting married.  So… talk about prodigality!)  For this, my son, was dead, and is alive again.  He was lost, and is found.  He's back in my home, and in my arms.  My son.  My son.  And at the father’s mercy, by his grace alone, the turn is complete.  The repentance is true.  The son is forgiven.  The son is restored. 

            We love this story, because we know it is about God’s mercy to sinners.  We love to identify with this younger son.  And we should.  This is good and right.  This is how God is to us.  We are the rebellious, good-for-nothing so and sos, the sinners, who blow all of God’s blessings in reckless living.  And thanks to our Father working His work, we come back, time and time again.  Now, by nature, we come back thinking we can work our way back into God’s good graces.  And we know, He will have none of it.  He runs to us.  In the flesh of Christ, God runs to us.  And embraces us.  Even in the ragged robes and stinking filth of our sin.  He embraces us.  And commands His servants… Now, who might they be?  The Christian pastors!... to put the very best robes on us.  Christ’s spotless robes of righteousness.  Baptism.  Absolution.  He puts the ring on our finger.  The signet ring.  We bear the Name of our holy God, and we’re God’s own children.  He puts shoes on our feet.  Readiness to go the way of Christ.  And… the Sacrifice.  Not the fattened calf, but the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world, and that means our sin.  The cross.  His sin-atoning death.  The empty tomb.  His bodily resurrection.  For us!  And now He throws a Feast.  His true Body.  His true Blood.  For our forgiveness, life, and salvation.  How prodigal God is toward us.

            But as we said, the father in the parable is prodigal toward both sons.  After all, the older son, too, received his share of the property.  And good for him for staying with Dad and working the fields.  But we see, now, in the heart of the older brother, that he, too, squanders the father’s prodigal love… by resentment.  He hears the music… this would be the ritual music that indicates the fattened calf has been slaughtered.  It sure seems doubtful the king is coming to our house today, and I know I’m not getting married.  So he calls a servant.  What is the meaning of this?  And the servant preaches the father’s mercy: Your brother has come, and your father has forgiven him all his sins!  Isn’t it wonderful?  And now we’re feasting and dancing.  Well, the older brother is enraged.  For that wretch?!  He folds his arms and refuses to go in.

            Is this not all-too-often us, as well?  Those sinners who do those despicably sinful things ought to get what’s coming to them.  You know, the real sinners.  Good for God for excusing my sins, but really?  You’re going to forgive them?  Don’t You know what they’ve done?  Don’t You know who they are?  And here I’ve been doing my duty all these years, coming to Church every Sunday, giving an offering, doing the right things to the best of my ability, voting the right way, raising a family, being respectable.  (Which is good, by the way.)  Well, for tax-collectors and sinners and rebellious sons who devour the property with prostitutes (which is slander, incidentally… he assumes his brother visited prostitutes, and maybe he did, maybe he didn’t, but we don’t know that from the text)….  Anyway, for them, You’ll kill the fattened calf.  But I don’t even get a scrawny old goat to celebrate with my friends.  See, it’s pure ungratefulness.  And arrogance.  Pride, the deadly sin that goeth before a fall.

            But behold the prodigality of the father toward his elder son.  He goes out to him!  He goes to this son, too, while he is a long way off.  And he begs him to come into the feast and join the celebration.  This is for you, too, my boy!  And after all, all that’s mine is yours.  And you are always with me.  That is reward in itself.  You are my son!  What more do you need?  But we must celebrate.  Not, “it was fitting,” as our English translation has it.  This is the word for divine necessity.  It is divinely necessary for us to celebrate and be glad.  For this, your brother, was dead, and is alive.  He was lost, and is found.  And so with you, my son, if you only had eyes to see. 

            What will happen?  Will the older son go in?  Jesus leaves the story there, in the question.  For many of the Pharisees and scribes, we know that they would not.  For all-too-many Christians who think they are righteous and need no repentance, they won’t either.  But that’s not true for all.  While he was still a long way off, the Lord Jesus came to the Pharisee, Saul, who became the Apostle Paul, the preacher of grace to the Gentiles.  Many are the Pharisaical Christians who, in time of personal moral failure, are faced with the stark clarity of their utter depravity.  Christ Jesus comes to them in the sweet and forgiving Words of His Gospel.  And forgiven and restored, they come into the Feast.  And what about you?  Well, here you are, and the Table is set.  The Father has done His work.  You hear the music that accompanies the Sacrifice.  And God has come out to you in the flesh of His Son.  He has spoken His Word.  Invited you to the Feast.  You could refuse, but why on earth would you?  By God’s grace, you will come. 

            Behold God’s prodigality to one and all.  Some of us are the younger son, obvious sinners, who know we are here by grace alone.  Some of us are the older son, and have to be reminded that we, too, are sinners, here solely by the Father’s grace.  Most of us have probably been both sons at one time or another in our life.  But here we are, because Jesus has come to us in love and compassion, forgiving our sins.  The Lamb has been slaughtered, and the Feast is on the Table.  God says to you and to me, I forgive you all your sins.  I love you.  You belong to me.  It is reckless, this love and mercy of God.  Wasteful.  Extravagant.  And it is for sinners just like us.  Covered by the blood of the Sacrifice.  Restored to family and community.  Home in our Father’s House.  This is not just a parable.  This is the true story of our Prodigal God.  And it’s the story of your life.  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son X, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Lenten Midweek III

Lenten Midweek III: “Abiding in the Love of God”

March 26, 2025

Text: 1 John 4:11-16

            When our Lord Jesus commands us, as He does in our Holy Gospel this evening, “that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another” (John 13:34; ESV), He is not primarily concerned that we have warm and fuzzy feelings toward each other.  It would be ideal if we did.  We will in heaven, and in the Resurrection.  But such feelings are not love.  They are really just a symptom of love, and in this fallen flesh, and in this fallen world, those feelings come and go.  Love is something much deeper, sturdier, more concrete than mere feelings.  In his first Epistle, St. John has been unpacking for us what this means, what love is.  And tonight, he gives us at least three facets of the answer.

            John says this is love: To abide in, to be immersed in the God who is love in His essence.  That is, really, to be baptized.  To be tucked into the saving work of Christ, united to His flesh, His death, His resurrection, clothed, covered, in His righteousness.  To be tucked into the mystery of the Holy Trinity, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  To receive the (1) Spirit of the (2) God who sent His (3) Son to be the Savior of the world.  In receiving this Spirit, we come to know and believe (faith) the love that God has for us, and we abide in it.  And abiding in that love, we abide in God Himself… we’re immersed in Him… and He abides in us.  That is the primary and most profound point: Love is to abide in the God who is Love.  And to be filled with Him.

            Then John says this is love: To see and testify that the Father has sent His Son to be the Savior of the world.  To confess that Jesus is the Son of God (this is another dig against Cerinthus and his false teaching, by the way).  In other words, to confess the mystery of the incarnation, that this Man, Jesus of Nazareth, is God Himself, and that the Father has given Him for us and for our salvation.  This confession is the result of our immersion in the love of God, and His filling us with Himself.  It is what the Spirit we have received, does in us.

            And finally, John says this is love: To (as Jesus commands) love one another.  To love our fellow Christians, our brothers and sisters in Christ.  And to love the neighbor God puts next to us.  The love of God fills us, and then spills over in us.  It envelopes our neighbor.  And John tells us that in so loving one another, we are actually loving God, and we are loving with the very love of God.  It is very much related to Matthew 25, and whatever you’ve done to the least of these.  We can’t see God.  But we can see each other.  John will make a big point of this in our text next week.  So if we want to love God, we have to do it by loving those He made in His image.  That is, other human beings.  And, again, this isn’t just about having warm and fuzzy feelings toward them.  No, if we’re loving with the love of God, what does that look like?  It looks like decision.  As the Father decided to love us.  It looks like declaration.  As the Father declared that we are His beloved.  And it looks like self-sacrificial action.  The giving of the Son.  The cross.  Look at your neighbor and decide to love him, an act of your will.  Declare that he is now the object of your love, as God so declares of each one of us.  And then, sacrifice.  Give of yourself.  Give yourself up for the sake of your neighbor, to provide for his needs and promote his good. 

            So, to summarize, John says this is love: To abide in God, to confess Him, and to love your fellow Christians.  Okay.  But what does that look like on the ground? 

            As a congregation, and in our individual and family lives, it means centering all that we do, and all that we’re about, in Christ, and around His gifts to us in Word and Sacrament.  Because that is where we’re immersed in God’s love… in God Himself… where we abide in God, and God abides in us.  Baptism.  Scripture.  Preaching.  Holy Absolution.  The Supper of our Lord’s body and blood.  That is where God pours out His love and His Spirit upon us.  We can only give what we’ve been given.  We can only love if we’re immersed in love, and filled with love.  So, that means getting to Church, as often as you can.  That means bringing your family to Church.  That means reading the Bible.  Studying the Bible (Bible class).  And praying.  Parents, it means teaching your children.  Here, teaching them how to listen quietly and participate, from the very earliest age.  It means Sunday School.  Catechism class.  At home, it means Bible stories, devotions, family prayers.  Center your day around Christ and His gifts.  Center your whole life around Christ and His gifts.  Get rid of anything incompatible with Christ and His gifts (that is repentance).  (My wife often says, “If you can’t tell your mom about it, you probably shouldn’t do it.”  We could also say, “If you can’t ask God to bless it, you probably shouldn’t do it.”  Get rid of it.)  Tie everything else into Christ and His gifts.  Receive everything as a gift of His love.  Even suffering, when it comes.  Trusting that He is doing it for your good.  Just, receive.  God is the Giver.  You, always be the receiver.  Live a receptive life.  Live a thankful life.  Be loved. 

            Then, confess.  Confess Christ.  Confess the Christian faith.  Talk about it.  Let it be your daily life and conversation.  Of course, when people ask you, or the opportunity presents itself, be prepared to confess Christ by knowing the Creed, and knowing the Catechism.  As Peter says, always be prepared to give an answer for the hope that is within you (1 Peter 3:15).  But just as a matter of course, let your whole speech and life be ordered according to the gifts of Christ.  By habit, just make it a natural part of your inner and outer dialog.  Bless people when you meet them, or when you are parting.  Say, “God bless you.”  When good things happen, or when you hear of something wonderful, say “Thank God,” or “Praise the Lord.”  When bad things happen, or you hear of something terrible, say "Lord, have mercy,” or “Christ help us.”  And so on, and so forth.  Tell people you are praying for them.  And then do it.  Don’t be afraid.  What’s the worst that will happen.  So they make a strange face at you.  So they tell you they don’t need it, or don’t want it.  So what?  You know they do need it.  And all the authority of the living God who loves you is behind you.  So just do it. 

            Also, support the confession of others.  Support the preaching.  Give to your Church.  Give to missions.  Encourage your neighbor in his confession.  That is, help to put the courage into him by confessing with and to him, and consoling him when he suffers for it.  Do not discourage your neighbor (that is, take the courage out of him).  And pray.  Pray for his confession.  Pray for your own.  Pray for your congregation.  Pray for your pastor.  Pray for future pastors and consider supporting them tangibly and/or financially.  It’s an investment in the Kingdom that will not return to you void. 

            And here we’re really already transitioning into the third thing.  Loving one another.  Pouring out the love of Christ, first on our brothers and sisters in our own family and our own congregation, then on other Christians, then on any and every neighbor God puts in our path.  That is important, by the way, this ordering of your love.  Because, while you should love all humanity, there is something purely theoretical, and therefore safe, about such general and ambiguous love.  It doesn’t really call upon us to sacrifice or do anything concrete.  No, you are given specific people, in a specific place and time, to love with concrete and self-sacrificial actions.  You start with those closest to you, and work your way out.  Those in your own home.  Then those around you here in the pews.  Then other Christians.  Then whoever else is in need of your love, which is to say, your time, your labor, your money, your stuff.  Of course, your resources are limited, which is another reason this order is important.  You can’t do everything.  And sometimes you have to do some triage of the needs presented to you, to use your love most effectively.  But don’t use that as an excuse not to love.  And don’t use the worthiness of the person who needs your love as an excuse, either.  You aren’t worthy of God’s love.  Remember that.  Jesus didn’t come to save you because you were worthy.  He didn’t die for you because you were worthy.  He did it because He loves, and He is love.  And you are simply loving, now, with His love… with the love you’ve been given.  So that is how you are to love, too. 

            And that means, more than anything else, to extend mercy.  That is, to forgive.  “Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins,” Peter says (1 Peter 4:8), quoting Solomon in Proverbs 10 (v. 12), and echoed by St. James in his letter (5:20).  So there are at least three fathers of your faith who point out that the ultimate act of love is to forgive those who sin against you.  To cover over the sins and faults and weaknesses of others.  As we pray in the Lord’s Prayer, “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.”  And that shouldn’t surprise us.  Because that is, finally, the way God pours out His love upon us.  Christ.  The giving of His own beloved Son.  Christ crucified for the forgiveness of our sins.  That is love.  That is the love with which we are loved.  That is the love with which we love. 

            “Love one another,” the Lord commands.  And here is what the means: Abide in God.  Confess Christ.  Pour out your love, concretely, on your neighbor.  There is more to say on this, and John will say it.  And so we will continue our meditation next week.  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son X, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.           

In Memoriam +Eleanore Joyce Warmbier+

 

In Memoriam +Eleanore Joyce Warmbier+

March 25, 2025

Text: Rev. 7:9-17

            Ellie has taught us all what it means to die a Christian death.  When you live in Christ, you die in Christ.  Which is to say, you go on living in Christ.  Ellie laid down in her bed and took up her Bible.  I’ve seen that Bible many times, and maybe so have you.  She was rarely without it.  I would love to know what passage she was pondering.  I suppose I’ll have to ask next time I see her.  But I do know why she was pondering it.  She was in holy conversation with her Lord.  She just wanted to hear His voice… needed to hear His voice.  And the Lord spoke to her.  He speaks to us in His Scriptures.  As she read and took in the Words from the sacred page, she was hearing her Good Shepherd’s voice.  And so, it was the most natural thing in the world when, at one moment, she was hearing her unseen Lord as the Words registered in her head, and the next, she was hearing Him audibly, and seeing Him face to face.  She lived in Christ (baptized into Christ, believing in Christ).  So she died in Christ.  Which is to say, she is at this very moment living in Christ.

            Now, as I said, I’ve seen that Bible many times.  And I’ve read Scripture with her many times.  And in recent years, that was often in the context of a Communion visit.  I would pick the passage, and she would often try to find it in her own Bible, and I would try to preach a little sermon, which would usually end up being more of a conversation, and that was really quite beautiful.  And all in the context of our crucified and risen Lord Jesus, coming to us, present with us, His body, His blood, given and shed for us for the forgiveness of sins.  He spoke to us (the Scriptures), and then there He was (the Sacrament).  And it strikes me now, that that was (to use an inadequate and underwhelming phrase) a practice run for what happened when Ellie closed her eyes to this life, and opened them to behold Jesus Christ.

            By the way, whatever I thought I was going to say during those Communion visits, the conversation was nearly always the same.  Three questions: 1. Can Glen see me here?  2. Will I recognize Glen and my mother in heaven?  And 3. What will it be like?  Well, the third question really encompasses all three questions, and it was not uncommon for us to turn to Revelation 7, our second reading.  First, with the caveat, though, that even with this little peek behind the veil, given in our reading, we can’t really know what it will be like until we’re there.  We know just enough.  And it is enough, because it is the fulness of what our Lord has revealed to us.  But He very wisely leaves us wanting more.  And anyway, we wouldn’t understand it if He did reveal more, and even if we did understand it, we might die from the sheer joy of it, and the overwhelming majesty.

            But here is what our Lord reveals to us.  A great multitude.  From every nation, tribe, people, and language.  And they’re all focused on one thing.  They’re all enthralled by that one thing.  Or better, Person.  The Lamb.  The Lamb, there on the throne with God the Father.  The Lamb, slain, but now standing.  They’re singing to Him, this multitude.  With angels and archangels and all the company of heaven.  They are singing and worshiping God, and the Lamb, falling on their faces before His throne.  And they aren’t focused on themselves, though they themselves are clothed in splendor.  White robes washed in the blood of the Lamb.  That is, their sins are forgiven, and now they shine with His own glory.  Waving palm branches, the symbol of victory, the fulfillment of Palm Sunday, when Jesus rode into Jerusalem to defeat our great enemies, sin, death, and the devil, by His death on the cross, and His resurrection from the dead.  They know it, this multitude.  They know that is why they are there.  So their attention is totally consumed, not with themselves, but with Him.  They are enraptured by Him.  They love Him.  Because He loves them.  Because He loved them and gave Himself for them.

            Now, there is this big long line of them marching in.  You probably know the song.  We won’t sing it during the service, but you can sing it later, and think of this.  But notice, one of the elders… and that is not an angel.  He is one of the people… he knows them.  He can identify them.  “Will I recognize Glen and my mother?”  Yeah, I think so.  I think you can identify them in the lineup, marching in.  But the elder identifies them this way: “These are the ones coming out of the great tribulation” (Rev. 7:14; ESV).  Now, there are any number of opinions, even among confessional Lutherans, as to what the great tribulation is, but for our purposes today, let’s just leave it at this: They are coming out of the sufferings of this life.  The dissonance the Christian experiences living in fallen flesh and in a fallen world.  The attacks of the devil, the world, and our own sinful nature.  Disease.  Death.  Sorrow.  Pain. 

            Glen didn’t talk much to me about his own suffering, but Ellie told me.  And she told me about the tribulations her mother suffered, and it made her cry every time.  And Ellie is a tremendous example of someone who is resilient in the wake of suffering.  But you know, she knew some very dark days in her life, and suffered some terrible things.  You and I only know a little of it.  But God knows all of it.  The Lamb knows all of it.  And so, imagine what a tremendous comfort it was to her, to hear from her Savior in this text, what it will be like, and what it is like for those who are already on the other side of the veil.  They are coming out of all that, the great tribulation.  No more of it.  No more hunger.  No more thirst.  No more striking or scorching heat.  Which is to say, nothing lacking, and nothing to cause pain.  Instead, what?  Shelter under the presence of God Himself, before His throne, day and night.  And the Lamb, shepherding.  Always in the Lamb’s tender care.  Guiding.  Quenching.  And then, consoling.  Not only the Lamb, but the Father, stooping down to wipe away every tear from Glen’s eyes, from Mom’s eyes, from Ellie’s eyes, from your eyes. 

            That’s what it will be like.  That’s what it is like for Ellie right now.  We’ll know them.  Of course we will.  Can they see us now?  I’m not so sure about that.  I think we probably don’t want them always watching us, and there are things they certainly don’t want to see.  And anyway, don't forget, they have a pretty singular focus: The Lamb.  That is not to the exclusion of their love and care for us.  This is actually how we should love and care for each other here and now.  By looking at Jesus, and holding each other before the merciful gaze of Jesus. 

            But if there is anywhere they can see us, it is where we, too, are gathered before the throne of God, and of the Lamb… where He is present, bodily, for and with us.  And, of course, I mean at the Altar, at the Holy Supper, again, with angels, and archangels, and all the company of heaven.  And that means Ellie.  And that means Glen.  And Ellie’s mother.  And all our loved ones who died in Christ, and so live in Him.  And whether or not they can see us there, we are with them there.  Because we are with Jesus.  Every time we gather.  He speaks to us, and then, there He is.  Just as it was with Ellie. 

            And, there is something more, and it is, perhaps, the most important thing to note.  As wonderful as all of this is, this heaven we’ve been describing, it’s not even the best thing.  The best thing is that Christ, who died for our sins on the cross, is risen from the dead.  And He will raise us.  On the Last Day.  When He comes again in glory.  He will raise us bodily, as He is risen bodily.  And you know what that means?  Not only will Glen know Ellie.  He’ll hold her in his arms again.  Bodily arms.  Strong, vibrant arms.  Not only will Ellie’s mother recognize her.  She’ll embrace her in that way only a mother can.  And you will embrace Ellie again.  And though you miss her now, and grieve over her death (and that is good and right, because you love her)… she’s not really gone from you.  Not ultimately.  She lives in Christ.  She lived in Him here.  She died in Him here.  So she lives in Him.  Right now.  And if you live in Him, then even if you die in Him, you’ll just go on living in Him.  And you’ll see what Ellie even now sees.  And He will raise you from the dead.  “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” (John 11:25-26).  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son X, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.         

 

           

 

Third Sunday in Lent

Third Sunday in Lent (C)

March 23, 2025

Text: Luke 13:1-9

            Why were the people telling Jesus about those Galileans whose blood Pilate mingled with their sacrifices?  It is, no doubt, true, that in some sense they were just complaining, grumbling at the injustices of life and the world.  As we fallen humans are wont to do.  It rarely does us any good.  But when we feel bad, we want to express it to others, because we want them to feel bad with us.  “Misery loves company,” as the old saying goes.   

            But, perhaps unbeknownst to them, there was something different, now, about the people’s complaint.  Because, this time, they were speaking to the only One in existence who could do something about it.  And He would do something about it, but they wouldn’t know it for some time.  And, perhaps, some in His company would never know it.  Still, in bringing their complaint to this One, the complaint itself was transformed.  Because, while they were addressing a Man, to be sure… they were addressing a Man who is God.  And so, their complaint became lament.  And lament is a very potent form of prayer. 

            Verse 2 of our text: “And he answered them” (Luke 13:2; ESV).  Don’t miss what glorious good news that is, for them and for you.  When lament is addressed to Jesus Christ, or to the Father through Jesus Christ, He hears and He answers.  Do you see what happens with the simple change of address when you are complaining?  When you are grumbling in your own heart, or to and with anyone who will join you in this exercise of futility, you actually just make things worse.  You think you’ll feel better if you vent.  But you don’t.  You feed off your own words.  But when you look up, away from your own navel gazing, and to Jesus Christ, and address these very same words to Him… ah, now you are praying.  Praying to One who can actually do something about the problem.  And who has done something about it, and is doing something about it, and will continue to do something about it.  He hears you.  And He answers you.

            But you won’t always like His answer.  Because the first thing He is always going to do is call you to repentance.  Well, that is what He does with the people.  There is a great evil, a malignant cancer often attached to our complaining, that must be dealt with, and the treatment is severe.  Jesus exposes it in His answer to those telling Him about the Galilean victims.  And it is this: We think we know why the bad thing happened.  We think we can see what God has intentionally hidden from us.  And we use this supposed knowledge, either as reason for pride, or as cause for despair.  This cancer must be cut out of our complaint.  And it hurts!  It cuts us to the quick.  But it is necessary if our complaint is to become healthy lament, and if we are to live.  So, here it goes. 

            Do you think bad things only happen to people who have it coming?  Those Galileans… were they worse sinners than the rest, than you?  See, pride.  “It didn’t happen to me, so I must be in a better position before God than they were.”  Or, to bring up another example, those eighteen on whom the tower in Siloam fell… were they worse sinners than the rest, than you?  Notice, the first disaster is manmade… tyranny, terrorism.  The second, though, the falling tower… that is what the insurance companies call (fair or not) “an act of God.”  Now you really have room for pride, or so you think.  “See, God got them, and He didn’t get me.  He prefers me.”  Right.  You may think you are immune from this attitude, but the fact is, this thinking infects the whole world.  Karma.  Poetic justice.  What goes around comes around.  “Where is a cop when you need one,” you have said, when some hot-shot, know-nothing, who thinks he’s more important than everybody else, whips around you about where you hit that 25 mile per hour zone in Colfax.  And then, when you see the pretty red and blue lights behind him up ahead?  Glorious, isn’t it?  He’s getting what he deserves.  Now, what’s with this slow-poke in front of me?!

            Fact is, though, we also judge ourselves this way.  Life goes according to schedule, until suddenly it doesn’t.  The bottom falls out.  Tragedy strikes.  Disaster.  Diagnosis.  Death.  Whatever it is.  And we think we know.  This can only be divine retribution.  “What have I done to deserve this?” we ask God.  He must be punishing me.  He must be picking on me.  That’s what Job thought, too, remember?  Until God answered H him.  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Job!  Sitting there in your despair.  And your three friends, especially, don’t know what they’re talking about, sitting there in their pride!  I know what I’m doing, because I’m God.  You don’t know, because you are not God.  So… Repent!”

            So… what?  Were they worse sinners?  “No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all likewise perish” (Luke 13:3, 5).  Beloved, every tragedy that happens, whether to you or to others, is a call to you to repent.  Whatever else God is doing when bad things happen (probably a lot of things we just don’t know, and won’t know until the Resurrection), whether manmade or act of God, He is calling you to stop what you are doing and give Him your full attention.  And root out all that is poisonous and deadly.  Repent of your idolatry.  Your fear, love, and trust of things and people that are not God.  Repent of your self-idolatry, your putting yourself first.  Tragedy has this way of bringing you to the end of yourself.  It is a tangible preaching of God’s Law.  Repent of your judging others (“Oh, he must have deserved that!”  Thank you very much, Job’s friends!).  Repent of accusing God of being against you (“Oh, if this happened to me, it’s either because I’ve done something horrendous and deserving of this, or God is just cruel”).  Repent of all of that.  That is the first part of our Lord’s answer.

            But then… just think a minute about who God is.  He is the God who loved the world, so that He gave His only-begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him should not perish, but have eternal life (John 3:16).  He did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world be saved through Him (v. 17).  This is the God who sends His own beloved Son to the cross, to suffer and die for a world of sinful rebels… for you.  To save you.  To atone for your sins.  To make you His own.  And so, do you see what He does through the cross of Christ?  He takes the worst tragedy in the whole history of the universe… the assassination of God… and by it, turns everything upside down.  There, on the cross, all that is sad and tragic and wrong is done to death in the holy flesh of Jesus.  And transformed.  The cross, the most excruciating method of torture and execution, used to perpetrate the ultimate evil (killing God), becomes, now, the ultimate good.  For you.  Now, if God does that with the cross of His Son, Jesus, just imagine what He is doing with the crosses He lays upon you.  You can be certain, in spite of all appearances, that every cross you bear is given to you for your good.  No, you don’t see it.  But you believe it.  Faith.

            By the tree of the cross, God is making unfruitful trees fruitful.  Even as the barren wood planted in the soil of Golgotha bore nothing less than fruit of the Tree of Life (Jesus is the Fruit… His body, His blood, given and shed for you), so, as the cross touches your life, your body, your soul, what is barren now blossoms and produces the fruit of repentance (He is ripping out your idols), the fruit of faith (you are left with Him alone for help and salvation), the fruit that is divinely wrought love (love for God, love for your neighbor… works of mercy for the other).  Watch for it.  You may be given to see some of it.  But you’ll really only know the fullness of it at the Harvest, when the Lord comes again.  What does the vinedresser have to do for the fig tree in our Lord’s parable, to make the tree fruitful, to prevent the Master from cutting it down and throwing it into the fire?  He has to dig around it.  Oh, that hurts.  And pour on the manure!  That is… unpleasant, to say the least.  But it is gracious.  The vinedresser is saving the tree.  When God digs around you and pours on the manure, remember this.  He is being gracious to you.  He is saving you.

            But go ahead and complain.  Just, direct it to Him, so that your complaint becomes lament.  Prayer.  He will answer.  He has answered.  The cross.  He does answer.  The Means of Grace, the Word and Sacraments, where He gives you His Spirit and the fruits of His cross… where He gives you Himself.  He will answer.  Christ is risen.  He will raise you.  This may seem simplistic, but in fact, it is anything but: Christ is always the answer.  Repent of any other answer you may seek.  Especially of seeking answers in yourself.  And look to Christ.  Because in Him, you will never perish.  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son X, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.