Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost

 Video of Service

Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 14A)

August 9, 2026

Text: Matt. 14:22-33

            He is the Lord of heaven and earth, yet He is a Man of flesh and blood.  And so, still in grief over St. John’s death, and after a full day of compassionate teaching and healing and the miraculous feeding of the 5,000, our Lord Jesus bids His disciples get into the boat, and go before Him to the other side, while He dismisses the crowds.  Once again, He is seeking time alone to pray.  To commune with His heavenly Father, and be strengthened for the task before Him. Just as we need when we are weary and burdened and sad.  He is a Man.  Like us.  One of us.

            But He is also God, the eternal Son of the Father.  And so, in the fourth watch of the night, between 3 and 6 am, seeing His disciples a long way off from shore, straining and struggling, beaten by the waves, the wind against them, Jesus comes to them, walking on the sea.  The sea… creation untamed.  Theologically (and superstitiously in the days of the Apostles) interpreted as the place of chaos and swirling demonic forces.  The boat… and you know that in the Scriptures, boats and ships and arks are generally pictures of the Church… the boat is in the midst of that.  Threatened by that.  Pounded by that.  And the people inside the boat are terrified by that.  The same is true of the Good Ship Church today.  

            Jesus, though… He is walking on it, like it’s nothing.  He is the One who, as Job says, “trample(s) the waves of the sea” (9:8; ESV).  He is the One who made a way for the Israelites across the Red Sea on dry ground.  He is the One of whom the Psalmist sings: He “commanded and raised the stormy wind, which lifted up the waves of the sea.  They mounted up to heaven; they went down to the depths; their courage melted away in their evil plight; they reeled and staggered like drunken men and were at their wits end.  Then they cried to the LORD in their trouble, and he delivered them from their distress.  He made the storm be still, and the waves of the sea were hushed.  Then they were glad that the waters were quiet, and he brought them to their desired haven” (Ps. 107:25-30).  

            But the disciples don’t know that in this moment.  Would you?  Have you ever seen a Man walking on the water?  They think this is a ghost!  A Φάντασμά in Greek… a phantasm, the sea demon, come to drag them down into the deep.  

            Jesus knows their fear.  And He knows what to do about it.  He speaks into it.  “Take heart; it is I.  Do not be afraid” (Matt. 14:27).

            Powerful words, those.  And Jesus still speaks them to His Church, to His Nave full of disciples, to you.  In the midst of the swirling demonic chaos of life this side of the veil, beaten and blown by wind and wave, wondering if you’ll make it, and if you’re safe here in this rocking hull… Jesus speaks these words to you: “Take heart!”  You know, unlike our words in time of trouble… as when we say, “there, there,” to someone in distress… Jesus’ Words do what they say.  So that, when He bids us take heart, He gives us to do it.  He literally encourages us.  That is, He puts the courage into us, so that, where once there was no courage, now there is, in Him.

            And then, “it is I.”  What a weak translation.  Jesus is not just saying, “Hey guys, don’t worry, it’s Me!”  No, He says, “ἐγώ εἰμι”  “I AM.”  That is, “the God who saved Noah through the Flood, is now stomping on that Flood, and coming for you.”

Now, understand, that is even more frightening than a phantasm, were it not for the next words.  “Do not be afraid.”  God… Jesus… even the angels have to preach that sermon every time they appear, because sinners know… and the disciples are sinners, just like you and me… sinners know they cannot come into the presence of God’s holiness without dying and being damned.  Apart from God’s intervention, that is.  The sermon, “Do not be afraid,” is the Gospel that God has reconciled sinners, the disciples, you and me, to Himself by the suffering and death of His Son on the cross.  He has taken away our sin.  And so, the crucified, but risen Lord Jesus appears to these same disciples in the Upper Room on Easter, and preaches to them, “Peace be with you” (John 20:19).  It’s the same sermon.  “Do not be afraid.”  “I have come, not to do you to death and damn you, but to save you, and cast out fear.”

It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?  Here, in the midst of the wind and the waves and the very real phantasms, and this old bulging bulk, leaking and threatening every moment to burst at the seams.  That’s all our eyes can see this side of the veil.  It is often difficult to keep our ears (the organ of faith) on the Lord’s Words.  And our eyes where He has promised to be for us, hidden in the Means of Grace.  We want a clear demonstration.  

So, Peter… who so often speaks for us, doesn’t he?... asks for the proof we all want.  He’s not looking for a cheap miracle, here.  He is longing for indisputable assurance.  “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water” (Matt. 14:28).  “Come,” Jesus says (v. 29).  One Word from the Savior’s mouth.  That’s what does it.  The power is not Peter’s unshakeable faith.  It is not Peter’s apostolic piety.  “Come,” Jesus says, and Peter comes.  And he, too, walks on the water!  As long as his ears are on that Word, and his eyes are on his Lord.  But we know what happens.  It would happen to us, too, maybe even quicker than it did to Peter.  He sees the wind.  He remembers just how impossible this all must be.  Humans don’t walk on water.  They sink.  And in stormy seas like this, they die. Down he goes, to certain death.  But he cries out on the way.  Like you should do in your own moment of crisis, when all appears to be lost and hopeless.  “Lord, save me” (v. 30).  (You can remember that prayer, can’t you?  That one’s a keeper!)  And what does the Lord do?  What He always does.  What He came to do.  He saves.  Immediately.  He reaches out His hand… the hand soon to reach out across the grains of the wood and grab hold of the nail… and He grabs hold of Peter.  Just as He does for you and me.  When we’re sinking, and we know it.  When we’re sinking, and we don’t know it.  

Now, this merits some meditation.  What does He say to Peter, and to all of them, and to us?  “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?” (v. 31).  First of all, He doesn’t say no faith.  Little faith.  Faith that struggles with doubt.  Faith that has difficulty keeping ears and eyes on Jesus. (Well, that’s ours, isn’t it?)  Faith that has not yet come to its fulness, as it will when it gives way to sight.  But faith nonetheless.  Faith that receives Jesus, and His salvation, and all His gifts.  And then, the reminder.  There is no reason to doubt, when Jesus is with you, and for you.  Take heart.  He is God.  The sea belongs to Him. And so do the demons, though they don’t appear to know it yet.  Or, more probably, they’re pretending it isn’t so.  And so do you. You belong to Him.  And you do know it.  So, do not be afraid.

And then, there is this.  Jesus gets in the boat with His disciples.  And the wind ceases.  And the disciples worship Him, and confess: “Truly you are the Son of God” (v. 33).  Full circle.  True Man.  True God.  The One who saves.  They receive it.  That is, they receive Him.  They believe Him.  And they confess Him. What is that, but the Divine Service?

And so, what of the Good Ship Church?  And what of this bucket of boards that is our beloved Augustana?  And what of you, in it?  Take heart.  Jesus comes to you here.  Do not fear.  See, this is right where you need to be when you’re buffeted by the swirling mass of chaos, and the phantasms threaten to pull you down.  You are safe, here.  Because He is here.  Speaking into your fear.  Grabbing hold of you with His true body and blood.  The disciples are here, too, in this one, holy, Christian, and apostolic boat.  And our brothers and sisters, throughout the ages, and in every corner of the world.  As heaven comes down in the Person of Jesus, with angels and archangels and all the company of heaven.  Communing with your Father.  In the Spirit.  O you of little faith… why doubt?  Jesus is here.  He is here for you.  “I AM,” He says.  Truly, He is the Son of God.  Let us worship Him, and confess it.  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son +, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.       

 

Household & Heritage Vespers

 Household & Heritage Conference Vespers

Shepherd of the Hills Lutheran Church, Rathdrum, Idaho

August 8, 2026

Text: Judges 14

In the marriage rite, the pastor admonishes the couple and congregation that “marriage is not to be entered into inadvisedly or lightly, but reverently, deliberately, and in accordance with the purpose for which it was instituted by God” (namely, mutual companionship, procreation of children, and that husband and wife take delight in one another).  “Therefore, all persons who marry shall take a spouse in holiness and honor, not in the passion of lust, for God has not called us to impurity but in holiness.”

Those words were written for a guy like Samson.  If the refrain in the Book of Judges is that “Everyone did what was right in his own eyes” (17:6; 21:25; ESV), Samson puts that maxim into practice when it comes to love and marriage.  His great argument for why he should marry the Philistine woman?... “she is right in my eyes” (14:3).  Not, “she is a good and godly woman.”  Not, “she would make a pious wife, and a good mother for my children.”  Not, “we share the same faith and values, and you would really love her, Mom and Dad.”  No.  “She is right in my eyes.”  That is, “she’s a looker, and I’ve fallen in lust with her.  She titilates me.  What more do you need?  She appeals to my baser nature.  Get her for me, Mom and Dad.”

Mom and Dad, for their part, advise against it.  Kind of.  Their advising seems sheepish, rather than strong.  Moms and dads don’t always know what to do when their grown kids make mistakes.  They try to redirect their boy.  “Why not someone from our own people… the Covenant people (Israel)?  A nice girl who calls upon the LORD, rather than a pagan idolatress?  Remember Esau’s marriage to those two Hittite women?  They made life exceedingly bitter for their in-laws, Isaac and Rebekah (Gen. 26:34-35).  Please, son.  Please.”  But, nothing doing.  He wants her.

Entering into marriage inadvisedly and lightly… against the advice of his pious parents, and for superficial reasons.  Reverently?  No, God has nothing to do with it, as far as Samson is concerned (although, unbeknownst to everyone involved, the thing is from the LORD, for the defeat of the ungodly Philistines… thank God, even when we make a mess of things, the LORD works all for the good of those who are called according to His purpose [Rom. 8:28]!  And note that God can harness even sin for the defeat of His enemies.  Though, that does not excuse sin and ungodliness, nor does it prevent much suffering as a consequence of our stupid, selfish, rebellious willfulness).  Deliberately?  Oh, Samson is very deliberate, but not concerning the purpose for which God instituted marriage.  For his own lustful desire.  Because she is right in his own eyes.  As we read in subsequent chapters of Judges, it is lust that drives Samson, to the bitter end.  He is strong, yes.  But lust brings him to the end of his strength.  To the breaking of his Nazirite vows.  Shorn of his glory.  Bound (the Philistine bondage, a sign of his bondage to lust and sexual impurity, bondage to sin).  Eyes… perhaps appropriately… gouged out (“If your eye causes you to sin…” [Matt. 18:9; cf. 5:29]).  Forced to perform like a circus animal, for the entertainment of his captors.  According to Peter, that is the lot of “those who indulge in the lust of defiling passion and despise authority” (2 Peter 2:10).  Could Samson be in the back of Peter’s mind?  They become “like irrational animals, creatures of instinct, born to be caught and destroyed… destroyed in their destruction” (v. 12).  Bad news.  Bad news.  

So, here is wisdom.  Don’t be like Samson.  Crucify the passion of lust in you.  Do what it takes.  Avert your eyes before they are plucked from you.  Set aside your glowing rectangles, if necessary.  Put accountability software on your devices.  Call your pastor.  Confess, and be absolved.  Eyes and ears on the Scriptures.  Run to the Gospel, and especially the Holy Supper.  Pray, “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me” (Ps. 51:10).  “Turn my eyes from looking at worthless things; and give me life in your ways” (Ps. 119:37).  Do not give your passions free reign.  Drown old Adam again in the blest baptismal waters.  Repent.  Samson’s sins are written down for your learning.  

For the unmarried… Not only should you not do what Samson did.  Do, also, what he should have done.  Seek a spouse in holiness and righteousness.  A good and godly spouse, baptized into Christ, and walking in the Spirit.  One who shares your confession of faith, and who, therefore, shares your values, for a lifelong one-flesh union, with the purpose of raising children (should God so bless) in the fear and admonition of the LORD.  And be that for your future spouse.  Seek counsel.  From your pastor.  From godly parents and wise Christians.  Look for a spouse who is right in God’s eyes, with whom you may enter into holy matrimony reverently, deliberately, and in accordance with the purpose for which it was instituted by God.  And, in the meantime, while you wait, and pray… for as long as God gives you to be single… walk with all patience, in purity, not impurity.  Control your members.  Do not present them to sin as instruments of unrighteousness, but your very selves to God as those who have been brought from death to life, and your members as instruments for righteousness (Rom. 6:13).  Where you’ve been impatient, and impure, you know what to do.  Confess it, and be absolved.  And start again, by God’s Spirit, living the new life of Christ, who is within you.  Every day is a new day to emerge and arise to live before God in the righteousness and purity of Christ.

For those married… Same thing!  Now, you’re already committed.  You’ve made vows before God and the state.  So, even if you married for Samson-like reasons, you should stay married.  But the point is, even if you did things wrong, and made mistakes, and generally made a mess of the whole business, don’t forget what the Lord can do with that.  Namely, work all things together for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose.  So, stop the wrong now.  Change course.  Turn.  Repent.  And become, now, you and your spouse, what God has given you to be for one another.  Redeemed, baptized, godly, faithful Christians who treat matrimony as holy, with reverence, deliberately seeking God’s purposes.  You, too, even now, may take counsel and advice in the company of godly parents and wise Christians.  Make use of Confession and Absolution, and pastoral care.  See, Christ’s blood redeems even your marriage, whether it’s a relatively happy one (and I pray it is, but it still needs the redeeming blood of Christ), or one with significant challenges.  Believe this Gospel of redemption in the blood of Christ.  Rejoice in it.  And even as God’s love in Christ covers over your sins with mercy and forgiveness (and it does!), so do that for one another.  And begin again.  Right now.  And each day.

Well, you get it.  There is a great deal of wisdom for marriage in this chapter, especially in terms of showing us what not to do.  But we still haven’t arrived at the main point of it.  Smack dab in the very middle of our text, a riddle.  It is a strange one.  The slaying of a lion.  Carcass dripping with honey.  Samson eats, and he is refreshed.  He gives to his parents, and they eat, and they are refreshed.  “Out of the eater came something to eat.  Out of the strong came something sweet” (Judges 14:14).  And the riddle cannot be solved until after three days.

But see, this is the key to the whole Samson saga.  And it is the key to our marriages, and sexual ethics, and our very lives.  Sure, there’s the stupid wager over the riddle, another example of a thing we should avoid (though, by it, mysteriously, and in spite of Samson, God gets His victory over the Philistines).  The riddle, though, is an image of truth most profound.  What does the lion picture?  The Church fathers don’t always agree.  Is it Satan?  Is it death?  Is it Jesus Christ, Himself, the Lion of the Tribe of Judah (Rev. 5:5)?  And what is the honey?  More agreement on this one.  The Gospel.  Especially the Eucharist.  Salvation.  Eternal life in the Promises of God.  In some ways, you don’t have to connect every detail to a specific fulfillment.  Because, the point of the image in its totality is, that in the death of Christ, death itself is defeated, along with Satan, and all the hordes of hell.  And our sin.  All of it.  All our impurity.  All our selfish, foolish rebellion.  We, ourselves, are redeemed.  Along with our relationships and vocations, our marriages and families.  Just taste a little of the sweet drippings of the Gospel, and you’ll know.  And believe.  And so, live.  

Samson himself is a picture of this, in the manner of his death.  Do you remember this?  God’s enemies, gathered in triumph over Samson, cheering and jeering God’s chosen redeemer.  What happens?  Samson prays.  Don’t miss that.  What does that indicate?  Repentance and faith.  And the Spirit of God comes upon Samson once again.  And he stretches out his hands between two pillars (and what does that look like?), and he brings the whole house down.  So that, in his death, he defeats more enemies than in his life!  Out of the eater, something to eat.  Out of the strong one, something sweet.  

So it is with Jesus.  Crucified for your sins.  On the third day, risen from the dead.  

And here is the surprise ending.  In that, Jesus, too, takes for Himself a spouse.  Reverently.  Deliberately.  In accordance with God’s purpose.  Those words, included in the marriage rite, describe Jesus.  What does He do in His death, stretching His hands out upon the cross-beams, but obliterate His enemies, and take His Church… you… to be His lawfully wedded wife.  His beloved Bride, covered with His blood and death, such that He may present you to Himself in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, holy, and without blemish (Eph. 5:27).  You.  Yes, you.  Even after all you’ve done.  You and Samson, and even me.  He takes us, and makes us His own.  And then… well, you know.  The nuptial Feast!  Where, out of the eater, something to eat.  Out of our Strong One, something sweet.  Oh taste and see that the Lord is good (Psalm 34:8).  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son +, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.                  

Tenth Sunday after Pentecost

 Video of Service

Tenth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 13A)

August 2, 2026

Text: Matt. 14:13-21

            “(H)e had compassion on them” (Matt. 14:14; ESV).  Beloved, seize on that word, “compassion,” and emblazon it on your mind and heart.  Our Lord Jesus has compassion for sinners.  He has compassion for the harried and helpless, for the sick and the suffering. He has compassion for you.  The English word compassion comes from Latin roots which mean, “to suffer with.”  The Greek word in our text, here translated compassion, means He was moved in His guts.  That our Lord has compassion for us, means that He suffers for us.  He is moved in His very guts for us.  Remember that, beloved.  Remember it, and cling to it.  How is God disposed toward you?  That is how.  He has compassion for you.

            See His compassion unfold in our Holy Gospel.  First of all, don’t miss His compassion in the face of death, namely, the death of St. John the Baptist, His dear cousin and forerunner.  That is the “this” of which He had heard, leading to His withdrawal to a desolate place by Himself (v. 13), undoubtedly to pray and to grieve.  Now, you may say, “what compassion?  Couldn’t He have prevented St. John’s death in the first place?”  Indeed, He could have.  What prevented Him?  It was, in fact, His very compassion.  For St. John, who even now enjoys a martyr’s reward in the Kingdom of heaven.  And for us, who have in St. John an example of what it means to suffer for the Name of Jesus, even unto death, if necessary, and so receive the crown of life.  And for countless Christians, spanning the centuries, who hear and heed St. John’s preaching, now sealed in his own blood, that they “prepare the way of the Lord” (Matt. 3:3), and behold in Jesus “the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world” (John 1:29).  So… compassion in grief.

And then, compassion for the crowds who come out to seek Him.  Even when our very human Lord Jesus, here in His state of humiliation, needs a break.  Time to mourn.  Time to heal Himself.  Nevertheless, they come, and He gives Himself for their sake, compelled by His compassion.  Moved in the guts for them.  Suffering with, and for them.  They bring to Him their sick, and He has compassion on them, and heals them.  “Surely he has borne our greifs and carried our sorrows… by his wounds we are healed” (Is. 53:4, 5).  

But now the day is over, and this being a desolate place, and the people not having eaten, the disciples bid the Lord to send the crowds away into the villages, to fend and forage food for themselves.  Nothing doing, though.  Not with Jesus.  His compassion will not send away in time of need.  You give them something to eat.  Behold, His compassion in this, even toward His disciples and Christians, as He tests, and then teaches them.  How are we to feed a crowd like this?  Where will the resources come from?  It is an impossible task!  We have here only five loaves and two fish.  Have you ever considered that want and lack are often components of Jesus’ compassion for you?  That He is accomplishing more with that want and lack than He would with plenty?  “Bring them here to me,” Jesus says (Matt. 14:18), and already the lesson has begun.  Ours is not to wring our hands about all that we do not have, but rather to bring what we’ve been given, and place it again into the hands of the Giver.  In order that He bless it, and do with it according to His good pleasure, to our own benefit, and the benefit of countless more.

So, the Lord has the people sit down on the grass.  He is the Compassionate Shepherd, the Good One, who makes His sheep to lie down in green pastures.  And He takes the loaves and fish, blesses them, breaks them, and gives them to the disciples.  Doesn’t this sound oddly familiar?  Well… This is not the Lord’s Supper.  Bread and fish, rather than bread and wine, and He is not here giving His body and blood.  But Jesus is setting the pattern.  This is how He will feed His people.  His disciples take what He has blessed… and let’s be clear, here.  These are the Apostles, the clergy.  The clergy take what Jesus gives them, and distribute to the people.  And, miraculously, it is enough.  More than enough.  Five thousand men, not counting the women and children.  And they pick up twelve baskets full of leftover pieces, a basket for each Apostle.  A basket for each Tribe of Israel.  Because the Apostles will have enough to feed all Israel, which is to say, the holy Church of God.  You.  And all your Christian brothers and sisters.  

By His compassion, Jesus makes it so.  Never let go of that word!  Remember this Gospel text.  Run to it in your time of need.  Our Lord Jesus Christ has compassion for you.  In your time of grief.  When you are sad and sorrowful.  He knows.  He’s been there.  Where do we find Him this day, but in a desolate place, mourning dear St. John?  And we know, He weeps at the tomb of Lazarus, His friend (John 11:35).  Our Lord Jesus knows about heartache and bitter tears, and so, when it is your time to weep, He is with you in it, to wrap you up in His great compassion, and console you by His Word and Spirit.  

He has compassion for you in your suffering. Be it sickness, or anxiety over the suffering of others, as was the case with the crowds in our Gospel.  Or persecution, or martyrdom for the Name of Jesus, as was the case with St. John.  He knows.  He came to suffer.  For you.  To save you through suffering.  To sanctify your suffering, by uniting it to His own.

He has compassion for you in every time of need.  In hunger.  In doubt.  When you think you don’t have enough.  You pray His own words to your Father in heaven, “Give us this day our daily bread,” and  you know He hears, and He answers.  You are here today, alive and well, because He’s done just that.  Fed you.  Provided for your needs.  In spite of what you may lack.  He’s taken what you have, what He Himself has given you, into His hands (even if He’s had to pry it from yours), to bless it, and do with it according to His good pleasure, for your own benefit, and the benefit of many more.  You’d think we’d get, at some point, just how silly we are to worry about what we don’t have, and just trust our Lord.  But we don’t.  So He keeps preaching, and keeps blessing, because that is what His compassion for us demands.  

He has compassion for you in your greatest need.  In your sin.  In your death.  In your captivity to the devil.  His compassion brought Him into your humanity, your flesh and blood.  His compassion led Him to Calvary, to be nailed to a cross.  Compassion.  With suffering.  Yes.  “Suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died and was buried.”  All for us.  Moved in the guts.  I’d say.  For helpless sinners.  For you and me.  Undoing all that afflicts you, and grieves you, and binds you, and condemns you.  In compassion for you, He suffered.  He died.  

And now, He is risen, and lives.  And what does He do, but continue to pour out His compassion on you?  He heals your sicknesses.  Often quite literally and acutely, here and now.  How many illnesses and injuries have you recovered from in your lifetime?  How many pains have been relieved?  You most likely take it for granted, but that was Jesus, you know.  But more to the point, He heals the terminal illness responsible for your death.  Sin.  In His compassion, He forgives your sins.  He applies His blood and death, by His Word and Sacraments, to wash away your sins.  To do them to death, that you may live.  

He gathers you away from the world, here in His Church.  He speaks to you compassionately.  He comforts you.  He consoles you.  He bids you recline in His lush pasture.  And then He takes bread!  Blesses it.  Breaks it.  And gives it to you.  “This is my body,” He says.  “Given for you, for the forgiveness of sins.”  And He takes… not fish this time, but wine, also blessed, and gives it to you.  “This is my blood,” He says, “shed for you, for the forgiveness of sins.”  He knows your hunger.  He knows your thirst.  He knows the emptiness in you that only He can fill.  As St. Augustine so beautifully  says, “our heart is restless until it rests in you.”  In His compassion for you, He gives you that rest, by filling you with Himself.  Body and soul.  So that you lack nothing.  In fact, in Jesus, your cup runneth over.  Is it not so?  Yes, you often feel the lack.  That’s you wringing your hands over what you don’t have, instead of bringing Jesus what you do have, what He has given you in the first place, for His blessing and employ.  Yet He blesses anyway, and employs for the benefit of one and all.  Yes, you often feel the pain and loss, very acutely.  So did He.  But beloved, He has reversed it.  He is risen.  And now you have only to wait.

So, yes, your cup runneth over.  Yes, there are the twelve baskets full of leftover fragments.  For the feeding of all Israel.  For the feeding of the Church.  All eat and are satisfied.  With Jesus, there is always enough.  And more!  For He is compassionate and merciful (James 5:11).  And beloved, His compassion is for you.  Seeing the great crowd, “he had compassion on them.”  Seize on that word, and never let it go.  Cling to it all the way to your grave.  And out the other side, again, to resurrection and life with your compassionate Lord.  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son +, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.                    

 

Ninth Sunday after Pentecost

 Video of Service

Ninth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 12A)

July 26, 2026

Text: Matt. 13:44-52

            If you’ve been in my living room, you’ve seen it.  The beautiful Ed Riojas painting of our Lord in a cemetery, a field of headstones, face dripping with sweat, holes in His hands.  And with those bare, pierced hands, He is ripping a coffin out of the ground.  The headstone above that coffin bears the artist’s name.  And from the east, the light is dawning.  It is the Great Day.  Christ has come, making all things new.  At the bottom of the painting, a banner: “For joy he went and sold all that he had and bought that field.”  See, according to the painting, Jesus is the One who buys the field.  Jesus is the One who sells everything to acquire the treasure.  And what is that treasure?  You are, beloved.  You are.

As it turns out, that is not the traditional interpretation.  The traditional interpretation is that the treasure, or the pearl, is the Kingdom, and you are the one who should go and sell everything you have, give up everything, including your possessions, your home, your freedom, your loved ones, your very life, in order to purchase that Kingdom.  Now, that isn’t wrong.  And I’ve heard many an edifying sermon on this Gospel with just that interpretation.  We should be ready to give it all up for Jesus.  What this traditional interpretation does, is it exposes our idols.  What do we cling to more tightly than Jesus?  What is more important to us than the Kingdom of God, and eternal life with God?  What do we fear, love, and trust more than the one true God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit?  We are reminded of the rich young man, whom Jesus commanded to go and sell everything he had, give it to the poor so that his treasure may be in heaven, and come follow Jesus.  That young man, remember, went away sorrowful.  Why?  He had great possessions (Mark 10:21-22).  He wasn’t so sure the Kingdom was worth it.  That young man… and you and I… ought to ponder Jesus’ question in another place: “what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul?” (Matt. 16:26; ESV).

So, the traditional interpretation?  Take that to heart.  The Kingdom of God is worth it.  It’s worth everything.  Even your life.  Read about saints and martyrs and all they suffered in view of Christ and the eternal prize.  Take that cloud of witnesses (Heb. 12:1) as your inspiration.  God may not call you to shed your blood for Jesus, who shed His blood for you.  But you should be ready.  And you should be willing to suffer every lesser pain in love for your Savior and God.  Heavenly Father, grant us Your Holy Spirit, that we be faithful even unto death, and so be given the crown of life (Rev. 2:10).  Grant us never to forsake the holy faith.  Beloved, let the lesson of this interpretation be written on our hearts.  Buy the field.  Buy the pearl.  Whatever the cost.  That the treasure may be yours.   

But also, every scribe who has been trained for the Kingdom of heaven is like a householder, who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old (Matt. 13:52).  Here is something new: The less traditional, significant minority interpretation of these parables is as compelling as it is beautiful.  And that is that Jesus is the One who sells it all to buy the treasure for Himself.  And that treasure is you.  After all, this is the very heart of the Gospel.  The Almighty and Transcendent Son of God does not consider equality with God a thing to be grasped, but makes Himself nothing… comes down into your flesh and blood (conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary)... takes your sin and your sorrow and your death into Himself, and upon Himself, and empties Himself out… humbles Himself, to the point of death… even death on a cursed Roman cross (crucified, dead and buried) (Phil. 2:6-8).  He goes and sells everything He has.  To buy the treasure.  To buy the pearl.  To purchase you for Himself.  And so gain for Himself a Kingdom.

I actually find this second interpretation more compelling than the first, for a number of reasons, but chief among them being that, while we should be ready to give up everything for Jesus, we can’t actually buy the Kingdom for ourselves.  No matter how much we give up.  No matter how much blood we shed.  It will never be sufficient.  We can’t do it.  But Jesus can.  And He did.  And then He gives it to us, freely.  In Word and Sacrament.  He gives it to us.  He is giving it to us now, in the preaching.  And soon we’ll take our place at the royal table to taste it; to eat it, and to drink it; the very Kingdom of heaven in His true body and blood.  It is a foretaste of the eternal feast to come.

There is, of course, a third parable in our text: The Parable of the Net.  The Kingdom of heaven is like a net thrown into the sea.  That net is the Gospel.  That net is being cast this very moment by the Lord Jesus Himself.  Just as He is the One who buys the field and the pearl, He is the One who casts the net.  He does it every time a preacher preaches, and every time you proclaim the Gospel, confessing Jesus in your daily life and vocation, loving with His love, and serving in His Name.  And what does the net do, but gather in fish of every kind.  This is a picture of the Church, gathering in sinners.  Gathering in you.  Specifically, it is a picture of the Church on earth, because, at the close of the age, on the Last Day (the Day of Judgment), Jesus says that men will haul the net ashore and sort between good fish and bad.  This is a picture of what the angels will do on Judgment Day.  In the present, we’re all together in one net, believers in Christ, and hypocrites (those who say they believe, but don’t… those who are Church members outwardly, but not in their heart).  But on that Day, the righteous (true believers in Christ) will be gathered to the Great Fisherman, Jesus.  But the evil (unbelievers) will be thrown into the fiery furnace, which is to say, hell, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.  

Here’s the thing about those evil fish.  Jesus loves them.  Jesus died for them.  To purchase them for Himself.  Jesus rose again for them.  To give them the Kingdom.  Jesus cast His Gospel net for them.  But in the end, they were not Kingdom fish, because they wouldn’t receive the Kingdom by faith in the One who purchased them by His blood.  They wanted another way.  Their own righteousness, perhaps.  Or, like the rich young man, their great possessions.  Or creature comforts.  Or freedom.  Or an easy life.  Whatever it is.  The separation of the evil fish from the good is like the separation of the sheep and the goats from Matthew 25.  What makes the difference?  Faith in Christ.  Believers enter into the joy of their Master.  Unbelievers are told to depart from Him into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his evil angels.  It’s a great tragedy.  This is why we preach the Gospel.  That evil fish be turned (converted, repented) into good fish (that is, believers) before that dreadful Day.  And we rejoice (and we must not take this for granted) that we have been turned by the Spirit in the Gospel from evil fish to good, not because we are better than anybody else (we were evil fish, too), but by God’s grace alone.  And we walk circumspectly, always with Christ and His Word in view, lest we forsake our God, and return to unbelief once again.  God preserve us from that.

That is why I have that painting hanging on my wall.  Because every day, I sit there and meditate on what my Lord did for me.  And I marvel.  “For joy he went and sold all that he had and bought that field.”  It is profoundly moving.  Profoundly beautiful.  His sweat.  His blood.  The holes in His hands.  He did that for me.  My name is on the headstone.  It is my coffin He will rip out of the earth.  And yours.  He did that for you, too.  And one Day soon, He will pop the top off that coffin, as the eternal light dawns, and call you and me, by name, to come out of the grave, and to Him.  And because He is risen and lives, that’s just what we’ll do.  We will rise and live.  With Jesus.  Eternally.  That is the Kingdom.  That is the treasure.  Jesus gave His all to purchase that.  God grant us ever to believe it, and so receive it.  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son +, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.             

 

Sixth Sunday after Pentecost

 Video of Service

Sixth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 9A)

July 5, 2026

Text: Matt. 11:25-30

The Lord Jesus gives us three tremendous gifts in our Holy Gospel this day, one gift built upon another.

The first is His declaration that our Father reveals the things of the holy Christian faith… that is, the plan of salvation in Christ, the cross, the resurrection, the Holy Spirit, and His saving doctrine… not to human wisdom and understanding, but to “little children” (Matt. 11:25; ESV).  In fact, the Greek word includes “infants.”  Which, to be sure, means the precious little ones here in our congregation (and baptized children everywhere), the ones concerning whom Jesus says to His disciples, “Let the children come to me, and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God” (Luke 18:16).  Parents, and all adults, let us be warned that we dare never step between our Lord Jesus and His babies.  Bring your children to Church.  Bring them to Sunday School.  Teach them the faith.  Hold them always before Him in prayer.  Do not hinder them.  Place them in His arms.  It is a sacred obligation.

But also heed the very next words of our Lord: “Truly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it” (v. 17).  And that explains what Jesus means in our text when He says that the things of the Kingdom are revealed to “little children.”  He means not just babies and toddlers, but all who have a simple, childlike trust in our heavenly Father, and in Jesus Christ, His Son.  All who believe His Words, like a precious child believes Dad. All who know that, while we don’t know all the whys and wherefores of our life in this world, our Father knows, and that is enough.  He’ll take care of it.  He’ll take care of us.  

This is not to say, by the way, that wisdom and understanding play no role in the Christian faith.  Faith, after all, always seeks wisdom and understanding.  Faith always wants to grow in knowledge of the things of God.  But it is to say that the things revealed by the Father are precisely the things that give true wisdom and understanding.  Human reason is always servant to the Word of God (the ministerial use of reason, we call it in theology), and never to be master over it.  When reason seeks to be master over the Word of God (the magisterial use of reason, we call it), suddenly, the things our Father would reveal to us are, in fact, hidden.  When you are the smartest person in the room, and you know it, that is exceedingly dangerous to your faith.  Repent of that, and become a child before God once again.  One who simply relies upon, and receives all things from, your Father in heaven, through Jesus Christ.  

Because that is the second gift.  No one knows God by means of his own reason and intelligence.  But our Father has graciously sent Jesus to reveal Him to us as our Father, who loves us, and makes us His own in the sacrifice of His dear Son.  Jesus possesses all the things of the Father, and He gives us those things by His Spirit through His Word.  “All things have been handed over to me by my Father, and no one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him” (Matt. 11:27).  By choosing to reveal Him to us, our Lord Jesus brings us up into the very life and love… the Communion… of the Holy Trinity, Father, Son, and Spirit.  

But He can only do that for those who give up their own claims to wisdom and understanding.  Because the wise and understanding will always say of the things Jesus says, “It can’t actually be that way.  That doesn’t make sense.  We know better than that.”  This is what Paul preaches to the Corinthians, that “in the wisdom of God, the world did not know God through wisdom,” so “it pleased God through the folly of what we preach,” namely, the Gospel of Jesus, “to save those who believe” (1 Cor. 1:21).  That is, the little children who receive what Jesus gives… who receive what Jesus says, and believe it because Jesus says so, and because the Father says so.  Whether it squares with human reason, or not.  Because good children know that Father knows best.  

And this gives us the third gift.  Rest.  Unburdening.  “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matt. 11:28).  Because, in coming to Jesus in this way (which is to say, in faith), you can rest as a child in the care of your loving heavenly Father.  You don’t have to know everything (you don’t, anyway!).  You don’t have to be in control of everything (you aren’t, you realize!).  You don’t have to see into the future and plan for every eventuality (as if you could!).  You don’t have to protect yourself against every danger.  You don’t have to save yourself.  You are free of those burdens, because your Father is there to take care of those things.  And He does.  That’s what fathers are for.  

I always remember when I was a child riding in the car, that I never worried about anything when Dad was behind the wheel.  I realize now that not every child is blessed with that sense of security, but I was, thank God, and it’s a great illustration of why we can rest under the care of our heavenly Father.  When Dad was driving, I had… what now appears to be a rather unreasonable… expectation that we would always arrive wherever we were going, safe and on time.  And I didn’t worry about going hungry on the way, even if I didn’t know the plan, because I knew Dad (and Mom, too… let’s give a little credit where credit is due) would stop and feed me at the proper time.  And when it was time to get back in the car, and on the road, Dad wouldn’t forget me, or leave me in the dust.  He’d make sure I was with him.  Nor was I ever afraid he would pull over and tell me to get out.  That I couldn’t belong to the family anymore.  Because he loved me.  And he knew what he was doing, and had the power to do it, and would always do it for my good.  

You know, that is not an unreasonable expectation of our Father in heaven.  The Father Jesus reveals to us.  Our fallen reason may think it unreasonable, and try to convince us, but that’s just evidence that we’re getting too big for our britches.  When those thoughts afflict you, beloved… that maybe God will suddenly stop caring for you, so you shouldn’t rest in His care… repent and run again to this passage.  Receive again the gift.  Kids in the car do often get cranky, and even throw tantrums, and… well, that’s us, isn’t it?  When we doubt.  But even then our Father doesn’t kick us out of the car and abandon us.  See, He could never do that.  Because He purchased us with the blood and death of His Son.  That’s how precious we are to Him.  “He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things” (Rom. 8:32).  He loves us.  Rest in that.  

And, you know, that is the rest we have in Christ above all else, that we don’t have to earn our spot with the Father, or keep our spot by our good behavior.  We don’t have to perform, or work our way into God’s good graces.  No, no.  We’re born into His Family by water and the Word, washed clean of all sin and guilt by the cleansing blood of Christ, who also fulfilled the whole Law of God for us, and credits that to our account.  To come to Him is to believe that, and receive that.  To rest from this unrelenting quest to justify yourself before God, and simply be justified by God in Jesus Christ.  It’s a load off.  A crushing load off.

Though, Jesus does tell us there is a yoke to be harnessed (albeit an easy one), and a burden to be borne (albeit a light one).  What is that yoke?  What is that burden?  It is the holy cross of discipleship in this life, which crucifies us to ourselves, and shapes us into the cruciform image of Jesus, so that we be raised with Him, and live with Him, and in Him, and Him alone.  Like when I was a kid in the car, and told my Dad that I’m hungry now, and want to eat now, and he told me I had to wait.  I had to suffer it for a while.  Be patient.  It’s good for me.  It’s a yoke.  It’s a burden.  Oh, it seems so heavy in that moment, to a child.  But it was really nothing.  One only sees that later.  As we will see with our crosses from the perspective of eternity.  

Beloved, you are children of the heavenly Father, safely in His bosom gathered, by the Lord Jesus who loves you.  Rest in that.  Those are the gifts Jesus gives us today.  As such, we conclude by echoing our Lord’s own Words: I thank You, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that You have hidden these things from the wise and understanding, and revealed them even to me.  Let me always be Your beloved, blood-bought child, and grant me to know and trust You as my loving heavenly Father, through Jesus Christ, Your dear Son.  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son +, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.