Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

 Video of Service

Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 19A)

September 13, 2026

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

            How often should God forgive you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

Fifteenth Sunday after Penteocst

 Video of Service

Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 18A)

September 6, 2026

Text: Matt. 18:1-20

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost

 Video of Service

Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 17A)

August 30, 2026

Text: Matt. 16:21-28

            Peter had just made the great confession, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God” (Matt. 16:16; ESV), revealed to him, not by flesh and blood, but by God the Father Almighty Himself.  But from that great height, a great fall.  As the Lord Jesus preaches to His disciples what He must do as the Christ of God… namely, go to Jerusalem and suffer many things at the hands of chief priests and scribes, be killed, and on the third day rise again (in other words, the work of our salvation… the Sacrifice of Atonement for our sins)... As the Lord Jesus preaches that, Peter takes Him aside and rebukes Him!  “Far be it from you, Lord!”  Over my dead body.  “This will never happen to you” (v. 22).  He had the best of intentions, here, didn’t he?  He loved Jesus, and he wanted to protect Jesus.  He wanted to save Jesus.  But that’s just it, isn’t it?  Peter is not authorized to save Jesus.  Jesus has come to save Peter, and save us all.  And He will do that by means of the cross.  His blood.  His death.  There is no other way.  But Peter doesn’t like it.  “There must be another way for You to be the Christ, my Lord.  Do a miracle.  Snap Your fingers.  Just say the word.  Or, lead an army.  Or a public relations campaign.  They’ll get behind you.  You don’t have to suffer.  You can sidestep the cross.  Straight to the glory.  Straight to the throne.”  Whose voice has Peter become?  Who else tempted Jesus to take such a shortcut?  You know.  “Get behind me, Satan!  You are a hindrance to me.  For you are not setting your mind on the things of God, but the things of man” (v. 23).  

Peter wanted a cross-less Christ.  That is our temptation, too.  We don’t want the Christ of God’s design, of our Father’s sending.  We want a savior on our own terms.  See, if we could be the designers of our salvation, it wouldn’t be much different than Jesus’ disciples expected.  A charismatic Leader who gains a following, takes over governments one by one (probably by military force, or in our case, perhaps, by popular election), eventually becoming Lord of the world, rewarding those loyal to Him with honor and eternal life (and that means us), but crushing and eternally damning all those bad people who (unlike us) are His enemies.  According to this scheme, Jesus would never have to suffer.  And we would never have to suffer, either.  Jesus would win… we would win by the sheer and obvious righteousness of our cause.  And, because our Jesus is all-powerful.  No cross.  Oh, we want the cross around as a decoration, to dress up our triumphalism.  Just no actual blood and agony and death.  

            But see, that is setting our mind on the things of man, rather than the things of God.  That is not the salvation God designed.  Among other things, it’s far too optimistic about ourselves (as though we’re in the special club of those those get it, as opposed to others who will never get it), and far too pessimistic about God’s mercy in Christ (as though there are sinners beyond God’s mercy in Christ because they are worse sinners than us… failing to see that we are those worse sinners).  And when we turn this into a theology… what we call the theology of glory (as opposed to the theology of the cross, where God’s Son suffers, and we suffer with Him, as He has promised)… when we turn this into a theology, we become… whose voice?  You know.  “Get behind me, Satan!”  

Contrary to every fallen human instinct and expectation, Jesus doesn’t save the world by winning wars and elections.  He doesn’t come in a blaze of glory to obliterate His adversaries and rescue us all by sheer might.  Jesus saves the world by giving Himself up to it… up to us… and for us.  In sacrifice.  That is the theology of the cross.  Jesus surrenders Himself into the hands of His enemies.  That’s how He does it.  It probably disappoints you.  It disappointed Peter, too.  And the other disciples.  And me.  Because we think the things of men.  Tread carefully, here, though, beloved.  Do not resist this (that would be resisting the Holy Spirit).  This does not call for your resistance, but repentance.  A turning.  A change of mind from the things of men, to the things of God.  The cross.  It is the only way.

The rebuke is hard to take, isn’t it (“Get behind me, Satan!”)?  Considering Peter meant only good?  Considering that now the rebuke is aimed at you and me?  But this is something we need to understand about God’s rebukes, which is to say, the raw and honest preaching of God’s Law… not just to those others (the bad people), but to us (turns out, the bad people, i.e. the sinners).  When God… when Jesus Christ, God’s Son… rebukes us, it is an extraordinary act of His love for us.  He is calling us back.  Back to Himself.  He is calling us to turn.  He is changing our mind.  It hurts.  Yes, it does.  It is death to Old Adam.  But He is bringing us to repentance.  So that we don’t cling religiously to this earthly life, and so lose our life entirely.  But that we lose our life with, and in, Him, and so save it eternally.  The cross.  

Jesus tells us plainly: “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me” (v. 24).  See, it’s not even a case of, “Yes, Jesus had to suffer and die to win the Kingdom, but now that that is over with, we can live triumphant and victorious lives where we only win all the time.”  Beloved, if you think that (the things of men), what does that say about the Apostles and martyrs who suffered for the rest of their lives, and died horrendous deaths for the Name of Jesus?  What does it say about those who will be killed this very day because they go to Church?  What does it say about Peter, himself, of whom our Lord said, “when you are old, you will stretch out your hands, and another will dress you and carry you where you do not want to go” (John 21:18)?  John tells us Jesus said this “to show by what kind of death [Peter] was to glorify God” (v. 19), and that is crucifixion.  This is to say, beloved, that the Christian life is cruciform.  The disciple is not above his Master.  The disciple follows the Master.  He goes the way of the Master.  And that means the way of the cross.  If Jesus suffered, you will suffer.  If Jesus was crucified, you will bear the holy cross.

Now, His cross is for your salvation, and the salvation of the world.  His cross alone makes atonement for sins.  Why, then, does He lay crosses and suffering on you?  Not to make satisfaction for sins.  That is, He isn’t punishing you.  But He is disciplining you… discipling you.  He is forming you.  Molding you.  Shaping you.  So that you look like Him.  He is toppling your idols.  Especially your self-righteousness, and your self-sufficiency.  He is burning away the dross.  Lutherans don’t believe in Purgatory, because it’s not in the Bible, and it contradicts the biblical doctrine that Christ alone makes satisfaction for our sins.  But we do believe in a purging, a cleansing, a purifying as through fire.  That doesn’t happen after this life, but in it, here, now.  God robs you of all the things you fear, love, and trust above Him.  So that you’re left only with Him.  And that’s the point, isn’t it?

It is eternally good for you.  And it is eternally good for your neighbor.  Jesus suffered the cross for you, and now, as you walk in His train, bearing His image, you suffer the cross for your neighbor.  That is all the stuff St. Paul is talking about in our Epistle (Rom. 12:9-21).  It is the continuation of last week’s preaching of our bodies as living sacrifices.  That is, giving yourself for the sake of the neighbor.  Genuine love. Abhorring what is evil (even, and especially, when that evil is in you).  Honoring one another.  Yes, even that person (you know).  Zelous for the things of God.  Fervent in spirit.  Serving the Lord, by serving His people (service… self-giving).  Rejoicing in hope.  Patient in tribulation.  Constant in prayer.  Contributing generously to your neighbor’s needs, and showing them hospitality.  And lest we deceive ourselves, we’re not talking about loving theoretical neighbors in general.  We’re talking about the flesh and blood people in your life, including especially those sitting around you at this very moment.  And even, and especially the ones that hardest to love.  Jesus never loved those who were easy to love.  He didn’t sacrifice Himself for those who deserved it.  Only for the hardest to love, and least deserving.  You.  And me.

But what is the goal of all of this?  Suffering to what end?  Not for its own sake.  God is not sadistic.  Jesus’ suffering has two purposes: 1. It is the fulfillment of justice.  Someone has to pay for the sins of the world.  Someone has to pay for your sins.  You should, but you don’t.  Jesus did.  Because He loves you, and wants you to live, and be His own.  And 2. Had Jesus not died, He couldn’t be raised from the dead.  There is no resurrection without death.  So He was crucified, dead and buried, that on the Third Day, He be raised from the dead.  And you are crucified with Him in your Baptism into Christ, so that you can live even now in His resurrection, and be raised by Him, bodily, on the Last Day.  The goal of the cross, beloved, is eternal resurrection life!  Who could imagine that?  Well, not you and me.  Not Peter.  Because, these are the things of God.  God has to reveal them to us.  Think those things.  Set your mind on those things.  Not your own things.  

Because that is your life and salvation.  Christ crucified.  St. Paul declares, “we preach Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles, but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God” (1 Cor. 1:23-24).  Don’t try to save Jesus from it.  Or yourself.  This is how Jesus saves you.  Surrender to it, as He did.  And what will be the result?  You’ll find your life.  It all flows from the cross.  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son +, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.                       

Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost

 Video of Service

Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 16A)

August 23, 2026

Text: Matt. 16:13-20

            The “Rock” upon which our Lord builds His Church is the confession: “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God” (Matt. 16:16; ESV).  That is the foundation.  That is the bulwark.  And it is the apostolic preaching.  This Man, Jesus of Nazareth, is the Christ.  That is, He is the promised Messiah, the Seed of the Woman, the Offspring of Abraham, the Son of David.  He is the One who would crush the serpent’s head in suffering the mortal snakebite.  He is the One through whom all the nations of the earth would be blessed.  He is the One, the rightful heir to David’s throne, who would win for Himself a Kingdom by His death, thus saving His people from their bondage to sin, death, and the devil; leading them out in exodus, through the wilderness, and into His Promised Land.  And He is the Son of the living God.  The Word, the Logos, the Second Person of the Holy Trinity.  Of one substance with the Father.  Sent by the Father to accomplish the salvation of the world, by atoning for sin, and reconciling sinners to the Father.  Rising to new life on the Third Day, and giving life to all who believe on His Name.  Simon Peter speaks on behalf of all the Apostles, and the whole Christian Church, leading us in the Creed.  Who do you say that I am?  “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” 

            But Peter didn’t come to this conclusion on his own: “flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father who is in heaven” (v. 17).  Now, that is important.  The holy Christian faith… the Rock upon which the Church is built… is not something a man… or a group of men… dreamed up.  It is divinely revealed.  It comes directly from God.  Note the Trinitarian character of it.  Peter leads the Church in confessing Jesus Christ, the Son of God.  And this is revealed to him by the Father.  And how does the Father reveal it to him?  By His Spirit, who works faith when and where He pleases in those who hear the Gospel (AC V).  It is the Spirit who gives the Word, and the Spirit works through the Word, as Peter himself will write: “no prophecy was ever produced by the will of man, but men spoke from God as they were carried along by the Holy Spirit” (2 Peter 1:21).  Peter is carried along by the Holy Spirit, who is sent by the Father, to do this very thing, to confess Christ, and so Peter is blessed.  And so are you blessed as the Spirit leads you to make that same confession.  Think of that, every time you confess the Creed.  This Gospel is happening to you.  The Father has revealed this to you, by His Spirit, and you are blessed in confessing Christ, the Blessed One. 

            Now there is a pun in the text.  “I tell you, you are Peter,” Πέτρος, “and on this rock,” πέτρᾳ, “I will build my church” (v. 18).  A πέτρος is a stone.  A πέτρᾳ is a boulder, or even a rock face.  So, they are not quite the same thing.  I tell you, Jesus says, you, Simon, whom I’m now naming “Peter”... are a stone… we might even say, one chiseled from the rock… and on this Rock… that is, the confession revealed to you by My Father: “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God”… I will build my Church.  Now, the first thing to say about that is that St. Peter is a stone, a rock-man, formed by the Rock, the confession.  So he is a pretty big deal.  And he is the one speaking for the other Apostles, so Lutherans need to get over their objections to the idea that Peter is the chief among the Apostles.  Of course, he is.  And he’s an integral part of the foundation, as Paul writes of the Church, that she is “built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets,” and that means Peter (Eph. 2:20)!  But, on the other hand, he’s not the main event, as our Roman friends maintain.  The confession is.  Which is to say, Jesus is… the Christ, the Son of the living God.  Jesus is (as Paul continues) “the cornerstone, in whom the whole structure, being joined together, grows into a holy temple in the Lord” (vv. 20-21).

Incidentally (and this is an aside, but it is something worth knowing), there is no record in antiquity of anyone ever having been named Peter, until Jesus here gives Simon his new name.  And now, of course, the name is everywhere.  People who could care less about Christ and His Apostles may still name a son “Peter.”  It is a testimony of God, that name… a testimony of the Holy Spirit… calling us all to “look to the rock from which [we] are hewn” (Is. 51:1), as Isaiah preaches to us in our Old Testament reading.  That is, look to the faith that the Rock-Man preaches: That Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God.  Know and believe that that’s who He is.  Not all the silly things the world… and your own sinful flesh… want to believe about Him.  That He may be a great prophet, but He’s just a prophet.  That He’s a great moral teacher.  A good man, but, after all, just a man.  Never forget what C. S. Lewis has to say about that idea in his book, Mere Christianity.  Jesus claimed to be the God who gives life and has the authority to forgive sins.  If, therefore, He is not God, yet He makes these claims about Himself… then He cannot be a true prophet, or a moral teacher, or a good man.  In fact, what would He be?  A liar!  Or, a lunatic.  The only other option is that He is, in fact, the Lord.  And that means He is your Lord, and your God.

And He is.  And, by grace… not by flesh and blood, not by your own reason or strength, your own genius and ingenuity… but because the Father has revealed this to you by His Spirit in His Word: You believe and confess the Rock.  Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God. 

Our Lord then gives us two unshakeable Promises about the Church that is built on the Rock of this confession.  First, the gates of hell will not prevail against it (Matt. 16:18); and second, Jesus gives His Church the Office of the Keys: Our Lord Himself will bind and loose in heaven whatever His Church and her ministers bind and loose on earth (v. 19).  Peter is given these keys on behalf of the Church, and two chapters later, Jesus will make clear that those keys are given, not just to Peter, but to all the Apostles (Matt. 18:18).  Well, think about what these Promises mean.

That the gates of hell will not prevail against the Church… You can think of that in two ways.  First, the gates of hell can’t shut us in.  Hell has no claim, anymore, on those whose sins are atoned in the suffering and death of Jesus; those who are covered and cleansed by the blood of God’s Son.  That’s you!  You are free from that slavery, to live in the resurrection life of Jesus, the risen Lord.  But also (and we don’t think enough about this), those gates can’t shut us out.  That is, they have no defense against the Gospel, such that, when the Church, offensively, proclaims Jesus Christ, the Son of the living God, those still on this side of the veil, who are nonetheless trapped in the hellish chains of unbelief, hear, and are freed, and brought into the Kingdom.  Preaching does that, you know.  Remember when the Seventy-two were sent out to preach, and they come back to Jesus all impressed that even the demons are subject to them in the Lord’s Name?  Jesus says, literally, I saw Satan falling like lightening from heaven (Luke 10:18).  As they preached!  The preaching robs Satan of his ability to stand before God and accuse.

And then, the Keys.  The binding and loosing.  Now, the binding: Let this be a warning.  The unrepentant are to be bound to their sin as long as they do not repent, and heaven is locked to them.  Not because they’re worse sinners than anyone else, but because they would rather keep their sin than have Jesus and His redemption and forgiveness.  So, whatever the Church and her ministers bind on earth is bound in heaven.  That’s what we call “Church discipline,” like the minor ban from the Lord’s Supper (when the pastor has to say, “you can’t commune until you repent of this sin”), or excommunication (“you can’t be a member of this Church anynmore, until you repent of this sin”).  Never to be done in malice, or for revenge, but why?  For the sake of waking the sinner up to his sin and condemnation.  So that he repents.  That he may be forgiven and restored.  And then, the loosing.  The Absolution of the repentant sinner.  Forgiveness of sins, pronounced by the minister, in the stead and by the command of Christ.  The loosing key releases the sinner from his sins, and unlocks heaven for him by the application of the blood and death and resurrection life of Christ.  Whatever the Church and her ministers loose on earth is loosed in heaven.  So, on the basis of this Promise, we confess with Dr. Luther, “I believe that when the called ministers of Christ deal with us by His divine command, in particular when they exclude openly unrepentant sinners from the Christian congregation and absolve those who repent of their sins and want to do better, this is just as valid and certain, even in heaven, as if Christ our dear Lord dealt with us Himself.”

That is, the Church built on Peter’s confession (“You are the Christ, the Son of the living God”) is the holy House where you are safe from Satan’s rage and spite, and where all your sins are forgiven, and you are free.  Any other house, built anywhere else… any other religious fellowship, not built of the Rock of this confession… is a house built on shifting sand.  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son +, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.            

 

Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost

 Video of Service

Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 15A)

August 16, 2026

Text: Matt. 15:21-28

            You remember the story.  Jacob, seeking reconciliation with his estranged brother, Esau, sends all who belong to him across the river Jabbok, while he stays behind, to spend the night alone.  Suddenly, there is a Man, wrestling him through the night.  Jacob knows not who He is, or where He’s come from.  He only knows the Man is powerful… powerful enough to touch Jacob’s hip socket and put it out of joint.  That’s strange.  Clearly, the Man could maim and defeat Jacob with one snap of the fingers.  Yet He gives Jacob to overpower Him.  So, Jacob gains the upper hand.  And when the day breaks, the Man demands that Jacob let Him go.  But now, Jacob is on to the Man.  Perhaps consciously.  Perhaps only instinctively.  But he knows.  This is no mere Man.  Who is it?  An angel?  More than an angel?  (You know.)  “I will not let you go unless you bless me” (Gen. 32:26; ESV).  Jacob clings to Him.  Struggles with Him.  Makes demands of Him.  And expects an answer… a blessing.  It earns Jacob a new name: Israel.  Literally, “Strives with… God.”  And now there is no doubt.  Who is the Man who wrestles Jacob in the night?  This Man is God.  (And we know, He is the preincarnate Christ.)  And Jacob… Israel… would not have known it apart from the wrestling.  See what’s going on, here? 

            Wrestling with God.  Jacob’s clinging.  God could so easily tip the scales with His almighty power and win.  But He doesn’t.  He lets Himself be mastered.  He gives Himself to be defeated, and into defeat.  And in that, the revelation, and the blessing.  This will define, not only Jacob’s relationship with God, but that of his children ever after… the children of Israel, the people of God.

Our Holy Gospel this day brings the story of Jacob to mind.  What is the Canaanite woman doing, if not wrestling with God-incarnate, Jesus, the Christ (the Messiah)?  She fits the pattern, doesn’t she?  Like Jacob, who is severely afflicted by fear of his brother, the woman’s daughter is severely afflicted by a demon.  Jacob needs God’s help.  The woman and her daughter need Jesus’ help.  Mercy.  Jacob literally wrestles on the ground with the Son of God.  The woman wrestles with Him in her pleading, her prayer.  Our Lord wounds Jacob by touching his hip.  He wounds the woman by ignoring, and then insulting her.  Nevertheless, Jacob clings.  Nevertheless, the woman clings.  What is this clinging, but faith?  I know, on the basis of Your own Promises, my Lord, that You are a God of mercy.  You are the God who helps.  You will not forsake one who looks to You in a time of need.  I know that that is the kind of relationship I’ve been given to have with you.  So, I will not let go.  I will not let go until You bless me.  I will not let go until You hear and answer my prayer.

You know who else fits that pattern?  You, in your time of need, and in your prayers to God.  The wrestling.  The striving.  The pleading.  The clinging.  Right?  Even when God wounds you.  In fact, especially when God wounds you.  Sometimes literally, laying upon you the cross of a physical affliction.  Sometimes in your worry and heartache for others, like the woman for her daughter.  Sometimes when He appears to be ignoring you (just so we’re clear: He’s actually hearing every word), or when He seems to turn you away (does He actually turn the woman away?  Does He actually turn you away?  What is He doing, here?).

Well, what is He doing, wounding Jacob, ignoring and insulting the woman, and doing similar things to you?  There are more answers than we can give.  In fact, there is always the hidden will of God to be acknowledged and believed.  That is, we are not given to know every reason, or even the main reason.  We only know He has His reasons, and they are always good and right.  But we do know a few things.  He does it to discipline us.  Not punish, but discipline.  Think about the difference.  He is not motivated by hatred and retribution, but love and training.  That we despair of all other help.  That our false gods be toppled, and we be driven to Him alone.  That we put all our faith in Him.  That we cling to Him, and hold Him to His Promises.  That we exercise our faith in patience, knowing that He will deliver.  As He knows best.  When He knows best. 

There is one way in which the woman, and most (if not all) of you don’t fit the pattern, though.  She is not an Israelite.  She is not a daughter of Jacob.  She is a Gentile.  From the district of Tyre and Sidon, known for idolatry.  The disciples, and virtually everyone who first heard this Gospel, would have thought: This Lord, and His Promises, can’t possibly be for her, right?  (Or, frankly, for any of you!)  Oh, how wrong they are.  Jesus must teach them.  They are shocked when He does not send her away.  Even after their pleading.  They are shocked that He doesn’t just snap His fingers and defeat her.  He lets her keep wrestling.  Against His silence.  Against His insults.  Against His racial epithet (He calls her a dog!  Gentiles are dogs… mongrels, as far as the Jews are concerned). 

And then, most shocking of all.  He turns to her.  He praises her faith.  And He answers her prayer.  What does this teach us?  First of all, the disciples, and all the Jews, should have known: Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob… Israel… were not chosen merely for their own sake, but to be a blessing to all nations.  That was always the Promise.  That is what God says to Abraham: “in your offspring all the nations of the earth shall be blessed” (Gen. 26:4).  That is the fulfillment of our Old Testament reading (Is. 56:1, 6-8): “the foreigners who join themselves to the LORD… these I will bring to my holy mountain, and make them joyful in my house of prayer… The LORD GOD, who gathers the outcasts of Israel, declares, ‘I will gather yet others to him besides those already gathered.’”  That’s the woman.  That’s the Gentiles.  That’s you!  So, here we learn that we must never exclude anyone from God’s mercy on the basis of race, sex, previous sins, or just because we don’t like them.  God have mercy on us if we do.  Never, ever, should we tell God to send someone away.  God gathers even you and me into His chosen people, Israel… into His Family, the Church… so that His Promises are for us, too.  That is amazing!  And if that’s true for us, who in our own eyes should always be the chief of sinners, then it’s true for them, too… whoever they are to you.

We also learn from the woman how to pray.  She gives us the words (or, better, the Lord gives us the words, through her): “Have mercy on me, O Lord, Son of David” (Matt. 15:22).  That’s the Kyrie from our Liturgy, isn’t it: “Lord, have mercy; Christ, have mercy; Lord, have mercy.”  We find versions of this elsewhere in the Bible, too.  And it’s beautiful.  You can have that prayer constantly at hand, for any and every occasion.  When something goes horribly wrong in your life.  “Lord, have mercy.”  When you hear bad news from a loved one, or when you’re watching the news on television.  “Christ, have mercy.”  When you hear a siren in the distance, and you know someone is in need of help.  “Lord, have mercy.”  When someone asks you to pray for them.  Pray this.  Pray it right away.  Pray it often.  We know our Lord loves to hear it, because He loves that He hears it from this woman.  And as she knows, this is why He came.  To help.  To have mercy.  To save. 

There is, by the way, another traditional version of this prayer common to nearly all liturgical orthodox Christian Churches, including Lutheranism, called “The Jesus Prayer.”  Do you know it?  It goes like this.  “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”  It’s very close to the woman’s prayer in our text.  I encourage you to memorize that one.  It’s meant for meditative repetition.  Use it when you’re anxious, to calm you.  Savor each Word, and think about what it means.  “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”  Use it when you can’t sleep.  “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”  Pray it slowly, in rhythm with your breathing.  And give all the pain and anxiety to Jesus, for His mercy and help.  And then, wait for Him.  Cling, and wait.  Do not let go until He blesses.

And the clinging.  Faith.  We also learn that from this woman.  He calls her a dog.  Amazing.  You know what she says back?  “Yes, Lord…” (v. 27).  Now, just pause there, and take note.  She doesn’t deny it.  Not because of any racial inferiority complex, but this is actually a confession of sin.  “Apart from You, I am an unclean animal.  I agree.  Yes, Lord.”  You should make that confession, too.  And, of course, you do, every time you confess your sins.  You know you are neither worthy of the things for which you pray, nor have you deserved them.  But you ask that He would give them all to you by grace.  As does the woman: “yet even the dogs eat the crumbs from their masters’ table.”  That’s it.  That’s the faith Jesus praises.  Now, don’t miss this, either.  It’s not the act of her believing that Jesus praises, as though faith is the one impressive good work she gets to do, to merit His attention.  No.  It is the Object of her faith that is so great.  Her faith is in the right thing, the right Person.  “O woman, great is your faith!” (v. 28).  He could just as well say, O woman, great is your Master.  Great is your Jesus.  How do you cling to God?  (Learn this from her!)  By His Promises.  By holding Him to His Word.  And then, “Be it done for you as you desire.”  Nearly the same words we hear in Holy Absolution: “Let it be done for you as you believe” (LSB 293).  The blessing.  The gift.  That’s what faith receives.

Beloved… This is the God who gives Himself to be conquered by you.  Conquered on the cross for your sins.  Conquered by the clinging… by faith in His Promises.  He must have mercy.  He must bless.  Because that’s what He says.  And that is who He is.  For you.  Learn from Jacob, beloved.  And learn from the woman.  When you wrestle with Him in prayer… when you pray to Jesus, “Lord, have mercy”... that is exactly what He will have.  Always.  For you.  Mercy.  Blessing.  Salvation.  Life.  And freedom from those accursed demons!  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son +, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.                 

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.