Fourth Sunday of Easter

 Video of Service

Fourth Sunday of Easter (A)

April 26, 2026

Text: Psalm 23; John 10:1-10

Alleluia!  Christ is risen!  He is risen, indeed!  Alleluia!

            You really ought to just learn the 23^rd Psalm by heart, if you haven't already.  I think maybe this is one of those passages to memorize from the King James Version, so that the poetry of it can captivate you.  Now, we’re singing several hymn versions of the Psalm today, including the beautiful Hymn of the Day, “The King of Love My Shepherd Is” (LSB 709), but other than that, we don’t actually get the Psalm on this Good Shepherd Sunday.  It is the Psalm appointed for the day, though we don’t often use that lectionary option.  But you have to hear it, so, here it is, in the King’s English: “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.  He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.  He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.  Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.  Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.  Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.” 

            When I was a teenager (this may come as a shock to many of you) I was a bit of a dork.  And at school, I had what one might call a “poor man’s Trapper Keeper,” one of those three ring binders with the clear plastic sleeve all around it.  And, as teens often do, I made it my own by displaying things in that sleeve that were important to me.  On one side, I had an Oregonian newspaper concert review of a Ray Charles concert I had attended (one of the great moments of my life, God gave me to see Ray Charles, still in his vigor... Beloved, always thank God for First Article gifts.  They are never trivial.  He loves us, and He gives us many good things to enjoy).  So, that was one side (the back), but on the front... Bible passages.  Chief of which was Psalm 23.  King James.  In public school, no less, carrying it around.  Printed in dot matrix!

            I wish I could say it was because I was wise that I did that.  But like so many things, from my perspective, it was by happy accident.  I liked it, so I printed it.  But from God's perspective, it was by grace.  It was His providence.  So that it was daily before my eyes.  I read it constantly because it was there (and it was more exciting than algebra).  I internalized it.  Turns out, that's the way to do it.  And now that I think about it, that was probably a lesson caught from my dear mother, who had all sorts of random bits of paper, with Bible verses, taped all around her desk at my parents' hardware store.  Thank God for those, too, because I learned some of those verses by happy accident (which is to say, divine providence).  In fact, when I hear or recite some of those verses, I can still see those scraps of paper in my mind, clear as day, complete with stupid rainbow and unicorn stationary (it was the 80s, okay?).  It doesn't have to be an accident, though.  You can do this intentionally.  And you should.  Write down passages.  Hold them before your eyes.  Read them often.  Mark them.  Learn them.  Inwardly digest them.  So that they become a part of you.  Woven into the fabric of your being.     

            But you know what it really was... my binder... my mother's notes...?  It was our Lord Jesus, shepherding me.  Calling me by name.  Leading me in and out of the sheepfold (and what is the sheepfold?  The Church!  Leading me into the Church, and back out again into my life and vocations!  Armed with His Word!).  Always with me.  Feeding me.  Tending me.  Protecting me from the fang and claw of predators (the devil, the demons).  At His own peril.  To His own harm (the cross!).  So also, the robbers and thieves (the false teachers).  The muddied and poisoned waters of my own sins.  He keeps me from all that is harmful and deadly.  And when I am lost, He seeks me, and finds me.  And when I am wounded, He binds my wounds, and He keeps me close, and extends to me His healing touch.  And when He brings me back, safely, to the sheepfold at night, He protects me, then, too.  He becomes the Door.  He is, of course, in truth, the Door... we enter His Church (His Sheepfold) by our immersion into Him in Holy Baptism.  But there is also a pastoral (as in shepherding) image here (pastor is just Latin for shepherd).  At night, the shepherd lays himself across the entrance of the sheepfold.  That’s what Jesus does for me, and for you, and all the sheep.  Why?  So that I can’t get out apart from His knowledge and care.  And if a predator wants in, it’ll have to cross over the crucified and risen body of the Lord Jesus Christ.

            What about the images we are given in Psalm 23?  What does our Lord do for us there?  Since the Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want.  I was always confused, as a kid, what that means.  Because I wanted plenty of things.  Yeah, but not really.  I didn’t want in the true sense of the word, as in lacking the things that I need.  The things that kept me alive.  Physically, yes.  But also, and especially, the things that kept me alive spiritually, in Christ.  That is what the rest of the Psalm is about: Those things that keep me alive by faith in the Good Shepherd.  And that, by the way, includes the crosses God sends me, because He knows they are good for me.  In other words, I may suffer the lack of some bodily necessity at one time or another.  But when that happens, I can be sure of two things: 1. The Good Shepherd is feeding me spiritually by my bodily lack, shaping me by the cross into His cruciform image.  And 2. He will, in the time and way He knows best, relieve me of that bodily want.  Either by providing here and now (as He so often does), or... frankly, death.  But either way, I can trust Him.  He knows what I need.  And, in any case, you and I haven’t suffered much of that.  Certainly not to the degree many of our brothers and sisters have, and do, in other places in the world, and at other times in history.  But our Shepherd will always provide.  You can absolutely count on Him.  I shall not want.

            How does He provide for our wants in the Psalm?  He makes us lie down in green pastures.  That is to say, His Word!  That is what is happening here, in the Divine Service.  And in your daily reading and meditating on the Scriptures.  Beloved, read the Scriptures every day.  And put up your scraps of paper, or whatever you need to do to hold those Scriptures before your eyes, your heart, your mind.  You’re resting in His verdant meadow!  He leads you beside still waters.  Think of all the wells in Scripture.  Or the river that comes from the throne of God, and gets deeper and wider as it goes.  With the Tree of Life on either side, the leaves of which are for the healing of the nations.  The pure, fresh water that heals all that it touches, all that is stagnant and dead.  Think of the Living Water Jesus pours out for the Samaritan woman, and for you.  If anyone is thirsty, come to Him and drink.  Think of the baptismal font, where that water touches you.  The healing bath of regeneration and renewal.  The water pouring forth with blood from the Savior’s pierced side.  He leads you to that. 

            He restores your soul by that.  And He leads you in the paths of righteousness for His Name’s sake.  Now, that is vital.  Because you’ll get lost otherwise.  But His Name is on you in Baptism.  You are precious to Him.  He does not want to lose you.  So He keeps you close, and leads you in the Way you should go.  His doctrine.  And His Commandments.  That you live in faith toward Him, and fervent love toward one another.  He leads you through the dangers.  All the dark and perilous places.  Even through the valley of the shadow of death.  He knows the Way!  He’s been there!  He is the Way!  He can lead you through, and out the other side again, alive, because: He is risen!  He is risen, indeed!  Alleluia!  You need fear no evil.  They can’t get you when Jesus is with you.  Let His rod and staff be your comfort.  Again, His Word.  And His cross.  The fulfillment of Moses’ staff.  It has a crook in it, that God may yank you away from the dangerous messes you get yourself into.  And stave off the devil and the false teachers. 

            Then, all of a sudden, a change of metaphor.  The Table well-laid in the presence of your enemies.  Right here in this fallen world, and much to the vitriolic terror of the demons.  Christ’s true body.  Christ’s true blood.  For you, for the forgiveness of sins.  And the anointing oil.  The Spirit.  You are anointed with the Spirit at your Baptism, just as He was at His.  And the cup that runneth over.  That’s like Luther’s “and the like” when he’s listing all the First Article gifts God provides us.  So, if all this is true (and it is!), you can know for certain that goodness and mercy will follow you all the days of your life... this life... and into the next.  You will dwell in the House of the LORD forever. 

            That is an unimaginable comfort to you as you slog your way through life in this fallen world, with your own fallen flesh.  So, just memorize it.  Learn it by heart.  What am I always saying to you Catechism students?  Why do I want you to learn all this by rote?  So that you know it by heart!  And you carry it with you all the way to your death bed, and beyond.  It is the Voice of Jesus, your Good Shepherd.  Calling you by name.  Listen.  Hear Him.  Believe Him.  Follow Him.  Because, with Him, you have life.  And you have it abundantly.  Alleluia!  Christ is risen!  He is risen, indeed!  Alleluia!  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son X, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.      

Third Sunday of Easter

 Video of Service

Third Sunday of Easter (A)

April 19, 2026

Text: Luke 24:13-35

Alleluia!  Christ is risen!  He is risen, indeed!  Alleluia!

            Sorrowful and sad, disappointed and dejected, they plod the Emmaus path.  Their Lord, crucified, like a common criminal.  Those closest to Him in hiding.  Roman and Jewish authorities both on high alert.  So much for the messianic dream of an independent Israel, delivered from Roman tyranny.

            Step after step.  It’s a seven-mile journey.  When, all at once, they are joined by a Stranger.  He inserts Himself into the conversation.  “What is this that you are talking about along the way?”  “What is it?  What do You mean?  Where have You been holed up this whole Passover Feast long, that You’re the only Visitor to Jerusalem who doesn’t know the things that have happened?”  “What things?” the Stranger persists.

            Now, you and I know who this is.  What is Jesus doing, playing with them like this?  Why is He asking these questions?  We know good and well that He knows the answers.  Well, think about it.  This does have a familiar ring to it, this line of questioning, doesn’t it?  “Adam, where are you?”  “Who told you you were naked?”  “Did you eat of the tree from which I commanded you not to eat?”  “What things?” Jesus says.  “Tell Me.  Say it out loud.  Work it out, guys.  What has happened?  Confess.” 

            You and I know what He’s up to, but they don’t.  Their eyes are kept from recognizing Him.  Kept by what?  Or whom?  Jesus?  Probably.  Everybody has a hard time recognizing Him, now, in His risen and glorified body.  Until He gives them to recognize Him.  We see this throughout the post-resurrection appearances, and He has His purposes in it.  But also (and this is very instructive for us)... their own spiritual blindness.  The inability of their minds to comprehend even the possibility that the rumors might be true: That this Man, who was crucified, dead and buried, is risen.  Impossible.

            So, they trod and plod, and they try to explain: “Concerning Jesus of Nazareth, a man who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and rulers delivered him up to be condemned to death, and crucified him.  But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel” (Luke 24:19-21; ESV).

            One of them is named Cleopas.  Perhaps he is the Clopas from John 19 (v. 25) (Cleopas being a Greek name, Clopas, Hebrew).  That’s what the early Church thought.  In that case, this is Jesus’ uncle, Joespeh’s brother.  But who is his companion?  Scholars have debated, as they are wont to do.  Some say Clopas’ son, Simeon.  Others have suggested Mary, the wife of Clopas (one of the many Marys in the Gospels).  Whoever it is, doubtless, the early disciples knew.  They are in on the joke.  But Luke doesn’t tell us.  Why?  It’s a literary device.  Who is this unnamed second person?  Literarily speaking, the second person is you.

            On the road with Jesus.  Walking the wrong way, as it turns out.  You should be walking toward Jerusalem.  Toward the gathering of disciples, not away from it.  But there He is, and your eyes are kept from recognizing Him.  Kept, perhaps in some sense, by His design, but certainly by your own spiritual blindness and the inability of your mind to comprehend that the risen Lord Jesus Christ walks with you.  He is present with you, you know.  He promises it.  But you act like He is not.  Like He is gone.  Far removed.  Like you’d hoped that He would help you and be with you, but there’s no way that could be true now.

            You silly Christian.  You know better than that! 

            But, there He is.  He is faithful.  With you always.  In the flesh.  And in spite of yourself, and your silly, stupid doubts.  Doing what?  Calling to mind His Word.  The Scriptures.  Moses and the Prophets.  And more, with you, who live in the New Testament.  The Apostles and Evangelists.  The fulfillment of the Old.  Every page... every Word... it is all about Him.  His coming in the flesh.  His sin-atoning death for you.  His resurrection on the Third Day, as He said.  His ascension.  His rule at God’s right hand.  His coming again to judge, and to raise you from death... to life.  This is why you should daily be in the Scriptures at home.  Because this is Jesus, speaking to you, even when you can’t, for the life of you, see it.  He is breathing His Spirit into you by His Word.  Turning you around.  Drawing you to Himself, and to His heavenly Father.  And to His body, the Church.  To His body, the Supper.

            Sometimes, by grace, it does dawn on you that He is speaking to you.  Those are marvelous moments of clarity.  Embrace them.  Revel in them.  But most often, not.  Lest we be too elated by the surpassing greatness (2 Cor. 12:7).  But also, because of our own dullness.  “O foolish ones, and slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken!” (Luke 24:25).  When that is the case, God, open our blind eyes.  Melt our hard hearts.  Give us ears, that we may hear!

            So, this is what our Lord does.  He comes alongside Cleopas and you, and leads you deep into the Truth.  It’s hard to see Him, isn’t it?  But just listen.  He is inserting Himself into your life and conversation.  Speaking to you, here and now, in the Scriptures and the preaching.  Showing you from all the Scriptures that it was “necessary that the Christ should suffer these things and enter into his glory” (v. 26).  He opens your mind to understand.  And, as He does, your heart burns within you.  Doesn’t it?  Sometimes it doesn’t.  That is your own hard-heartedness.  Repent of that.  But often it does.  When the truth of it… the beauty of His love for you, and His redemption of you… hits you in new and different ways, as if for the very first time.  You see Him so clearly where you hadn’t before.  Or you seem Him again where you have in the past, but in a way that is new and fresh.  And not theoretically, as an abstract idea, or a Savior far-removed.  No... Incarnate.  Tangible.  Embodied.  Near.  Present, as He promised.  Present for you.

            And when that happens... O, Lord Jesus, will you not stay?  “Abide with us, our Savior,” you plead.  “Abide with me, fast falls the eventide.”  Come in, and dwell with us.  “Come, Lord Jesus, be our Guest.”  And He does.

            And then, you go to the Table, and the Guest becomes the Host.  He “took the bread and blessed and broke it and gave it to them” (v. 30).  That is what He does for us!  We know those words!  And what happens?  It’s like scales fall from our eyes.  There He is!  We recognize Him in the Breaking of the Bread.  From here on out, that is where He’ll be for us.  That is where He will always be for us, until the Day He comes again in glory.  This is how we’ll see Him.  The body given.  The blood shed.  Now risen from the dead.  Living and life-giving.  Absolving and cleansing.  Comforting and encouraging (literally, putting all the courage of the One who has conquered sin, death, and Satan, into us!). 

            It turns our feet back to Jerusalem, to the holy Church of God, where we know we belong.  It turns our sorrow into joy, our disappointment into hope and confidence.  We run to the assembly of our fellow believers, and proclaim the truth continually to one another: Alleluia!  Christ is risen!  He is risen, indeed!  Alleluia!  And now we go His way, about His business, knowing ever and always that He is with us on the Way, the risen Lord Jesus.  Never mind if it’s often hard to see Him.  You and old Cleopas, just keep listening as He speaks to you in His Word.  And just like the first disciples, devote yourselves “to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers” (Acts 2:42).  And in that, your eyes will be open to Him.  Because He is here!  For you.  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son X, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

 

Second Sunday of Easter

 Video of Service

Second Sunday of Easter (A)

April 12, 2026

Text: John 20:19-31

Alleluia!  Christ is risen!  He is risen, indeed!  Alleluia!

            The wounds.  He still has them.  Why?  That we may know.  This is the Lord Jesus who was crucified for us.  Dead and buried.  Our punishment, for our sins.  Our cross.  Our hell.  Our tomb.  See the scars.  He was mortally wounded.  Yet, behold, He lives.  The Lamb of God, slain, but standing.  Victorious.

            The wounds.  They are, for us, the wells of salvation.  Pierced for our transgressions.  Crushed for our iniquities.  Upon Him was the chastisement that brought us peace (Is. 53:5).  Peter preaches, as did Isaiah before him: "By his wounds you have been healed" (1 Peter 2:24; ESV).  The Rock of Ages, cleft for me.  Let me hide myself in thee.

            The hands. The feet.  The riven side, whence flowed the water and the blood.  Be of sin the double cure.  Cleanse me from its guilt (justification) and power (sanctification).  It all flows from His wounds.  Into font and chalice.  And so, into you.  And so, into me.

            So, when I am tempted, I flee to the wounds.  They are the stronghold, my protection from Satan’s flaming darts. 

            When the guilt of my sins overwhelms me, I run to the wounds.  There is forgiveness in the blood.  The blood is the propitiation, the atonement, and the purifying agent.

            When I have been sinned against, behold, the wounds.  Suffered also for my neighbor.  For the forgiveness of my neighbor.  The same mercy.  The same blood.  It covers me.  It covers my neighbor.  If God forgives my neighbor, how can I not forgive him?  If God forgives me... at the cost of these precious wounds... Forgiveness flows from these wounds, to me, and through me, to my neighbor.

            So, when I am given to judging my neighbor in his sins... as though his sins are not as qualified, as are mine, for the mercy of the Lord... look at the wounds.  And bury that nonsense deep within them.

            When I am weak, or sick... When I know the brokenness of everything... When I am grieving, or sad... When I am lonely...  When I am dying...  There is healing in the wounds.  Only in the wounds.  The Strong One, weak, with my own weakness, in order to make me strong with His strength.  His body broken, that I be made whole.  His sorrow, His tears, turning mine into joy.  Forsaken by all, that I never be alone.  Not even in death.  In which, even then, I will live.  Because He died.  But He lives.  And I live in Him.

            See how His wounds give meaning to my own.  Mine are joined to His.  His redeem and consecrate Mine.  St. Peter tells us how.  Though now, for a little while, if necessary, you are grieved, these various trials are gifts of God, given, why?  That “the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ” (1 Peter 3:7).  What does it mean?  What kind of test could this be?  It is not an academic test, or a fitness qualifier.  This is metallurgy!  The purifying of gold.  It is melted into liquid.  Surely, being melted is not a pleasant experience!  But what happens?  As the precious metal is melted down, all that is not gold is brought to the surface, and skimmed away.  So it is with faith.  That is the testing.  The melting down.  So that all that is not faith... all that is not Christ... be exposed and removed.  Your wounds.  They have purpose, now.  United with those of Christ. 

            And what happens to the wounds over time, as they heal?  They become scars.  Scars are important.  They are reminders.  Signs.  Signs that the wounds are real.  That the hurt really happened.  But also, signs of healing and life.  Signs that God does not forsake you in your woundedness.  In that case, there would be no healed scars.  So... signs of God’s absolute faithfulness to you.  And a Promise, as you behold them through the lens of Jesus’ sacred scars: God will raise you from the dead, too.  And what is the proof?  The crucifixion wounds.

            It is Easter evening, and the disciples are locked away for fear.  Having sinned, and been sinned against.  Weak and broken.  In lonely prisons of their own making.  Sorrowful.  Grieving.  When all at once, He appears.  He is in their very midst.  No, He didn’t use the back door, or climb in through the bathroom window.  Here is a great Easter revelation: He’s been with them the whole time.  As He always is with His disciples, now, in His risen and glorified body.  And that, means us, beloved.  He is with us.  There He is, and you can imagine their surprise.  Startled.  Confused.  Doubting their own eyes.  Now, even more afraid.  What if He’s come in judgment?  What if He’s come in wrath? 

            But He speaks forth His peace.  Shalom.  And then, what does He do for His doubting disciples?  What gift does He give them, that makes everything right?  Then He showed them His hands and His side.  The wounds!  He still has them.  That the disciples may know.

            Now, Thomas was not with them.  Doubting Thomas, we say.  And it is true, he should have believed his brothers’ resurrection preaching.  But his instincts are right.  What does he demand to see?  The wounds.  That will do it.  They are the only cure for doubt.  Contact with the wounds of our Lord Jesus Christ.  “Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails, and place my finger into the mark of the nails, and place my hand into his side, I will never believe” (John 20:25).

            Eight days later, there He is again (He has this way of appearing in the flesh on Sundays, wherever His people are gathered).  And what does He say?  Thomas, here are My wounds.  Go ahead, poke around.  Here is the cure for all that ails you.  “Do not disbelieve, but believe” (v. 27).  And it works, doesn’t it?  In place of doubt, faith!  And creedal confession.  Thomas says to Him, “My Lord and my God!” (v. 28).  And then, as though turning and looking at us, the Lord says to Thomas, “Have you believed because you have seen me?  Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed” (v. 29).

            It is true, we haven’t seen, and yet we believe.  But we have come into contact with those blessed wounds.  The Rock is cleft for us in altar and font.  We hide ourselves in those wounds in the blest baptismal waters, and every time the Absolution is spoken, as Jesus here gives it (“If you forgive the sins of anyone, they are forgiven” [v. 23]).  The blood covers us in the body given and the cup poured out, cleansing us, purifying us, forgiving our sins.  And we believe.  And we confess.  “My Lord and my God!”

            That is the power of Jesus’ wounds.  He doesn’t bear them such that they still hurt Him.  Now they are trophies, witnesses, signs.  These things were written, first, in the flesh of God’s Son.  “Behold, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands” (Is. 49:16).  And then they are written in the Gospel, the Scriptures: “that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name” (John 20:30).  And so it is.  Behold, the wounds.  The Lord Jesus bears these wounds for you.

            Alleluia!  Christ is risen!  He is risen, indeed!  Alleluia!  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son X, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.                 

 

 

The Resurrection of Our Lord: Easter Day

 Video of Service

The Resurrection of Our Lord: Easter Day (A)

April 5, 2026

Text: Matt. 28:1-10

Alleluia!  Christ is risen!  He is risen, indeed!  Alleluia!

            “And behold, there was a great earthquake...” (Matt. 28:2; ESV).  Well, that is actually an understatement!  Yes, the shaking of the ground, but what else is shaken in the dawning rays of the Son’s resurrection?  Let’s closely examine our text.

            First of all, how about the very days of the week?  The priority of the Seventh Day, the Sabbath, giving way to the First Day of the Week, Sunday.  Because now, all time is taken up in something utterly new.  Sabbath rest, no longer temporal, but eternal.  No longer a day, but a Man.  A Man who has fulfilled the Sabbath as Law by His rest in the tomb, and given it again as Gospel.  And so, this Day, Sunday, the First Day... but also, the eternal Eighth Day... will be the Lord’s Day, from here on out... for on this Day, He defeated death forever by His own bodily resurrection from the dead.

            What else?  The angel, visibly descending from heaven, rolling back the stone, leaving a gaping hole in the tomb.  Look at him, just sitting there... I’m convinced, with his arms folded and a smirk of satisfaction, as well as playful humor, on his face.  (Okay, that’s just my conjecture.)  But we do know, sitting triumphantly on our former prison, his appearance like lightening (can you imagine it?), and his clothing as white as snow.  He is there to preach. 

            First, Law to the guards.  Have you ever thought about that?  Those set to keep dead men dead and sealed in the tomb... the angel doesn’t even have to say a word.  His mere appearance on the scene preaches to them.  And (as the Law always does) it kills them.  In a manner of speaking, anyway.  They tremble (like the earth beneath them) and fall to the ground... like dead men.  And they are a picture of our own captors: The devil, the world, and our sinful flesh.  The grave itself (death!).  Hell.  Those enemies are conquered, now, because the Lord Jesus has rattled the world... in fact, the universe... by His victorious arising from death.  The enemies thought they had killed Him on the cross.  And they did!  But they couldn’t keep Him dead, this Jesus, our Lord.  And the joke’s on them.  His death was actually their undoing, so that they lost all power, over Him, and us.  And now, by His resurrection, He brings life and immortality to light (2 Tim. 1:10).

            Then... the women.  Note how they approach the tomb, somewhat timidly, and yet, with greater courage than any of the men, who ought to have been there, but instead have locked themselves away for fear.  What are they expecting to find?  A sealed tomb with a corpse inside.  Instead, they find the stone rolled away, with that smirking angelic preacher there to greet them.  That’ll shake ‘em up, needless to say.  But to these women (as opposed to the guards), the angel preaches pure Gospel.  “Do not be afraid...” (Matt. 28:5).  Oh, you know that preachment was necessary, lest the women fall down like the guards.  And then, the earthshaking substance of the sermon.  The angel preaches the death and resurrection of Christ: “I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified.  He is not here, for he has risen, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay” (vv. 5-6).  See, the tomb is empty.  And, by the way, the angel didn’t roll back the stone so Jesus could come out.  Stones and walls and other physical barriers are irrelevant to the risen Jesus in His glorified body.  Even the space/time continuum can’t keep Him from going where He wants to go, and being where He wants to be.  No, the angel rolls the stone away for our sake, and for these women, and the disciples who will come later.  So we can look in, and see!  There is no dead body there.  Just more angels and folded up grave clothes (but, that’s the Gospel of John, so we’ll save it for another sermon).  Okay, so the tomb is empty.  And now, the angel points the women back to the Lord’s Word.  Preachers... even angelic ones... must ever and only preach the Lord’s Word, the things He said.  Remember, dear women, what He said.  Well, what did He say?  “The Son of Man is about to be delivered into the hands of men, and they will kill him, and he will be raised on the third day” (Matt. 17:22-23).  He didn’t hide any of that.  He taught it multiple times, clearly and explicitly, throughout His ministry.  So, now, remember that.  And believe it.  Because it has happened.  He died.  For the sins of the world.  And now, He is risen from the dead, as He said.

            Well, that turns the whole world upside down.  Death has been reversed?!  The women run from the tomb... in fear, still (I mean, if you heard from an undeniably credible source that someone you loved, and knew to have died... you saw the body... you were at the burial... was now walking around, alive and well and better than ever... you’d fear, too)... but now, fear mingled with joy.  Giving way to joy.  So much joy, that they do what the angel told them to do.  They run to the disciples, and tell them they should unlock the doors, because the Lord is risen, as He said!  I personally love that fact, by the way.  That the women, the Church, who should be the hearers, have to run and tell the preachers to get over their grief and fear, because they have a risen Lord Jesus on their hands.  Sometimes you have to remind your pastor that the tomb is still empty, and Jesus is, in fact, risen from the dead.  In any case, it is a marvelous picture of what the Church... all of you... are given to do with this Easter Gospel.  Run and tell it!

            And, on their way, who should they run into, but Jesus!  Alive.  Risen.  Greeting them, with love and joy and consolation. The Crucified One lives!  Earthshaking.  And He’s here for them.  He’s here for us!  Tremendous!  You know, that is how it will happen for us, too.  (It already happens to us, every time we gather here for the Supper, where the risen Jesus greets us with His body given, His blood shed, for us, for the forgiveness of all our sins.)  But, even as it happened, visibly and tangibly, for the women, so it will happen for us.  We’ll be running on our way, going about our business, doing what we’re given to do, when suddenly... on a day known only to Him... there He’ll be.  (Remember Ellie?  Laying there, reading her Bible, one minute, and the next, there He is?!)  In other words, one day you’ll die.  But you won’t really die.  Because you’ll be with Him, who (as it turns out), was telling the truth when He said: “I am the resurrection and the life.  Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die” (John 11:25-26).

            “And behold, there was a great earthquake...”  In your life, too.  There are many things in your life that are painful and scary and sad.  There is no denying that.  And your sins.  And all the places death touches you and the people you love.  Jesus died for all of that.  That is the old and fallen creation, which is passing away.  But there is another reality at play... a greater reality than all of those things.  What is it?  Jesus Christ is risen from the dead.  And He is the firstfuits.  More fruit to follow.  Which is to say, you.  The risen Jesus will raise you.  Bodily, as He is risen.  He will present you before His Father.  And the Father Himself will wipe away every tear from your eyes (Rev. 7:17; 21:4).  And give you eternal life in His Kingdom.  And see, that New Creation is already breaking through, here and now, in the things of the risen Jesus.  Such that (to borrow a phrase from Tolkien), He is making every sad thing, untrue.  Or, in the Words of Jesus Himself: “Behold, I am making all things new” (Rev. 21:5).

            You can live in that confidence, right now.  You can live in that joy, right now.  Because the Lord’s tomb is already empty.  Soon, yours will be, too.  It’s earthshaking.  And it’s true.  Alleluia!  Christ is risen!  He is risen, indeed!  Alleluia!  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son X, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.                

Vigil of Easter

 Video of Service

The Resurrection of Our Lord: Vigil of Easter

April 4, 2026

Text: Mark 16:1-8

Alleluia!  Christ is risen!  He is risen, indeed!  Alleluia!

            This is the night...  Of death succumbing to resurrection and life.  The great passing through the valley of the shadow, then, coming up and out.  The drowning and death of Old Adam.  The emerging and arising of the new man, the New Creation in Christ.  Darkness to light.  Repentance and faith.  Mortification of the flesh.  Growth in the Spirit’s fruits.  Out with the old and dying and dead.  In the with the new and living and eternal.  In foreshadowing, and accomplished fact.  In delivery of the gifts, and following in His train.  This is the night.

            This is the night... Creation out of nothing.  God’s almighty Let there be!  And so, there is.  Formed and filled.  And it is good.  In fact, very good.  And man and woman.  Male and female.  Fashioned in God’s own image and likeness.  Tending the Garden.  Stewarding creation.  Having dominion over fish and birds and livestock and every creeping thing that creeps upon the earth.  Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it.  This is the night.

            But we know what happened.  The beguiling serpent.  The woman deceived.  The man, silent, when he should have spoken.  Taking and eating what God had forbidden.  Not good.  Not good.  A Promise, yes.  The woman’s Seed, crushed, but crushing the serpent’s head.  Yet, before you know it, a brother’s blood crying from the ground.  Adam’s seed, corrupt... all.  And so, a Flood.  Of worldwide proportions.  The death of all the living.  Except one man and his family.  Our father, Noah.  His sons.  Their wives.  Saved in an ark.  Eight souls in all.  And pairs of animals in which is the breath of life.  A starting over.  A reset for the God who is grieved, and death for humanity, hellbent on self-destruction.  But delivery through water, to life, for the one who is righteous by faith in the LORD, his God.  And another Promise.  The bow in the clouds.  God points His weapon away from earth.  Never again shall there be a Flood to destroy the world.  God’s solemn oath.  This is the night.

            Israel, trapped, with their backs against the sea.  Before them, slavery and certain death.  Behind them, a watery grave.  But there is the pillar of fire, God’s Glory.  And there is the rod, and the Word of God.  Lift up your staff.  Stretch out your hand over the sea and divide it.  A strong east wind.  The Read Sea parts.  Israel crosses through the water on dry ground.  But Egypt pursues.  The hoards of Pharaoh, with chariot and horse.  Moses, stretch out your hand again.  And the waters of the sea come crashing down.  Water destroys the enemies of God.  Water saves the children of God.  “I will sing to the LORD, for he has triumphed gloriously; the horse and his rider he has thrown into the sea” (Ex. 15:1; ESV).  The passing through.  The coming up, and out.  To freedom.  To life.  And communion with God.  This is the night. 

            Baptism by water.  And Baptism by fire.  Three faithful men who will not bow the knee.  Who will not prostrate themselves before a pagan idol.  They will pay the price.  And they are willing.  Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.  Nebuchadnezzar’s fury.  A fiery furnace seven times hotter.  God will deliver us, O king, from your hand.  But even if not, we will not bow down.  And so, bound.  Cast down.  In smoke and flame.  Even the executioners are killed.  But now, the men are unbound, and unhurt, walking around in the midst of the fire.  And who is that with them?  We only cast three.  That fourth One appears like a son of the gods!  He is, as it happens, the Angel of the LORD.  Which is to say, not a son of the gods, but the Son of God!  God will deliver us, O king, from your hand.  And He does.  That is precisely what this God does for those who belong to Him.  And so, passing through.  And coming up, and out.  To freedom and life.  This is the night. 

            The Vigil of Easter, from ancient times, was a night of Baptisms and Confirmations (we don’t have any ready to go this year, but it’s always fun when we do).  The passing through water.  The death and defeat of God’s enemies (and yours!).  The devil.  Old Adam in you.  Your sin.  Your guilt.  The coming up, and out of the blest baptismal water.  Forgiven.  Born anew.  Washed clean.  Clothed with Christ, and His righteousness.  A New Creation.  To live by faith.  Image restored.  Likeness reclaimed.  And then, the blessing of the Spirit, as the faith is confessed.  On pain of death (we ask even our children... are you willing to die, rather than fall away from this faith?).  A Baptism of fire.  Because, do what they might, the world and its prince cannot kill us.  Our God will deliver us from their wicked hands.  And He does.  Always.  Even if it be through suffering and martyrdom. 

            Because, this is the night.  Dissipating into Day.  What do the women find, as that Day dawns?  The stone rolled back.  No Jesus in the tomb, but a young man, dressed all in white, seated on the right side, like he is waiting for them.  “Do not be alarmed,” the angel says.  “You seek Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified.  He has risen; he is not here.  See the place where they laid him” (Mark 16:6).  It is the first Easter sermon.  And the women are the first to hear it.  They are not to keep it bottled up, this news, as though it is a secret to themselves.  Go, tell His disciples.  And especially Peter.  He’ll meet you in Galilee.  You’ll see Him for yourselves!

            And they flee in fear.  Trembling and astonishment.  Because the night is over.  Everything has changed.  Jesus took hold of the night by its ears and leapt with it into the abyss.  It is the death of the darkness forever.  But, for Jesus... He was just passing through.  Through the night.  Through death.  And now, He has come up, and out! 

            In this moment, all the women have is the preaching of it, still reverberating in their ears, and in their hearts.  But the angel promised that soon, they would see Him.

            And that is us, tonight.  This is the night when we hear the preaching.  The Good News that Christ Jesus is risen from the dead.  Not the sense or sight of it.  Just a sermon.  Reverberating in our ears, and in our hearts.  But also, a Promise.  We will see Him soon.  And, indeed, we will.  The Risen One is coming.  This is the night, but soon, the Day.  It is, with us, as with all the saints of old.  We’re passing through.  Then up, and out.  With Jesus.  With our Lord.  It is the grand old story.  It is our story.  And here is the climax, the earthshaking culmination of all that came before... the sum and substance of our eternal future: Christ is risen!  He is risen, indeed!  Alleluia!  Up and out, and into resurrection life.  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son X, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.           

  

Good Friday

 Video of Service

Good Friday Tenebrae

April 3, 2026

Text: John 19:28-30 (ESV): “After this, Jesus, knowing that all was now finished, said (to fulfill the Scripture), ‘I thirst.’  A jar full of sour wine stood there, so they put a sponge full of the sour wine on a hyssop branch and held it to his mouth.  When Jesus had received the sour wine, he said, ‘It is finished,’ and he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.”

            In the Name of Jesus X.  Amen.

            “I thirst.”  Suffering, dying, making atonement for the sins of the world, for your sins and mine... It’s hard work.  Our Savior is human.  Like us.  The Son of God does His saving work in a body.  Flesh of our flesh.  Bone of our bone.  And so, He is physically parched.  And wine-vinegar won’t slake Him.

            He has emptied Himself.  Poured Himself out for us.  His blood.  His strength.  His very life.  And now, knowing that the work of our redemption has been accomplished, He speaks forth His emptiness, His longing to be filled.  By water?  Certainly.  But more than that.  For what is He thirsting? 

            For you.  To be His own.  For you.  To live with Him, in His Kingdom, forever.  For you.  To desire Him, as He desires you.  To live for Him, as He has lived for you.  To die in Him, as He has died for you.  And so, to rise with Him, as He is risen and lives for you.  The Blessed One hungers and thirsts for your righteousness (Matt. 5:6), your justification.  And that is what He accomplishes by His death on the cross.  What is it that can satisfy His thirst?  You.  Only you.  Beloved, look again at the crucifix.  See Him bleeding, dying on the tree.  He does all this for you.

            The sour wine.  The gall.  That won’t do it.  This, rather, is to fulfill the Scripture, which said: “They gave me poison for food, and for my thirst they gave me sour wine to drink” (Psalm 69:21).  As it happens, that is a fine description of the best we can do to quench the Savior’s thirst by our own efforts.  To be righteous before Him by our own strength.  To justify ourselves.  Swill.  Spoiled.  Polluted.  Rotten.  That is what we give Him.  It will never do.  It is with us as the Prophet Isaiah says: “all our righteous deeds are like a polluted garment” (Is. 64:6).  Filthy rags.

            “I thirst,” Jesus says.  But only He can provide that for which He thirsts.  And He does.  So, “When Jesus had received the sour wine”... as though swallowing the last sin left on earth... the final transgression to be atoned... the big one, our self-justification... He said, “It is finished.”  That is, it is complete.  This that I am now doing has come to its conclusion, and reached its goal.  And so, He lays His labor down.  He rests, as He did on the Seventh Day of Creation.  He dies.  For you. 

            What, exactly, is included in that declaration, “It is finished”?  His suffering?  Yes.  But more.  The Sacrifice of Atonement for our sins.  The Propitiation.  And so, our guilt.  Our condemnation.  Our enmity with God.  What is left to do?  Just this: A Sabbath rest in the tomb, thus sanctifying our sepulchers as soft beds from which we will one day awaken.  And then, getting on with the business of resurrection and life. 

            So, “It is finished.”  And He “bowed his head and gave up his spirit.”  Not just a poetic way of saying He took His final breath this side of death, although it is that.  He is breathing forth the Holy Spirit into the world, and upon all who will believe in Him.  His death unleashes something.  He’ll do it again on Easter evening, when He breathes on His disciples and says, “Receive the Holy Spirit” (John 20:22).  He will manifest it fully when the Spirit blows through on Pentecost, fifty days later.  And on us in every Baptism.  And on the wind of His Word.  Where His death... and life... touches us in the body given, the blood poured out, set before us as a banquet, the Holy Supper. 

            That is the satisfaction of His thirst.  That you receive Him, and all His saving gifts.  The Spirit He pours out.  The Father who loves you.  The life He gives you.  The Kingdom He bestows. 

            And what is our response?  As we sang, “What language shall I borrow To thank Thee, dearest Friend” (LSB 450:5)?  The sour wine, my own swill, will never do.  How about this?  Another request!  “O make me Thine forever!  And should I fainting be, Lord, let me never, never, Outlive my love for Thee” (emphasis added).  Live in Him, and love Him.  Be loved by Him.  That is my response.  And yours.  Every day by His mercy.  Each day in faith.  Treasuring His every Word.  Longing to see Him with my own eyes.  Rejoicing to receive Him as He comes to me... to us... in His Means of Grace.

            It is that for which He’s been thirsting all along, isn’t it?  There He won it (the cross).  And here He gives it (the Church).  Oh, beloved.  Behold your Savior, and your God.  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son X, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.