Lenten Midweek IV

Fourth Sunday in Lent

Fourth Sunday in Lent (C)

March 27, 2022

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Lenten Midweek III

Lenten Midweek III: “Jesus: God’s Son and Your Servant”[1]

March 23, 2022

Text: John 13:1-20; LSB 556:5-6

            Every world religion apart from Christianity devises some way for its adherents to work their way up to God.  All-too-often, Christians themselves fall into this trap.  As though we have to climb a ladder into heaven.  “Step by step, rung by rung,” as the hymnist, Huey Lewis, sings in his song, “Jacob’s Ladder.”  In other words, work by work, merit by merit, better and better all the time, or you’re lost.  This is Islam.  This is Judaism.  This is Mormonism.  And this is where so many of our own Christian brothers and sisters go off the rails.  It is even officially taught by a number of Christian denominations.  Salvation by works, whether in whole or in part.  This is what we call moralism. 

            Or there is the idea of salvation by knowledge.  “Trust the science,” we say, by which we really mean “trust the scientists and experts I agree with, and if you don’t agree with them, you’re obviously a Luddite.”  It is the idea that we can know how to save ourselves… from plague and pandemic, from climate change, from war and bloodshed, from the transgressions of all previous generations, from nuclear disaster…  and that our generation is the quintessence, the pinnacle of all human knowledge.  We can even save ourselves from death, we think, if we just know a little more, do a little more medical research, and/or advance our technological knowledge such that we can download our consciousness into everlasting machines.  This is what we call rationalism. 

            Or there is the idea of salvation by religious experience or enlightenment.  Here I have a direct and unmediated encounter with the divine, or with an angel, or with some saint, like the Virgin Mary.  Here belong religious pilgrimages, relics, apparitions, strange phenomena like the stigmata (where the wounds of Jesus supposedly show up on your own body).  Here belong also the so-called charismatic gifts, speaking in tongues (which is not the tongues speaking of the Bible, by the way), prophesying by direct revelation, having the Holy Spirit speak directly into your mind or heart, ecstatic emotional worship experiences, and the like.  Encounters with God apart from His Word.  Here also belong the Eastern religions, heightened consciousness, mindfulness, reincarnation until one reaches nirvana, occultism, wicca, and classic paganism.  This is what we call mysticism. 

            But in all three cases, moralism, rationalism, mysticism, the idea is that we work our way up to God.  So there are really only two religions in the world.  There the religion of merit, whereby salvation is earned.  You climb the ladder to God.  It all depends, at least to some degree, on you.  And there is Christianity, whereby salvation is by grace alone, a gift of God given freely in Christ.  God comes down to you.  It all depends entirely on Him. 

            Now, the more you try to climb the ladder, the more you realize the futility of your own efforts.  No matter how high you progress up the rungs, God is forever infinitely higher.  And, of course, you don’t get very many rungs off the ground before you fall off and have to start all over again.  But the great Good News of the Gospel is that your salvation does not depend on your climbing.  It does not depend on your ability to keep the Law.  Or your knowledge.  Or some direct mystical experience of the divine.  It depends entirely and alone on God who comes down.  He comes down all the way.  Into His creation.  Into your flesh.  Into your sin and misery.  Into your death and your tomb.  This is the joy of Christmas!  The eternally begotten Son of the Father is conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary.  For you!  To redeem you from all that enslaves you.  From Satan’s fast-binding chains.  From death’s dark brooding.  From possession by sin that makes your life a living hell.  By your experience, you actually know the very opposite of salvation.  Your own good works all come to naught.  Your will fights against God’s judgment.  Your fears increase.  Sheer despair leaves only death to be your share.  Well… thank God, Jesus Christ, God’s Son, came down to redeem you from all of it. 

            The Father “said to His beloved Son: ‘It’s time to have compassion.  Then go, bright jewel of My crown,” go down, “And bring to all salvation.  From sin and sorrow set them free; Slay bitter death for them that they May live with You forever” (LSB 556:5).  “They can’t do it.  So You must, My dear Son.” 

            So the Son obeys His Father’s will.  He is born of virgin mother.  And God’s good pleasure to fulfill, He comes… comes down… to be our Brother.  He unites Himself to us.  He bears His royal power disguised under our flesh.  He puts on a servant’s form, just like ours (LSB 556:6).  He even comes to the waters of the Jordan where John is baptizing sinners.  And he goes down into the water… Not because He needs Baptism.  He has no sin.  He is the perfectly obedient Son of God.  But to be baptized into us.  To soak up our sins, and the sins of the whole world, into Himself.  To bear them.  And in this way, to fulfill all righteousness.  He is baptized into us, that we may be baptized into Him. 

            Baptized into His perfect obedience.  Baptized into His sin-atoning death.  Baptized into His resurrection life.  We do not climb the ladder to God.  He comes down to us in the Person of his Son.  Becoming one with us, He loves us to the end (John 13:1)… even to His death on the cross.  And His cross now becomes the bridge between heaven and earth.  The cross is Jacob’s Ladder.  Or better, Jesus is Jacob’s Ladder.  He comes down and embraces us, and carries us up to God, through death and the grave, to heaven and to bodily resurrection. 

            In His great compassion, He came down to us, not to be served, but to serve, and to give His life as a ransom (Mark 10:45).  We see this as He heals the sick, gives sight to the blind and hearing to the deaf, casts out demons, and raises the dead.  We see this as He eats and drinks with tax-collectors and sinners and restores them to God by forgiving their sins.  We see this as He calls one and all to repentance and faith, to take up the cross and follow Him. 

            And tonight, we see it as He lays aside His outer garments, wraps a towel around His waist, and stoops down to wash His disciples’ feet.  This is the work of the lowest slave, the most despised, the Gentile salve.  The higher slaves wouldn’t touch it.  The dirt and grime of the road.  The filth left behind by donkeys and beasts of burden.  Disgusting.  Unclean.  No disciple would ever be asked to do this menial task for his rabbi.  Here the Rabbi does it for His disciples. 

            And what He does for them in the Upper Room, He does for us as he forgives our sins.  Having washed us clean to the core in the bath of Holy Baptism, He now continually stoops down to wash our feet in the Absolution, cleansing away the disgusting filth and uncleanness we accumulate along the way by our sin.  This is not something any disciple could possibly do for this Master.  If we are to be clean, He must do it, for He alone is clean.  And then He arises and sets the Table before us and eats with us.  He, the Master, becomes our Waiter.  He hand-feeds us.  He gives us to eat and drink.  He serves us in His great compassion.  Isn’t that astounding?  But isn’t that just like our God?  We cannot climb up to Him.  So He comes down.  He stoops.  He gets down in the dirt and filth.  To bring us up. 

            Grace.  That is what this is.  God’s unmerited favor on account of Christ.  Or as you may have learned it in Catechism, G.R.A.C.E.: God’s Riches At Christ’s Expense.  There are only two religions in the world.  There are the man-devised religions whereby you climb up to God on ladders of moralism, rationalism, or mysticism.  And then there is Christ.  His is the religion of grace.  He does it all.  He comes down.  He brings us up.  He is crucified, dead, and buried.  He is risen, ascended, and reigns.  Baptized into us, He makes the sacrifice of atonement for our sins.  Baptized into Him, God declares us righteous and makes us His own children.  This is His compassion.  At just the right time, “when the fulness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons” (Gal. 4:4-5; ESV).  It is time to have compassion, God said.  So Jesus came down…. and raised us up!  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son X, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.                

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[1] This year’s theme, much of the material, and the outline for this sermon are taken from John T. Pless, “Dear Christians, One and All, Rejoice!” https://www.1517.org/articles/dear-christians-one-and-all-rejoice-lent-series-introduction

Third Sunday in Lent

Third Sunday in Lent (C)

March 20, 2022

Text: Luke 13:1-9

            It was a common belief in the ancient world, and frankly, among us, as well, that when tragedy strikes, it must be because the victims somehow had it coming.  When the towers fell, and so many lost their lives on 9/11, many said it was God’s punishment on our nation’s sin and unbelief.  When Hurricane Katrina struck New Orleans and flooded the city, televangelist Pat Robertson declared that it was divine retribution over the godlessness of the people.  Whether it is an act of violence perpetrated by men, as when Pilate mingled the blood of the Galileans with their sacrifices, or a nature-made or accidental catastrophe, as when the tower in Siloam collapsed and killed eighteen, we are tempted to think that those who suffer must be worse sinners than all the others.  And if we suffer some tragedy, we are tempted to think that it must be because of something we’ve done, that God is punishing us for some particular sin.  But that is not how Jesus would have us understand such events.  Rather, He would have us view all such tragedies, though they are very evil, nevertheless as gracious reminders from God to examine ourselves, repent of all our sins, and return to God and His merciful redemption.  That is what He means when He says, “unless you repent, you will all likewise perish” (Luke 13:3, 5; ESV).  There is no safe place apart from God.  Tragedy could strike at any moment in this fallen world.  So be ready for it by daily repenting of your sin and rebellion against God.  Be ready by daily fleeing to Christ for mercy and salvation, taking refuge under the wings of His cross, and under His outstretched arms.           

            What is repentance?  We should be clear on this, because this is the first part of Christian preaching, as Jesus gives it to us: “repent and believe in the gospel” (Mark 1:15).  Well, first, here is what repentance is not.  It is not works of penance you do to make satisfaction for your sins.  God is not looking for you to punish yourself by self-chosen works of purgation, nor does He want you to engage in acts of piety for the purpose of gaining His attention and meriting His favor.  Those are pagan notions, and they have no place in the heart of a Christian.  You cannot earn the forgiveness of your sins.

            Nor is it feeling really bad about your sins.  This is all-too-often the Lutheran version of doing penance.  Good old-fashioned Lutheran guilt, as David Letterman calls it.  If I’m poor and miserable enough of a sinner, God will forgive me.  But God does not base His mercy on your low self-esteem.  And anyway, it so easily becomes a mark of pride.  I’m a poorer and more miserable sinner than you’ll ever be, and you couldn’t possibly feel as bad about yourself as I’m able to feel about myself.  So there.  I win.

            Nor is it bargaining with God.  “God, if you forgive me, I will do better next time.  Forgive me just this once more, and I’ll never do that sin again.”  As though God is moved by your “really meaning it this time,” and as though He doesn’t know you’ll fall again.  Honestly, you’re just deluding yourself.  Though you should battle against habitual sin and resist it, do you actually think you have the strength of will to pull yourself out of the muck and filth of sin by your own bootstraps? 

            Nor is repentance presuming upon God’s grace, continuing in sin, that grace may abound.  “God will forgive me, so I may as well do what I want.”  St. Paul had something to say about that in Romans Chapter 6.  This is actually the opposite of repentance.  It is giving yourself up into the old slavery to sin.  That way leads only to death.

            Least of all is it despair of God’s mercy and forgiveness, as though your sins were too bad for God to forgive, as though Christ’s sacrifice were insufficient.  That is not repentance.  That is unbelief. 

            So what is repentance?  Repentance has two parts.  The first part is contrition.  The second is faith. 

            Contrition is sorrow over sin, though we’d be mistaken to think of it simply as an emotion.  To be honest, what grieves me the most about my sin is that I’m not all that grieved over some of my sins.  I’m not all that heartily sorry, and sometimes I question the sincerity of my sincerely repenting of them.  What contrition really is, is the Law holding my sins before my eyes as in a mirror, forcing me to look at the horrifying reality.  It’s not a pretty picture.  Every last blemish is starkly portrayed, no matter my efforts to cover it up cosmetically.  It reveals that my problem is not just the wicked and despicable things I’ve done, but my very nature, which has been corrupted to its core by the disease of sin.  That produces true terrors of conscience. 

            But when the Law has done its work, God immediately adds the consoling Promise of the Gospel.  That is that Christ has died precisely for sinners like me, for the forgiveness of my sins, and even for my insufficient contrition.  Even for my false repentance, my attempts to earn His divine pardon and favor, my presuming upon His grace, my despair of His mercy.  He does all of that to death on the cross.  And He is risen from the dead for my justification.  That is, God declares me righteous for Jesus’ sake, by virtue of Christ’s own righteousness credited to my account.  And not only that, but baptized into the risen Christ, I am raised to new life in Him.  He gives me His Spirit.  I am given a new heart.  New desires.  A new disposition toward God and His holy Word.  I want to do what He commands.  I do not want to do what He forbids.  I want to love and serve Him.  I want to love and serve my neighbor.  And I begin, imperfectly, to be sure, to actually do it.  This is what we may call the third part of repentance, that is, fruit worthy of repentance.

            This is how our Confessions define repentance, and this is very helpful to our Christian life.  “To deliver godly consciences from these mazes of the learned persons, we have attributed these two parts to repentance: contrition and faith.  If anyone desires to add a third—fruit worthy of repentance, that is, a change of the entire life and character for the better—we will not oppose it.”[1]  That is Menachthon in The Apology of the Augsburg Confession. 

            But as always, Luther is even more entertaining, and here he is in The Smalcald Articles (and he’s worth quoting at length): “This is God’s thunderbolt.  By the Law He strikes down both obvious sinners and false saints.  He declares no one to be in the right, but drives them all together to terror and despair.  This is the hammer.  As Jeremiah says, ‘Is not My word like… a hammer that breaks a rock in pieces?’ (23:29).  This is not active contrition or manufactured repentance.  It is passive contrition, true sorrow of heart, suffering, and the sensation of death.  This is what true repentance means.  Here a person needs to hear something like this, ‘You are all of no account, whether you are obvious sinners or saints <in your own opinions>.  You have to become different from what you are now.  You have to act differently than you are now acting, whether you are as great, wise, powerful, and holy as you can be.  Here no one is godly.’  But to this office of the Law, the New Testament immediately adds the consoling promise of grace through the Gospel.  This must be believed.  As Christ declares, ‘Repent and believe in the gospel’ (Mark 1:15).  That is, become different, act differently, and believe My promise.”[2]

            Or perhaps we should stick with Luther’s pithy and memorable definition of repentance in the Small Catechism: Repentance is a daily return to Baptism, which “indicates that the Old Adam in us should by daily contrition and repentance be drowned and die with all sins and evil desires, and that a new man should daily emerge and arise to live before God in righteousness and purity forever,” as “St. Paul writes in Romans chapter six: ‘We were therefore buried with Him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life’ (Rom. 6:4).”[3]

            Now, tragedy and suffering, though certainly evil in and of itself, God nevertheless works for our good (Rom. 8:28) as an exercise in this very repentance.  That is, He lays upon us the blessed and holy cross, to slay Old Adam, to bring us to the end of ourselves and kill us, that He may raise us up from the dead.  He digs around us and piles on the manure.  It hurts, and it’s messy.  It stinks to high heaven.  But it’s just what an otherwise dead tree needs from the Vinedresser if there is to be life and fruit for God.

            God comes looking for fruit worthy of repentance.  Jesus says to His Father, “Be patient.  Wait awhile, as I apply the Law and Gospel Medicine, My Word and the Holy Sacraments, and just the right sufferings.  You’ll see.  There will be fruit.  And if not, You can cut it down.”  You may certainly refuse the ministrations of Christ, and so go on in your death.  In that case, there is nothing left but to chop down the tree and make room for others.  But when Christ administers His saving medicine, there is nothing short of a resurrection from the dead.  He brings forth repentance.  He repents you.  He does it.  He brings forth faith.  He enlivens you.  By His Spirit.  In His Word.  And behold, there is fruit.  A living sacrifice, pleasing and acceptable to God the Father, through Jesus Christ, our Lord. 

            Those who suffer great tragedy, are they worse sinners than all the rest?  No.  We all deserve worse than we get.  We all deserve worse yet.  But in Christ, in spite of all tragedy and suffering, and even through it, what do we get?  We get the very best.  Forgiveness of sins.  Eternal life and salvation.  Resurrection from the dead.  Christ may pile it on.  But He does all things well.  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son X, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.               

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[1] Apol. XIIA (V):28, McCain, p. 161.

[2] SA III:III:2-4, McCain, p. 272.

[3] Luther’s Small Catechism (St. Louis: Concordia, 1986).

Lenten Midweek II

Lenten Midweek II: “From the Father’s Heart”[1]

March 16, 2022

Text: John 12:27-36; LSB 556:4

            “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified… Father, glorify your name” (John 12:23, 28; ESV).  But our Lord’s glory is not what we think.  Our Lord’s glory is not to be found in the adulation of the Palm Sunday crowds.  It is not in riches or fame or spectacular display of power.  It is not His elevation to a kingly throne.  It is His elevation on the cross.  It is the crown of thorns.  It is Pilate’s declaration that Jesus of Nazareth is the King of the Jews.  “And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself” (v. 32).  Behold, the crucifix, the lifting up of the King of kings, and Lord of lords.  For this purpose, our Lord has come to this hour (v. 27).

            This hour.  This is the divinely appointed time the Father has had in mind from all eternity.  God beheld our wretched state even before it came to be, “Before the world’s foundation” (LSB 556:4), from eternity.  And “mindful of His mercies great,” He planned to do something about that wretchedness, He planned for our salvation.  The cross is no afterthought with God.  The Incarnation of our Lord Jesus, His innocent suffering and death for our sin, was no Plan B.  The story of our salvation does not begin in the Garden of Eden with the fall into sin, but from eternity, in the eternal heart of God.

            Before the creation of time, before sin entered the world as a reality in the transgression of our first parents, our Triune God, in His eternal counsel, determined that the Father would send the Son to be our Redeemer.  Of course, it was never God’s will that we fall into sin.  But it is His eternal will to save us from sin and damnation, and to bring us into His eternal Communion.  And so God, in Christ, has chosen us from all eternity to be His own, by His own redeeming action. 

            St. Paul writes about this in Ephesians, Chapter 1.  Note, as I read this, the emphasis on God’s eternally electing us to be His own in Christ.  God “chose us in him,” Christ, “before the foundation of the world” (v. 4)… “In love he predestined us for adoption to himself as sons through Jesus Christ” (vv. 4-5)… “In him we have redemption through his blood” (v. 7)… “making known to us the mystery of his will, according to his purpose, which he set forth in Christ” (v. 9)… “In him we have obtained an inheritance, having been predestined according to the purpose of him who works all things according to the counsel of his will” (v. 11). 

            Here we have the doctrine of Election, which is that God has eternally chosen us (and this is very important) in Christ, and never apart from Christ, to be His very own children who inherit the Kingdom.  This is not to say anything about eternally electing those who are lost to damnation.  That is not the teaching of the Scriptures, and you must not attempt to resolve the apparent paradox that God eternally chooses those who are being saved, but does not eternally choose for damnation those who are lost.  Leave that with God, who is infinitely wiser than you can ever be.  Simply take comfort in the fact that your salvation rests totally and alone in God who has chosen you in Christ and redeemed you by His blood.  And this has always been His plan, from eternity. 

            God turns to you a Father’s heart.  He does not choose the easy part.  He gives His dearest treasure (LSB 556:4).  How often do we say of a good earthly father, that he would do anything for the welfare of his children, give anything for their protection, that he is always there to help them, provide for them, and guide and counsel them?  So God is to us in Christ His Son.  In fact, what does He do?  He gives His very Son, Jesus Christ, into death on the cross, to save us from our sins and make us His own children.  We actually get our idea of what it is to be a good earthly father from God, our perfect heavenly Father.  God defines fatherhood and what it means to be a father. 

            Now, many of us, growing up, when we had misbehaved, heard those dreaded words from our mothers, “Wait until your father gets home.”  (Incidentally, we should grieve for the many children these days who never hear those words, because there is no father in the picture to come home.  It happens for many reasons, but the situation is always tragic.  Children do need fathers.)  But what was it about those words that inspired fear and trembling in our hearts?  For most of us, it wasn’t that Dad spanked harder (although he did) or was less compassionate in meeting out punishment.  It was our conscience.  This is that serious that Dad has to get involved.  I’ve disappointed him.  Yes, we all know that one, too… the worst part is when he says, “I’m so disappointed in you.”  I’ve merited his disappointment.  I’ve merited his anger.  I deserve what I have coming.  I am ashamed.

            The conscience of the sinner has the same thoughts about God, only on a grander scale.  The question becomes, “How is God toward me?”  And apart from Christ and the revelation of His saving Gospel, we simply speculate.  Perhaps we despair in our sins.  God will never forgive me.  I’m destined to hell.  God must hate me.  He must be my enemy.  Surely He is out to get me. 

            Or, we presume upon our eternal election, and rest in carnal security.  Since God has chosen me, and since He has promised to forgive all my sins, I may as well go on sinning.  He’ll save me in the end, after all, so I’ll go my own way, away from Him, and He’ll wink at me and shrug His shoulders in understanding, because He wants me to be happy, whatever I may do. 

Or, even worse, I’m not that bad.  I mostly follow God’s Law, and I’m getting better and better at it all the time.  I have a good heart and good intentions.  I do the things I am supposed to do, and don’t do the things that are naughty.  God will have to save me now, because I’m just that good.

            To hell with all such speculation.  When we want to know the Father’s disposition toward us, we must not look into our own chaotic and sin-filled hearts.  If we are to know the Father’s disposition toward us, we must behold it in Christ.  We must hear it in the Gospel and Absolution, the preaching of Christ's suffering, death, and resurrection for our forgiveness and justification.  We must stare into the profound depths or our Baptism wherein we are crucified and buried with Christ, and raised to new life in Him, where God writes upon us His own Name and declares us His true children.  We must taste and see that the Lord is good when we eat and drink the fruits of His cross, Christ’s true Body and Blood in the Holy Sacrament.  If you want to see the Father’s heart, look upon Jesus.  See Him lifted up on the cross.  There He is drawing you to Himself.  There is the picture of your election unto salvation.  There He accomplishes it and brings it to completion.  There is the end of your sin, the end of God’s wrath, the “It is finished” (John 19:30) of the Law’s demands and condemnation.  There is the Father’s love for you and for the world, that whoever believes in Him, whoever trusts in this One who hangs upon the cross, will not perish, but have eternal life (John 3:16).  On the cross, there is no speculation.  There is only the flesh and blood reality of God’s great love for you, and of your redemption.

            And this is His glory.  The glory of the Father.  The glory of Jesus.  For this is the fulfillment of God’s eternal counsel and will to save us in Christ.  And it is revealed to us in the Gospel. 

            Luther confesses this in the Large Catechism, in his explanation of the Apostle’s Creed: “For here in all three articles God has revealed Himself and opened the deepest abyss of His fatherly heart and His pure, inexpressible love [Ephesians 3:18-19].  He has created us for this very reason, that He might redeem and sanctify us.  In addition to giving and imparting to us everything in heaven and upon earth, He has even given to us His Son and the Holy Spirit, who brings us to Himself [Romans 8:14, 32].  For (as explained above} we could never grasp the knowledge of the Father’s grace and favor except through the Lord Christ.  Jesus is a mirror of the fatherly heart [John 14:9; Colossians 1:15; Hebrews 1:3], outside of whom we see nothing but an angry and terrible Judge.”[2]

            Here on the cross, you behold God’s heart laid open, broken and bleeding for your salvation.  God did not choose the easy part, but gave His dearest treasure, Christ, His Son.  When the Law condemns you, when your conscience troubles you, when you know the guilt and shame of your sin, and you wonder how God is toward you… do not speculate!  Look at Jesus on the cross.  That is how He is toward you.  He loves you that much.  He forgives you all your sins.  He chooses you to be His own.  He is your Father.  And you are His dear child.  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son X, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.                      

             

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[1] This year’s theme, much of the material, and the outline for this sermon are taken from John T. Pless, “Dear Christians, One and All, Rejoice!” https://www.1517.org/articles/dear-christians-one-and-all-rejoice-lent-series-introduction

[2] LC II:64-66, McCain, p. 406.