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.       

 

Household & Heritage Vespers

 Household & Heritage Conference Vespers

Shepherd of the Hills Lutheran Church, Rathdrum, Idaho

August 8, 2026

Text: Judges 14

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tenth Sunday after Pentecost

 Video of Service

Tenth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 13A)

August 2, 2026

Text: Matt. 14:13-21

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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