The Future is Behind Us: Enduring Hope
Romans 15:4–13 // Matthew 3:1–12 // Isaiah 11:1–10 Grace, mercy, and peace to you from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Our sermon text is from Paul’s letter to the Romans, chapter 15, verse 4, “Whatever was written in the former days was written for our instruction, that through endurance and through the encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope.” Our text thus far. Dear friends in Christ, The future is behind us. That’s the title of our sermon series, where we’re thinking about and looking at the promises of the past that shape our future, and the image he put out there was that of a rowboat. We move into the future even as we look at God’s promises in the past. We’re remembering what matters and trusting that God will lead us into the future. Last week, we considered past promises, the ancient prophecies that guide us to long for Christmas because Christ in the manger for us will be Christ on the cross for us. Today, we consider the end of Paul’s letter to the Romans, we consider John the Baptizer, and we consider Isaiah’s prophecy as we turn to our sermon theme, Enduring Hope. So, what is hope, how do you have hope, and how do you keep hope when you’re at the end of your rope? At the end of my rope. It’s an American saying from the 1680’s, from mining and railroading where conditions were dangerous and people often were in need of being rescued. A rescue worker would send down their safety rope, they would lean over, as far down as they dared, and the person they were rescuing would tell them if the rope would reach them, how far down the rope they were, or if they had no hope, at the end of their rope. Because not too far from here is a wife that feels as though she has no more tears to cry. She doesn’t know if she can feel, doesn’t know if she can endure. She feels at the end of her rope. And not too far from her is an old man who is wondering what reason the Lord possibly has for keeping him around. He knows he’s at the end of his life, and he would rather just be at rest. What’s the reason he is still around; he feels at the end of his rope. And not too far from him is a young couple whose kids are particularly a handful that day. They have every reason to be hopeful, but they aren’t. They have every reason to be happy, but they’re just tired. They have every reason to have joy this Christmas, but they just feel at the end of their rope. Three points to our sermon for today: first, that hope is born in dissonance, second that dissonance tells us that we are not quite at the end, and third, that dissonance resolves in harmony. Hope is born in dissonance. I was up in the choir loft not too many days ago, and I had the opportunity to hear our choir sing. They were practicing for Christmas, as you might expect, and Irene had broken them out into parts. She began with the bass, then added the tenors, then the altos, and I walked in just as she was adding the sopranos and the melody. It sounded beautiful as they sang, heading toward the end of the song, until... she stopped them... on the second last note. She said, “That doesn’t sound good, and it’s not supposed to.” She turned to the altos; “You have to hold that sour note true right here so that you can have a resolution in the end.” First, hope is born in dissonance. Isaiah in chapter 11 is prophesying the judgment of the nations that would cut down the tree of Jesse right down to the roots, and that’s exactly what happened. Matthew in chapter 3 is recording John the Baptizer creating dissonance, calling out sin, making people uncomfortable over their sin, because we should be uncomfortable in our sinful ways. Hope is born first when we realize that things are not right, that things are not as they should be. Yes, that’s something we know in our head, but there are days and times when it finally gets down to our heart. What dissonance do you know? Sometimes that dissonance comes because of our own actions, sometimes, because of the actions of others, and other times still we suffer for no particular reason at all. Paul said it like that in Romans 5; he says, suffering produces perseverance, perseverance produces character, and character, hope, and the God of hope tells us that hope does not disappoint, or to say it like he says in Romans 1, hope in the power of the Gospel does not put us to shame. Hope is born in the dissonance of suffering, in the sour note before the resolution, in the hard times and the hurt that inevitably fall on us in this world. Second, dissonance tells us that we are not quite at the end. It tells us that there is more to the story than we know at present. Now, notice the language that I’m using: the language of melody, the language of story. When we have a melody, we have a composer. When we have a story, we have a storyteller. And for the Christian, he is one and the same, the Father who loves his children. Paul in his letter to the Roman Christians was writing to them in the middle of their conflict. Paul writes at the end of his letter, “Live in harmony with one another.” Which begs one to think that there must have been a reason to tell them to live in harmony (I don’t tell my kids to get along if they’re already playing nice), and that’s a truth that runs throughout the whole letter. That’s why his thesis statement way back in Romans 1:16–17 says “I am not ashamed of the Gospel for it is the power of God for all who believe, first for the Jews and then for the Gentiles.” There was dissonance between the Jews and the Gentiles of the Roman congregations; he’s writing into the difference of those who were born into their faith and those who did not know the traditions. They could tell that life wasn’t what it should be. And, we know this well, it is easy when you are in dissonance to start believing that it’s the end. It’s easy to believe that things will never get better again. It is easy to get lost in that truth that life isn’t what it should be. It would be easy for the hearers of Isaiah 11 to say, “I’m at the end of my rope, and I don’t believe there will ever be a shoot springing forth from the burned stump of Jesse,” when, in fact it took 600 years to get there. But when we believe in a great composer who calls himself the Father who loves his children, when we believe what we confess in the creed, that there is communion of saints, a resurrection of the body, and a life everlasting, then dissonance tells us that we are not quite at the end. The God who whispered hope by saving his faithful people from Assyrians is the God who shouted hope through John the Baptizer. The God who sent John the Baptizer as a forerunner is the same One who sent Jesus as a little baby born on Christmas Day. The God who resolved the sins of the whole world on the cross is the God who raised Jesus from the dead in harmony with the Scriptures, is the same One who sent him as the first fruits of the dead who will rise on the last day. The dissonance of this world simply serves to remind us that we are not yet at the end. Third, the song that has dissonance will resolve in harmony. Notice what Paul doesn’t say through this section. He doesn’t make them all sing the melody. He doesn’t spell out every last rule that they have to follow. He doesn’t tell them to march in lock-step together. Instead, notice what he does. In the middle of their dissonance, he tells them to remember the harmony that God promises. He says, remember that Jews and Gentiles are going to worship the one true God in joy and peace, and that’s what Deuteronomy says, that’s what Isaiah says, that’s what the Psalmist says, that’s how God will resolve all things at the end of all time. He says, look toward the end, and know that all will be well, all will be resolved, so in the meantime, keep on going. The kingdom of heaven is like a married couple at the end of their rope in the middle of a time of disharmony, of dissonance. They come to their pastor’s office disheartened and weary. They lay out their burdens, and they wonder if it will ever get better. To which, their pastor asks them to picture this: picture sitting next to your husband, to your wife, holding your first grandchild, picture sitting side-by-side and being able to say, it wasn’t easy every day, but we made it. Is it worth it to endure for now if you get to say that? The kingdom of heaven is like a large church in a small town that sees the disharmony, the dissonance, the suffering of the world outside of them and even inside of them. They cry with the wounded and they can’t figure out how to heal all the hurts, but they remember again and again that God himself will bring harmony, that God himself brings the resolution, that the God of hope will bring joy and peace. Amen and Amen.
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Remember the whole way that the Lord your God has led you
Day of Thanksgiving 2019 Deuteronomy 8:1–10 Grace, mercy, and peace to you from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Our sermon theme is pulled from the Old Testament reading, Deuteronomy 8:2, “You shall remember the whole way that the Lord your God has led you.” Our text thus far. Dear friends in Christ, I had totally forgotten about that! I haven’t thought about that in years! It’s been about 8 or 9 years since I was at the house of my dear wife’s uncle Bill for Christmas. Just the other day, Laura mentioned Uncle Bill and Aunt Cass, and then we started reminiscing about the last time we saw them, and then we started talking about the last time I was there at their house, how they have a den that comes off of their kitchen, how they had stockings hanging on a string over the mantel of their fireplace. And that got me thinking of a remarkable silly little story. Laura’s family was around for a gift exchange, we were sitting all in the den, and Uncle John was up in the kitchen. He decides to open a bottle of champagne, he undoes the wire, he unwraps the foil, and the cork pops up to the ceiling. Now, there are about 20 people there, so he goes to get another bottle. He undoes the wire, he unwraps the foil, he points the bottle and pop, the cork goes flying twenty feet or so, it hits the mantel like a backboard and falls right into a stocking. You could have done it a hundred more times and it wouldn’t have happened again. And I say to Laura, I had totally forgotten about that! I haven’t thought about that in years! I tell you that to tell you this: remembering brings the past back to the present. For me that day, it meant a pleasant and silly memory of people that I loved. Remembering brings the past back to the present, and that’s doubly true for the holidays. Today, we will find ourselves reminiscing. We’ll find ourselves thinking about the past. For some, the past is full of happy memories, of traditions that you will be a part of today, that you’re going to make the stuffing the way your mom used to make the stuffing, do the cranberries the way you remember Grandma made cranberries. For others, the past is full of regrets, of sadness, of people who have disappointed you, of broken relationships, of hopes dashed. For still others, the past is full of the ghosts of those who have passed away, the ache of loneliness that comes from loss. The first Thanksgiving since that loved one was laid to rest. Whatever the past that comes to present today, whatever the context of your memory as you come to Thanksgiving today, whatever you reminisce about, I would invite you to bring it to the foot of the cross. I invite you to pour it out before the heart of our God. I invite you into our text today, where God bids his people to remember, and to remember means to bring the past back to present. Three thoughts for our sermon today: first, remember the whole way of where you have gone. Second, remembering the past often allows us to see God’s hand in a way we cannot in the present. Third, God calls us to remember where he promises to work and what he promises to do. In the book of Deuteronomy, the people of Israel are knocking on the door of the promised land. They had been in the little itty bitty desert on the far side of the Red Sea for forty years, and now they were about to enter into the Promised Land. They had been led by Moses for those 40 years, and now he was giving his final speech, his deutero nomos, his second giving of the Law. He tells them, remember. Remember the whole way of where you have gone. He says, remember the whole way that the Lord has led you. The whole way. Even a brief survey through Exodus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy would tell you that things have not always been easy for the people of Israel. They were at the Jordan River, knocking on the door of the Promised Land forty years ago, mere weeks after they had received the 10 Commandments from Mt. Sinai. They had the chance to move into the Promised Land, but they saw the people there and their hearts were afraid. They had grumbled about no food. They had grumbled about manna. They had grumbled about too much manna. They had grumbled about quail. They had grumbled about water. They had rebelled. They had made a lot of mistakes. They were to remember the whole way. Remember their mistakes, the ones that God had used to discipline them like a dad disciplines his children. Two days ago, I had the chance to discipline my boy Benny. I sent him to his room for doing this and that. I came in, he apologized, I forgave him, and we hugged. And I told him what I often tell him, that I want him to grow up big and strong and kind and wise, so I discipline him. They were to remember their successes, the way that this generation had grown up in their faith to love the Lord their God with all their heart and soul and mind. And more than all of that, notice what they were to remember the most: Notice it in the verbs of our text. Remember that God had been the one who led them. That God had been the one who provided for them. Remember that God was with them, God was leading them, God was feeding the, God was caring for them. Dear friends, this is the second great point of our sermon today, remembering the past often allows us to see God’s hand in a way we cannot in the present. The truth of the Christian is that God is present everywhere. His Spirit is active. He is working whether or not we can see him, whether or not we understand what he is doing. He is working in our joy, reminding us where true joy resides. He is working in our mistakes, teaching and disciplining us. He is working even in our tears, in the loss we feel over our loved ones. He is working, patiently and slowly. And so we get to the third great point of our sermon. God calls us to remember where he promises to work and what he promises to do. The promised land that God promised to his people of Israel was a good thing for only a time; the promised land of the new creation is a promise for eternity. The manna in the desert satisfied them for a day but the bread of God’s Word will satisfy them for eternity. The water from the rock satisfied their earthly thirst, but the Living Water who is Jesus Christ will ensure they will never go thirsty again. And then a curious thing happens. We begin to remember differently. Instead of just the feeling of overwhelming loss, death becomes a doorway instead of a wall, and the promise becomes that our loved one stand by the side of Jesus Christ, and though there are tears, they are tears in the hope of something more. Instead of joy being a happiness for the moment, it becomes something more. It becomes a little picture of something that is beyond it, a little taste of a really great feast, the first glimpse of a joy that has no ending in a place that has no darkness. And then, perhaps most remarkably, something happens to our mistakes. Or rather, something happens to us. You see, for the Christian, as we remember our faults and failures in the light of the Gospel, in the light of forgiveness, we have the freedom to know those mistakes, to name them, to acknowledge them, and to know that as often as we confess our sins, we receive forgiveness which washes over them like a flood. As often as we drop to our knees, that often does Christ answer us with the words that only he can say. As often as we kneel to receive it, we remember that Christ has paid for them all. There is no reason to hide, no reason to defend. There is only and ever the love of Christ that lifting up our sorry souls, separating us from our sin as far as the east is from the west, cleaning us so that our sins which were like scarlet become as white as snow. Amen and amen. God himself is present in our opportunities to witness
Third in a series of four Luke 21:5–28 // 2 Thes. 3:6–13 // Malachi 4:1–6 Grace, mercy, and peace to you from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Our sermon text is Jesus addressing his disciples in the middle of this end times discourse: “This will be your opportunity to bear witness.... I will give you a mouth and wisdom.” Our text thus far. Dear friends in Christ, God himself is present. Two weeks ago, we saw God himself present underneath the sycamore tree, with his own presence changing everything. Last week, we saw God himself present in the burning bush, with his own presence to save his people from their slavery. Today, we hear Jesus speaking of the end times, even as he assures us that God himself is present in our opportunities to witness. What comes to mind when you think about witnessing? Perhaps you think of far off countries, of exotic peoples. Perhaps you think of open-top jeeps running through the Sahara, of translating Bibles into foreign languages. Perhaps you think of great debates, standing up for what you believe with apologetics and arguments and logic. Perhaps you think of being put on trial for Christianity, having to stand before the Supreme Court and state what you believe. What comes to mind when you think about witnessing? All of that is certainly a part of witnessing. The Apostles were sent to exotic places. The apostles spoke in tongues-not-their-own on Pentecost. Jesus even says here that they will stand in front of kings and governors. That all sounds in some ways scary, in other was exciting, and in most ways, way out there. You see, many of us can fall into a distorted view of witnessing, as if there’s our ordinary life over here, and over here, there are these strange and awkward conversations, like witnessing is one totally separated activity that you only do when someone asks you, Who is Jesus? That’s an important question, but it’s the only one. So, what does it mean to witness? Two points for our meditation on Luke 21 today, point number one is to consider the context of our witness. Point number two is to consider the content of our witness. First, we consider the context of witnessing. At least the context that Jesus gives for witnessing. Did you notice that in the reading? It’s all about the end times, and it’s really bad. The main message in our text isn’t hard to miss; the main message is that things are going to get worse: wars will be worse, conflicts will be deeper, the earth will groan more, Christianity will come under scrutiny, and even family relationships will be strained. The sun and the moon and the stars are going to give signs, the sea and the earth will be in distress, and people will be ruled by fear. That is the context of our witness. A world increasingly troubled, lives increasingly filled with fear, a place where hope feels far away. So, what do you say in times like those? We’ve been living in and with these end times ever since Jesus died. Much of what Jesus said came to pass in the lives of the apostles: they were brought before kings, they were tortured, they were martyred, they saw the easy and the comfortable fall away, and more than that. Almost all of us have seen tragedy, have been around hardship, have felt as though fear rules us, sin rules us, trouble never leaves us. So, what do you say in times like those? Well, point number two for today is that witnessing is often doing ordinary Christian things in extraordinary circumstances. Doing ordinary Christian things in extraordinary circumstances. What does that mean? Let me explain. C.S. Lewis says it really well in a short essay called “Living in an Atomic Age”: He published this little essay in 1948, after the United States dropped the first atomic bombs on Japan. How are we to live in an age when we can destroy ourselves, in an instant? He says it so well that I quote him at length: "How then should we live? Why, as you would have lived in the sixteenth century when the plague visited London almost every year, or as you would have lived in a Viking age when raiders from Scandinavia might land and cut your throat any night; or indeed, as you are already living in an age of cancer, an age of syphilis, an age of paralysis, an age of air raids, an age of railway accidents, an age of motor accidents… This is the first point to be made:” Lewis reminds us that humanity has always lived in the extreme. There has always been tragedy. The temptation to live in fear has always been near. He goes on... “And the first action to be taken is to pull ourselves together. If we are all going to be destroyed by an atomic bomb, let that bomb when it comes find us doing sensible and human things - praying, working, teaching, reading, listening to music, bathing the children, playing tennis, chatting to our friends over a pint and a game of darts - not huddled together like frightened sheep and thinking about bombs.” His point answers his question, How do we live in an atomic age? We live by doing sensible and human things: loving, laughing, caring, helping, sharing the love of Christ. What does it mean to witness in times like these? To do ordinary Christian things in extraordinary circumstances. To witness as a Christian is to stand in front of governors and kings just like the apostles -- as fishermen turned disciples turned apostles speaking the same Gospel they spoke among the twelve huddled in with the doors locked for fear of the Jews, the same Gospel they spoke on the extraordinary day of Pentecost, the same Gospel they spoke on the ordinary days following, the same Gospel that Stephen the first martyr spoke on the day of his death, the same Gospel in fact that they have passed down to you and to me: Christ the fulfillment of the Scriptures has died for our sins and rises to give me new life, and since my life is hidden in him, I don’t need to fear anything in this life even when I am afraid. I am not ruled by anything except by his love. I am only motivated by his grace. I find strength where he promises strength can be found. To witness as a Christian is to change a dirty diaper knowing that you are in that moment being the very hands of God providing comfort and support for his dear child. To witness as a Christian is to be both gentle and firm when you talk to your children at noon, and to be gentle and firm to your children when they’ve woken you up for the fourth time and it’s 2am. To witness as a Christian is to mouth thank you in the hospital to your ICU nurse even when she’s adjusting your breathing tube and it hurts. To witness as a Christian is to say, “Alleluia, Christ is risen!” on Easter morning full of joy and to say, “He is risen indeed, Alleluia!” as you lay your loved one to rest. To witness as a Christian is to know that the Apostle’s Creed that you say in the congregation today is the creed that you may someday have to say in front of kings and governor, and is certainly the creed that you will confess before Jesus Christ on the Last Day. To witness as a Christian is to know the truths of the Gospel that you’ve known from your mother’s knee, and to know them for all your whole life long, to say them on the days when it’s easy and skies are clear, and to say them on days when it’s not easy too. The context of our witness is the increasingly extraordinary suffering of humanity under sin that will continue until Jesus comes back. The content of our witness is the ordinary Christian truth that rules us, that Jesus who died for our sins is raised for our life, and it’s true in every chapter of our lives. The kingdom of heaven is like a large church in a small town that God has been and is still taking through all of the joys and troubles of life. There are people gathered who are having the best day ever, sitting next to others whose lives could not get any worse. And yet, they hear the same sermon together. They share the same hope, the hope of the Gospel, together. They speak the same truths together, and during their ordinary days, these truths lead them on. On their extraordinary days, they find themselves to be in awe of what they have always known. Amen and amen. God Himself Is Present Under the Sycamore Tree
First in a series of four Luke 19:1–10 Grace, mercy, and peace to you from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Our sermon text for today is Luke 19, just before Jesus enters Jerusalem, his encounter with Zaccheus, which ends with these words, “Today salvation has come to this house, since he is also a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek and save the lost.” Dear Friends in Christ, God himself is present. That is our sermon series for the next four weeks, as we near the end of the church year and the beginning of the next. God himself is present, and let us now adore him, and with awe appear before him. Today we begin considering who God is present among his people. We consider what he does when he is present with his people. We consider how the one who rules the heavens comes down to be present with Zaccheus and all kinds of sinners on earth. Bu first, let’s ask the first question: What does it mean to be present? Because, there are different kinds of present. At least that’s what my wife tells me. I was washing dishes the other night and only half listening to what Laura said, thinking about how the Packers are in first place in the NFC North when she says, “You need to listen to me.” I was present, but I wasn’t there. There are different kinds of present, and the presence of God is felt in many ways. The first, and most obvious way is that God is everywhere, among everything. Paul says it like this (he quotes ancient philosophers who got it right) “In him we live and move and have our being.” All the religions of the world have an idea of the presence of the gods that keep the world spinning. In the creed, we confess that God created us and still takes care of us. And he is present in another way. The God who holds the universe together in an unknowable way is also the God who makes himself known in Jesus. Jesus is God’s presence, in a special way, as man among men. And he is present in another way. Jesus promises that in his word and Sacraments, you come into his presence. You are washed with water to be united into his body. You eat his body and drink his blood. Heaven comes to you in the promises of his presence. And he is present in another way. He is present in you. In every interaction, there he stands. In every kindness you do, there Christ is. In every time that brothers and sisters in Christ do all the good works that he has set beforehand for you to do, there Christ is for your neighbor. Today, we look at Jesus’s presence, as he is present with Zaccheus. Jesus is ending his journey to Jerusalem, and he has been setting his face to Jerusalem. He won’t be persuaded to go anywhere else. Zaccheus is one of many that are looking to see Jesus on the way. He climbs up a Sycamore tree, and Jesus commands him to come down. Point number one that we would understand today is that whatever our intentions, Jesus’s presence has its own agenda. Notice that on Zaccheus’s terms, he would have seen Jesus from afar, his curiosity would be sated, and he’d go on his way. But Jesus has different plans. Instead of walking by, he stops. Instead of preaching to the crowd, he addresses Zaccheus. Instead of calling out sin, he invites himself in. The presence of Jesus has its own agenda. It’s the same for us too. Have you ever really wanted to be mad at someone and then you read a verse that rebukes you? Have you ever needed hope, sad and lonely when a Christian song proclaims that you have nothing to fear? The presence of Jesus has its own agenda. We are conformed to something greater, something different. We are called to a higher calling. Notice what happens next in the text. When Jesus invites himself in, the crowd grumbles, and, though they’re grumbling, they have a point. Jesus has been invited in but there isn’t any change. Zaccheus is still a tax man. What does that mean? Taxes worked different in the Roman world than they do today. Today, we have an arm of the government that collects revenue. In that day, they hired independent contractors to collect taxes any way they saw fit. Today, the IRS employees get paid a regular wage by the government. In that day, the tax man would collect taxes, and anything he charged on top of those taxes was his pay. Zaccheus was considered a traitor to Judea, a stooge of the government, and a sinner. Point number two that we would understand for today is that wherever we begin, the presence of Jesus changes us. The crowd grumbles, noting the disparity between Zaccheus’s invitation and his behavior. And then Zaccheus’s remarkable words. The half of my goods, I give to the poor, and if I have defrauded anyone, I will restore it fourfold. Half of his goods. Remember, he’s a chief tax man. He will restore fourfold. If he overcharged $100, he would give you $400. Jesus’s presence trumps Zaccheus’s agenda. Jesus’s presence changes Zaccheus, and Jesus’s presence changes you too. Even for lifelong Christians, and for Christians in every chapter of life, Jesus’s presence changes us. His presence gives us the humility to admit our failures, our mistakes, knowing that he has paid for them on the cross. His presence gives us the strength to risk all that is on earth because we know that our lives are hidden in Christ on high. So, what is Jesus calling you to change today? What is Jesus calling us to risk for the sake of the kingdom today? Where is Jesus challenging you to find peace only and ever in him? Jesus’s presence changes us. We go back to the text. Jesus’s closing words, today salvation has come. Today! It’s the same word that he uses in the Lord’s Prayer, Give us this day our daily bread. It’s the same word that he uses with the Thief on the Cross. Today, you will be with me in paradise. Today, salvation has come to you. Notice what that means. Today, on that very day, salvation was with Zaccheus. The salvation that Christ would win in the next days on the cross was already Zaccheus’s by faith. The salvation that culminates at the end of all days has already been handed out to Zaccheus and to us. Point number three for today is that the presence of Jesus means that today we rest in all the benefits of what God promises for eternity. It’s already yours. In your baptism you have died to sin and raised to life so that you will die no more. In the eating and drinking, you have a foretaste of the feast to come an in this little bit, you are getting every benefit of the feast without end. All the glory, all the honor, all the power, all the might, all the wisdom, all the majesty of our God is hidden in these little pieces of his promise, and all of it is yours today. Because of what? Why is that so? Because the son of man came to seek and save the lost. Which makes one ask, what does it mean to be lost? I can tell you a lot about Nicaragua, and I’m sure that I will in the coming weeks, but today, I want to close this sermon by sharing with you just a little bit of our trip. Our driver’s name was Hamilton. He took us to churches in Nicaragua, mostly out in little villages out there past the capital of Managua, into the farm lands and beyond, to Somotillo, to Via Quince, to Villa Nueva, to Israel. Much of the time we would travel on the two lane highway, winding around volcanoes and lakes, until we would turn off the main road to a labyrinth of hard-packed dirt roads, potholes everywhere, to little sidestreets with volcanic rocks and field stones sticking out, to soft bottom dry riverbeds where we thought our van would get stuck, so we’d get out and walk beside it. And the truth is, I had no idea where we were, over half the time. But I wasn’t lost. Why? Because Hamilton was there. He knew the roads and the dirt roads, the ones with street names and the ones with no names. He knew how to get out and how to get back in. And since he was with us, we were never lost. Dear friends, I don’t know where this life together will take us, but the truth is, we aren’t lost. Why? Because the Son of Man is my Shepherd. More than that, he is the Great Shepherd of all of his sheep. He sends his pastors to care for the flock. He stands right by our side, and as often as we listen to his Word, we are never lost. The kingdom of heaven is like a large church in a small town that is tempted to think that they are lost. They see all kinds of unfamiliar territory around them. They see new challenges ahead. They see the old familiar left behind. But as often as they look at their savior, they remember the old familiar truths. As often as they taste his body and his blood, that often comfort and reassurance well up with them. As often as they cry out for forgiveness, they realize that their savior is by their said, and because they stand next to him, they are already home. Amen and amen. From where does my help come? From the Righteous Judge
Fourth in a series of Four Sermons Luke 18:1–8 // 2 Tim 3:14–4:5 // Gen 32:22–30 Grace, mercy, and peace to you from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Our sermon text for today is one answer to the question we’ve been asking for the last four weeks, From where does my help come? It’s a question: “Nevertheless, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?” Dear friends in Christ, The question we are asking in this sermon series is David’s question, “From where does my help come?” The simplest answer comes from David, “My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.” Three weeks ago, we explored the fact that the Lord helps us through the ups and downs of life by sending Michael and all of the angels to watch over and protect us. Two weeks, we explored how the Lord who is the maker of heaven and earth helped Timothy to be strong in his faith through his grandma and his mom and his spiritual father in the faith Paul. Last week, we explored how the Lord who is the maker of heaven and earth helps us through thick and thin through promise keeping. Today, we explore how the Lord who is the maker of heaven and earth helps us to endure until he delivers his justice. Our readings are all about enduring. Watch as Jacob wrestles with God and does not lose heart. Through the struggle, God gives his blessing. Listen as Paul urges Timothy to continue, to follow him, to endure as he’s been equipped, as he gives him instructions, his last instructions. They shout, do not despair, do not lose heart! Or to say it in a German Lutheran way, Be stubborn. A few years ago, there was a couple that I married, a dear and beautiful lady and her diary farmer fiancé, and in their premarital counseling, I asked them all kinds of questions, two that I’ll give now. “What are the three best qualities of your spouse-to-be?” And second, “What are your top three weaknesses?” And they talked among themselves and did what most couples do, they hem and they haw and come out with one or two or three of each. I write down what they said. I get done with the session, I ask them to pray for each other and I leave. After they leave, back in my office, I look at the sheet, and the German Lutheran dairy farmer kind of a guy had crossed out all the weaknesses on his side of the sheet, he had scribbled it all out, and wrote one word: STUBBORN. That’s an interesting word, isn’t it? To plow on ahead whether people are with you or not. To trust your own senses more than you are swayed by other people. But look at our text for today. The wicked judge neither feared God nor respected man, and that’s not a compliment. That means he didn’t care about God’s laws, and he didn’t care whether you were right or wrong in a case. When he ruled, he ruled in favor of one person: himself. And if it didn’t gain him anything, he had nothing to do with it. Enter in the widow. Jesus chooses a widow as the character because the judge had nothing to gain from helping a widow. She had no standing in village to force the judge to rule. The judge did not care about the justice of her case. He had no power to threaten. She had no power to coerce. She had no power to leverage. All she could do is appeal to the judge by God (God says to take care of the widow, well the judge doesn’t fear God), or by men (my cause is just, so give me justice, well, the judge doesn’t respect man). All is hopeless for her. So all she can do is be persistent. All she can do is be stubborn. Day after day, she comes to the gate of the town where this judge would hold court, and tell him, “Give me justice against my adversary.” And then the story fast-forwards. Ironically, the part that Jesus doesn’t give us is the part with the persistence. Have you ever been in that place? A place of hopelessness. A place where you are helpless over everything that happens. It’s a hard place to stay in. It’s the place that the parents of teenagers find themselves when they wonder if they’ve been making mistakes as parents for years. It’s the place that a church can find itself in when it realizes it may have to close its doors. It’s the place that we can all find ourselves in, in different chapters of life, buffeted by everything that Satan would through at us again and again and again. So today, I would invite you to be stubborn, but to be stubborn about the right things. Don’t be stubborn about having your own way, but stubborn to confess your sins without reservation. Don’t be stubborn to remember someone else’s faults but stubborn to forgive them again and again. Don’t be stubborn to look at the hopelessness and despair all around you, be stubborn instead to remember that the Lord of Heaven and Earth is your help, the God of Jacob is your fortress, and he is coming in his time to deliver justice with speed. So the question is, why? Why be stubborn? Why persist in prayer? Because our God is not an unjust judge. Our God is righteous. Our God, he has counted out the sins of the whole world. He has seen the wickedness that lays in our thoughts, our words and our deeds. He has seen the evil that you have done. He has seen the good that he prepared beforehand for you to do, and he has seen that left undone. Our God is righteous. He knows that our sin requires payment, and he pays for it himself Our God is not far off. He is near. Our God is not unfamiliar with our sufferings, no, he has been tempted in every way that you’ve been tempted, and still he did not sin. Our God, whatever the world might look like, our God has promised to work his forgiveness out right before us here today. In the washing of water over Gabriel’s head, it looks like nothing happens, but the spiritual reality is that the promises of god are washing over him in a way that lasts through eternity. In the washing of water over Gabriel’s head, the forgiveness of sins, life and salvation are his. The justice of God has been done, and he is called a Son of the Most High God. But why do we believe that? Because it’s what our God says happens. The things that he calls important are the things that we treasure, because in his time, they will do exactly what he says. The kingdom of heaven is like a large church in a small town that is a special German Lutheran kind of stubborn, but mostly their stubborn to confess their sins and receive forgiveness. They’re stubborn to listen with kindness without trailing off into cruelty. They’re stubborn to love the widow and the orphan and the foreigner whether or not they see the fruit of their work. But more than that, they are stubborn to come back again and again to the place where God promises to give them grace and stubborn to believe that that grace comes because he promises it will. Amen and Amen |
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October 2022
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