Reflection: Looking to the Helper (April 21, 2013)

The Fourth Sunday of Easter
Acts 20:17-35; Revelation 7:9-17; John 10:22-30


After the bombing at the Boston Marathon, this quote from “Mister Rogers’ Parenting Book” spread across social media: “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’” The practical aspect of this thought is that it redirects children from the bad things that are happening to the good things that are going on. But behind that practical application is a horribly false premise, one that has misdirected many people in our society: people (or at least most people) are basically good and evil is exceptional. The reality is that we live in a fallen world filled with fallen people who are, by nature, predisposed to evil. While people are capable of doing acts of goodness, our natural response to things is selfish and self-centered. Looking for the helpers requires us to look past the many more people who are acting to help themselves as well as the evil doers.

When we function from the premise that people are basically good we are doing more than deceiving ourselves, we are making ourselves vulnerable to those who would take advantage of our naiveté. This is especially true within the church. When Paul said his good-byes to the pastors of the churches in and around Ephesus, he knew that he would never see them again and that he needed to prepare them for what he knew would happen. He told them to be on guard against false teachers. He warned them that evil people would work to destroy God’s flock. He explained that they would twist God’s Word and use it to get people to follow after them instead of Christ. Paul pleaded with the pastors to be diligent in their care of those whom God had called them to shepherd. And he shocked them by telling them from where these ravenous wolves would come: from among those very same pastors. Some of those called to be helpers would be wolves instead.

Looking for the helpers will not keep us safe. Trusting in the goodness of other human beings makes us vulnerable. Where can we turn for safety and security? Whom can we trust to be faithful and true? How can we be sure that we will not be destroyed by ravenous wolves? Only by looking to the Helper, the Good Shepherd who has laid down His life for His sheep.

Audio file of the sermon "Looking to the Helper."

Reflection: Déjà vu with Jesus All Over Again (April 14, 2013)

The 3rd Sunday of Easter
Acts 9:1-22; Revelations 5:1-14; John 21:1-14


What did the disciples do after they had experienced Jesus’ Resurrection? At first they hid out in a locked room. Twice. After Jesus came to them there a second time, they made their way to Galilee where He had said He would meet them. As they waited and wondered, they went fishing. We can’t know whether they went fishing to kill some time, to earn some income, or to go back to their lives as they were before encountering Jesus. But we do know that Jesus’ Resurrection was meant to have a far greater impact in their lives than going into hiding or back to the way things were.

The seaside appearance of the resurrected Jesus should have given the disciples a strong sense of déjà vu. After spending the entire night fishing and catching nothing, these professional fishermen were given unsolicited advice from a novice. When they followed the seemingly worthless advice, they end up catching a huge amount of fish. Based on this miraculous catch they recognized Jesus for who He is. So far this event was the fishing expedition of Luke 5 all over again. But the Resurrection had changed things. Now instead of asking Jesus to go away from him because of his sinfulness, Peter put on his clothes, jumped from the boat, and swam to Jesus. Peter knew that things were different, even if they seemed the same. Jesus’ victory over sin, death, and the grave had made them so.

There are times when everything seems like the same thing over again for us. We seem to bring the same sins, same attitudes, and same circumstances to the Lord and then receive the same forgiveness and assurances. When we see it as all the same, we’re likely to go back to living our daily lives as though nothing has changed and seeing worship services, Bible study, our use of the Sacraments, and Confession and Absolution as routine activities in our lives. But something has happened that has changed everything for us. Through the life, death, and Resurrection of Jesus we have been put to death and made alive. We and everything about us has been made us new in Christ. We've been joined to His death and Resurrection in Holy Baptism. In Him, we have died to the old and now live in the new. There’s no going back to the old way of things. So, what are you doing now that you've experienced Jesus’ Resurrection?

Audio file of the sermon "Deja vu with Jesus All Over Again."

Reflection: Believing Jesus-When, not If (April 7, 2013)

Second Sunday of Easter
Acts 5:12-20; Revelation 1:4-18; John 20:19-31

Our experience as the church is becoming more and more like that of the early church: we live in the midst of gross immorality, we contend against an array of religious beliefs, we are a minority in our culture, and our message contradicts the mainstream worldview of the people around us. Like the 1st Century church, we have been marginalized in our society and have little influence on public policy. And like the early Christians, we have been called to share the Word of Life with a spiritually dead world that fights against us and rejects our message. Given our situation, it’s tempting to give up trying to have an impact in our world. But just as the first followers of Jesus endured persecution and rejection for the sake of others, we press on knowing that sooner or later — either in joy or in terror — everyone will believe that Jesus is their God, King, and Judge.


Sadly, many of the people around us refuse to believe Jesus now. Like Thomas on evening of the first Easter, they insist on evidence of their own choosing before they will consider believing Him. While the variations of “Unless I see … I will not believe” are endless, the assertion is just as false. The reality is that everyone will believe Jesus. It’s a matter of when, not if. For Thomas the when came in plenty of time. Only one week later he looked upon the Pierced One and believed. But for many people, it will come too late. They will only believe after He who holds “the keys of Death and Hades” comes to judge them. “Every eye will see Him, even those who pierced Him, and all the tribes of the earth will wail on account of Him” (Rev. 1:7).

By God’s grace we know and believe that Jesus “loves us and has freed us from our sins by His blood” (Rev. 1:5). We have been made a kingdom of priests to glorify Him by serving our broken world in His name. Like the early Christians, we are called to love others by boldly proclaiming “all the words of this Life” (Acts 5:20) even in the face of opposition and persecution. We are blessed beyond measure to believe Jesus now and to be looking forward with joyful anticipation to the day when we will see He who was pierced for us. Moved by His love, we  speak the Word of Life to those who do not yet believe knowing that it’s a matter of when, not if — and the when makes all the difference in the world, and in eternity.

Audio file of the sermon "Believing Jesus: When, not If."

Reflection: From an Empty Cradle to an Empty Grave (March 31, 2013)

Easter Sunday (The Resurrection of Our Lord)
Isaiah 65:17-25; 1 Cor. 15:19-26; Luke 24:1-12


In the movie “Talladega Nights,” Ricky Bobby’s wife interrupted him when he offered grace to “Dear tiny, infant Jesus.” “Hey, um, sweetie,” she said, “Jesus did grow up. You don't always have to call him baby.” Ricky’s reply captures an attitude that is common among us: “Look, I like the Christmas Jesus best.” Actually, we’d have to change a word to fully capture that attitude: “I like the Christmas Jesus instead.” People do like the Christmas Jesus instead of the Grownup Jesus with His difficult teachings and calls to self-denial. People especially like the “Sweet Baby Jesus” lying in His makeshift cradle instead of the grisly mocked, beaten, and Crucified Jesus who was laid in a borrowed tomb. In many ways, we’d prefer to keep Jesus in His cradle to lessen the challenge of being His disciples so that we can live however we want to live while holding thoughts of “dear tiny, infant Jesus.” But a cradle-bound Jesus would leave us as lost and condemned as one who was still in the tomb.

Today, as we celebrate the empty tomb that briefly held Jesus, we also celebrate the cradle that was also made empty for us. Jesus’ empty cradle reminds us that He did grow up. In growing up, Jesus fulfilled a vitally important requirement for us — one that would render the Cross and the empty tomb meaningless if He had not met its challenge. From the cradle, Jesus lived a perfect life under the Law in order to satisfy what it demanded of us. Throughout His entire life, He bore the burden of our sins and the weight of our sinfulness. He was tempted and tried in every way that we are, but was without sin. Leaving His cradle behind, He accomplished what had to be done in order for His death to achieve its purpose and have the power to set us free from sin and death.

If Jesus’ cradle were not empty we’d have no empty tomb to celebrate today. But it is empty, even if we live as though it weren't  We have our Ricky Bobby ways of squeezing Jesus back into His cradle to avoid the challenges of following Him. We like the Christmas Jesus best — even instead — because we don’t want to consider the ugliness of our sins, their horrible consequences, and the tremendous price that had to be paid to satisfy them. Both His cradle and His tomb are empty to assure us that in Jesus — the Christmas Jesus, the Grownup Jesus, the Crucified Jesus, and the Easter Jesus — we have life and salvation.

Audio file of the sermon "From an Empty Cradle to an Empty Grave."

Reflection: Hosanna to the King of ... Me? (March 24, 2013)

Palm Sunday
Zechariah 9:9-12; Philippians 2:5-11; John 12:12-19

When young children discover that they are independent beings they begin to explore the boundaries of separation from their parents and others. This exploration leads them to resisting the authority of mom, dad, siblings, caregivers, etc. Among toddlers, that rebellion is expressed as something like, “You’re not the boss of me.” While such a statement may be cute the first time or two that it’s spoken, a child who insists that mom, dad, or anyone else in authority isn't “the boss of me” is heading for either a rude awakening or big trouble — or both.

Most people outgrow the attitude underlying “you’re not the boss of me.” Statements like “I don’t need organized religion to love God” and “I’m spiritual, not religious” are pious sounding, chic ways of saying “you’re not the boss of me” to God. It’s easy for us to see such arrogant rebellion against God’s authority in other people, but how clearly do we see our own versions of telling God that He can’t tell us what to do or control our lives? What words do we speak to inform Him that we object to the way that He is working in our circumstances? How are we heading toward a rude awakening or big trouble—or both?

When the crowds welcomed Jesus into Jerusalem shouting “Hosanna to the King of Israel!” they were acknowledging Him as their Messiah King. But when He called them to follow Him into a victory that was radically different than their expectations and desires, their Hosannas abruptly shifted to shouts of “Crucify Him!” and “We have no king but Caesar.” They were telling Jesus, “You’re not the King of me!”

As we journey with Jesus to the Cross of Calvary in joyful expectation of celebrating His empty tomb, we should pause today and consider our shouts of “Hosanna!” We welcome our King with our words, but have we made room for Him in our lives? What other kings are we following? To what other kingdoms are we allegiant? How have we set ourselves up as kings in our own little kingdoms and defiantly lived our lives as statements of “You’re not the King of me?” In place of palms and garments, let’s take everything that hinders the lordship of Jesus in our lives and lay it at His feet to welcome Him with heartfelt shouts of “Hosanna to the King of me!”

Audio file of the sermon "Hosanna to the King of ... Me?"

Reflection: Hoarding Rubbish (March 17, 2013)

The 5th Sunday in Lent
Isaiah 43:16-21; Philippians 3:4-14; Luke 20:9-20


Along with the increase of channels on cable television there are now more TV shows than ever. Many of the offerings of cable networks are “reality TV” shows. Although slanted by the presence of cameras, these programs give us a look at the way that other people live. And some of those ways are mind boggling. Shows like “American Pickers” and “Hoarders” feature examples of people who fill their lives with material things of little or no value. Sifting through mountains of trash may result in an occasional item of value, but for the most part these people are hoarding rubbish.

Most people aren't hoarders of worthless things and may not even know someone who is. But we’re all guilty of hoarding rubbish when it comes to spiritual matters. In today’s Epistle lesson, Paul confesses to being a spiritual hoarder before he came to know Christ. Over the course of his life he had worked hard to gather up all sorts of impressive spiritual treasures. He started with the advantage of being born into a rich spiritual tradition and he diligently added to what he had inherited. He had great zeal for collecting spiritual accolades. But when he realized that all of the things that he had accomplished and was hoarding were of no real spiritual value, Paul did what few hoarders can being themselves to do. Recognizing that everything he had hoarded was spiritual rubbish, he got rid of all of it. With empty hands he was freed to take hold of Jesus and His righteousness.

If we think that our spiritual clutter is different than the rubbish that filled Paul’s life, we need to stop and take inventory of what we've hoarded. It’s actually rather simple to determine if our good works, pious behavior, sacrificial contributions, etc. are of any value. All we have to do is compare them to “the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus.” Anything that we hold onto in order to have a righteousness of our own apart from the righteousness that comes to us by the grace of God is rubbish. When we cling to it we make no room in our lives for Christ and His righteousness. Paul knew this and did the only thing that could free him from destructive hoarding: “I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ.” It’s the very thing that frees us whenever we turn away from squeezing God’s grace out of our lives by hoarding rubbish.

Audio file of the sermon "Hoarding Rubbish."

Reflection: You Can Come Home Again (March 10, 2013)

The Fourth Sunday in Lent
Isaiah 12:1-6; 2 Cor. 5:16-21; Luke 15:1-3, 11-32


The adage “You can't go home again” reflects the reality that once you've left home and experienced other things you can’t come home again and expect things to be the same as they once were. Anyone who has moved away from a childhood home has experienced this to one degree or another. We learn that even when things stay the same at home, we change once we leave. Our successes, failures, education, new relationships, and all of the other things that we experience while we are away become barriers to going back to home the way it once was. Not only do we change, but so does what we've left behind. But what if, after all the things that enticed us away had disappointed us, the home we remembered as loving, accepting, comforting, and nurturing was still there for us? Wouldn't we want to go home again? What would it take to do so?

One of the most compelling applications of the parable in today’s Gospel lesson is how it shows us the way to coming home again. It’s easy for most of us to relate to the son who plays the prodigal in this parable. After all, in our own ways we've rebelled against our Father and have found the ways of our world enticing enough to abandon His ways and His will. And like this son, somewhere along the line we've come to our senses and realized that what we had in our Father’s house that seemed so boring, meaningless, and empty turned out to be so much richer and satisfying than what the deceitful promises of the world actually delivered. In our spiritual hunger we longed to come home enough to swallow our pride and humble ourselves. We never expected things to be as they were, to be received back as beloved children with all the rights and privileges that are reserved for those who belong to the Father. After all, we knew that you can’t go home again. But, just as when we left in the first place, we were wrong.

Today’s parable is often called the “Parable of the Prodigal Son,” but it is far better for us to realize that it is more accurately the “Parable of the Waiting Father.” No prodigal can go home again, but through the Father’s love there is a path to reconciliation and restoration so that we can come home again. And when we do, the Father greets us with loving arms and rejoices in the homecomings of His prodigal children.

Audio file of the sermon "You Can Come Home Again."