Sermon at Higher Things 2024: "Who Am I"

 + Order of Matins, Higher Things “Who Am I” Conference – July 24^th, 2024 +

Genesis 3:1-24

 

In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

 

Who am I?

 

It’s a question of identity. It’s a question that sets us out on a quest for answers about existence. Life. Death. About God and his relationship with us. It’s a question of and a quest for truth and meaning. 

 

And anytime you have a quest, you have a story. 

 

In Genesis 3 we’re told two stories that answer this age-old question of identity. And these two stories are as far apart as Slytherin is from Gryffindor, as far as Ringwraiths are from hobbits; as far as the White Witch is from Aslan. 

 

The serpent, the ancient dragon, tells you one story. Who am I? In the dragon’s storybook we are all fools to be taken advantage of. Marks to be preyed upon. Suckers who, like Adam and Eve, will fall for a lie at the drop of a glimpse of fruit, or a scroll of our smart phones, or anything else that is pleasing to our eyes. 

 

Who am I? According to the serpent, you are your desires, give in to them. Be yourself. Do what makes you happy. What feels good. You’re the master of your destiny. The captain of your ship. The creator of your own little cosmos. It’s the same yarn he spun for Adam and Eve: “You can be like God knowing good and evil.”

 

This is what all villains offer as their temptation: a horde of gold. But ignore that dragon over there. The White Witch tempted Edmund with power over his siblings and lordship of Narnia. Sauron tricked the men of middle-earth with rings of power. He-who-shall-not-be-named promised to conquer death.

 

And yet, beneath the foul, sulphureous air, the lies are all the same. The end is always destruction. Ruin. Lies incapable of giving you life. False promises failing to deliver. 

 

It might appear at first that Genesis 3 is only a story of misery, failure, ruin, rebellion and cosmic death and destruction. Thankfully neither the dragon nor his words win the day. Thankfully there is another story in Genesis 3. The true story. 

 

The quest of our identity isn’t found in the dragon’s lies, but God’s word that gives life. He delivers what he promises. He sacrificed an animal to clothe Adam and Eve. He clothes you in Christ’s sacrifice in Baptism. He sends a child born to slay the dragon by going to the cross for you. When we ask God, “Who am I”?, He answers our question with his grace and mercy in Christ crucified.

 

Yes, Genesis 3 tells us the story of temptation, sin, shame, corruption, curse, and death. But Genesis also tells us a far better story. The story of Christ who overcame all the temptations and the tempter who overcame us. The story of Jesus who bore our shame, and sorrows, and sin on the cross. The true story of Christ crucified and risen from the dead to save you, deliver you, rescue you, and declare to you. Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.

 

In Christ, our story has a truly happy ending. For in Christ, our quest and questions of “Who am I” are answered in his grace and mercy. Who am I? You are his beloved, blood-bought, baptized saints. Now and always. 

 

In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon for Pentecost 9: "Divine Hospitality"

 + 9^th Sunday after Pentecost – July 21^st, 2024 +

Series B: Jeremiah 23:1-6; Ephesians 2:11-22; Mark 6:30-44

Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church

Milton, WA

 

 

In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

 

We often imagine the wilderness in Bible stories like a scene out of a Clint Eastwood western: dry, dusty, nothing and no one for miles, except for tumbleweed below and the hot sun above. And it’s true – in Scripture, the wilderness is often desolate though it’s not Death Valley. And it’s often a place of testing and trials: Israel wandered for 40 years in the wilderness on account of their sin. Jesus was tempted in the wilderness by Satan for 40 days. In the wilderness all you have to rely on is God.

 

Mark’s story of Jesus feeding the thousands adds something to our picture of the wilderness. Jesus’ presence and provision reverse everything. This story began in desolation but ends in abundance. Began with hunger but ends in satisfaction. The disciples who were weary find rest and full bellies with the crowds on the green grass…even 12 baskets of leftovers.

 

With Jesus, the wilderness becomes a place of rest. A separate place. Free of distractions. With Jesus in the wilderness there’s divine hospitality. In the wilderness, Jesus reveals that he is a gracious host, a generous giver, and a compassionate Shepherd King for the crowds and for you.

 

As the story begins, though, rest seems illusive. The crowds – filled with a sense of desperation and hope – follow Jesus by land. A great crowd, Mark tells us. No rest for the weary. When he went ashore he saw a great crowd, and he had compassion on them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd. And he began to teach them many things. 

 

“Like sheep without a shepherd.” We hear this and Old Testament imagery floods our minds. Moses and Israel in the wilderness. Joshua leading the people after Moses died. Psalm 23 and Lord who’s our shepherd. David, the shepherd king. The prophet Ezekiel: For thus says the Lord God: Behold, I, I myself will search for my sheep and will seek them out. 

 

These are all Old Testament pictures of the New Testament reality. Sketches colored in by Jesus is the prophet greater than Moses. The Joshua who leads his people into the promised land. Jesus is the Shepherd of psalm 23. The Son of David, and David’s Lord. The Shepherd King. The one whom Jeremiah and Ezekiel foretold in the flesh.

 

In the wilderness, Jesus does what he’s always done. Where there is no one and nothing else to rely upon except him, the Shepherd King provides. He shows compassion. He teaches and feeds. He serves up the daily bread of his word to fill their ears with God’s promises. Then he fills their stomachs with bread and all are satisfied. It’s the same for us too. He provides for us, body and soul. Daily bread at our table and in our homes, and daily bread of his word and supper at his table, in his house.

 

Eventually, the day grew late. The disciples were worn out, exhausted; probably a little hangry by now. And it sounds reasonable. It’s late. We’re in the middle of nowhere. No Dick’s drive-in or Chik-fil-a in sight. Send the crowds away so they can eat…and we can rest. 

 

You can imagine the look on the disciples’ faces when Jesus answers them: “You give them something to eat.” “Have you seen the crowds, Jesus? Anyone have 2/3 of a year’s wages around? Cause it’s gonna take a whole lot of denarii to feed this mob.”

 

Imagine yourself in the disciples’ sandals: they’re more like us than we realize. They were worn out, weary, hungry, and they couldn’t possibly fathom what to do next. They’re at the end of their strength. The end of their work. The end of their efforts. The end of their imagination. They have nothing. 

 

Sounds familiar doesn’t it. Sounds like us, if we’re honest with what God’s word says about our life in this fallen world. Where we often find ourselves weary, exhausted, and run down – just by life in general, but more often by sin. Other’s sin against us. Our own sin. Like the disciples we find ourselves at the end of our strength. The end of our wits. The end of our efforts. And like the crowds we come before Jesus with a sense of desperation. And right there…where all of our strength and hope and wisdom come to and end. We realize what Israel learned in the wilderness. What Jesus’ disciples learned. That in the wilderness there’s nothing and no one to rely upon, except God in his mercy and grace and promise. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me.

 

And here in the wilderness, when we come to the end of our strength, efforts, and imagination, there’s Jesus, the Shepherd King. Full of compassion. Abundant grace. Mercy that overflows. He fed the crowds. And he feeds you. He cared for them in body and soul, as he does for you too. As they all sat down – crowds and disciples alike – he fed them all. They all ate. All were satisfied. The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures. He restores my soul.

 

And taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven and said a blessing and broke the loaves and gave them to the disciples to set before the people.

 

Follow the verbs. Mark leaves us a trail of bread-crumbs back to Jesus the bread of life himself. On the night Jesus was betrayed, he took the bread and when he had given thanks, he blessed it. Broke it. Gave it to the disciples. And set it before his people. 

 

Our Shepherd King does the same for you today. Bread and wine are blessed. Broken. Given for you. The Lord who fed the crowds on that Galilean wilderness, feeds you his body and blood in our wilderness. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil. My cup runs over.

 

Jesus’ presence and provision reverse everything. The desolate place overflows with abundance. 12 baskets of leftovers. The hungry crowds and disciples are fed and satisfied. Weariness is overcome by rest. Worry, doubt, despair, and fear – yes even as we face those things, our Lord is compassionate. Merciful. He will never leave nor forsake you. Sure his goodness and mercy shall follow you all the days of your life.

 

In the face of our sin, shame, guilt, and death itself – Jesus our Shepherd King – doesn’t ration his grace. He doesn’t limit his generosity and mercy. He doesn’t count his compassion like we count carbs or calories. His divine hospitality knows no end. His mercies are new every morning. Here in the wilderness of this fallen world, all we have to rely upon is Christ our Shepherd King. And he is all we need. For he gives us what we need: his water, word, body and blood. Food for body and soul. 

 

Out of love for you, and the crowds, and for all, this Shepherd King left the green hills of Galilee for the desolate hill of Calvary for you. Jesus, your Shepherd King is also the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world for you. Jesus, our Shepherd King went to the lonely place of the cross and endured the wilderness of grave for you. And then, three days later he did the unimaginable. Jesus our Shepherd King rose from the dead and you shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

So, come to the table of our crucified and risen Shepherd King. Eat. Drink. And be satisfied. 

 

In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon for Pentecost 8: "A Tale of Two Kingdoms"

 + 8^th Sunday after Pentecost – July 14^th, 2024 +

Series B: Amos 7:7-15; Ephesians 1:3-14; Mark 6:14-29

Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church

Milton, WA

 

In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

 

The death of John the Baptist is a dark, sordid tale. It’s grim and grisly and gritty. It’s the kind of story publishers are afraid to put in most children’s bibles, which is unfortunate. We do our children, and ourselves, a disservice when we hide these stories away in the forbidden section of the Biblical library. 

 

Stories like this need to be heard, not only because they’re true – this happened - but because God is revealing something to us here about who Jesus is. About how he came to rescue us from the kingdom of darkness and death and bring us into his kingdom of light. How he entered the grim and grisly and gritty reality of this fallen world to rescue you. How he looked the enemy of death in the face, spit in his eye, and defeated him like a knight slaying a dragon.

 

So Mark tells us the story of the death of John the Baptist. And alongside that story, he tells us a tale of two kings and two kingdoms.

 

King Herod heard of it, for Jesus'^[b] name had become known. Some^[c] said, “John the Baptist^[d] has been raised from the dead. That is why these miraculous powers are at work in him.” ¹⁵ But others said, “He is Elijah.” And others said, “He is a prophet, like one of the prophets of old.”

 

Calling Herod “king” is generous. Mark gives him a title no one ever gave him in reality. Rome never gave him that honor, though he desired it. He was a tetrarch; a ruler of a fourth of Judea. Mark calls him “king” out of irony. Herod was a king nothing. A puppet of Rome with delusions of grandeur. When Mark gives him the title “king” he’s not puffing him up with flattery, he’s bursting his bubble in mockery.

 

And Herod deserved every bit of it. He was a weak, paranoid, shallow, fearful, fool of a ruler. Quite the contrast to the true King of this story, Jesus. Who is good. Compassionate. Wise. Merciful. Gracious. The opposite of everything Herod was and more. Jesus is King above all kings, even fake and foolish and tyrannical ones.

 

Where Herod sought to curry favor with the rich and powerful, inviting them to his birthday feast, King Jesus eats and drinks with sinners and losers and outcasts. Where Herod was a coward and cowed to others, King Jesus is the one before whom every knee will bow and every tongue confess that He is Lord. Jesus is no one’s puppet. Although Jesus’ kingdom is not of this world, He brings his good and gracious rule and reign into this fallen world by dying and rising for you. 

 

Where Herod was selfish and tried to save face, letting John die a murderous execution for his sins all so he could retain his honor, King Jesus is selfless and dies in utter humility to pay for our sins and crown us with his honor and glory. Herod was a worldly ruler who lived in opposition to the reign of God in Jesus. But King Jesus lives and dies and rises to bring God’s good and gracious rule and reign to you.

 

The two kings and their kingdoms could not be more different. The way of Herod’s kingdom is the way of this fallen world. A world that is set in opposition to our Lord Jesus. Where truth is treated ambivalently if it comes up at all. Where pride, lust, greed, selfishness, and even death itself are celebrated. Where there’s no life, only death. Where there’s no hope of resurrection, only the grave. Where the air we breathe is thick with poisonous dragon breath.

Where all we see around us each day is one sordid, grisly, grim tale after another without the hope of a happy ending. 

 

And the tragic and terrifying part about all of that is that deep down, and too often not so deep down, our old Adam loves it. Our sinful flesh is in love with the sinful world. We’re no stronger than Herod when it comes to protecting our honor in front of others. We’re no different than Herodias in our sinful grudges and wicked desires. When the world parades all manner of siren’s songs dancing desires before our eyes and ears, our attention wanders, like Herod’s. Whatever you ask me, I’ll give you, up to half my kingdom.

 

It might appear, at first, that this story has no happy ending. No good news. It’s even one of the few stories where Jesus isn’t physically present. Doesn’t the story of the kingdoms of this world look that way to us too? Dark. Full of death. No good kings in sight. And yet, that’s not how this story ends.

 

Yes, John was imprisoned for speaking the truth. He was beheaded for proclaiming repentance and forgiveness of sins. But John was not alone. He clung to the feet of him whose sandals he – and you and I – are not worthy to untie. For he knew that those feet were the feet that bear good news. The feet that would stomp the serpent under foot. The feet of a crucified and risen King. 

 

John’s hope is ours. Our hope isn’t found in the kingdoms of this world, but in the Kingdom of God come down to you in Jesus. Our hope isn’t found in the hands of foolish and weak kings of this world, the Herods and Caesars and all the rest. Your hope and rescue and redemption are in the nail-scarred hands of King Jesus. 

 

Even as he sat in Herod’s dungeon. Even as his head was brought out during a dinner feast. John knew this. Confessed this. Lived and died in this. John knew that one day Herod’s great fear would come true: John the Baptist really will rise from the dead, and so will you…all because King Jesus died and rose from the dead for him and for you.

 

John’s hope, like ours, is not in the kings and kingdoms of this world – all they do is bluster for a while, but eventually they die. And our King dies too. But we have a King who knows his way out of the grave. 

 

And that’s good news for John and for us. Even in this frightful tale, John is still the forerunner. Where John goes, Jesus goes. What happens to John happens to Jesus. John was seized and bound by Herod. Jesus was seized and bound and brought before Pilate. Herod wanted to save John but was too weak and cowardly to do so. Pilate tried to save Jesus but washed his hands of it. John was innocent, yet suffered a violent death. The same is true for our Lord Jesus. Even in death, John’s disciples buried him. Though Jesus’ disciples scatter, he is buried by his followers, Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus. 

 

To the world, this looks like utter foolishness. A crucified King? A God who dies a humiliating, weak, shameful, violent, cursed death? 

 

And yet, that’s exactly where Jesus is King. Where he rules and reigns for you. On the cross. Bearing all our weakness and foolishness. Taking on himself all our greed, lust, pride, desires, and death. All of our selfish, self-centered, sins and Sin itself – King Jesus bears it all for you. Dies for you. Is buried for you. Walks out of the grave for you. Ascends to rule in heaven for you. 

 

So that what we confess now by faith we will see with our own eyes. That day when hope becomes not just the thing longed for, but what we see. Our crucified and risen Lord standing next to our graves, and John’s and calling out as he did at Lazarus’ tomb: arise. Walk. Live. Breathe the free, resurrected air. When the kingdoms of this world have all fallen away, but there is still one eternal kingdom and at the center of that eternal city, there’s our King, the Lamb, welcoming you to his feast, as he does today.

 

Until that day, when we stand with John – whole and healed and restored - in the resurrection of the body…we live like John, clinging to the Word made flesh. To the life-giving water of your baptism. To the words and flesh and blood of the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. 

 

Until that day, remember and rejoice that Christ is King, crucified. Risen. Ruling and Reigning for you. And one day, returning. Come quickly, Lord Jesus.

 

In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

 

 

 

Sermon for Pentecost 7: "A Scandalous Savior"

 + 7th Sunday after Pentecost - July 7th, 2024 +

Series B: Ezekiel 2:1-5; 2 Corinthians 12:1-10; Mark 6:1-13

Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church

Milton, WA

 

 

In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

 

Think of a time when you were rejected. Maybe it was a neighbor who snubbed your family BBQ invite. Perhaps it was something deeper, more personal, though. An atheist friend who shuts down your attempts to invite them to church or share the gospel; or maybe it’s a child, grandchild, or friend who, from all you can tell, has walked away from the faith. 

 

What do you do when you’ve been rejected? If you’re like me, you probably experience a whole whirlwind of thoughts and feelings: Usually it goes in one of two directions: we feel sorry for ourselves. we despair. we give up. Or we go the nuclear route: anger, spite, grudges. 

 

In the face of rejection, what does Jesus do? He digs in deeper on grace. He doubles down on his grace to rescue sinners. He sent out his disciples with his teaching and preaching, that the good and gracious rule and reign of God had come at last in Jesus.

 

In the face of rejection, Jesus didn’t pack it in and call it quits in Nazareth. He went on from his rejection in Nazareth to the greater rejection on the cross so that by his rejection you are redeemed and reconciled. 

 

Jesus’ journey to the cross is already pictured in his rejection at Nazareth. 

 

The locals had heard the stories: people healed, demons cast out, miracles, signs, and wonders. You’d think they’d be impressed. But no. Jesus wasn’t given the hero’s homecoming. There was no sign on the road into town that read: Nazareth, “proud home of Jesus Christ the Son of God.” Instead, Jesus is greeted by the Nazareth Inquisition.

 

“Where did this man get these things? What is the wisdom given to him? How are such mighty works done by his hands? 

 

We’ve heard Mark’s gospel these past weeks and we know the answers to those questions. Where did Jesus get the power to do these miracles? He’s had that from all eternity. What is his wisdom? It’s the wisdom that he is and embodies and gives throughout the Scripture. How are such works done by his mighty hands? How can an ordinary carpenter do such incredible things? Because Jesus is more than a carpenter. He’s the Son of God in human flesh. 

 

We confess this in the Creed. Jesus is God of God. Light of Light. Very God of Very God. Begotten, not made. He is one substance with the Father. And yet he is also bone of our bone and flesh of our flesh. The Virgin’s Son. God incarnate. God in the flesh.

 

And there’s the rub. Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon? And are not his sisters here with us?” And they took offense at him.

The word there is… scandalized. 

 

The incarnation of God offends the sensibilities of sinful, fallen man. It scandalizes. It causes people to stumble over their own expectation of how God is supposed to work. If God comes down to us in the flesh, we hardly expect Him to be a carpenter in a no-place town called Nazareth, in the outskirts of Galilee, born of a Virgin betrothed to Joseph. Scandalous? You bet! This offends our sensibilities and religious sensitivities. We want God to be Godlike. Not some woodworker with splinters under his fingernails, calluses on his hands, and sawdust all over his tunic.

 

We want God on our own terms. A tame god. But whenever we do that - look for a god of our own making, thinking, or feeling, we end up doing the very same thing the folks in Nazareth did: rejecting the one who came to redeem and reconcile. 

 

We join the crowds in rejecting Jesus and serving ourselves whenever we fail to love and serve our neighbor as Christ loves and serves us. Or when we think our possessions and time, or anything is our reward or what ‘s due rather than a gift to be received and used for God’s glory and the good of others.

 

We join the crowds in rejecting Jesus whenever we place our trust in earthly princes and rulers. When in fact, Christ is King. And his kingdom alone endures.

 

We join the crowds in rejecting Jesus whenever we look to something or someone else for our help and salvation.

 

How did Jesus respond to rejection? True, he speaks a rebuke, a warning. “A prophet is not without honor except in his hometown.” Familiarity breeds contempt, goes the old saying. 

 

But Jesus’ doesn’t stop there. He presses on. He digs in deeper. He doubles down on his grace. 

The very thing that the Nazareth crowds were scandalized by - the ordinariness and humanity and humility of God in the flesh – that’s who he is and how he saves you.

 

They tripped over the ordinariness of God because they expected him to be extraordinary. Above it all. Like a lifeguard that looks great sitting in the chair on the beach but doesn’t want to bother getting wet. But when we’re drowning in the riptide of sin and death, we don’t need a pretty boy on the beach. You need someone to come down to you. To run to you. Grab you and pull you out of the water.

 

That’s what the Nazareth crowds missed. That’s what we miss when our old Adam gets the best of us thinking we know best what God’s will and ways are. Of course, God is higher than the highest heavens and his wisdom is deeper than the depths of the sea. He’s not a tame God. But he’s also the God who comes down to us in the ordinary. 

 

The Nazareth synagogue scandal is the sacramental scandal. They were offended at ordinary Jesus, the kid from around the corner. We’re offended at ordinary water and words and bread and wine. Same scandal. They’re too everyday, too ordinary to be something God uses. How can water or bread or wine do such great things?

 

But God’s Word tells us. “This is my body, this is my blood.” This water is a washing of regeneration and renewal by the Holy Spirit. Baptism now saves you. He who hears you, hears me. Scandalously ordinary, sacramentally powerful. Jesus for you in that water, those words, that bread and wine. How can that be? Take Jesus at his word. He’s the one who promises you that these ordinary things are full of his extraordinary grace.

 

In the face of rejection, what does Jesus do? He digs in deeper and doubles down on his grace. He performs a few miracles. But He leaves Nazareth. He sends out his disciples to preach and teach that the kingdom of God had come at last in Jesus. And he journeyed on to Jerusalem. 

 

The scandal of Nazareth became the scandal of his cross. Jesus who was rejected in Nazareth is rejected in Jerusalem. First by the Pharisees and crowds. But ultimately by the Father as he hung on the cross dying for rejecting, rebellious sinners like us. 

 

And there, the one whom the Nazareth crowds found so offensive, died for all our offenses. 

 

The One who was rejected died for those who rejected him so that we would never be rejected. 

 

The One who was not welcomed into his hometown with honor, died with all our guilt and shame so that he would crown you with glory and honor and give you an eternal home with him in the resurrection where you have a seat of honor at the marriage supper of the Lamb.

 

The next time someone rejects you, especially when it’s because of your faith in Christ, remember that Jesus was rejected for you. And because Jesus was rejected you are redeemed and reconciled with grace upon grace.

 

In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

 

 

 

Sermon for Pentecost 6: "A Story of Suffering"

 + 6^th Sunday after Pentecost – June 30^th, 2024 +

Series B: Lamentations 3:22-33; 2 Corinthians 8:1-15; Mark 5:21-43

Beautiful Savior Lutheran

Milton, WA

 

 

In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

 

You probably won’t find this morning’s Gospel reading on a top summer reading list. It’s a Star Wars adventure. It’s not a Taylor Swift love story. It’s a story full of suffering. A little girl near death. A desperate, distressed father. A woman who suffered from bleeding and being an outcast for 12 years. 

 

It’s the story of Jesus who enters suffering with us and for us. He dives head and hands first into our suffering. 

 

Our story begins with Jairus, kneeling at his daughter’s bedside. Her fevered hand in his. Her pale face. Her labored breath. So little hope. The town physician was no help. Rest brought no relief. Prayers seemed unheard and unanswered. She was only 12. And she was dying. And there was nothing he could do about it.

 

But perhaps there was someone who could. He had heard about the man from Galilee. Jesus. Jairus was a ruler of the synagogue. Surely he had heard the stories. Word of this miracle worker had spread. The lame walked. The deaf hear. The demons were driven out. The sick healed. That’s what his daughter needed. He heard the stories. But what if that’s all they were. Just a tall tale. That’s what his fellow rabbis and pharisees at the synagogue seemed to think.

 

Looking for this Galilean wasn’t just crazy, it was costly. Jairus could lose respect. Friends. Family. But for his little girl, he hoped against hope. He got up. Wiped the tears. Kissed his daughter. Said farewell, perhaps for the last time. Hugged his wife. “I’ll find him.” And then he laced up his sandals, took his bag, and set out… 

 

Twelve years. The same twelve years Jairus’ daughter had been alive. For Twelve years this woman suffered. Twelve years she had bled. She was considered unclean the whole time. She couldn’t go anywhere. Couldn’t be around anyone. She might as well have been dead or dying.

 

But, like Jairus, she had heard of Jesus. So she decided to lay down all the chips, risk it all, and hope no one would see her. All she had to do was touch Jesus’ clothes. This rabbi had power to heal. Surely just a touch was all she needed.

 

After all, who would notice? She’d be clean and all would be well. She could go places again. See people again. Without fear. So she got up, and lacing up her sandals, she set out…. 

 

When Jairus finally met this Jesus of Galilee, he got straight to the point. No posturing. No pride. He fell at Jesus’ feet, a beggar. He had nowhere else to go. Jesus was the only hope he had left.

 

“My little daughter is dying,” he said to Jesus. “Please come and put your hands on her so that she will be saved and live.” Jairus felt a hand rest on his shoulder. He looked up to see Jesus. And Jesus nodded His head. And Jesus went with him.

 

But then the crowds. Surrounding Jesus. Surrounding Jairus. Pressed and packed between Jesus and Jairus’ dying daughter. How he must’ve despaired. We’ll never make it in time. How could Jesus possibly make it in time to save his little girl moving at this rate…

 

She was so close. She had nearly made it to Jesus. But the crowds. She couldn’t avoid touching anyone. Too many people. But there was Jesus. Right there. Only, someone else was already at his feet. Asking Jesus to go with him. And off they went. 

 

No. Wait! She had risked everything just to get near Jesus. How could he leave. So she did the only thing she could. She pushed her way through the crowd. She reached out for Jesus. She caught just the hem of his garment.

 

It worked. It actually worked. She felt a change. The blood stopped. She was well.

 

And then he spoke. “Who touched my garments?” His eyes met hers. He knew. She had fought through fear of touching others. Fear of breaking the Law. Fear of being caught. 

 

But Jesus, eye to eye, was more frightening than anything else. So she fell at His feet, trembling, and told Him the truth. It was a confession. She came to Jesus unclean, but no longer.

 

What did Jesus do? Dismiss her? Reject her? No. He took her by the hand, lifted her to her feet, and said to her, “Your faith has made you well, go in peace.” 

 

What was the faith? That Jesus could heal? The Pharisees knew that, and had no faith. That Jesus was the right person to go to? The crowds knew that, but that wasn’t faith. That she confessed her sin? That was fear, not faith. No, the faith didn’t come from her at all. The faith came from the very words about faith that Jesus spoke to her. Your faith, He had said. And there it was….

 

Jesus had stopped and was talking with some woman. Jairus was frustrated. Didn’t Jesus know there wasn’t time for Him to delay? His daughter was at the brink of death. Only, no she wasn’t. 

 

“Jairus” someone called out. A messenger from his house. It could only mean one thing. 

 

“Your daughter is dead,” they said. “So why bother this teacher any more?” 

 

Why? Why Jesus? Why didn’t you come? Why didn’t you save her? Why did you waste time talking with that woman over there who was grabbing at your clothes? You were so busy having mercy on everyone else, that you didn’t take the time to have mercy on me.  

In the midst of darkness, came a ray of light. And a hand to grab onto. A lone voice. It was Jesus. “Don’t be afraid,” He said. “Just believe.”

 

You, Jairus, believe. Jairus didn’t know if he could do that. Despite Jesus’ words, he was still very much afraid. He was still overcome with doubt. But Jesus’ words gave him that hand to hold on to. And with that hand came hope. 

 

They left the crowds. Only a few of Jesus’ closest friends came. They reached Jairus’ home. They heard the mourners before they saw them. Weeping. Wailing. Eyes red and puffy and stinging from crying. What could this rabbi possibly do? Healing the sick is one thing. But the dead? Was there really any hope for his dead daughter? Was Jesus enough?

 

To make things worse, Jesus told the crowds, “Why all this commotion and wailing? The child is not dead but asleep.” Only a fool would believe that. And the people laughed at Jesus. 

 

But they weren’t just laughing at Jesus. They were also laughing at Jairus. What kind of father leaves his dying daughter to find this loon. What kind fool looks for a man whom the Pharisees call a fraud? What kind of man puts his trust in something as unbelievable as a miracle worker? Jairus had lost his daughter, lost with his friends, his position, his honor and the respect of his neighbors. All of it was gone. He had nothing. 

 

So it seemed. But for the word and work of Jesus. Jairus remembered Jesus’ words. “Don’t be afraid,” He had said. “Only believe.” It was Jesus’ words that had brought him this far. And Jairus wanted to believe. But he didn’t think he could anymore. Not by himself. Not alone. His own reason and strength were just not enough.

 

But of course, it wasn’t up to Jairus’ feelings. Because Jesus, took his little girl’s hand in his and said in Aramaic, “Talitha Kumi.” And at Jesus’ Word, Jairus’ daughter lived again. At Jesus’ Word, she sat up, swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. And seeing her father, she smiled her big smile and wrapped her arms around him. Jesus’ Word didn’t just bring Jairus’ daughter back to life. Those two words, “Talitha Kumi,” brought Jairus and his wife back to life as well. Shame was turned to honor. Grief was turned to joy. 

 

When we have suffered. When you are suffering whatever you are suffering right now, it can feel like Jesus is leaving. Like we’re just as hopeless and helpless as that poor woman, and Jairus and his daughter. Whenever we suffer we wonder “why” and “how long?” 

 

And in the midst of our suffering… just like with the woman who bled, just like with Jairus, just like with Jairus’ twelve year old daughter, Jesus takes our hand when our work, our effort, or trying to believe all by ourselves isn’t enough. 

 

Jesus takes your hand, and gives you faith. Jesus takes your hand and takes away your sin. Jesus takes your hand, and leads you home. Jesus takes your hand, and gives you life. Healing. Wholeness. Restoration. Rescue. True, we may not see that in this life. Or we may be granted a glimpse of that. A relief from suffering. A recovery from illness. 

 

But none of our suffering cancels out the resurrection. Resurrection day is coming. And along with that day, the one who came to Jairus, his daughter, and that woman...Jesus our Lord. And until that day, Jesus does for us what he did for them. He takes you by the hand. Gives you comfort and mercy and grace. Jesus puts his own body and blood in your hands to eat and drink. And he promises; He who suffered for you on the cross will take your hand through whatever it is you suffer. And in that promise Jesus speaks: 

 

“Go in peace. Do not fear, only believe. Little child, I say to you arise.” And His Word gives exactly what he says. 

 

 

In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

 

Sermon for Pentecost 4: "Mustard Seeds"

 + 4^th Sunday after Pentecost – June 16^th, 2024 +

Series B: Ezekiel 17:22-24; 2 Corinthians 5:1-17; Mark 4:26-34

Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church

Milton, WA

 

 

In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

 

J.R.R. Tolkien, the famous author of the Lord of the Rings once wrote that, “’The wheels of the world’, are often turned not by the Lords and Governors…but by the seemingly unknown and weak.”

 

Not only is this often the case in good stories and in history. It’s also true in the great true story of salvation in the Scriptures. Time and again, God delights in using people, places, and things that appear to us as small or insignificant. People who are unknown and weak to carry out his great and gracious work of saving us, building his church, and giving his gifts.

 

With dirt and a rib bone God formed Adam, then built Eve. From barren Sarah and old man Abraham, God gave a son, Isaac. God called fearful Moses to lead his people. God took a shepherd boy and made David king. God called Israel…not because they were so great in number or so mighty in strength, but because he loved his people through whom he would bring the Messiah, Jesus.

 

And not surprisingly, Jesus, God in the flesh, has the same habit of taking what is weak, unknown, lowly, and insignificant to our eyes, and using these things to work his great and gracious work of salvation. Jesus is born in Bethlehem to an unwed Virgin Mary. In a feeding trough. Then the unknown rabbi from the Podunk town of Nazareth, in seemingly unimportant Galilee, called fishermen and a tax collector among others, to be his disciples. Jesus came to seek and save the lost, the lowly, the least, the outcast, the sinner…you and me…not in some glorious feet of strength as a gladiator in a Roman arena, but put to death as a criminal on a Roman cross.

 

As Paul says in 1 Corinthians, “God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; ²⁸ God chose what is low and despised in the world.”

 

To the outward eyes none of this looks significant…and yet it is. God does some of his best work in hidden, gracious, humble ways. God delights to accomplish his saving work in what this sinful, fallen world sees as lowly, small, and insignificant.

 

Insignificant looking things like the mustard seed in Jesus’ parable today in Mark 4.

 

“With what can we compare the kingdom of God, or what parable shall we use for it? ³¹ It is like a grain of mustard seed, which, when sown on the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on earth, 

 

You have to love Jesus’ down-to-earth storytelling in the parables. He takes something small and insignificant – the mustard seed – thought by many in his day to be the smallest seed. What’s God’s kingdom like? What does Jesus’ good and gracious rule and reign resemble? Not a giant mango seed. Not the seedlings of the cedars of Lebanon. Not an acorn from a mighty oak. No. A minute, tiny, insignificant looking mustard seed.

 

Once again, this is how God loves to work time and time again: in the hidden, the lowly, weak, ordinary, and insignificant looking things of this world. Foolish patriarchs. Faithless Israel. Unfaithful kings. Backwater towns. Poor fishermen. Human flesh and blood. A cruel, wooden cross. 

 

He brings you his holy gifts of grace and forgiveness the same way. With tap water and his word, he pours out his Holy Spirit, faith, and new life. With letters, words, and sentences he writes and declares his promises to us. Through fellow sinners he gives the forgiveness of sins. With a quarter size piece of bread and a sip of wine Jesus brings you his holy body and blood. 

 

Water, words, bread and wine – might not look too significant, but here in these gifts Jesus is with us and for us, ruling and reigning. Jesus the King comes to us in his Kingdom. 

 

Even God’s gift of faith created and sustained in you by his word – might not look like all that much. Most days, if we’re honest, if feels about the size of a mustard seed. 

 

Why does God work this way? So that we don’t do what we’re always tempted to do, take comfort in our own efforts, strength, importance, or significance. So that if we boast, we boast in the grace of God who delights in taking insignificant things and working salvation for us. So that we see that our hope and help and life and all things, rests in his hands, not ours. 

 

God delights in using what we think is lowly and insignificant, to do his great and gracious saving work. Things like words, water, bread and wine. Things like mustard seeds, that look small and unimpressive…

And…yet, Jesus says, when it is sown it grows up and becomes larger than all the garden plants and puts out large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade.”

The way Jesus describes this mustard seed paints quite the picture. What is Jesus telling us or teaching us? Is this parable about his word? About him? About his church? About his great and gracious work for you in his dying and rising? Yes. All of the above.

 

Jesus, the master Gardener, delights in take something insignificant and turning into the source of salvation for you. He did it in his birth in Bethlehem. He did it in his teaching and preaching. He did it in his death on the cross for you. Like a seed he was buried in the ground for three days. And then sprouted, rose again from the dead on the third day. New life. New creation. Fruit of forgiveness for you. 

 

From the tree of his cross, the branches of his mercy and grace and goodness spread throughout time and history to us, here today. This church is a treehouse, or a birdhouse built by the Crucified carpenter for us to live and rest as he plants his holy word in our ears, hearts, and minds. 

 

Like birds of the air our Lord gathers us into his house where we nest around his altar. Feed on the fruit of his cross and resurrection. Find holy rest in the shade of His tree. Where we sing his praises with the birds at dawn. And where we, branches of Christ the Vine, also extend our limbs with holy love and compassion to others in need. In pain. In sorrow.

 

If ever you look at your faith and life in Christ and think – as the devil, the world, and our sinful flesh want us to think – I’m so weak, lowly, least, lost, small, and insignificant. Take heart and be of good cheer. Your God delights in taking what is small and weak and insignificant, and showering his great and gracious work upon you in Jesus. In Jesus crucified and risen you are never insignificant. Your significance and salvation, your hope and help is in the name of the Lord Jesus. Now and always.

 

In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.