Sermon for Pentecost 14: "Incalculable Grace"

 + 14^th Sunday after Pentecost – August 25^th, 2024 +

Series B: Isaiah 29:11-19; Ephesians 5:22-33; Mark 7:1-13

Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church

Milton, WA

 

 

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

 

When it comes to school subjects, what’s your favorite? Do you enjoy exploring the past in history? Maybe you prefer exploring the world of words in stories, poetry, or literature? Or perhaps you enjoy exploring the playground and your physical strength at recess or gym class? Whatever the case may be, today’s Gospel reading from Mark 7 reveals that when it comes to theology, deep down we all have the same favorite subject.

 

It’s not reading or writing…it’s arithmetic. That’s right. Our old Adam, our sinful flesh loves math, and is something of a mathematical wiz – always looking to add and subtract, to multiply and divide – especially when it comes to God’s Word. There’s always that temptation to add to God’s word or subtract from it. To make the Scriptures say more they do by adding our own reason and imagination into the equation…or, taking away parts of Scripture we don’t like or that make us uncomfortable, or don’t fit into our calculations of who God is and how he works.

 

Our problem isn’t just a mathematical one. It’s a spiritual one. And the trouble is – as we find out in today’s Gospel reading – we’re incapable of solving this. Ours is a problem only the merciful Mathematician himself can solve, and graciously does – by some gracious arithmetic of his cross where he does not count our trespasses against us, but instead cancels our record of debt against him. Where he subtracts all sin from our account to his own, and adds his righteousness to yours.

 

The Pharisees in Mark 7 were expert mathematicians a well. At the top of their class. And being the typical overachievers they were, as if God’s law wasn’t enough, they added and multiplied their own rules and regulations on top. 613 to be exact. A long list of dos and donts in order to do the righteousness of God. 

 

The issue that comes up in today’s reading is the tradition of the elders regarding hand washing: Now when the Pharisees gathered to him, with some of the scribes who had come from Jerusalem, ² they saw that some of his disciples ate with hands that were defiled, that is, unwashed.

 

The Pharisees weren’t concerned about hygiene, but holiness before God. Problem was they thought God’s holiness was something to be calculated and earned, and sought to equate their righteousness with God’s, rather than a gift given by God. Something achieved rather than received. 

 

They added their own ideas of law-keeping to the Scriptures as if following these man-made laws would multiply their righteousness before God. 

 

Mark gives us a little window into just how deep their corrupt calculations went: For the Pharisees and all the Jews do not eat unless they wash their hands properly,^[a] holding to the tradition of the elders, ⁴ and when they come from the marketplace, they do not eat unless they wash.  But hands weren’t enough. The Pharisees were walking, talking adding machines – even their cups and copper vessels and couches were washed. So big was their self-righteous arithmetic that they took time from their own computations to check on their neighbors’ work.

 

“Why do your disciples not walk according to the tradition of the elders, but eat with defiled hands?”

 

The pharisees were so caught up in religious accounting, micromanaging the dos and don’ts of the letter of the law, that they neglected the very spirit and heart of the law – to love God and neighbor by faith. This kind of love can only come from faith, and by this faith alone does God count one as righteous; without faith it is impossible to please God. 

 

This is how our Old Adam works though – always the mathematician. Always calculating, always comparing, always adding or subtracting from God’s law – like someone lowering a high jump bar to or raising a limbo bar to make God’s laws seem doable. Calculable. Keepable.

 

Only it’s not. We can’t math our way out of our sinful problem. We can’t calculate our way into God’s righteousness. If righteousness is based on the arithmetic of our keeping of the law, we’re all failures. And if we try – like the Pharisees did – to subtract God’s laws and add in a few of our own – we’re only putting ourselves further in the hole, deeper in debt. 

 

That’s the problem with our Old Adam’s way of figuring out the things of God. We always try to do it ourselves. And that was the error the pharisees fell into. Thinking God needs our sacrifices. He doesn’t That’s how pagans think. That all god needs is to be fed and liquored and kept happy. Only that’s not the way it is with God. He doesn’t need or want anything from us but faith. That’s all He wants. Faith. Trust in His Word and promises. “I desire mercy not sacrifice.” He says it over and over again in the OT. Jesus repeated it to these same pharisees. I desire mercy not sacrifice. Mercy directed to the neighbor in need. Mercy to mother and father. Mercy to the broken stranger in the ditch. Mercy to the least and lost and lowly. Mercy to sinners, forgiveness to those who have wronged you, mercy even to those who hate you and revile you and persecute you. 

With all their religious rules and regulations, with all their ritual washings, with all their traditions, they missed the one needful thing. They missed Jesus. They missed the mercy of God that was theirs in Jesus. They missed the cleansing that all their washings could not work. They missed the most wonderful thing God has ever done, and will ever do, for the world – the sending of His beloved Son in the flesh to be our savior.

This is why Jesus comes down hard on the Pharisees – and the pharisee of our Old Adam within each of us as well. He exposes our self-righteousness to give us his own righteousness instead. He points out the uncleanness of our sinful hearts that he would create in us a clean heart. He tosses out all our calculations and cancels the record of debt that stood against him. 

On the cross, all the accounting books have been settled in Christ crucified. There, all our sins were nailed to His blood- stained cross, and there, our Lord took all our sins upon Himself and canceled our record of debt against God’s holy law…not counting our trespasses against us. In place of man-made traditions of washing defiled hands, Jesus gives us something better. He replaces our sinful, defiled heart with a new and clean heart. He washes you with pure water. And you are clean, you are forgiven, you are made holy and blameless, all on account of Jesus. There is nothing to add to His cross, it’s all paid. Forgiven. Finished. 

 

This is God’s great and gracious equation of salvation. It’s not our math, or our works, or our holiness, or our man-made traditions that save us – it’s by God’s grace and mercy in Jesus. His grace tosses our math book of self-made-righteousness out the window and replaces it with good news for you in Jesus. 

 

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

 

Sermon for Pentecost 13: "Third Course: New Life"

 + 13^th Sunday after Pentecost – August 18^th, 2024 +

Series B: Proverbs 9:1-10; Ephesians 5:6-21; John 6:51-69

Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church

Milton, WA

 

 

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

 

It seems to be a fact of life that new things don’t stay new for long. As you drive that new car off the lot, its value fades, along with that new car smell. The latest iPhone you just got is obsolete before you send your first selfie to your friends. 

 

We know this, and yet we find ourselves longing for something new – something that’s always new. That would seem to be true mission impossible. A wild goose chase. A fool’s errand. And it would be, were it not for Jesus’ word and promises in John 6. 

 

Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day.⁵⁵ For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. 

 

When Jesus delivers his word to us here in John 6, we find what we are always longing for but never quite seem to grasp… something that lasts. That endures. That’s eternal. Something that is truly new. And which renews us. 

 

In the first course of John 6, two Sundays ago, Jesus the Bread of Life gave us true satisfaction in his word. Last week, in the second course, Jesus the divine and gracious Chef gave himself as living bread. His flesh and blood are our food – in faith and in word and in the supper. Given on the cross and at his table. Today, in the third and final course Jesus the Bread of Life gives us what we long for, but are unable to find and incapable of doing on our own. Jesus the Bread of Life gives new life.

 

And Jesus does this abundantly. At least seven times in John 6 – a good Biblical number of completion and fullness – Jesus promises to give eternal life, that he will raise up those who believe in him on the last day, that he will give life forever, that whoever feeds on Jesus flesh and blood has life now and will have life eternally. 

 

I am the living bread that came down from heaven. If anyone eats of this bread, he will live forever. 

 

If there is to be anything new in this world, broken by sin. If there we are to be made new, and made into a new creation, and renewed in heart and mind – where will this newness come from? Not from us. That would be like trying to tell a two-ton rock to grow legs and dance, or a dead man to get up and sprint the 100 yard dash, or a desert to suddenly to sprout and blossom into a forest of evergreens and wildflowers.

 

Jesus’ words sound too good to be true. Especially when we look around and we see our bodies broken by sin, plagued by sickness. And we long to be healed. When we see family and friends  fractured by sin, we long for reconciliation. Where do we find healing? Where do we find hope? Where do we find reconciliation? Where do we find the promise of something that is forever new? Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We go to where God has come down to us: in his word that brings peace and fills us with hope. In his death that reconciles us to the Father, and one another. In his wounds that heal. And in his flesh and blood – given for you on the cross and given for you at his table. 

 

For creation to be renewed, for us to be made new, help and rescue must come from outside. To make all things new, the Creator comes into his creation bearing the flesh of his creatures. To redeem man, God becomes man. To save us from sin and death, Jesus takes on our sin. Dies our death. To make all things new, he takes all things old upon himself – guilt, shame, death, the devil, the grave – and gives his life. A sacrifice that brings a new creation.

 

Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day.

 

Jesus uses the verb “to feed.” Not eat in abstraction. Feeds. Chews. Rend with the teeth. It’s all so earthy, ordinary, food-like. And it’s just the way God does things. We’re flesh and blood creatures, and we need a flesh and blood Savior. Not someone who appears to be like us (but not really) but someone who really is like us in every way. Bone of our bones and flesh of our flesh. Who is like us in all ways, except without sinful flesh, so that in his flesh and blood – given on the cross, and given in the Supper – we are made new.

 

Jesus is doing what he promised he would do long ago. He is making a new covenant. He makes all things new. How? By giving his life for the life of the world: from this synagogue in Capernaum to the cross in Jerusalem. And from the sacrifice of the cross to a life-giving, life-renewing sacrament at his altar. 

 

If you want to find something truly new -and that which renews you – you won’t find it in the siren’s songs of this world. You won’t find it in the serpent’s lies – though he fights like hell to get you to fall for the latest fad. And you won’t find it within – all we see there is greed and lust and grief and doubt and despair and death and sin and shame. It would seem that there’s nothing new under the sun.

 

There is, however, one place you will find it, or rather, where He finds you. 

Jesus the Bread of Life, makes all things new by his word, by his cross, and by his flesh and blood poured out for you in the Supper. Here is something that endures. That’s eternal. Something that is truly new. And which renews us. 

 

This is the bread that came down from heaven, not like the bread the fathers ate, and died. Whoever feeds on this bread will live forever.

 

When Jesus gave his flesh and blood on the cross his Good Friday pardon: “It is finished” turns into an Easter Sunday promise, “Behold, I make all things new.” Jesus the Bread of Life gave his flesh and blood unto death, to save us by his sacrifice. To destroy death by dying. To make all things new by giving his flesh for the life of the world. 

 

Jesus who gave his flesh and blood on the altar of the cross gives his flesh and blood on the altar for you. Today. “Take, eat; this is my body.”  And he took a cup, and when he had given thanks he gave it to them, saying, “Drink of it, all of you,  for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins. For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. 

 

And Jesus doesn’t stop there. Jesus walked out of the grave in his glorified flesh and blood. And he did that so that one day, when we’re lying in our graves, he will come along and give the word. He will make all things new. For Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day.

 

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

Sermon for Pentecost 12: "Second Course: Living Bread"

 + 12^th Sunday after Pentecost – August 11^th, 2024 +

Series B: 1 Kings 19:1-8; Ephesians 4:17-5:2; John 6:35-51

Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church

Milton, WA

 

 

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

 

One of the surest ways to find God in the Scriptures is to look for him dining at table with his people. Time and again, when we open God’s word we find that God loves a feast. He loves to feed his people with good things for body and soul. He loves to bake his everlasting promises in and with earthly food.

 

So he did in Eden for Adam and Eve as he gave them fruit of the tree of life. So he did for Israel at the Passover where the flesh of the lamb that saved was eaten in a holy meal. So he did at Sinai as Moses and Israel ate and drank with God on the holy mountain. So he did in the wilderness as he rained down quail and manna from heaven in abundance. So he did for Elijah on the run from wicked Jezebel.

 

So he did for the crowds with the loaves and the fish. So he did with tax collectors and sinners. So he does for you. If you want to find God, look to where he finds you gives his flesh for you and gathers you and feeds you the Bread of Life…on the cross, in his word, and at his table. 

 

Today, Jesus the Bread of Life opens the menu of his holy word for a second course of teaching from John 6. Today, once again, Jesus feeds us with his promises. His word is our food. And more. So is his flesh. Today, when Jesus the Bread of Life gives us Living Bread, he is giving us himself…on the cross, in his word, and at his table.

 

You would think that after hearing his teaching. After witnessing his miraculous healing. After he cast out demons. After he fed the crowds. The Jews gathered who hear and saw Jesus do all these things would believe in him. And yet, as Mark Twain once said, history doesn’t repeat but it does rhyme. 

 

Here in John 6, history rhymes yet again. Israel grumbled in the wilderness. So God fed them. 6 days a week, and double on Fridays. For 40 years. They didn’t starve. They didn’t lack. They wanted for nothing. And yet they grumbled against God and rejected him. Said it was better in Egypt under Pharaoh. Where they were enslaved. Where their sons were thrown in the river to die. This is why Proverbs equates unbelief with foolishness.

 

The crowds that followed God in the flesh were hungry too. So God fed them: bread and fish in abundance. All ate. All were satisfied. They wanted for nothing. And yet, once again, Israel rejected God in the flesh. And even though they didn’t realize it, they were enslaved too, and in the same prison as Israel was in the wilderness in Exodus: in sin, unbelief, and death. Here was God in the flesh, healing, teaching, and feeding his people. And still they disbelieved. 

 

This is why your faith in Jesus is always a gift. Whether you were given the faith as in infant in word and water of your baptism, or came to faith later in life – it’s God’s work in you. 

To come to Him is to believe in Him, and no one comes to Him or believes in Him unless the Father draws him. A better translation would be “dragging or pulling.” The Father drags us like a cat into a bath, kicking and screaming into the faith. Into the water. Into faith. Neither your brains nor your brawn will get you closer to Jesus. For there is nothing good in us, that is, in our flesh. We are conceived and born sinful, turned inward, deaf and blind to God and His Word. The Father must draw the believer by the Spirit whom He sends, preaching the Word into your deaf ears, breathing life into your dead clay. Raising us from the dead by giving us his word and flesh and promise.

Only the flesh and blood and life of Jesus the Bread of Life can save us. on the cross, in his word, and at his table.

 

Good news for us is that is exactly what he gives us. He gives us himself. His word. His promise. His very life. His flesh and blood is our living Bread. This is what God wants to give you. Himself. This is his will, to save you by being lifted up on the cross.

 

For this is the will of my Father, that everyone who looks on the Son and believes in him should have eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day.”

 

Like Adam and Eve, our Lord Jesus wants us to look to his cross as our tree of life and see the fruit of our salvation hanging on that tree. Like Israel in Egypt, Jesus is our Passover Lamb who is sacrificed for us. His blood poured out on the beams of the cross. His flesh that saves you is given to eat in a holy meal. Like Moses at Sinai, Jesus goes to a mountain to dwell with his people and give us a feast of forgiveness. Like Israel in the wilderness, the Son of Man is lifted up; we look upon him and live; and he rains down Bread from heaven. The manna of his flesh. Living food from the crucified, risen, and living God. Bread that gives life from the cross where the Bread of Life was broken for you. 

 

When Jesus the Bread of Life gives us Living Bread, he’s giving us himself. Tragically, the crowds in John 6 didn’t believe it. They were scandalized by the ordinariness of Jesus. This isn’t the savior they ordered off the messiah menu. But then again, that’s how God works: unexpectedly, and according to his good and gracious will. This isn’t Burger King. You don’t get it your way. And it’s a good thing we don’t. We receive Jesus the Bread of Life in God’s way and will. Abundantly. Graciously. Mercifully. As undeserved. Unmerited. Unconditional grace and goodness.

 

Jesus, the Bread of Life came to do the Father’s will. And it is the Father’s will for the Son to give his flesh for the life of the world. Here in John 6, that hasn’t happened yet. But it will, not too many chapters from now. 

 

This is what Jesus does, what he’s always done. He gives. Here in John 6 he gives his word. His promise: I AM the Bread of Life. Living Bread. Not bread that only holds off death for a while. But Bread that dies and rises again with new life for you. Jesus gives his flesh on the cross. And the same flesh Jesus gave on the cross for all our sin, for all our grumbling, for all our rejection, for all our death – that same flesh, he gives as food.

 

God loves a feast. He loves to feed his people with good things for body and soul. He loves to bake his everlasting promises in and with earthly food. And when Jesus the Bread of Life gives us Living Bread, he is giving us himself. The flesh Jesus laid down for the life of the world on the cross is the same flesh he lays before at his table today. The flesh of Jesus crucified for you is now delivered to you in his body. The same blood Jesus shed for you is poured out into the cup and into your mouth.

 

If you want to find God, look to where he finds you, gives you his flesh and gathers you and feeds you the Bread of Life… on the cross, in his word, and at his table.

This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. ⁵¹ I am the living bread that came down from heaven. If anyone eats of this bread, he will live forever. And the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.”

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

Sermon for Pentecost 11: "First Course: Contentment in Christ"

 + 11^th Sunday after Pentecost – August 4^th, 2024 +

Series B: Exodus 16:2-15; Ephesians 4:1-16; John 6:22-35

Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church

Milton, WA

 

 

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

 

A few years back some friends invited our family over for a French-style multi-course dinner. The first course was an incredible, fresh-from-the-garden salad. The second course, pan-seared scallops. And the third course was a melt-in-your-mouth tuna steak. Sometimes a meal is so good you have to take your time and savor each bite that comes your way.

 

John 6 is like that, only better. For the cook is the top Chef of chefs. He is at the Bread of Life and the one who gives us life in daily bread at his table and yours. Today, and the following two Sundays, Jesus’ words in John 6 are spread before us like a lavish 3-course meal. 

 

At the heart of this meal, at the center of this table is the Lord of the feast, Jesus. Jesus is the Bread of Life who feeds us with his promises. Jesus’ promises – his words – are our food, our life. 

 

In the first course he feeds us in his faithfulness. The contentment and satisfaction we so often long for is found only in him. Jesus is both: the giver and the gift. He gives faith, life, and promises. When we get to the second course next week, we feast on the words of Jesus who gives his flesh for us. And the following week, in the third course of Jesus’ teaching in John 6, we will dine at the table of forgiveness in Jesus’ flesh and blood, and look forward to the never-ending wedding feast in the resurrection.

 

So, like all good meals, let’s slow down. Take our time. Savor the words and promises of our Savior in the first course of John 6:

 

“Truly, truly, I say to you, you are seeking me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves.²⁷ Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give to you. For on him God the Father has set his seal.”

 

According to Jesus there are two food groups. Food that perishes. And food of the promise. Food that is fleeting. And food that endures. Food that leads to death (or staves it off for a while). And food that gives life, now and forever.

 

The crowds saw the signs, and followed, but missed the One to whom they pointed. Sure, they found Jesus. But what they were really after was the bread and the fish. Their spiritual GPS was broken. So is ours. Like Jack Sparrow’s compass in Pirates of the Caribbean, our internal needle always bends inward; we’re spiritual navel-gazers. Their mouth and heart, like ours, is curved in on our own Self-loving. Self-serving. Self-seeking ways. Sin and death have a gluttonous, gravitational pull on us, always dragging us down. From our belly or our eyes, or our ears, or our thoughts, words, and deeds, all the way down to grave. We have an appetite for destruction.

 

And this, Jesus says, is the food that perishes. That longing that we never seem to find. The hunger we can’t satisfy. The thirst we cannot quench. The contentment just beyond our reach. It’s always a recipe for ruin. St. Augustine put it this way: our hearts are restless, O Lord, until we find our rest in Thee. We’re right there with the crowds enjoying the bread and fish when they were given to point us to the Giver, the Chef, Jesus and his grace and mercy. 

Jesus isn’t telling us not to pray for daily bread. The manna Israel ate in the wilderness was good. The bread and fish the crowds ate was good. The food and daily bread we pray for and God gives us is good. But none of it will save us. It’ll quiet the rumbling in our stomach but it won’t reconcile us to God. It’ll stop us from being hangry, but it won’t make us holy. It’ll stave off starvation but it won’t bring salvation. 

 

There is, however, a food that will. That endures. Forgives. Heals. Reconciles. Justifies. Declares you holy and righteous. That will give you eternal, ever-lasting, never-ending satisfaction. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied. 

Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst.” 

This is the promise Jesus gives you in this first course of John 6. Jesus and his word. His promise is your food, your bread, your life. And this promise is also a person. The Giver of this food is himself the food that is given. His word is your life. His life and flesh and blood are your life. 

 

Jesus, the Chef of God’s mercy, gives his life for you. Here on this hill in John 6, Jesus gives life by his word. In his promises. Later, on another hill outside of Jerusalem, Jesus gave his life and flesh and blood for you. That’s where he laid down his life in self-denial, taking all our self-ish, self-seeking sin upon himself. That’s where Jesus hungered and thirsted so that whoever believes in him will be filled with his promise, satisfied with his salvation, and content in his cross and resurrection. That’s where the Son of Man was lifted up that all who look to him would have eternal life.

 

Here in John 6, Jesus the Bread of Life feeds us with his promises. His promise is our food. I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst. His word sustains, satisfies, and saves us. And like any good meal, save your fork. There’s more. 

 

The bread and fish and feeding of the thousands was a foretaste of a better feast to come. A sign that points to another table and a greater feast. To the night when Jesus was betrayed and took bread. Blessed it. Broke it. Gave it to his disciples, along with another promise. This bread. This is my body. This cup of wine. This is my blood. Take, eat. Take, drink. 

 

Here is Jesus the Bread of Life. The Giver and the gift all at once. Bread and Body for you. Flesh and forgiveness for you. Wine and blood poured out for you. Here is the bread and wine and flesh and blood of the Son of God come down to earth from heaven for you. Here is the food of forgiveness, promise, and true contentment in Jesus the Bread of Life. Come, eat, drink. Be satisfied. For the Chef has prepared a feast and whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst. 

 

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