Sermon for Advent 2: "The Way of the Lord"

 + 2^nd Sunday in Advent – December 7^th, 2025 +

Series A: Isaiah 11:1-10; Romans 15:4-13; Matthew 3:1-12

Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church

Milton, WA

 

 

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

 

In the old tales when a hero goes on a quest there’s often a bridge to cross. A chasm to cross over. And there in the way – guarding the only way across – stands a messenger. You shall not pass. Unless of course, you answer three questions or solve the riddles. 

 

And like the old rhyme goes, there is no other way but forward. You must meet this strange messenger on your journey. You can’t go around him. Can’t go under him. Can’t go over him. You must go through him.

 

This is the way of Advent. The way of John the Baptist. The way of the one who prepares the way of the Lord Jesus.

 

John stands in the wilderness in our advent journey and we cannot get to Jesus without going through John. John is the crossing guard at the bridge. The herald on the journey. The messenger at the crossroads. The voice of one crying out in the wilderness:

 

Prepare the way of the Lord. Make his paths straight.

 

John stands in the wilderness in our advent pilgrimage not with riddles to solve or questions to answer, but with a message to proclaim. Holy words to sink into our ears, minds, and hearts.

 

Repent. For the Kingdom of God is at hand.

 

Truth be told, John the Baptist makes us uncomfortable. Uneasy. His camel’s hair clothing stands out like Scrooge at a Christmas party. His diet isn’t milk and cookies but locust and wild honey. He’s like that crazy uncle we all know and love. You’re never quite sure what he’s going to say when he opens his mouth. He’s untamed. Unkempt. Uncivilized. 

 

But it’s more than John’s strange diet and prophetic fashion sense that makes us squirm in our Christmas jammies. John is not safe. He’s wild and untamed, serving not himself, but Jesus the Lord whose way he prepares. The true untamed and wild Lion of Judah.

 

In a season of festivities John preaches repentance and forgiveness of sins. While we’re enjoying all of the cards, carols, and phone calls John calls out to the Pharisees, “Hey…You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?” How’s that for a Christmas greeting card!

 

In a season where the world is decking the halls, having a merry little Christmas (a little too early), and trimming the trees, John preaches repentance. Self-denial. Death and resurrection. 

 

That is what God sends John ahead of his Son to do. To work repentance through the word. Repentance is a changing of the mind – not by you, but by the Spirit giving you a new mind. Repentance is a turning from darkness to life – but it’s not you who turns you; it’s the Spirit working through God’s word. Repentance, most of all, though is death.

 

John calls us to the Jordan River this advent journey. And John comes out swinging like Paul Bunyan, laying his axe to every idol that has taken root in our hearts and minds. John is God’s holy bulldozer sent into demo all of the altars we’ve built, all the places where we worship and fear and love and trust every god but the true one.

 

Yes, John is sent by God to deliver the death blow. The final knockout punch to our old Adam. This is John’s way. This is the way of repentance. 

 

To daily die to our old sinful self.

To die to our false desires that enslave us.

To die to our idols that over promise and underdeliver.

To die to viper’s serpentine voices that hiss out nothing but lies.

To die to our selfish, self-serving, self-righteous ways.

 

You can’t go around, or under, or over John’s message. The death of repentance. You must go through John. Through repentance. Through the grave.

 

And there in the darkness. In your death. In the dust and ashes. John holds out his finger. And lifts up his voice once again. He leads you out from under the crushing weight of your sin to the cross. To Christ whose way he prepares.

 

The Kingdom of God is at hand. Behold, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. 

 

John calls us to a new exodus. Out of slavery and into life and freedom in Christ. Out of the wilderness and into the new creation in Jesus. Out of darkness and into light. Out of the grave and into the resurrection that comes in Jesus’ dying and rising.

 

With one hand John points out your sin. But with the other, he points you to your Savior. To Jesus who comes to baptize. Cleanse. Gather. Rescue. Redeem. And raise you from the dead.

 

John declares that Jesus is the coming one who is mightier than he. And yet he who is mighty comes with great mercy for you. He who is holy, comes in utter humility to declare you holy in him. He who comes is full of compassion, grace, and steadfast love.

 

John proclaims that Jesus is the one whose sandals he is not worthy to stoop down and untie. And yet, Jesus is the one who comes to stoop down. The Son of God descends. Humbles himself. Dwells under the Law. He stoops low to wash feet. To heal. To go down to the lowest place of all, the grave. And to do it all for you. 

 

Jesus is the one who comes with the winnowing fork in his hand, but it comes in the shape of Roman nails. Cold and cruel and pounded into his flesh for you. God lets the axe fall on his Son the root of Jesse. On the tree of the cross God’s righteous branch is cut down. Broken. Bleeding. Breathing out his last to save John, the Pharisees, sinners, you and me.

 

Yes, John’s preaching of repentance means the death of us. But his preaching of the Kingdom that comes to you in Jesus, in his water, word, body and blood. This is your resurrection from the dead. 

 

This is your advent journey. No riddles. No questions. All you need is what John has: God’s word that kills and makes alive. Indeed, come to Christ’s table, for today the Kingdom of God is at hand. 

 

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

 

Thanksgiving Day Sermon: "The Ritual of the Redeemed"

 + Thanksgiving Day - November 27th, 2025 + 

Deuteronomy 8:1-10; Philippians 4:6-20; Luke 17:11-19

Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church

Milton, WA

 

 

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

 

Holidays are full of rituals. Thanksgiving is no different. Growing up in our family, the big Schuldheisz family thanksgiving day was full of ritual. The mad hustle and bustle to get to church. The greeting of family members outside the church. Greeting family members inside the church. Greeting family members in the pews. When your dad is the youngest of seven, there’s a lot of greeting to do. 

 

Eventually, we’d move to someone’s house - or church fellowship hall when we outgrew the house. Snacks appeared on the table. Drinks filled glasses. Soon enough, the parents and older cousins' table and kids’ table overflowed with food. We prayed. Laughed. Ate. Those who didn’t nap went outside to burn some calories. Came back inside for desert and more food and more stories and laughter. 

 

Your family, no doubt, has a few traditions of your own, passed down from generation to generation. Thanksgiving is a day of ritual. That’s what tradition is, in part, a familiar pattern. A lively dance that everyone knows. A rhythm. A heartbeat. Pumping with life.

 

When we turn to God’s Word we find the same rhythm and pattern. Wherever we receive God’s rescue and redemption, we find the ritual of rejoicing. We call it thanksgiving. 

 

Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love, for his wondrous works to the children of man!

 

There’s a ritual, a pattern: God gives, bestows, blesses. Not a little. Not in moderation. Not in halves, quarters, or eights. But in whole. In fullness. In abundance. Generosity without limit. Grace overflowing. Free. Full. And more than we desire or deserve. 

 

God gives and then we receive. We rejoice. We give thanks. 

Our Lord speaks and we listen. His Word bestows what it says. Faith that is born from what is heard acknowledges the gifts received with eager thankfulness and praise.

Turn to any part of Scripture and you’ll find this ritual of redemption on full display. Wherever you find God’s people, you’ll find them giving thanks to God for his abundant mercy, gratuitous grace, and steadfast love and faithfulness.

 

Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love, for his wondrous works to the children of man!

 

After God rescued Noah and his family in the ark, through the water. Through the deluge and downpour. Noah gave thanks. An altar. Sacrifice. Thanksgiving. Ritual. 

 

Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love, for his wondrous works to the children of man!

 

After God rescued Israel out of slavery in Egypt, Moses and Miriam and Israel gave thanks by the shores of the Red Sea. They sang. Prayed. Praised. Gave thanks. 

 

Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love, for his wondrous works to the children of man!

 

After God placed the ark of his presence in the tent of meeting for David. And after David was saved time and time again from his own sin and countless enemies. He sang. Prayed. Wrote psalms. Gave thanks to God. 

 

Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love, for his wondrous works to the children of man!

 

After God blessed barren Hannah with a son, she too joined the ritual of the redeemed and rescued. She sang. Her heart exalted in the Lord. She rejoiced in YHWH’s salvation.

 

Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love, for his wondrous works to the children of man!

 

After God sent Paul as his chosen apostle criss-crossing the Mediterranean proclaiming Christ crucified, Paul - in a beautiful ritual - writes thanksgiving after thanksgiving in his epistles. He hands down the ritual. but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. 

 

Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love, for his wondrous works to the children of man!

 

After God incarnate healed the 10 lepers, one of them - the unlikely Samaritan - understood the ritual. He received restoration from the Redeemer. He returned. Praised God. Fell at Jesus’ feet. And gave thanks. Thanksgiving is the ritual of the redeemed. 

 

Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love, for his wondrous works to the children of man!

 

Wherever you find God’s people, you’ll find them giving thanks to God for his abundant mercy, gratuitous grace, and steadfast love and faithfulness.

 

And what about us? How do we respond? Truth be told, giving thanks to God - or anyone else for that matter - doesn’t come naturally to sinners like you and me. We feign gratitude but deep down we think we’re deserving. Entitled. That we’ve earned it. Owed it. Or that we’ve done it all by the callouses of our hands and our worn out bootstraps and our bloody knuckles and our labors. 

 

Thanksgiving calls us outside of us and away from ourselves. And this is no small thing. This means our death. But also our life. For in this hard truth, in this bitter pill to swallow, there is good news that is sweeter than the sweetest honey-ham and richer than the most brown-sugar, marshmallow coated sweet-potatoes. The gifts - all of them in body and soul - come from the good and gracious giver himself. The God who redeems, rescues, declares righteous, and restores you.

 

Everyone who has ever received anything from God in the Scriptures - and that’s everyone - from Noah to Israel, Hannah to David, the Samaritan leper to Paul - everyone receives everything we have by grace in Jesus. Free. Abundant. Without measure. God holds nothing back, not even his own Son. Who also holds nothing back. Not even his own flesh and blood or his back and hands and feet. He gives his all for you on the cross. 

 

Jesus becomes the sacrifice. The lamb slain. The blood spilled. Jesus gives. Bestows. Blesses. Not in part, half, or quarter. But in full. Paid by his blood. Redeemed. Rescued. Declared righteous. And what’s there left to do? Nothing but receive the gifts. Rejoice. And join the ritual of the redeemed.

 

Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love, for his wondrous works to the children of man!

 

A blessed Thanksgiving to each of you…

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

Sermon for Advent 1: "Christ is Coming"

 + 1^st Sunday in Advent – November 30^th, 2025 +

Series A: Isaiah 2:1-5; Romans 13:8-14; Matthew 24:36-44

Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church

Milton, WA

 

 

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

 

Advent is a peculiar yet beautiful season of the church year. 

 

Peculiar because the world around us is telling us it’s cozy sweater weather and flooding your email, text messages, TVs and tablets with commercials and sales and deals and it’s enough to make you sympathetic with the Grinch for moment. 

 

But then Advent comes along. Out of place in our world. Out of touch. We get Isaiah and the prophets. John the Baptist – the ugly sweater champion of the world. Paul and Jesus all proclaiming the same message. “It shall come to pass.” The Judge is coming. The Day of the Lord is near. The night is far gone; the day is at hand. The Son of Man is coming soon. Hardly sounds like the Holly Jollies or marshmallows and hot cocoa we were expecting. 

 

And yet Advent comes as an airhorn in your slumber. Arise! Awake! Advent comes as a splash of cold water for someone in a stupor, drunk on the distractions of the world. Get up! Watch! Prepare. Advent comes like a thief in the night, Jesus says. 

 

The beauty of Advent is found in its peculiarity. For Advent is a foghorn in the storm and tempest. Advent is a lighthouse in the bleak midwinter. Advent is the lantern approaching closer and closer on the horizon. The dawn about to break. The light piercing the darkness. The newsboy standing on the corner shouting out: “extra, extra! Read all about it! Christ is coming! Christ is near. Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again. Soon!”

 

And so Advent is a blessed interruption from our idolatry. A sacred summons to holiness and peace in Jesus word and promises. A slowing down. Roots digging deep into Christ the vine who sprouts forth from the stump of Jesse. In Advent our Lord invites us to pause. Breath. Be awake. Watch. Wait. Slow down. Sit. Listen. 

 

Hear the word of the Lord. He comes to rescue. Deliver. Save. And yes…

 

He shall judge between the nations, and shall decide disputes for many peoples;
and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks;
nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore.

 

That’s no ordinary judgment. Isaiah announces a war to end all wars. A black flag hoisted against the powers of hell and death and darkness. The Son of Man is coming and he will give no quarter to the ancient serpent. No safe harbor for hell and death. Jesus comes to hoist the Jolly Roger over the bones of Adam and our old sinful flesh as well. 

 

And Jesus fights this battle. Makes his judgment in the most peculiar yet beautiful way. Something unimaginable to us. Impossible for us. Yet exactly what we need. Jesus comes as the Judge and takes upon himself your judgment. Christ the Judge lets the gavel fall on three Roman spikes, pounded into his flesh to set you free. Jesus, the Judge of the living and the dead, steps off his bench and is hoisted up onto the cross. For you. The innocent for the guilty. His life for yours. Your sin became his. Your grave and mine became his. Your judgment and mine…all his. All for you. 

 

And this is the Judge that we await for on the Last Day. This is the coming Son of Man. The Son of Mary. Son of David. The Son of God. Our crucified and risen King. Your redeemer. Rescuer. 

 

 

And in a way, the Last Day has already come. Your judgment has already happened. On the cross.

And in Baptism where he declared you washed. Cleansed. Holy. His own dear child. You belong to him. And… “There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” Romans 8:1

 

For you who are in Christ, this day of reckoning is a day of redemption. This day of judgment is a day of joy. This day of consummation is a day of consolation. 

 

This is what makes Advent so peculiar and yet so beautiful. Advent teaches us exactly how to live in the last days. To wait. Watch. Listen. 

 

O house of Jacob, come, let us walk in the light of the Lord.

 

Besides this you know the time, that the hour has come for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we first believed.  The night is far gone; the day is at hand. So then let us cast off the works of darkness and put on the armor of light.  Let us walk properly as in the daytime, not in orgies and drunkenness, not in sexual immorality and sensuality, not in quarreling and jealousy. But put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires.

 

Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an hour you do not expect.

 

Although Jesus will come on a day we do not expect. At his coming, we know exactly what to expect. For he promises.

 

You are dressed in Jesus. You are clothed in the King’s righteousness. You are Advent people. Children of the day. You are bought and paid for by the precious blood of Jesus.

 

So, do not fear living in these last days. Because of what Jesus did on Good Friday and Easter Sunday there’s nothing to fear on the Last Day.

 

After all, you know how the story ends. It ends with the trumpets blaring. Angels and saints shouting for joy. The bells of the new creation pealing. And the Lamb returning. Raising you from the dead. Wiping away all tears. All pain. All sorrow. 

 

And you’ll find out that the Judge is the Lamb all along. Slain for you. sitting on the throne for you. speaking his promises to you: 

 

Behold, I am coming soon. 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

Sermon for Last Sunday of Church Year: "Hope for the Hopeless"

 + Last Sunday of Church Year – November 23^rd, 2025 +

Series C: Malachi 3:13-18; Colossians 1:13-20; Luke 23:27-43

Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church

Milton, WA

 

 

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

 

We live in a world long on hype and hysteria and short on hope. Heavy hearts and Hopelessness abound. Hope is hard to find.

 

There’s pessimism and division in politics. Despair over our own illnesses and our family and friends. Worries about everything from faith to finances. It’s easy to find ourselves wondering if Jesus is really going to return as he promised. Or if we’re honest, does he really even care about today.

 

The antidote, some would say, is simply to be more optimistic. Turn that frown upside down. Don’t worry, be happy. It’ll get better. Hakuna Matata, and so on. 

 

There’s a difference though isn’t there, between optimism and hope, at least when it comes to God’s Word. Optimism isn’t the same thing as hope. Optimism (or pessimism for that matter) is often about how you perceive things. Hope for the Christian, however, is the way things are even when you don’t see it or feel it. Our Lord has a way of giving us hope just when all seems hopeless.

 

Consider yourself. When we look at ourselves – honestly, through the lens of God’s Word – we join Paul in confessing “oh wretched man that I am, who will deliver me from this body of death.” And yet when God the Father looks at us through Jesus crucified, he no longer sees you the sinner, but the blood of his Son Jesus crucified for me, and for you. This is why seeing isn’t always believing. But hearing is. Hearing the Word of Christ. That anchor holds. 

 

On this last Sunday of the Church year, Jesus speaks and delivers his sure and certain hope into our hopeless world. Hope anchored in Jesus’ death and resurrection. Hope as we long for Jesus’ glorious return. Hope as we await the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting. 

 

We tend to think hope is just another word for wishful thinking. In God’s word it’s the opposite. Hope isn’t wishful thinking or wistful daydreams, but Christ’s sure and certain promises. Hope isn’t found in us, but in Christ crucified and risen.

 

The kind of hope God gives us through the prophet Malachi, “They shall be Mine,” says the Lord of hosts, “On the day that I make them My jewels. And I will spare them As a man spares his own son who serves him.”

 

The kind of hope God gives us through St. Paul’s words in Colossians 1. He has delivered us from the power of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of the Son of His love,  in whom we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins.

 

The kind of hope Jesus gives to the criminal on the cross next to him. Then he said to Jesus, “Lord, remember me when You come into Your kingdom.” And Jesus said to him, “Assuredly, I say to you, today you will be with Me in Paradise.”

 

No one in the ancient world would’ve looked at that scene and described it as hopeful. Darkness and thick clouds. Three men suffering the horror and anguish of crucifixion. Beaten. Weary. Dying. Bloody and beaten down. And yet, this is the where the thief found true and lasting hope. Or better yet…that’s where hope finds him and you. In Christ crucified.

 

Here’s a man, a thief, whose life did not merit the Kingdom. He’s utterly hopeless were it not for Jesus. And yet, when Jesus speaks, the thief is born anew to a living hope where all human hope and optimism had perished. 

 

Hope for a dying thief pinned on a Roman cross for his crimes who cried out: “Lord, remember me when You come into Your kingdom.”. The Lord meets that prayer with a sure answer: “Today, you will be with Me in paradise.”

 

The same is true for you. When we look at the world around us, when we look at our lives, when we look within, we find no hope. We have nothing to cling to. Along with the faithful criminal, we confess that we’re under the same condemnation. For the wages of sin is death.

 

For you and me…hope is hard to find. Impossible in fact. That’s why hope finds you. Hope is pinned to a Roman cross for you. Hope is hung, bloody, beaten, battered, bruised, crucified, and buried for you. Our Lord has a way of giving us hope just when all seems hopeless.

 

In Jesus, we do not receive the due rewards of our deeds. We don’t get what we deserve. Just the opposite! In Jesus crucified we get what we don’t deserve. Jesus takes our punishment and we go free. Jesus who knew no sin is made sin for us. Jesus dies our death and we live. Jesus takes all of our depravity, doubt, despair, disease, death – everything that causes us hopelessness – and he delivers us hope in his death and resurrection. Jesus saves others by not saving Himself. Jesus saves sinners by dying for them. Jesus justifies the ungodly. Jesus saves the unsaveable and redeems the irredeemable.

In the waters of your Baptism, Jesus joins you as surely as he did that thief on the cross – and he says to you: Today you will be with me in paradise. In his word of absolution, resounding from the cross and the Last Day to our ears on this very day: Today you are forgiven all your sins. In the Lord’s Supper, Jesus’ body and blood fill us and feed us with hope in the forgiveness of sins. And that cup is not half empty, or half full, but spilling, running, and flowing over the brim with the faith, hope, and love of Jesus crucified for you.

In the changes and chances of this mortal world, our hearts are fixed where true joy and hope is found. For the criminal on the cross. For you and for me, and for all. The cross of Jesus is where our hope is found.  

In these gray and latter days, we live in the hope that we prayed earlier: “Lord Jesus Christ, you reign among us by the preaching of your cross.” In these last days, surrounded by pain and pessimism, by sin, suffering, and death, Jesus gives us hope in the midst of death. Hope that our Savior rules not in spite of the cross, but through it. 

 

The cross of Jesus is where your hope is found.  Today, on the Last Day, and every day until our Lord returns. Amen. Come quickly, Lord Jesus.

 

A blessed Last Sunday of the church year to each of you…

 

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

Sermon for Pentecost 23: "If Trees Could Talk"

 + 23^rd Sunday after Pentecost – November 16^th, 2025 +

Series C: Malachi 4; 2 Thessalonians 3:1-13; Luke 21:5-28

Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church

Milton, WA

 

 

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

 

 

If the walls could talk! Imagine the stories they could tell. We often say this somewhat jokingly or sentimentally, when we look around a beloved home or an historical site.

 

But have you ever found yourself saying something similar walking through the woods or standing among trees? If only these trees could talk. Imagine the stories they would tell.

 

Some writers have brought this idea to life. In The Lord of the Rings there are the Ents, talking tree-like creatures. In Narnia the trees talk as well, and they come alive when Aslan the lion appears. The Womping Willow in Harry Potter has a rather gnarly, knotty attitude. Even foresters in Germany have discovered that trees communicate with one another through underground networks of mycelium. 

 

So if the trees in literature and nature have a story to tell, what about the trees in the Scriptures? Do they have a story to tell as well? 

 

Jesus sure thought so. He even told a parable pointing his disciples to the trees. Jesus teaches us a little theology by dendrology. Christ the Arborist takes us into the woods he called into existence so that the forest becomes our classroom and the trees are our catechist. 

 

 “Look at the fig tree, and all the trees.  As soon as they come out in leaf, you see for yourselves and know that the summer is already near. So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near. Truly, I say to you, this generation will not pass away until all has taken place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.

 

This is one of Jesus’ favorite teaching methods. He uses simple things, his creatures and his creation, to teach us something profound. Birds and lilies teach us not to be anxious or worry. Children teach us that we’re utterly dependent upon his grace. Trees and their leaves in spring and summer teach us that when we see signs of living in the End Times – and we do every day – that this is good news. An endless summer is on the horizon. The New Creation is about to dawn. The Kingdom of God is near. At the very gates. Just waiting to sprout forth with the resurrection of the dead. 

 

So, if the trees of Scripture could talk, what stories would they tell?

 

From the trees of Eden, especially the tree of knowledge of good and evil, we hear the tragedy of how sin and sorrow, darkness, decay, and death first entered the world. How sin and death spread like dry rot, first in Adam and Eve and then in each of us. 

 

But the trees of Genesis also tell another story. The true story of a promise. A Son. A Savior. A Seed. In the fullness of time he would be born of woman and born under the law to redeem, rescue, and restore us by dying on a cursed tree.

 

From the trees of the forest in Psalm 96, we hear a word of wonder echoing in the woodlands. God’s Creation groaning under the weight of sin and death also rejoices with gladness when Christ, the Creator comes down to his creation. And we along with the trees creek and groan awaiting Christ’s return. When the Scriptures foretell the promise of the Lord’s coming, all creation, even the canopy of trees, cannot help but sing God’s praises. 

 

“Then shall all the trees of the forest sing for joy before the Lord, for he comes, for he comes to judge the earth. He will judge the world in righteousness, and the peoples in his faithfulness.

 

From Genesis to Revelation, from the gopher wood of the ark, to the acacia wood of the tabernacle, from the cedars of the temple, to the sycamore tree where Zacchaeus climbed, from Isaiah’s promise of a righteous branch to the wood of the cross, the trees indeed have a story to tell: 

Between every two pine trees is a doorway leading to a new way of life, said John Muir. Jesus does one better. In between the trees of the Bible is a doorway that leads to new life in the tree of his cross. 

 

Yes, there is much that the flora and fauna of Christ’s creation can teach the faithful.

 

Look at the fig tree, and all the trees.  As soon as they come out in leaf, you see for yourselves and know that the summer is already near.

 

We might expect Jesus to use the image of autumn when he teaches about his second coming and living in the last days. Falling leaves. Death. Decay. Growing darkness. Winter is coming. But no. Jesus uses images of spring and summer. Trees is full leaf. Stretching out their limbs with new life. Bursting with vitality. Hope. Promise. It’s an echo of Eden. And it’s a glimpse of the new creation yet to come.

 

Yes, living in the last days comes with a great deal of tribulation, trials, sorrow, and suffering. And yes, Jesus warns us who live in these last days to keep awake, alert, attuned to his words. To find our delight in the word of God. To be trees planted by streams of water. To be pruned and grafted into his absolution and forgiveness, daily dying and rising in repentance and forgiveness. And bearing the fruits of repentance. To be fed and nourished, healed and forgiven in his body and blood that come to us from the grape of the vine and the wheat of the fields that he plants and provides for our pardon.

 

Yes, there is warning. There are many great and terrible things we face in this life. And yet, our Lord’s promises are greater. No matter how thick with thorns and thistles and weeds this life seems to be. No matter how much you are surrounded and overwhelmed by sin, sorrow, and suffering, by despair, decay, and death, know this: the kingdom of God is near. And Jesus who was crucified on the tree of the cross and rose again from the dead as the first fruits of the resurrection is greater than every trial, tribulation, and temptation you and I come across. 

 

Of all the trees of Scripture, the one that stands upon Calvary’s hill stands tallest of all. 

 

One day, and we pray it is soon, all of these signs of the end times, all of these worries, fears, and tribulations…all of these doubts, all that decays and even sin and death itself will pass away. But there’s one thing that will not. 

 

Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away. The grass withers. The flower fails. But the word of our Lord endures forever. And in Jesus, so will you. Come, Lord Jesus.

 

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

 

 

Sermon for Pentecost 22: "Holiness and Proximity"

 + 22^nd Sunday after Pentecost – November 9^th, 2025 +

Series C: Exodus 3:1-15; 2 Thessalonians 2:1-8, 13-17; Luke 20:27-40

Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church

Milton, WA

 

 

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

 

 

In the story of the Scriptures, the word holy is like coffee shops in the Pacific Northwest: you’ll find holiness on every corner of every street as you travel the highway of God’s Word. From God’s holy sabbath rest on the seventh day of creation, to the holy of holies in the tabernacle, to the angels crying out holy, holy, holy around the Lamb’s throne in Revelation, there’s God in his holiness.

 

And, as Moses quickly discovers in the wilderness, God’s holiness is a matter of proximity.  

 

The dust and rocks around the burning bush were holy. Why? Not because Moses worked some magic in the wilderness. Yahweh was there. It was holy ground. The secret fire of God’s holy presence burned within that bush. And yet it was not consumed. Just as all who take refuge in the wood of the cross of Christ are not consumed, yet touched with holy fire from Mt. Calvary. 

 

Later on, when YHWH instructed Moses to build the tabernacle… wood, fabric, furnishings, ark of the covenant, along with the whole tabernacle, were holy. Why? Not because of the handiwork of Israelite craftsmen or the hands of the sons of Aaron and Levi. Yahweh was there. And that meant everything in and around the tabernacle was holy. 

 

God’s holiness is a matter of proximity. Where God is. Where he speaks. Where he places his name. Where he promises to be. Where he resides. That person. Place. Thing. Is holy because he is holy. 

 

Moses learns this first hand…or shall we say, foot. Take your sandals off your feet. For this place where you are standing is holy ground. 

 

Holy presence. Holy fire. Holy words. I AM the God of your father. The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. 

 

Who does Moses see and hear? The Angel of the Lord. The Malak YHWH. Christ before his incarnation. Moses sees a theophany of Christ. 

 

But there’s a problem. Moses is afraid. He hides his face. He bows to the ground. He dare not look. The secret fire of God’s holiness reveals something in Moses. Before God, Moses realizes that he is wholly unholy.

 

In Moses’ sin and unholiness we see our own. The fire of that burning bush burns too hot to approach on our own. Too scorching with the sacred for sinners to draw near in safety with our own hands and hearts. Like Adam and Eve try and cover our shame and guilt on our own. But the fig leaves can’t hide our unholiness. And like Moses we’re afraid. We hide our face. We bow down. And we expect the flames of holy fire to consume us. And they do. Not in wrath, but in a blaze of mercy and grace.

 

Think of God’s holiness like Aslan in Narnia. God is holy. He’s not tame. And He’s not safe. But he is good. And all good comes from Him. 

 

Apart from Christ, God’s holiness is not safe. Moses learned that in the wilderness. The burning bush was not consumed. And neither was Moses, though he certainly deserved it. 

 

Instead of swallowing Moses in the inferno, Christ in the burning bush sets the wilderness – and Moses’ ears – ablaze with a word and promise that spreads like wildfire. 

 

I have seen the affliction of my people. I know their sufferings. I have come down to deliver them. For I AM. I AM the God of the living. I AM the God of your fathers. 

 

Good for Moses, but what about us? What about our unholiness? What about our afflictions? Our sufferings? Will God deliver us? 

 

In our fears, shame, guilt, sin, suffering, affliction, and death, what does God do? 

 

Christ hears our afflictions. Christ knows our suffering.

 

Christ comes down. And he makes those fears, all our suffering, every last sin of thought, word, and deed his own. He lets all our unholiness and flames consume him to save you. 

 

On another tree in the wilderness just outside Jerusalem, Christ appears in the fire once again where he is consumed and crucified for you. Just as he did for Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, Christ steps into the fiery furnace to deliver you. Christ’s cross is a forge, where he hammers and toils with wood and nail to shield you. Christ’s cross is a holy conflagration where Jesus is swallowed up by all our sin and death and unholiness. 

 

And where Christ is. Where he speaks. Places his name. Promises to be. There’s his holiness. The holiness we lack, Jesus shares freely. He brings you here. To holy ground in his holy church filled with the warmth and fire of holy gifts. 

 

Holy word that sets hearts afire with his steadfast love. 

The Holy Spirit to keep us, faintly burning wicks, kindled in the faith through holy gifts.

Holy Baptism: brands his holy name upon you. 

Holy Absolution: a holy ablation of all your sins. 

Holy Supper: consume what is holy to bring you healing, holiness, and forgiveness. 

 

Holy Words with a holy and certain promise. The great I AM of the burning bush is also the one who says to you, I AM the Resurrection and the Life. And in Jesus you are declared holy and righteous.

 

 

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

 

 

 

Sermon for All Saints' Day: "Saintly Tears"

 + All Saints’ Day (observed) – November 2^nd, 2025 +

Revelation 7:9-17; 1 John 3:1-3; Matthew 5:1-12

Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church

Milton, WA

 

 

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

 

Sometimes we hide them behind sunglasses, or try in vain to wipe them away. Other times we get embarrassed or act tough: “I’m not crying; you’re crying.” Pop musicians, from Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons to Fergie try to convince us that, “Big Girls Don’t Cry.” But the truth is, we all have tears.

 

Tears of overwhelming joy like Sarah in Genesis, who I imagine laughed till she cried as she held in her hands the gracious, unexpected, promised gift of her son Isaac. 

 

Tears of loss and longing, like Israel in exile, weeping beside the rivers of Babylon as they remembered Zion.

 

Tears of guilt or shame, like King David mourning the death of his son and the consequence of his sin.

 

Tears of pain and anguish, where we join the Psalms in lament: “How long, O Lord?” “How long, O Lord, will the cancer spread?” “How long will homes, marriages, friendships remain broken?” “How long will the tempest of anxiety, fear, worry, doubt, and despair cloud my mind?” 

 

And then there are tears like we experience on All Saints’ Day, as we remember the faithful departed. Tears of grief. Loss. Death. Like our Lord’s tears as he wept at his friend Lazarus’ tomb. We see a familiar sight, hear a sound, or catch a smell, or even sing a beloved hymn – for me, it’s always For All the Saints - and we grieve. Grandparents. Parents. Aunts and uncles. Sisters or brothers. Husband. Wife. Sons, daughters, miscarried children. Close friends.

 

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ, like those who have gone before us this past year: 

 

William Gieck. Helen Myer. Steve Pelissier.

 

We grieve and weep, but not without hope. For our Lord who knows every hair on our head, also knows each sorrow and comforts us. 

 

He gave John a comforting vision to share with us. St. John was given to see what is not seen, a sneak peek into the heavenly realms to perceive what no eye has seen and to hear what no ear has heard. What John heard was the number 144,000 – a perfected Israel. Twelve times twelve times a thousand. That’s what John heard.

 

What John saw was a great multitude that no one could number. People from every nation, tribe, people, and language. Standing before Christ the Lamb, clothed in sun-glare white robes waving palm branches in an eternal feast of tabernacles, a perpetual Palm Sunday, crying out with one voice, 

 

“Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!” And with them angels and elders and the four living creatures who represent the whole created order worshipping God with the perfected seven-fold praise: “Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever. Amen.”

 

Sounds incredible. Beautiful. Joyful. We long to see what St. John saw instead of what we see around us now. But here’s the comforting thing, everything John saw is yours – now by faith, and one day by sight. And until that Day, everything John saw happens here every Sunday, every Divine Service. We may not see it, but when we kneel at the communion rail, we kneel together with those loved ones who have died in the faith. All of us in the faith, are gathered together by Christ around His Supper. Heaven comes to earth come together in this very spot. Like Jacob, we rest our weary heads here where heaven meets earth. How awesome is this place, this is none other than the house of God and this is the gate of heaven

 

Then one of the elders calls out to John: Who are these arrayed in white robes, and from where did they come? Sir, you know.

 

“These are the ones coming out of the great tribulation. They have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.”

They were fellow believers who died confessing Jesus is Christ and Lord. Members of the seven congregations of Asia Minor who suffered persecution, hardship, even death for the Name of Jesus. The vision is intended for comfort. They died in great tribulation, but they’re safe. Sheltered by God. Shepherded by the Lamb whose blood cleanses them. Every sadness and sorrow is ended for them. Every tear has been wiped away by the hand of God. We feebly struggle, they in glory shine.

 

And yet for John’s readers, for all who receive this strange letter we call, "The Revelation”, the time of tribulation continues. 

 

Jesus knew we would have days of tears, suffering, and grief. So he gave us John’s Revelation to give us comfort in the midst of suffering, joy in the midst of sadness, hope in the midst of despair, light in the darkness, life in death. 

 

It’s comfort for a church under siege, for Christians whose brothers and sisters in Christ are being fed to beasts or set on fire or hacked to pieces for the name of Jesus. It’s comfort for an exiled pastor who can’t be with his people on the Lord’s Day but can only be with them in the Spirit as he prays in the Spirit. It’s comfort for us as we see the dark clouds of persecution gathering on the horizon. Will the church survive the years ahead? Is there hope for tomorrow? Or the next day? Jesus’ answer  to us in the vision of the Revelation is a resounding.. Yeah and Amen! in the conquering Lamb who was slain but lives whose blood has made us to be kings and priests enthroned with Him at the right hand of God.

 

Life in this great tribulation is not easy. We know tears. And yet, the Lord who knows our tossing, turning, and every one of our tears (Psalm 56:8). Those tears that well up in your eyes and run down your cheeks - tears of grief and mourning, of sorrow and shame, of good-byes and partings, of pain and anguish, of longings and lost loves, of old wounds and new ones – God will wipe every one of those precious tears from your eyes.

 

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ, even in tears, this is your hope; and your tomorrow and your today: Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again. 

 

A blessed All Saints’ Day to each of you…

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