Sermon for Palm Sunday: "The Donkey"

 + Palm Sunday – March 29^th, 2026 +

Series A: John 12:12-19; Isaiah 50:4-9; Philippians 2:5-11; John 12:20-43

Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church

Milton, WA

 

 

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

 

Anyone with a pet at home wonders from time to time, if my cat or dog could talk, what would they say…besides of course, feed me now, human!

 

And we know the story of Balaam’s donkey talking in the book of Numbers. 

 

But what about the Palm Sunday donkey. If he could talk what would he say? What story would he tell? It might go something like this.

 

The next day the large crowd that had come to the feast heard that Jesus was coming to Jerusalem…and Jesus found a young donkey and sat on it.

 

You can imagine my surprise. There I was one moment, minding my own business, chomping on some delicious, fibrous hay; and the next moment, there I am, the donkey that’s never been ridden before, slowly trotting at the head of a parade into the Holy City. I was ready to buck and kick and put up a fight, but he was humble and gentle and kind. We simply rode on in holy fanfare.

 

People were waving palm branches and throwing their cloaks down to cover the dusty road ahead. Crowds of people were crying out, “Hosanna! (I learned later that means, Lord, save us). Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord, even the king of Israel! He has come to save you and all creation.

 

Yes, you heard that right. The King was riding on my back. The King of creation was riding atop one of his created beasts. Me, a beast of burden, honored to carry the One who was carrying the burdens of all creation on his back. 

 

Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Of all the animals he created, he picked a donkey? Really? What was he thinking? Doesn’t he that conquering heroes ride horses, carry swords and wear noble, gilded helmets?”

 

Let me stop you right there. 

 

I know you expected the King to ride into Jerusalem like Samson with his flowing locks, wielding a donkey’s jaw-bone for a weapon, ready to kick some Roman rear-end. But listen to what the prophet Zechariah said about the King:

 

Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion!
    Shout aloud, O daughter of Jerusalem!
Behold, your king is coming to you;
    righteous and having salvation is he,
humble and mounted on a donkey,
    on a colt, the foal of a donkey.

Did you hear that? Humble. Now, I know you humans have a hard time with that. Humility isn’t something that you’re used to. After all that means thinking of someone other than yourself. It means being a servant, carrying other’s burdens on your back. It means sacrifice, looking out for others concerns and cares above your own. But this why the King rode into Jerusalem the way he did.

This the kind of King Jesus is for you. Oh, he is a King alright. King of humility. King on the cross. King who rides a borrowed donkey and rests in a borrowed tomb. He bears no sword but his word. And he’s pierced by nails and spear for you. He has no helm of war upon his head, only a crown of thorns. His throne is the cross and he conquers by laying down his life for you. 

 

And, before you go on thinking the palms, cloaks, singing, and all the fanfare are above this donkey’s pay-grade, (and by the way, please, don't get me confused with that animated impostor who sold out for the gig with the green ogre)…let me remind you there was a donkey riding along with Abraham and Isaac on their way to Moriah for the sacrifice. And there I was, riding with the Greater Isaac on my back, not towards Mt. Moriah, but not far from Mt. Calvary, the place of the skull. Later in the week Jesus wouldn’t have me there to accompany him to the cross. He would walk alone. To the cross. For you.

 

It was Balaam’s donkey who saw the Angel of the Lord and told Balaam concerning the Word and will of the Lord. And now here’s that Angel/Messenger of the Lord, in human flesh, the Christ, incarnate, God in human flesh, riding on my back through Jerusalem to fulfill God’s will and salvation for you.

 

It was a donkey that the great kings of old, David and Solomon, used to ride upon heading into Jerusalem as a sign of their royalty. And now David’s Son and Lord, the One Greater than Solomon is here, riding on my back to bring you into his everlasting kingdom.

 

It all happened just as the prophet Zechariah foretold:

 

Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion!
    Shout aloud, O daughter of Jerusalem!
Behold, your king is coming to you;
    righteous and having salvation is he,
humble and mounted on a donkey,
    on a colt, the foal of a donkey.

Yes, Palm Sunday was a day of rejoicing for me. What an honor. What a joy to serve the One who is the servant of all, to bear the One who came to bear the sin of the world. But the joy is not mine alone. It is yours. The One who I bore on my back bears your sin on his.

 

Jesus the King entered Jerusalem for you. Jesus honors you and glorifies you by bearing your sin. Jesus is humbled unto death, for you. Jesus exchanges your selfishness for his humility. Your guilt for his grace. Your death for his life. Your sin for his salvation. 

 

 

Fear not, daughter of Zion; behold your King is coming.

 

 

A blessed Palm Sunday to each of you…

 

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

 

In Memoriam - Jan Whittig: "Home in Jesus"

 + In Memoriam – Jan Whittig – March 28^th, 2026 +

Lamentations 3:22-23; Romans 8:31-39; Luke 24:1-7

Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church

Miton, WA

 

 

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

 

“There’s no place like home,” Dorothy said, as she clicked the heels on her ruby red shoes.

 

“Home is where the rump rests, Piglet,” said Whinnie the Pooh with his paws deep in a pot of honey.

 

Home and hearth aren’t just the stuff of fairy tales and fictional adventures in the forest. These are holy gifts from our holy God. The humble yet holy gifts God invites us to pray for when we pray: give us this day, our daily bread.

 

Throughout all her journeys, and Jan loved to travel, she always loved coming home. Being with her family at home. Spending time with Jerry tending the home and garden. Building, always by God’s grace and blessing, a family and a home that has been blessed with the joy of children, grand-children, and a very special great-grand son too. 

 

Whether Jan was traveling around the Northwest or following the Zags to Vegas, the East coast or West coast, or the coast of the Mediterranean in Israel, she looked forward to the joys of coming home to family, friends, and fellow brothers and sisters in Christ. Jan rejoiced in what we read in the psalms earlier: 

 

Behold, he who keeps Israel
    will neither slumber nor sleep.

⁵ The Lord is your keeper;
    the Lord is your shade on your right hand.

Perhaps this is also one of the reasons A Mighty Fortress was one of Jan’s favorite hymns. In that famous hymn of Martin Luther, we sing of Jesus as our trusty shield and weapon. Our shelter from and warrior against the old evil foe. Christ our deliverer, King, death-conquering victor. And, our home. Our dwelling place. A mighty fortress is our God.

 

Our dear sister in Christ, Jan, knew this well. Confessed this. Believed this. For this is what God’s word declares to us from Genesis to Revelation. The joyous, gracious good news that the dwelling place of God is with man. From Eden to the day of resurrection in the body in the new creation, our Lord loves to dwell with and for his people.

 

Sometimes he did this by walking in the cool of the garden. Sometimes in the burning bush or the pillar of smoke and fire. Other times in the tabernacle and temple. And our Lord saved his best dwelling place for last. In the fullness of time there was fulfillment of all God’s dwelling places of old. 

 

God became man. God was born of a woman. In a humble, rural town of Bethlehem. God rested in the manger and in the arms of the Virgin Mary. God made his home with us, as one of us, and for us. For Jan. For you. For us all. 

 

God walked and talked, traveled from house to house and town to town, eating and drinking in the homes of sinners, having no home of his own, so that finally he could make his way to the cross, lay down his head on that cruel beam. So he could make his home in the grave, even there, a borrowed tomb. So he could rise again on the third day and send the women who had seen the empty tomb running back home with good news: He is not here. He is risen just as he said! Christ is risen from the dead! 

 

And all of this Jesus did for Jan and for you. God made his home with us that he could bring us home through the cross and the grave back home to our heavenly Father. 

 

But a home is only as good as its foundation. And this – Jesus’ dying and rising was, and is, and ever shall be Jan’s foundation. And ours. The firm foundation of faith. Our lives, as it is for Jan, rest entirely on this foundation. 

 

Our hope and faith and life, rest not on the sinking sand of our feelings, thoughts, words, deeds, or anything of our own. Jan knew and confessed this daily. Weekly. Every Sunday we join that confession of sin. That what our sinful hands and hearts have built is not a home, but an unholy mess of everything God declared good and holy. A shack of sin. A storage shed full of shame and grief and sorrow. The temples of our bodies, the frame of our bones infested by cancer, disease, and death. 

 

Rather, as Jan believed and confessed, we rest, as Jan now rests from her labors, on the solid rock of Christ our Redeemer. On the sure foundation of his death and resurrection for us all. We are built on the bedrock of his saving love for us. There are many rooms in this mighty fortress built out of wood and nails and blood and an empty tomb. 

 

This is the house that Jesus built by his cross and resurrection for Jan and for you. And what our Lord Jesus did on the cross and out of the grave is not only cosmic and universal. It’s personal and hits close to home. Jesus, the Good Physician of body and soul makes house-calls. Jesus, the author and perfector and architect of our faith and life, makes his home with us. Dwells with us and for us still.

 

Jan had many homes throughout her earthly life, especially her beloved home with Jerry for 60 years. And as good as that is, our Lord has given her, and gives to all who are baptized something even greater. An eternal home with him who came to dwell with us and for us. With water and word and the Holy Spirit, Christ made Jan his holy habitation. Through Holy Baptism, our Lord fashioned and built himself a dwelling for the Holy Spirit in Jan, and in all who believe and are baptized.

 

For Jan and for you, Christ Jesus made his home in the manger, on the cross, in the grave, and in his word and water and body and blood here in his holy house. All so that he could bring you, along with Jan and all the saints, home to him. 

 

And not some kind of mythical or metaphorical heavenly home. But to a real physical new creation. In a real, physical, raised from the grave and glorified body. A creaturely and earthly, touchable, tangible new creation. Along with our sister in Christ, Jan, we await that day of Jesus’ return. To call us out of the grave. Into the resurrection of flesh and bone, of blood and guts. And there, to find our home in Christ. Where every tear is wiped away. Every cancer cell is banished. Where sorrow and sighing are not allowed. Our eternal home in Christ, our Merciful and Mighty Fortress.

 

Until that day…

 

The Lord will keep you from all evil;
    he will keep your life.
⁸ The Lord will keep
    your going out and your coming in
    from this time forth and forevermore.

Sermon for Lent 5: "The Last Laugh"

 + 5^th Sunday in Lent – March 22^nd, 2026 +

Series A: Ezekiel 37:1-14; Roans 8:1-11; John 11

Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church

Milton, WA

 

 

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

 

 

There’s a way we want our stories to go. The guy gets the girl. Good conquers evil. The bad guys are brought to justice. A perfect ending. And they all lived happily ever after.

 

And yet, rarely in this life do our stories seem to be written this way. Not a straight line from sorrow to joy but a death march. A dirge. A lament. A cry in the dark. Hot, stinging tears of shame and sadness. 

 

Grim reality creeps in. Death is a tick burrowing into our skin. A termite digging into our rafters and floor boards. A cancer spreading its ugliness to every cell in the body. A serpent whose venom hits the bloodstream instantly. Too often it seems that our story is over before it begins. 

 

Death gets the last word. Death writes the last chapter of our story and it’s not a happy ending. No happily ever after. Death is, to us at least, an unassailable, unconquerable, undefeated enemy.

 

And we’re not alone in this. Death surrounds our Scripture readings today.

 

Israel is in a valley of dry, dusty, dead, lifeless bones. They have become like their idols: lifeless. Helpless. A boneyard. A necropolis where Death is mayor.

Paul proclaims that we were in our own valley of tombs as well. The body is dead in sin. The mind set on the flesh is hostile to God. And hell bent on death.

Lazarus is dead. Four days in the grave, stone-cold, stinking dead. Lazarus cannot heal himself. Fix his own problems. Or raise himself from the dead.

 

It seems that death wins. Death has the last word. The final curtain call. The last laugh.

 

Our stories follow a similar path. Lent began this way. In the dust. In the ashes. In the grave. Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return. 

 

We walk this life surrounded by death. Outflanked by the enemy at every turn. Death on the news. Death on our city streets. Death in our communities. Death on display in our phones and social media feeds. Death in our hearts and minds and words. The wages of sin is death. All our stories seem to begin and end in death.

 

With Mary and Martha we grieve the brokenness of this fallen world. Lord, if you had been here. 

We ask God the question that he asked of Ezekiel. Can these bones live? Can these bones, plagued by illness, can this mind poisoned by despair and anxieties, can this body that aches and groans with early onset death live? Can these bones that cry out with grief and shame jump for joy again? Can these bones that have lost a friend, lost a spouse, lost a baby ever live again? Can my bones live?

 

It would seem that we’re all Lazarus. Try as we might we cannot fix ourselves. We cannot heal ourselves. We cannot make ourselves righteous. We cannot raise ourselves from the dead. 

 

For us, as for Lazarus and Mary and Martha, for Ezekiel and St. Paul, it appears that there’s nothing we can do in the face of death. We’re defeated. Defenseless. 

 

But when Death encounters Jesus. When Jesus comes before Death at the tomb of Lazarus, Death is a coward. Defenseless. Defeated. An enemy that is overcome. In Christ, death is squashed. Exterminated. Crushed and stomped under foot.

 

In Christ, Death, the unassailable, unconquerable, undefeated enemy meets its match. Jesus charges Death head on, in hand to hand, and nail to hand, and thorns to head, and nail to feet combat. And Jesus comes out of the grave victorious.

 

Jesus conquers the unconquerable. We are liberated by him who lays down his life for us. Jesus defeats death by taking the paths of the dead for us.

 

Our story begins in the grave with Lazarus. In the valley of dry bones with Israel. In our dead in sin flesh. But that’s not where it ends. 

 

Resurrection happens for us in the same way it happens for Israel, in Romans, and for Lazarus. By the voice of Jesus. Jesus speaks and destroys death with a word. 

 

Jesus weeps. Stands by the tomb of Lazarus. Take away the stone. I AM the resurrection and the life. For Lazarus. For Mary and Martha. And for you. Lazarus, come out. And he does. He lives. And in Christ, so do you. In his cross and death and resurrection. There is one true, happily ever after ending.

 

Thus says the Lord God: Behold, I will open your graves and raise you from your graves, O my people.

 

For the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ Jesus from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through his Spirit who dwells in you.

 

For Lazarus and for you, Death does not get the last word. Jesus does. Our stories, which begin with death, end in life. Even in death, you are not alone. Christ has gone before you. Is for you. And goes with you. 

 

Jesus writes the end of our story. The last chapter. The last laugh of joy and resurrection over sin and death. It’s written in sacred ink, signed and sealed by his holy blood and solemn promise:

 

“I am the resurrection and the life.  Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die forever. 

 

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

Sermon for Lent 4: "Creation and Redemption"

 + 4^th Sunday in Lent – March 15^th, 2026 +

Series A: Isaiah 42:14-21; Ephesians 5:8-14; John 9

Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church

Milton, WA

 

 

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

 

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. 

 

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

The earth was without form and void, and darkness was over the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters.

He was in the beginning with God.  All things were made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made.  In him was life, and the life was the light of men. ⁵ The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

 

And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. 

 

As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.

 

The Book of Genesis and the Gospel of John may be separated by hundreds of pages in your Bible. But in truth, they are neighbors. More than that. Twin storytellers giving us good news of the same gracious God at work in both places. Moses and John are both musicians in God’s orchestra playing the same piece of music. 

 

So which is it? The story of creation or redemption? Sometimes it seems hard to tell. And that’s the point. Call it divinely inspired, sanctified plagiarism. Holy Scripture is full of it.

 

Genesis and John are singing in harmony. Painting in unison. They’re stories are not two separate acts of God, but one. God creates, by his grace in Christ. God redeems and saves, by his grace in Christ. God the Creator is also God the crucified one.

 

God’s work of creation and redemption are two sides of the same coin. The God who creates out of nothing by his eternal Word is also the God who is the Word made flesh and gives life out of nothingness. The God who graciously creates the world out of love, also graciously recreates and rescues us in the love of His Son Jesus crucified and risen. The God who said “let there be light” says with the same authority: “Arise. Be of good cheer. Your sins are forgiven.”

 

The Word of God who created the world in six days and rested on the 7^th, is the same Word of God incarnate who saves the world in three days, takes his Sabbath day rest in the grave, and rises again to a new day, an 8^thday. An endless day. A dawning day of a new creation.

 

That’s why in beginning of John’s Gospel he takes us all the way back…in the beginning. So we see Jesus’ saving work and his creating work – not as separate works – but one continuous story of his good and gracious work of new creation. God who gives you bodily life, lays down his life to give you eternal life in body and soul.

 

This is what’s happening when Jesus sees the man born blind. Jesus approaches him. Just as in the first word (and every word) of creation is his initiative. So it is here. 

 

Jesus, the Light of the World. The Word through whom light and life first came into existence, brings a dawning new day to a blind beggar. An eternal Sabbath is at hand. God’s new creation arrives.

 

And in the strangest of ways, at least by our reckoning. Jesus clears his throat. Fills it with saliva. And spits on the ground. Jesus takes his drool-drenched dust of the earth and forms it. The Potter goes to work with clay once again. Jesus is re-Genesising this blind man. Giving sight where there was blindness. Light where there was only darkness. Life where there was death and nothingness.

 

Jesus takes an old page out his divine playbook. Word. And water and earth. Dust. Mud. Clay. The stuff of his creation. And he mixes them all together. A merciful mashup. The Word who in the beginning formed Adam from the dust of the earth. Who breathed life into his lungs. Who formed man from the clay. Now brings sight to a blind man all by his word, water, and the dust of the earth. He uses mud and clay to restore this man’s sight. And fill him with the life of his new creation.

 

Creation and Redemption. Two sides of the same coin. Two chapters in the same story. Two wondrous works of our good and gracious God. And not only in Genesis. Not only in John’s Gospel. Not only for the blind beggar.

 

But for all of us, you and me, fellow beggars. This blind man leads us who are blind to the one who restores. Redeems. Rescues. Reconciles. And re-creates.

 

And our Lord Jesus does this for all of us beggars the same way he did for the blind beggar. Jesus speaks. The Word made flesh gives his word. Takes water - the stuff of his creation – and washes us over our dry, dusty, earth-bound flesh and bones. And he re-Genesises you. The Spirit who hovered over creation splashes down into the water and word of you Baptism. Awake, o sleeper and rise from the dead, and Christ will shine upon you.

 

We were blind. Now, by God’s grace we see. We were in darkness. No…deeper than that. We were darkness. Now, by God’s grace you are light and life in the Lord. We were dead. Not just a little dead. Stinking, rotting, hanging with the worms kind of dead. But now, now you are alive. For Christ has brought you out of death into life, by his dying and rising for you.

 

God who created every tree for you, is the God who is nailed to a tree and crucified for you.

 

God who brought forth life out of darkness, also hangs in the darkness of Good Friday on the cross to bring forth your life out of his death for you.

 

God who said, “Let there be light” in the beginning, fills you with light and life and new creation by his resurrection.

 

God who worked his spit into the mud of his creation, takes his body and blood places it into the bread and wine for your forgiveness. For your redemption. 

 

God who created the world in 6 days. Who dies and rises to save you and the world in 3 days. Saves and forgives and redeems and makes you his new creation in three words. I baptize you. 

 

Creation and Redemption. They both rest in the hands of Christ crucified and risen for you.

 

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

Sermon for Lent 3: "Living Water"

 + 3^rd Sunday in Lent – March 8^th, 2026 +

Series A: Exodus 17:1-7; Romans 5:1-8; John 4:5-26

Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church

Milton, WA

 

 

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

 

In the beginning of C.S. Lewis’s book, The Magician’s Nephew, Digory and Polly discover magic rings in his uncle’s house. Being children naturally, they try them on. They’re transported to a woods between worlds: their own and countless others. The doorway to those other worlds is found in surrounding pools of water. Endless wells that bring them into new worlds.

 

What satisfies our imagination in this narrative world points to the truth of Christ’s incarnation in our own world. 

 

When Jesus meets the Samaritan woman at the well in John 4 he brings to her and Samaria and Sychar – to outcasts and outsiders of all backgrounds – a well that opens up into a new world. A well of living water brimming with endless, eternal life.

 

“If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.” 

 

When Jesus meets us in Lent he does the same. He meets us on the road: weary. Worn down. Thirsty. Parched. Empty. Skin and bones, body and soul – aching. Creeking. Dry. Dusty. Dead bones. 

 

And then suddenly, an oasis. Jesus draws near. Jesus the well-digger, the fountain, the wellspring delivers a well that brings you and me into a new world.

 

And he does it all by water and word. Wood and nails. Blood and sweat. A rock solid promise that gushes forth good news in the wilderness: living water for thirsty sinners.

 

Jesus too was thirsty. Here at the well. Later on the cross. Thirsty, yet always satisfied in doing the Father’s will. 

 

The Samaritan woman was thirst too. For something more, for something true, for something lasting, for something good; for what she doesn’t really seem to know…at least not till the end when Jesus opens the wellspring of salvation for her. Only then she confesses: he the Messiah. He told me everything. She gushed this good news all over town.

 

Where do you get that living water? ¹² Are you greater than our father Jacob? Oh, he most certainly he is. Greater than Jacob. Abraham. Isaac. Moses. Noah. Adam. Eve. Jesus is the great Reservoir of Redemption. The mountain Spring of Salvation. The Well overflowing with God’s grace and goodness. 

 

And yet, he who is the holy watering hole – Christ the rock for Israel. Christ the well for this woman and for you – is also very much like us.

 

Jesus was thirsty. So was the Samaritan woman. So are you.

You and I thirst, not just for water. We thirst in body and soul. St. Augustine was right, “Our hearts are restless, O Lord, until we find our rest in Thee.” 

 

Being restless. Thirsty. We search and seek. 

 

But the thirst isn’t really our problem. No, the problem goes deeper than the well of Sychar. Deeper than the depths of the sea. The problem is where we go with our desires and longing. Our hearts are a swamp. A cesspool. Murky and muddy waters. 

 

Where can we find our thirst quenched, in what satiates or the one who truly satisfies? The problem is for us as it was for Israel in Exodus. In the wilderness. the wasteland. We thirst and long for satisfaction in all the wrong wells. We drink and drown our sorrows in selfish desires. We tip the glass for gulp of sin. It’s little wonder we thirst. That we find ourselves empty. Dry. Parched. Walking in the wasteland. In our eyes, ears, hearts, and minds we drink in poison expecting to be healed. We guzzle the ocean waves expecting to be satisfied. We drink from a tap that draws straight from the sewer and we expect not to get sick. 

 

We’re the deer panting for flowing streams of water. We’re Israel grumbling in the wilderness. We’re the Samaritan woman sitting by the well with Jesus. And we wonder. Is there a well that is clean and good and holy? Lord, give us this kind of water. Open up a well to a new world. Can we find water in the wasteland?

 

No. But Christ can. Christ does. Christ is. 

 

“Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, ¹⁴ but whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again.^[b] The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” 

 

This well is not simply metaphor. Jesus is the well. Jesus is the rock. Jesus is the spring. 

 

In the wilderness, Jesus is the rocky fountain where water gushes forth for Israel.

 

In Samaria, the land of outsiders and outcasts, Jesus seeks and saves the lost in a water rescue welling up with eternal life for the Samaritan woman.

 

And for you. For you in the wasteland. For you parched and perishing of thirst in sin Jesus is the well. Jesus is the rock. Jesus is the living wellspring who gives living, eternal water.

 

You and I, like Israel and the Samaritan woman, live downstream from the cross. Downstream of God’s goodness and grace. Downstream from Jesus who is the wellspring of eternal life. Whose body was cracked open as the rock in Exodus. Only this time blood and water pour forth downstream.

 

Like that woman at the well, he sees us. Knows us. Sins and all. And still forgives. Always forgives. Forgiveness like an ever-flowing fountain. 

 

Today Jesus comes to you: to open up to you by his word and water a new world: an endless world of new creation.

 

To quench your thirst with his righteousness.

To satisfy your longing with his steadfast love.

To fill you who are empty with his holy body and blood. 

 

For… whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again.^[b] The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.

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

 

Sermon for Lent 2: "Resting in Grace"

 + 2^nd Sunday in Lent – March 1^st, 2026 +

Series A: Genesis 12:1-9; Romans 4:1-8, 13-17; John 3:1-17

Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church

Milton, WA

 

 

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

 

When you or I make something we always need the right parts, ingredients, or materials before we begin. Cedar for woodworking. Yarn for knitting. Watercolors for painting. Lego bricks for building. And so on.

 

Not so for God. When God creates, he creates ex nihilo, out of nothing. 

 

When God reveals his saving love in sending Jesus he doesn’t ask for an assist. He doesn’t need our helping hands. Our Lord has no copilot. No assistant to the regional manager. 

 

When our Lord Jesus comes to our rescue everything he says and does for you – indeed, your entire life – rests on his grace. 

 

And when Paul writes of the righteousness that comes by faith. And when Jesus tells Nicodemus he must be born from above by water and the Spirit. This is nothing new. It’s as old as father Abraham. As old as creation. In fact, it’s as old as before the foundations of the earth: Whatever God does, he does it by grace. Jesus, and Paul following his master, are doing nothing new. 

 

From the dawn of creation with the first “let there be light” to the archangel’s trumpet on the Last Day, this is how God works: everything rests on his grace for you in Jesus.

 

God calls creation – which begins in darkness and void and nothingness - is into existence by the gracious, powerful Word of God. All of creation (even now and till the Last Day) rests on grace.

 

God calls Abram – a gentile, pagan, childless father – to a new country, the bearer of the promised Seed, the Offspring, the One through whom God would bless all nations. And for Abram it all rests on grace.

 

God calls the apostle Paul, formerly known as Saul the persecutor, to be a preacher of his Gospel. The Good news that to the one who does not work but believes in Him who justifies the wicked, his faith is reckoned as righteousness. For Paul all of life, body and soul. Rests on grace.

 

God calls Nicodemus the pharisee, who comes to Jesus by night, to a new birth and new life by water and his Spirit. Light and life in the Son who is raised up on the cross for Nicodemus and for us all. So that his faith, like ours, rests on grace.

 

And part of us – the new Adam and the new Eve, the baptized child and saint of God that we are – rejoices in this abundantly gracious giving God. Our new man delights in the good news that all we are and have. All of God’s promises in this creation and the new creation, they all, we all, rest in the grace of God in Christ.

 

But there’s another part of us, at least in this life, the old Adam, the old Eve, the sinful nature, that begrudges God’s graciousness. More than that. Finds it offensive. Scandalous. Too good to be true. And downright terrifying. Why?

 

Because when God does all the work, all the saving, all the giving his gifts of repentance and forgiveness, there’s nothing in our hands to bring. Nothing we can pat ourselves on the back for. Nothing we can take credit for or contribute. Oh, sure we contribute plenty. Plenty of sin. A plethora of trespasses. A steaming, dung-heap of filth and faithlessness…but that’s it. Everything depends on God’s grace. It’s out of our control. And this is what our sinful flesh finds so maddening. 

 

Because if there’s one thing our sinful flesh loves more than sinning (or being prideful that we aren’t all that bad of sinners); if there’s one thing we love more than loving ourselves; it’s living in the delusion that we are in control. Independent. Self-reliant. Captains of our own ships. Masters of our own destinies. True north on our own compasses.

 

And this, when we’re honest with ourselves. Honest with what God says to us in his holy word, this is terrifying. Humbling. Brings us to our knees. Falling on our faces.

 

This is why we have a season of Lent. A time where our Lord brings us into the wilderness for testing. Where our Lord calls us to a new land and new promises. To journey with Abraham, out of nothingness into his promise. To travel with Paul on the Damascus road and go from breathing threats and murder, to preaching grace and mercy. To sit with Nicodemus in the dark and hear the wildness of God’s grace wash over us. 

 

“Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born from above he cannot see the kingdom of God.”

 

And that’s the way out of the labyrinth. That’s the way our Lord called Abram to travel. The road Jesus sent Paul journeying down. The way he invited Nicodemus to walk upon. To take the paths of the dead. To walk into the grave with Jesus. To see that we are dead in trespasses and sin. Unalive and in need of a new birth. That we are dead men walking from the moment we’re conceived. That we’re wicked and ungodly as Paul says we are. And that we’re right there with Nicodemus in the dark, confused and struggling to believe that which sounds unbelievable. 

 

Is there a way out? Where’s our rescue? What hope do we have? How can these things be, we join Nicodemus in asking?

 

And Jesus’ reply is simple. There are not many ways, but one way. And one way only. One door. One narrow path. Into death. Through the grave. And made alive again in the resurrection.

St. Paul says it this way: For the promise to Abraham and his offspring that he would be heir of the world did not come through the law but through the righteousness of faith. ¹⁶ That is why it depends on faith, in order that the promise may rest on grace and be guaranteed to all his offspring

For Paul. For you. For me. It all rests on grace. And this grace is yours in Christ Jesus who gives life to the dead and calls into existence the things that do not exist.

Our Lord Jesus says it this way, so that you never forget: your life, faith, body and soul – all rests on grace. For as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up,  that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. 

 “For God loved the world in this way, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.  For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.

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