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. 

Sermon for Lent 1: "Wilderness Redux"

 + 1^st Sunday in Lent – February 22^nd, 2026 +

Series A: Genesis 3:1-21; Romans 5:12-19; Matthew 4:1-11

Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church

Milton, WA

 

 

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

 

Every so often you find yourself thinking: “This sure looks, sounds, or smells familiar.” It’s that strange phenomena we call Déjà vu. 

 

Matthew’s account of Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness case of theological Déjà vu. As we read and hear Matthew 4 we get an overwhelming sense that we’ve been here before. We’ve heard this story before.

 

Matthew begins the narrative with a heavy dose of OT déjà vu. Then Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil.  And when He had fasted forty days and forty nights, afterward He was hungry. 

 

Jesus is in the wilderness. He’s tempted. He’s hungry. He’s been fasting for 40 days and 40 nights – now there’s a loaded phrase from the OT. And if all of this sounds familiar. There’s a good reason. 

 

Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness is a cover of a classic song; a reboot of an old movie, a reprint of an ancient story. The story of Israel’s Exodus and the wandering in the wilderness and the story of temptation in Eden all rolled into one. The point is clear: Jesus is Israel and Adam, repeating history for you. He is also there for us, true man, enduring temptation as one of us, for us.

 

Here in the wilderness, Jesus is Israel reduced down to one man. Jesus is the second and greater Adam. 

 

Just as Israel’s identity was God’s chosen son, in a similar yet greater way, Jesus is identified as true and only begotten Son of God, the chosen, anointed, holy one. Just as Israel was saved from death by the blood of the Passover lamb, Jesus comes to offer himself as the final Passover Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. Just as Israel passed through the waters of the Red Sea, Jesus passes through the waters of the Jordan on his way to a greater Exodus on the cross. Just as Israel was in the wilderness for 40 years, Jesus spends 40 days and 40 nights in the wilderness. Just as Israel was tested and hungered in the wilderness wandering, Jesus endures hunger and temptation. 

 

Here in the wilderness, history repeats itself, only this time with a different outcome. Where Israel failed, time and time again, Jesus succeeds. Where Israel rebelled, Jesus is faithful. Where Israel disobeyed God’s Word, Jesus obeys his Father perfectly. And doing so on your behalf. Jesus is the perfect Israel. And the perfect Adam, overcoming the serpent where the first Adam was overcome.

 

When Jesus rebukes and rejects the devil, he hits the replay button a few familiar OT themes: Israel’s constant failure, and God’s constant faithfulness. 

 

First, the devil tempts Jesus to use his own power to serve himself, “If You are the Son of God, command that these stones become bread.”

 

Unlike Israel, who grumbled and complained when they hungered in the wilderness, and did not trust the Lord to provide, Jesus does not fail. Hungry though he was, he did not grumble against the Father or doubt God’s promise to provide. “It is written, ‘Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God.’ ”

 

Next, the devil tempts Jesus to doubt the Father’s power, or to misuse that power selfishly. “If You are the Son of God, throw Yourself down. For it is written: ‘He shall give His angels charge over you,’

Again, Jesus replies, “It is written, ‘You shall not put the Lord your God to the test.’ 

 

Unlike Israel, who quarreled with Moses and doubted that God would provide water for their thirst in the wilderness, Jesus does not fail. Jesus trusts the Father perfectly. For Israel. For you. For us all.

 

Finally, the devil attempts to turn Jesus away from the Father. So he “took Him up on an exceedingly high mountain, and showed Him all the kingdoms of the world and their glory.  And he said to Him, “All these things I will give You if You will fall down and worship me.”

 

Once again, Jesus keeps the first and foundational commandment: “You shall have no other Gods.” Away with you, Satan! For it is written, ‘You shall worship the Lord your God, and Him only you shall serve.’ ” Jesus’ life and ministry, his death and resurrection are a perfect act of worship and service to the Father. Not for his own sake, but for you. Everything he does is for your good.

 

After all, we’re not all that different from Israel in the wilderness. We’re in need of rescue and redemption. We fail, falter, and fall. We grumble and complain; we quarrel and rebel against God’s Word; we doubt his promises and goodness despite all his gracious work for us. 

 

This is why Jesus is led by the Spirit, into the wilderness to be tempted. For Adam. For Israel. For you. For we do not have a High Priest who cannot sympathize with our weaknesses, but was in all ways tempted as we are, yet without sin. 

 

So when you are tempted, know that Jesus has defeated Satan for you. He has wandered that wilderness for you. There’s no place where Satan can take you that Jesus is not already there. There is no temptation that Satan can throw your way that hasn’t already been faced and defeated by Jesus for you. 

 

Jesus is in the wilderness to succeed where Israel, and we have failed and sinned in thought, word, and deed. 

 

And when Jesus repeats history in our place, he redeems our history and carries us through his cross and grave into the new creation.

 

 

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

 

Funeral Sermon for Wally Holmquist: The Gardener

 In Memoriam – Wally Holmquist 

February 21^st, 2026

Isaiah 65:17-25; 1 Corinthians 15:20-28; John 20:11-18

Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church

Milton, WA

 

 

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

 

Quite often in Scripture when God wants us to look forward to the dawning day of Christ’s return and the resurrection of all flesh, he appoints his prophets to bend our ears back and listen the dawn of those first six days of creation. When God want us to look forward to his saving rescue in Jesus, he bids us to grab a trowel and dig into the very good soil of Eden. 

 

We heard the prophet Isaiah do this very thing this already this afternoon: 

But be glad and rejoice forever
    in that which I create…

… for like the days of a tree shall the days of my people be,
    and my chosen shall long enjoy the work of their hands.

Now, at first, this might sound strange. But there’s a good reason for the way God speaks to us. For God, creation and redemption are two sides of the same coin. Two peas in a pod. 

 

What God did in his first creation he will do again for us and for Wally, only greater when he stretches forth his hand again in new creation on the day of resurrection.

 

So, it’s no accident that the story of Holy Scripture is bookended by gardens. Eden in Genesis. The New heavens and earth of Revelation. Christ our Creator-Redeemer, and gracious Gardener at the center of it all, just as he is at the center of the lives of all his saints, tending, nourishing, caring for us, as he did for Wally, as his own precious vines and branches.

 

And this is something that, I think, would give our dear brother in Christ, Wally, a giant gardener’s grin from ear to ear. After all, he spent a lot of time working with his hands in the garage and the garden. From his beloved bonsai trees to his backyard garden, Wally was known for his green thumb. He had a knack for bringing forth life no matter what kind of soil he was stuck with. 

 

If you didn’t find Wally working at the shop (still working with wood…he made this pulpit and many other things around church), chances are you’d find him outside among the trees and plants, like Adam, tending God’s creation with the utmost care. Dirt under the nails. Callouses and cuts on his hands. Every scratch, scrape, and scar told the story of a steward of God’s creation.

 

By God’s grace, Wally brought that same care of the plants outside to the branches of his family tree inside the home as well. Wally would nod his head in agreement with the psalmist who thanks God that his wife is a fruitful vine and his children are olive shoots around the table. 

 

And as life and family grew, so too did Wally’s faith and life. Our Lord rooted him deeply in his word and promises. Wally lived as well all do, a seed of God’s own planting, tending, and nourishing. He knew that sometimes our Lord prunes our dead branches, cuts away our sin, but always to bring forth life. The same life he poured out upon Wally by Word and water and Spirit, on that day the new creation dawned upon Wally in holy Baptism.  Even when it appeared, at least to our eyes, that Wally’s health and life were withering away – even in his last days and hours, though sin and death take their toll, Wally was and is very much alive in Christ. 

 

And if Wally had a green thumb, how much more is that true of our Lord Jesus. Desiring to save and redeem and make Wally and you and me, into his new creation, he decided to get his hands dirty. To soil himself in the grime of sinners. Looking at Christ’s hands you’ll see the green thumb of the creator, but also the callouses and cuts of a carpenter. Each scratch, scrape, and nail-scar tells the story of your redemption and your new creation. Sown in sorrow upon the tree of the cross for you. Planted in the earthen grave for you. Risen from the dead as the first-fruits of the resurrection for you.

Which is why it’s no coincidence that Christ, who created the first garden, also brings new creation and life by his resurrection from the dead, also in a garden as he appeared to be a gardener to Mary.

 

 Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” Jesus said to her, “Mary.” 

 

And there it is again. Redemption and Creation all in one garden plot. You see, our Lord Jesus is the good and gracious gardener with an unrivaled knack of bringing life out of the worst of soils. Working light in the darkness. Life out of the grave. Resurrection from our dust and bones. All by that same word that he spoke in the beginning and to Mary and to Wally and to each of us. 

 

For as by a man came death, by a man has come also the resurrection of the dead.  For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive.  But each in his own order: Christ the first-fruits, then at his coming those who belong to Christ. 

 

For us and for Wally, Christ our gracious gardener left the upper room to pray in a garden. To be betrayed in a garden. To be crowned with thorns woven from a bush of his own creation. To hang upon the wood of a tree that he gave life to. To be buried in a new tomb in a garden. And there he rested, like a seed sown in the earth for winter, but only for a short time. He would not remain dead. 

 

Our Lord who called forth the trees of the forest and plants of the field rose from the dead and walked out of his tomb in a garden. But he did not walk out of that tomb alone. Jesus rose from the dead and walked into that garden carrying Wally and you and me. Each of us resting safely in his everlasting limbs

 

For us and for Wally, the God who said, “Let there be light”, will on the last day say to you who are in Christ, “Arise. Come out of your graves. Let there be life, light, and resurrection.” 

 

So the next time you find yourself digging in the earth, or with a bit of garden soil under your finger nails, remember that our Lord Jesus too has gracious green thumb, and one day soon he’ll use that thumb and his holy word as a shovel to crack open the earth and break ground once again, only this time he’ll plant us in a new and greater garden with undying, resurrected bodies made new. And in an eternal Eden with our Lord the gracious gardener and redeemer, who will gather Wally and all the saints to himself in endless life, eternal joy, and never-ending rest. 

 

Until that day…

 

The Almighty and merciful Lord, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, bless and preserve you.

 

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