Sermon for Pentecost 17: "Help My Unbelief"

 + 17^th Sunday after Pentecost – September 15^th, 2024 +

Series B: Isaiah 50:4-10; James 3:1-12; Mark 9:14-29

Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church

Milton, WA

 

 

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

Lord, I believe, help my unbelief. For many this doesn’t sound like a great cry of deep faith, but it is. This is what faith sounds like – not like Captain America or the Hulk kind of faith. But lowly, weak, having nothing in my hands to bring kind of faith. A smoldering wick. A bruised reed. A strange brew of belief and unbelief all at once. 

 

And here we see one of the Bible’s great strengths – and something that reveals its credibility and authenticity; time and time again the faults, foibles, and failures of God’s people aren’t covered up. Just the opposite – the bible airs their dirty laundry out for all of history to see. Like most people, if we’re given the chance to tell the story of our lives, would probably leave out the major mess-ups and cover up our weaknesses – play to our strengths, and so on. 

 

Not the story of the Bible. The biblical authors don’t cover up for God’s people. Everything – the good, the bad, and the ugly – is all on display. Paul had his thorn in the flesh. Peter denied Jesus. David was an adulterer and murderer. And the list goes on.

 

Indeed, one of Scripture’s great strengths is that it reveals not the strength of our faith – but our weakness. Why is that a strength? It doesn’t sound like one. But it is. For in our weakness we realize that any strength we have is from Christ. And Christ Jesus is the savior the weak, the lost, the lowly – the sinner. You and me. And all who cry out…

 

Lord, I believe, help my unbelief.

  

Those are the famous words spoken by this unnamed man in Mark 9. Jesus comes down from the mountain of transfiguration with Peter, James, and John, only to find confusion and chaos. The scribes and crowds arguing with Jesus’ disciples. 

 

This man’s son was possessed by a demon. He had even asked some of Jesus’ disciples but they were unable to cast it out. Jesus’ answer seems a little harsh. “O faithless generation, how long am I to be with you? How long am I to bear with you? Bring him to me.” 

 

To whom is Jesus speaking? Who’s the faithless generation? Is it the scribes? The crowds? The father? Even his own disciples? In reality, it’s probably the whole lot of them. 

 

As Jesus often does in his teaching and conversation he pushes people to confess their faith, to reveal where their hope and trust is found. Is it in him, or in themselves? What about us? Where is our faith anchored? This also may be why the disciples were unable to cast out this particular demon. Perhaps after casting out demons in Jesus’ name they began to trust in themselves rather than Christ. In any event, Jesus presses on. 

 

“How long has this been happening to him?” And he said, “From childhood. And it has often cast him into fire and into water, to destroy him. But if you can do anything, have compassion on us and help us.” 

 

You can hear the father’s desperation. If you can. He doesn’t come to Jesus as a superhero or a mighty warrior. No. He comes to Jesus hopeless, helpless, and weak. This unclean spirit is too strong. He’s too weak. He can’t help is his son. And he’s not sure Jesus can help either. 

 

So Jesus gives him a bit of a tough love response. Jesus brings the man face to face with his own faith – which is failing – so that he looks not to himself for help, but so that he comes face to face with Jesus who succeeds. And more than that. Gives what this man lacks. And needs. 

 

 “‘If you can? If you’re able?  All things are possible for one who believes.” 

 

To which the man replies with one of the greatest confessions of faith. Lord, I believe, help my unbelief.

 

You can’t say it any better than this. He is simultaneously believer and unbeliever. This is how faith sounds – I believe Lord, and only you, the author of my faith, can deal with my unbelief.

 

The father believes, but he does not believe. He tries, but he has given up trying. He holds on, but he also lets go. So, he confesses to Jesus, “I believe; help my unbelief” (9:24). 

 

With those words, this father brings all our weakness and stumbling, all of our doubting, despair, and grumbling, hopelessness and helplessness, all our fears and failures, and sets it before Jesus... and Jesus, when face-to-face with our ugliness, brings us face-to-face with His grace.

 

Jesus doesn’t let go. He doesn’t give up. He doesn’t leave us to wallow in our weakness. Or drift off in despair and doubt. 

 

Jesus came, bearing our own weakness, to save us in our weakness. He came in lowliness to save us who are brought low. Jesus holds on to people who are letting go. 

 

Jesus did not come to save the strong, but the weak; he came not for the righteous, but for sinners like this father, like you and me. A bruised reed, He will not break. A smoldering wick, He will not snuff out. A weak faith, He will not deny. Jesus has come to die for all people; those who are strong in faith and those who are weak in faith and those who have no faith at all. When Jesus died on the cross, He died for the sin of unbelief so that, when He rises, He brings forgiveness to all. 

 

This story reveals something marvelous about Jesus. Jesus holds on to people even as they are letting go. Faith isn’t about how tightly you hold on to Jesus but rather how tightly He holds on to you. And, as Jesus tells His disciples in John, all the Father gives Him He will save. No one will be able to snatch you out of His hand. 

 

So the next time you find yourself feeling lost and hopeless and helpless like the father in Mark 9, remember the words -  Lord, I believe, help my unbelief; pray that prayer knowing that who answered that man and gave him the faith he lacked is the same one who hears, answers, and rescues you and gives you faith in him. And he’s not letting go. Not ever.

 

There’s a lot going on in this story. Jesus casts out the demon and heals a man’s son. But Jesus also heals the man’s unbelief and struggle to believe. And he brings you healing too. It’s also a story for days when our life and faith in Christ feel more like a teeter totter or a tug of war than a victory lap. And on those days, in those moments when we pray, Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief. Know that he does and he will. Always. 

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

Sermon for Pentecost 16: "Dogged Faith"

 + 16^th Sunday after Pentecost – September 8^th 2024 + 

Series B: Isaiah 45:4-7; James 2:1-10; Mark 7:24-37

Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church

Milton, WA

 

 

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

 

If you were a first century Jew the last place you’d expect to find a woman of great faith in Israel’s Messiah would be in the region of Tyre and Sidon.

 

This was not a place known for its faithfulness to YHWH. This was Gentile territory – the rabbis even called them dogs – no place for a purebred Israelite to be hanging around – and yet Jesus goes there; Although he came first to the house of Israel, he also came to seek the lost, the loser, the outcast. Still, this Canaanite country – no place for a respectable Messiah to be hanging around. This was the home of wicked Queen Jezebel – the same Jezebel who had brutally killed YHWH’s prophets, worshipped pagan idols and introduced rampant idolatry into Israel, hunted and threatened the life of Elijah, and was devoured by dogs.

 

Never would you expect a woman of dogged faith in YHWH to come from Tyre and Sidon, and yet that’s exactly what happened. 

 

We don’t know how she heard, but the word had traveled all the same – a traveling Israelite teacher was in the area. And not just any old wandering rabbi. A healer. A miracle worker. An exorcist. The things he had done. The people he healed. Maybe there was some truth to what folks had called him…the Messiah. Besides all that, she was desperate. No one to turn to. No help to be found. He was her only hope to help her demon-possessed daughter. It was a long shot, but mama-bears in the first century were just as fierce and willing to do anything for their cubs as they are in our own day.

 

She heard of Jesus. She believed that somehow, someway, this man could do something for her daughter. So this unnamed unknown woman from Tyre and Sidon. This Gentile. Found Jesus. Fell at his feet – a posture of worship. She tossed aside any shred pride and pretense and presumption she might have had. She threw it all – laid all her chips down – and fell at the feet of Jesus. A beggar. 

 

And what was Jesus’ reply? We’d expect him to heal her daughter on the spot. Just say the word and it’s done. But that’s not what Jesus does. He says something rather shocking. Offensive even. 

 

“Let the children be fed first, for it is not right to take the children's bread and throw it to the dogs.”

 

Now, some have tried to soften these words by saying,  you know, in the Greek that word means little dog – as if that’s better. Whether it’s the 21^st or the 1^st being called a dog is still being called a dog. Unlike today, dogs didn’t have a good reputation in Jesus’ day. It’s not supposed to be softened. It’s supposed to be shocking.

 

Jesus’ words fly in the face of any sense of entitlement we might have before him. As if God owes us anything, as if we deserved anything. Not at all. We’re no different from this woman – we’re all beggars before God. 

 

But what’s most shocking of all isn’t what Jesus says, but how this woman replies. She doesn’t get defensive. She doesn’t storm off in a rage. She doesn’t try and cancel Jesus for his insulting words.

She agrees with him.

 

“Yes, Lord; yet even the dogs under the table eat the children's crumbs.” 

 

No sooner had Jesus finished speaking than this woman nods her head and says, “I could not agree more.” “You’re right. I’m a Gentile dirty dog of a sinner.” So, give me what the dogs are given. Just a crumb. That’s all I need. She saw in Jesus someone who was greater than her sin. So do we. Yes, Lord, you’re right about me. It’s all true. I am a poor, miserable, mangy mutt of a sinner. I could not agree more. Only give me what you promised – a crumb of your mercy, a drop of your grace. I’m a dog and worse. And yet the Divine flee bath of Baptism washes all your sin away. 

 

Luther preached it this way: 

“What a superb and wonderful object lesson this is, therefore, to teach us what a mighty, powerful, all-availing thing faith is. Faith takes Christ captive in his word, when he’s angriest, and makes out of his cruel words a comforting inversion, as we see here. You say, the woman responds, that I am a dog. Let it be, I will gladly be a dog; now give me the consideration that you give a dog. Thus she catches Christ with his own words, and he is happy to be caught. Very well, she says, if I am a dog, I ask no more than a dog’s rights. I am not a child nor am I of Abraham’s seed, but you are a rich Lord and set a lavish table. Give your children the bread and a place at the table; I do not wish that. Let me, merely like a dog, pick up the crumbs under the table, allowing me that which the children don’t need or even miss, the crumbs, and I will be content therewith. So she catches Christ, the Lord, in his own words and with that wins not only the right of a dog, but also that of the children.

 

This is what God’s gift of faith does. Faith finds a foothold – a yes -  in Jesus’ words even when it appears that God is silent or says no. Faith clings to the words of God’s promise when the law shows us who we are before God. Faith clings to Jesus like a dogged and blessed beggar. 

 

That’s what that woman was. That’s what we are. 

A crumb was all she asked for. And yet, Jesus gave her more than that.

Only he gives her more than that. He feeds her more than crumbs…he sits her down at his table and gives her a whole table full of grace.

 

“For this statement you may go your way; the demon has left your daughter.”

Her daughter was healed, but so was she. And so are you.

 

Jesus gives us more than crumbs. In mercy, he took the punishment that we deserved. He became lower than the dogs, lowered all the way down from the cross into death, dying in our place, bearing our sin. Thrown into the jaws of death and the grave for us. And in his grace Jesus also gives us what we don’t deserve, but what he delights in giving you: a place at his table where he feeds you more than crumbs. He gives you his own flesh to eat. His very blood to drink. Here is healing. Grace. Mercy. and forgiveness. Here is the bread of life for beggars like you and me. Here is divine goodness for dogs like us. Here is a seat at the Master’s table where you are welcomed. Fed. Forgiven. 

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sermon for Pentecost 15: "Christ the Cardiologist"

 + 15th Sunday after Pentecost – September 1st, 2024 +

Series B: Deuteronomy 4:1-2, 6-9; Ephesians 6:10-20; Mark 7:14-23

Beautiful Savior Lutheran Church

Milton, WA

 

 

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

 

There’s an old story that back in the early 1900’s the London Times sent a letter out to well-known authors asking them to write an essay answering the question: “What’s wrong with the world today?”

 

Christian author G.K. Chesterton famously replied to the question, “What’s wrong with the world today?” with a single sentence…

 

“Dear Sir, I am.” 

Yours, G.K. Chesterton

 

Probably not the answer anyone expected. But he’s right. Sometimes we need a dose of brutal honesty. Everyone knows humanity has a problem, but few are willing to admit exactly what our problem is, much less say it out loud. We witness this ever political cycle – it’s always someone else’s fault. If we’re honest, we witness this in ourselves too. There’s always someone else to blame. Adam blamed Eve. Eve blamed the serpent. And on it goes.

 

The pharisees in Jesus’ day thought that they could fix this problem – our real problem, how do sinners stand before a holy and righteous God – by doing righteous things, by following their own traditions, and this week, by following God’s laws of ritual cleanliness. By seeking to be holy by their own thoughts, words, and deeds, and measuring against the thoughts, words, and deeds of others.

 

So Jesus delivers a little brutal honesty of his own. The unvarnished truth. No spin or political maneuvering here. Jesus tells us like it is:

 

“Hear me, all of you, and understand: ¹⁵ There is nothing outside a person that by going into him can defile him, but the things that come out of a person are what defile him.”^[

 

The word “defile” could also be translated “unclean”. It’s the language of the book of Leviticus. In the Scriptures, “Clean and unclean” aren’t about hygiene, but holiness. That’s what God wanted for and gave to his people. 

 

God led Israel out of Egypt. Formed them into a people. Gave them a law with rules and even a peculiar diet to follow to separate them from the rest of the nations. They were God’s Israel. Holy, consecrated, set apart for one purpose and only one purpose. To bring forth the Christ in the fulness of time. Now that Christ has come, the God’s Old Testament laws of clean and unclean have served their purpose. The one who is truly clean and holy has come in human flesh for us who were unclean and unholy. 

 

In the Old Testament, God provided Israel a way to be made clean: tabernacle, washings, sacrifice, food, and blood. It’s not all that different in the NT, only it is. God still provides the church – true Israel – with a way to be made clean. Only God doesn’t do it through a list of rules and laws; he does it himself. Christ who is holy came to take all our unholiness upon himself. Christ who is the only and truly undefiled one, takes on all the defilement of the Law. Christ who knew no sin became sin for us.

 

If the Pharisees were asked to answer the question, “what’s wrong with the world?” They would’ve answer something along the lines of, “Not enough of people (I’m looking at you!) are keeping God’s laws; they have to get to work and get busy keeping those commands…there are too many sinners out there who need to follow these 613 rules for righteousness and keep the whole Torah perfectly.” The problem is God doesn’t grade his Law on a curve; it’s a pass / fail. And we fail every single time. Our problem isn’t out there. It’s within. 

 

That’s what Jesus says. Do you not see that whatever goes into a person from outside cannot defile him, ¹⁹ since it enters not his heart but his stomach, and is expelled?

 

It’s not what goes into our bodies that’s the problem. If that’s all it was – a change in habit, a new diet plan, a behavior adjustment – well, that’s not so bad we could do that and we certainly wouldn’t need a crucified and risen Savior to do all that. But no. Our problem goes much, much deeper. The line of good and evil, says Alexander Solzhenitsyn, isn’t out there somewhere, it passes not through states or classes, or political parties, but through every human heart.

 

For from within, out of the heart of man, come evil thoughts, sexual immorality, theft, murder, adultery,²² coveting, wickedness deceit, sensuality, envy, slander, pride, foolishness. ²³ All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person.”

 

The heart of the matter is – as Jesus says – our sinful heart. The seat of our desire, will, and ways – our wanter. Sinful thoughts, words, and actions are bad, no doubt. But those are just symptoms of capital S - Sin. Our problem isn’t found in our head, hands, mouth, or stomach, but in our sinful, unclean hearts. And that also means that the answer isn’t found in our head, hands, mouth, stomach, or heart. And unlike the Pharisees thought, our solution isn’t found in the law, but in the One to whom all those laws pointed and prepared us for. To the One who came to fulfill every last jot and tittle of the Law on our behalf. To the only One who has a pure, undefiled heart.

 

If out of our heart comes all manner of evil, out of the heart of Jesus pours out all of God’s grace and favor and mercy and love. From the moment Jesus was incarnate of the Virgin Mary, in her womb his undefiled heart beat for us: a heart without envy, slander, pride, or foolishness. A heart that is always good, faithful, pure, and true and is turned towards you in love. What flows from Jesus’ heart is compassion, grace, and steadfast love. Jesus’ undefiled and holy heart pumps with new life for you

 

Jesus’ undefiled heart pounded in his chest as he was beaten, whipped, and scourged for you Jesus’ undefiled heart strained under the weight of the cross as he bore our guilt, shame, and sorrows for you. Jesus’ undefiled heart became still and stopped to put an end to all our unrighteousness. Jesus’ undefiled heart was pierced by a spear and bled out blood and water for you – to rescue you, cleanse you, and save you from all that is unholy and unclean. 

 

And then, three days later, the undefiled heart of Jesus began to beat again. The undefiled heart of Jesus echoed and filled the empty tomb with a thump and thud of resurrected life for you. As hard as the Roman soldiers pounded in the nails on Good Friday, Jesus’ undefiled heart pounded even harder and louder and stronger on Easter morning – to make you a new creation, to raise you from the dead, to give you a new heart. Christ crucified and risen is your great and gracious Cardiologist. He takes our old heart of stone and replaces it with a new heart of flesh. And by water and blood that flows from his side here to you at his font and his altar, in word, water, body and blood, he washes you, cleanses you, holies you, makes you alive by the Spirit, renews you, and creates in you a clean heart. Now and always. 

 

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