Sermon for Pentecost 11: "Every Dog Has Her Day"

 

 + Pentecost 11 – August 16^th, 2020 +

Series A, Proper 15: Isaiah 56:1-2, 6-8; Romans 11; Matthew 15:21-28

Beautiful Savior Lutheran

Milton, WA

 

Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

She was desperate. She had no one to turn to. Her daughter was deeply oppressed by some sort of demon. No description of the symptoms, but the woman is at the end of her hope. Jesus is all she has left. She heard He was coming into her region, the district of Tyre and Sidon, the far north coast county named after the great grandson of Noah. 

 

Problem is, she’s a Canaanite. Canaanites were Gentiles, idolaters, enemies of Israel and God. She knows a Canaanite woman has no business talking to a Jewish rabbi. Somehow, she knows Jesus can help. She’s heard the stories of his healing and miracles. So she comes with all boldness and confidence. “Have mercy on me, O Lord, Son of David...”

Strange words coming from the lips of a Canaanite. “Son of David” is Israelite talk. This is the language of the faithful expecting the promised Messiah. She has no right to address Jesus this way. 

But isn’t that how it is for us too? That we – who have no right to claim any favor from God - He gives us the right to be called sons of God. That’s the promise of Holy Baptism. We were gentiles, idolaters, and enemies of God. But then God throws us into the water, washes us, and gives us a new identity. We’re transformed and given the faith of Abraham. Children of the promise. Heirs with Christ. We pray Our Father in all boldness and confidence as dear children ask their dear father.

And though she has no right to do so, the Canaanite woman prays the same way. 

“Have mercy on me, O Lord, Son of David; my daughter is severely oppressed by a demon.”

Sin does the same within us too. Holds us hostage, captive. We are oppressed and enslaved. Sin is more than a flesh wound; it’s deadly and specific: As Jesus warned the Pharisees and disciples earlier in chapter 15, we’re defiled by the evil thoughts, murder, hatred in our hearts, adultery, lust, desire, sexual immorality, theft, false witness, and slander that come out of our sinful heart.

 

And what’s Jesus’ reaction to this Canaanite woman’s prayer? Silence. Perhaps that’s why the disciples ask him to do something. “Give her what she wants and send her away, Lord.” We’re not told why he’s silent. Jesus’ silence, however, is not his absence. Look what his silence reveals.

Jesus’ silence reveals his disciples’ embarrassment.  Either they’re embarrassed for the woman’s sake and want her quickly sent away. She’s a bother, a nuisance, oh, and a Gentile. Or perhaps they’re embarrassed by Jesus for not acting the way they think the Messiah should act. 

 

Jesus’ silence reveals something even deeper in the woman. She is persistent. So, Jesus breaks his silence: I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. 

 

Still this Canaanite woman did not give up. Like Jacob she wrestles with God and will not let Jesus go without a blessing. She will not take Jesus’ silence for an answer. She comes closer. She falls at his feet. Touches her face to the dirt. She is humble. She worships Jesus as a lowly beggar before the great king. She speaks out of her brokenness. Lord, help me. 

 

We pray the same way. Lord, I am a sinner. I am a beggar. Apart from you I have no good thing. Lord, help me.

Jesus answered, “It is not right to take the children's bread and throw it to the dogs.” There’s no way to soften these words. It was no nicer to call someone a dog in the first century than it is today. It’s even more shocking that the woman agrees. 

 

Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters' table. Yes, Lord. I am a dog. Yes, Lord. I am a beggar. Yes, Lord; I am a sinner. She sees her own unworthiness. And yet she sees in Jesus something greater than her sin.

 

“Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table!” (Matthew 15:27). Yes, Lord, even Rahab, the Canaanite, the prostitute, the Gentile, turned to the Lord for mercy and found it. Isn’t that Canaanite, Rahab, your own great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandmother? Yes, Lord, dogs don’t deserve to sit at the table with Abraham’s sons. But wasn’t Naaman, the Syrian, cleansed with water and healed, so others would know that a prophet was living in Israel?

Yes, Lord. You’re right about me. I am a poor miserable, mangy, mutt of a sinner. And yet He cleanses you from all sin. Your Baptism is a divine flee bath, washing away all your sin. 

 

This Canaanite woman catches Christ with his own word, and he is happy to be caught (Luther). She holds onto his words knowing that God’s business is feeding his people. She does not want the children’s bread. She wants food straight from the Master of the Table. 

I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of the Lord than dwell in the tents of the wicked.

Better to be a dog in the house of the Lord than to be a chew toy for demons.

The Canaanite woman was content to receive a crumb. One crumb of God’s grace is more than enough for us. One crumb of Jesus’ mercy is more than enough to end the starvation of our sin and send the demons running. But it is not enough for Jesus. 

 

Jesus gives more than a crumb to this Canaanite woman and to you. Jesus gives you himself. Jesus became the outsider and the dog for you. Jesus became sin and death for you. Jesus died for idolaters and blasphemers and sinners like us and that Canaanite woman. Jesus died in humility in order to raise you up and seat you at his table, not as dogs under the table or even as children, but as his beloved bride. Where we would settle for a crumb, Christ gives a feast. Jesus feeds you with the best food, the bread of life, his very own body. And the choicest wine: his blood shed for you.

 

“O woman, great is your faith! Be it done for you as you desire.” And her daughter was healed instantly. By faith in Christ this woman is no longer a dog. She is a member of new Israel, Christ’s holy bride: spotless. Clean. Undefiled. Without blemish. Pure. Holy. 

 

Jesus makes the same promise to you. You are no longer dogs or Gentiles. The stain of our idolatry is wiped clean by his blood. The defilement of our lusting, coveting, gossiping, sinful hearts is cleansed. Jesus died for you. In Jesus, you are spotless. Holy. Clean. Undefiled. Without blemish. Pure. Holy. 

In the Name of + Jesus. Amen. The peace of God which surpasses all understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen. 

Epiphany 6 Sermon: "A Tale of Two Lepers"

+ Epiphany 6 – February 12^th, 2012 +

2 Kings 5:1-14; Mark 1:40-45

In the Name of Jesus + Amen.

            Today’s readings give us the tale of two lepers. One was a rich man for whom it was always the best of times. The other was a poor beggar, for whom it was always the worst of times. One could travel far and wide to search for a cure (although there was none). The other could only sit outside the town and cry out, “unclean, unclean” to passersby. One was the commander in chief of the Syrian army. The other was an army of one, dishonorably discharged from his community, untouchable. One had no idea where to go for healing (until he was told). And the other knew exactly where to go: “Lord, If you will, you can make me clean.”

            Both, however, were helpless, in need of healing. Both were healed in rather unexpected ways. Naaman by God’s Word, spoken first by a little Hebrew girl, then through his prophet Elisha and finally in the water. That should sound familiar. A Word, a Promise and Water.

            The Leper in Mark 1 was healed by that same Word and a touch from Jesus. Jesus touches the man, says a Word and all is done. When Jesus touches the unclean, something utterly remarkable happens.   The unclean become clean.  It’s that easy for Jesus.

            Yes, this is a tale of two lepers. But it’s also a tale of two miracles. Sure there’s the healing in the Jordan: “Wash yourself 7 times and your flesh shall be restored, and you shall be clean.”

And there’s the healing of this leper in Mark 1 – “Jesus, moved to compassion reaches out and touches the man, “I will; be clean.”

            Both are remarkably joyous and wondrous miracles, but they are smaller ones. Jesus does them as easily as drawing breath. It’s almost like Jesus can’t help himself. He must heal. Just as He must cast out demons. He must feed the hungry. He must suffer, die and rise again.

            For the larger miracle is this: that the Lord of the world, and of the Law, should bother at all about someone so utterly worthless as a leper, cast out by the Law, that is what’s truly miraculous. And if you get that miracle, then you get the cross. That Jesus would look upon someone so utterly worthless as a you and me, a sinner, an outcast and would save us by dying in our place.

            And so there’s a double danger for us in this miracle. On the one hand to think somehow that this is all Jesus came to do, set up a clinic, put a band-aid on sin and disease, be a good moral teacher and he’s off to the next town. Think of all the money a church could make with healing powers like that! But if that’s all Jesus came to do, then the Gospel of Mark should have ended by chapter 2 or 3.

            Jesus is more than a great teacher, however. He’s the only one in this world who claims to be your Savior and does something about it instead of giving you a rule book to follow. So the Gospel of Mark goes on. Jesus goes on. He must go to Jerusalem. To the trial. To the spit and mockery. To the whip. To the nails. To the thorns. To your death. He goes for Namaan. He goes for the leper. He goes for you.

            Yes, these miracles are signposts along the way to Jerusalem telling who Jesus is and what he comes to do. But if you only know Jesus as the power and miracle man, you don’t really know him at all; he’s no different to you than a vending machine. That’s why he tells the leper: “See that you say nothing to anyone.” It’s not until he’s is hanging dead on the cross that Jesus is truly known as Messiah. And that confession comes from the most unlikely place: a Roman centurion. “Surely this man is the Son of God.”

            And on the other hand, the danger is this: to think that Jesus’ death and resurrection have nothing to do with the needs of the body. As if once the cross is done and Easter is celebrated Jesus no longer cares about those with disease, needs of daily bread, the poor and those who suffer.

For Jesus (and the Church), the two are related. Care for you in body and soul.

            These smaller miracles and the larger miracle are inseparable. Jesus’ teaching, healing, feeding thousands – it’s all pointing to the cross. In fact, the cross and the resurrection are all of those miracles rolled up into one cosmic event. Where do the lame find legs to walk? In the one who walked to Calvary for them. Where do the blind receive their sight? In the one who looked upon his creation with compassion, came down to suffer and die for all that all might see his mercy.

            It’s all in the cross. In Jesus. It was true for Namaan and the leper in Mark 1. Just as it’s true for you. To be touched by Jesus, and to hear His Word.  It means cleansing for a leper.  Forgiveness for a sinner.  Life for the dead.  And for you.
            In a way, if you think about it, Jesus’ miracles are really a glimpse of the Last Day; miracles are Jesus’ day of Resurrection breaking into creation early. That’s what Revelation 21 points to: tears – wiped away. Mourning, crying, pain – blindness, leprosy, cancer – all disease – gone forever. Death shall be no more. “If you will, you can make us clean.” “I will; be clean.”

            Jesus didn’t come to put a band-aid on your sin and death. Jesus came to be our sin, to become the leper in our place, the outcast, the cursed one for each of you.  He came to cover our disease, sin and death with His blood. So He took all disease, sin and death into His own body cursed on the tree, broken, despised, forsaken, crushed to death to be your healing, your life, your salvation. His will for you is to cleanse you from sin.  That’s why He baptized you.  That’s why He absolves you.  That’s why He feeds you His Body and Blood. 

            When Jesus touches the unclean in Baptism, something utterly remarkable happens.   The unclean become clean.  “I will; be clean.” Be clean Jesus says to Miriam today. And to you. Be clean in Jesus’ robe of righteousness. Be clean in Jesus’ death and resurrection. Be clean in the washing and renewal of the Holy Spirit. Be clean in this saving flood.

            What more can you say to that? How could you not say anything? Namaan declared the praises of YHWH: “I know now that there is no God on earth except in Israel.” And neither could the leper help himself. He had to tell someone.

            “Don’t tell anyone,” Jesus said.  Odd, don’t you think?  The man with leprosy thought so too.  Still he told everyone.  Who can blame him?  When Jesus heals your leprosy, it’s hard to keep quiet.  It’s also hard to keep quiet when Jesus forgives your sin.  Jesus didn’t want that man or the people who talked to him to miss the cross. Just like he doesn’t want us to look to him or his miracles without the cross. And a Church that believes she is cleansed from sin can’t keep quiet about it.  The leper couldn’t and neither should you.

            And in that way, you are that little Hebrew girl for all the Naamans in your life: “There is a prophet in Israel.” Here is the forgiveness of sins. Here Jesus’ touch and Word make unclean sinners clean in his death and resurrection, in the font, at the altar, by that same Word.

            And Jesus’ little miracles continue in this way too: feeding the hungry and homeless that come here for food bags, walking the streets of Redeemer’s neighborhoods listening to people’s needs, responding in mercy, inviting your neighbors to church with you, sending cards to shut-ins, visiting the sick and showing mercy to those in need. And in this way, you are Christ to the neighbor. How will you answer your neighbor’s plea for mercy: “If you will, you can make me clean?”
                        We are nothing. Jesus is everything. He must increase. We must decrease.

            He is the Great Physician of body and soul. He is the friend of sinners. Your friend. Just as he was for the leper. Jesus joins him in his uncleanness and rejection. The leper cannot doubt that Jesus is for him. And we join our neighbor in uncleanness and rejection. Christ for us and us for the neighbor.

            For we, who have sin. We who have uncleanness. Jesus has joined you in your sin. He bears it all for you, your disease your daily needs and your death. There is no doubt that Jesus is the one to whom you pray, “If you will, you can make me clean.” He was for the leper. And Jesus is for you too.

            In the Name of Jesus + Amen.

Keep Calm and Carry On

By order of the Royal Crown: Keep Calm and Carry On. Though we may forget, or rediscover their historical context, not all wartime slogans lose their weight of truthfulness even after blackout curtains are raised and air-raid sirens wind down. After all, loose lips still sink ships. And the Queen's message remains good advice for citizens, soldiers and, as it was in my case on Sunday, pastors.

As the prayers of the church were about to begin, I noticed some movement in the middle of the nave. Now, this is not entirely uncommon. We have the ushers bringing the offerings up and the elder assisting with communion behind them and frequent pit-stop parishioners off to the restroom and so forth. However, this was different. There was a man with a phone on his ear, a woman slumped over and several concerned brothers and sisters in Christ attending to a moment of need. It was exactly that. One of our dear members had passed out. Medically speaking, I will not get into much more detail than that. And before I knew it, 911 had been called, the ushers and I had discussed what to do with the congregation and the whole thing happened rather rapidly whilst many thoughts poured through my head: what if she needs a defibrillator? do we have one? are the paramedics here yet? what about all these people? should they stay or should they go? Lord, have mercy. Keep calm and carry on. Lord have mercy. Anyhow, you get the point.

There are some things seminary never prepares you for. On the other hand, if men were supposed to stay at seminary until they learned everything there was to know and learn about being a pastor - doctrinally and practically speaking - well then, no one would ever leave the seminary and actually become a pastor. There is still something to be said for Walther's famous remark: "it is the highest art and must be learned by the Holy Spirit in the school of experience. While he said this about properly handling the Word of Truth (i.e. Law and Gospel) it could also, indeed I am saying that it does, apply to the unique vocation of the Office of the Ministry as an entire, organic whole (let the reader understand: not to be confused with hipsters, free-range chickens, agricultural obsessions and the like).

And so while the Lord of the Church was working in, with and under a rather nervous pastor He was also working in, with and under the firemen and paramedics who are trained to keep calm and carry on so that when they enter into burning buildings or horrific car wrecks or churches in the middle of Divine Services, they can perform their duty. I know they were just doing their job. And for that we thank them. These noble masks of God. For God does not work in mysterious ways, but hidden ones. Hidden beneath navy blue uniforms and work-worn, grungy-yellow fireman's jackets in order to bring care and mercy to those in need. Thank God for His faithful masks, wherever they appear: in pulpits or in pews, in pastors or in paramedics, in people everywhere, called by God to keep calm and carry on. Be who you are. Be who God has called you to be. Live in your vocations. This is how our Lord works miracles today, by his own chosen instruments .

So, pastors or parishioners, when and if you're ever faced with a similar situation, remember the Queen's words: Keep Calm and Carry On. But more importantly, remember the words of the King, our suffering, saving, serving King: Given and Shed for you for the forgiveness of your sins.

Our Lord was busy this Sunday morning, as He is every Sunday and every day of the week. In fact, He's busy serving His church always; He lives to serve her with his life-blood. In, with and under the work of God's faithful masks our dear sister in Christ was taken to the hospital, tested and sent home, safe and sound all while under the care of our Great Physician. Meanwhile, the congregation was able to keep calm and carry on in the Divine Service where our Lord comes to calm our fear and trepidation - yes even to forgive and save - with His own body and blood. Yes, Lord have mercy. And how he does!

Of Specks and Logs and a Bloody, Wooden Cross

T Trinity 4 – July 17^th, 2011 T

Guest Preaching – St. Paul’s, LBC

Text: Genesis 50:15-21; Romans 12:14-21; Luke 6:36-42

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

            Everyone loves when Jesus plays nice and says things like: “let the children come to me” or “in my Father’s house are many rooms.” But what happens when he drops the gloves and gets a little too personal: judge not, lest you be judged; condemn not lest you be condemned? No one likes talking about their own blindness and sin as much as we like talking about other’s. And what about when Jesus says: “Be merciful, even as your Father is merciful.” Or is to become merciful as your Father is merciful? Which is it - threat or promise? What you must do or who you are in Christ? Infinite bar of perfection or infinitely perfect mercy in Jesus?

            What does it mean to be merciful? To be merciful is to be like Joseph, hated by his brothers, stripped of his robe, cast into a pit, sold into slavery – and because he wouldn’t sleep with another man’s wife – locked in an Egyptian dungeon. Mercy is, finally, after all those years, to have these same brothers standing before you, the most powerful man in Egypt, able to do anything you want to them, to exact any kind of revenge your heart desires, yet to pardon them, shed tears of joy and embrace them in love. That is mercy. Well, it’s a kind of mercy, but it is not perfect mercy. There is still more.

            What does it mean to be merciful?  To be merciful is to be like David, hated and hunted by, King Saul, through every field and cave of Israel; to play the harp to soothe his anger only to be repaid by a spear being hurled at you; to have served king and country only to have both betray you.  Mercy is to be so close to Saul to be able to cut off a corner of his tunic with your own knife, but instead to stay the blade from your enemy’s flesh.  Mercy is to stand over him while he sleeps in his camp, able to pin him to the earth with one stroke of your spear and yet instead to pardon him, spare him, and even rebuke those who tried to convince you otherwise. That is mercy.  Well, at least a kind of mercy, but it’s not perfect mercy.  There’s still more.

            Be merciful.  Jesus says.  Be merciful – not as Joseph or David but as your Father in heaven.  To be truly merciful is to be like God; to seek to embrace your fallen children only to have them shove you away and spit in your face; to heal the sick, only to have them reject the Great Physician; to feed the hungry only to have them grumble about the taste; to clothe the naked only to have them protest that you haven’t clothed them in name-brands; to open your hands and offer them everything the Father has to give, only to have them pierce those hands with nails, raise you in the air and watch, mock and chuckle as you slowly bleed to death.  That is perfect mercy. There is no greater mercy.

            For greater mercy has no man than this, that one lay down his life - not for his friends - but for his enemies. This is exactly what Christ has done for you.

            And yet, that is not how we treat our neighbor, is it?  We don’t hold ourselves to the same standard. It all sounds a bit absurd: what do you mean, Jesus? Specks and splinters are indescribably small – how can you miss a log in your eye? You don’t, unless of course, you are blind. Completely oblivious.

            That’s why Jesus uses this ridiculous example: uncover our blindness; to show us how absurd it is for us to point out the sawdust in our brother’s eye while we have an old-growth forest growing in our own. The teeth of the judgment saw blade cuts both ways: "For with the same measure that you use will be measured back to you.” .

            And just so we’re clear, Jesus isn’t talking about judging false doctrine or public sin in the Church – He covers that elsewhere. Don’t pit the commandments against each other.

            No, Jesus is calling for self-examination; He echoes John's sermon of repentance. Jesus’ words cut us to the heart. Jesus wants nothing short of complete and utter deforestation of our Old sinful flesh. Lay the axe to the root. Strip the logs. Ignore the slivers. Look in the mirror. Repent. For our old sinful flesh is a forest of hypocrisy. We are far better at confessing our brother’s sins than our own. Repent, for there is no sin greater than our own.

            But that old sinful flesh of yours has been drowned. The logs and splinters have been washed down the stream of the font, out of your eyes and into Christ’s death forever. And that speck in your neighbor’s eye that you were so worried about – well that’s paid for too. All evil, all debt, all logs and specks, all sin is paid for, cleansed, washed and forgiven by the shed blood of Jesus. Jesus takes all of your specks and splinters, logs and planks out of your eyes and He drags them on His back to the cross. There on the timber that binds and kills, He is killed for us. Jesus died for you – the hypocrite, the slanderer, the chief of sinners. The wood we have supplied becomes, by His death, a declaration of sin’s forgiven.

            This too is shocking, but in a marvelous, joyous way. This is what changes our hearts, minds, our whole lives. Our heavenly Father removes the logs despite us. Your Father is merciful. He sends Jesus to do what we have never done. He loves us more than Himself; He does unto us what He would have done unto Himself. He loves us perfectly, without fail, without holding anything back. He keeps the Law for us and then He allows the Law to do to Him all it should have done to us, and it counts for us. His good works, His mercy, His love is counted as ours and our sins are counted as His.

            That is mercy. While we were yet sinners – enemies of God - Christ died for us.

            He was slapped and offered his other cheek. He was forced to go one mile and went the whole way to the cross. They stripped him of his cloak and his seamless robe. He gave to all who asked of Him. He prayed for His persecutors - “Father, forgive them, they don’t know what they are doing.” The only-begotten Son of the Father does all this so that you might become sons of your Father in heaven.             And when Jesus does something He does it all the way. He gets the job done. When it was completed He said so. It is finished. Tetelesthai. It is complete. That’s the word Matthew uses in his parallel for today’s reading. “You will be complete, whole. Teleios. as your Father in heaven is teleios, complete, whole, perfect in Christ.” Hearing Luke and Matthew together, Jesus reveals to us: God’s perfection is found in His mercy. Now, when the Father looks at us, He no longer sees any sin: splinters or logs. He only sees the wood of the cross covered in His Son’s flesh and blood.

            This is what it means to be merciful. Jesus is your mercy. Merciful as your Father in heaven – for you. Unchanging love. Ceaseless, inexhaustible mercy. His compassion knows no bounds. Christ’s love seeks no reward or selfish gain. He loves all. He sees no log or speck in your eye, only perfection, as a bride adorned for her husband. That is perfect mercy, poured out in good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over into the chalice, into your mouth, into your life for pardon, peace and forgiveness of your sins. Freely you receive; freely you give.

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

Punch Drunk Sowers

The following "address" was given to the leadership and boards of Redeemer Lutheran at the end of May during a long-term planning session.  Unfortunately I didn't record the audio (which was much better) but this will have to do. 

Witness, Mercy, Life Together.  This is the new synodical emphasis.  It’s not a program.    And if it ever  becomes one, we have failed.  These are not intended to be empty words on a page.  For Witness, Mercy, Life Together - are not empty words in Scripture.  This is the life of the Church because it is the life of Christ, the Bridegroom of the Church.  It’s not so much about what you do but who you are.  Martyria, Diakonia, Koinonia are living, breathing, active, life-giving words.  These are loaded, theologically dense Greek words which form the three-fold emphasis; but long before they graced the cover of the Lutheran Witness, they shaped the very life of the Christian Church, from the first days in the book of Acts to the present, from the farthest four corners of the earth to 16351 Springdale St.

Redeemer Lutheran embodies Martyria, Diakonia, Koinonia. This shapes the life of everything we say and do here at Redeemer, from VBS to preschool and from youth to the many boards and activities.  You will hear from Pr. Harmelink how this has looked over course of our history and together we will, Lord willing, continue to live the life of God’s faithful people here at 16351 Springdale St. and the surrounding community.
Witness – Martyria.  Typically when you hear this word the lions and burning crosses of the Coliseum come to mind. However, confessing the faith is not only for the dead; but for the living.  Martyrs do confess the faith in the face of death.  But just as important, Christians are every day martyrs, that is to say, you are witnesses – in the places God has called you – in your vocations.  A martyr is a witness, one who confesses, believes and teaches the truth where Christ has called you, and placed you as his masks, in and out of the Church.  Martyrs are found in the grocery store, on the playground, in the choir loft – anywhere you have been placed by virtue of your Baptism into the death of the Martyr par excellence, Christ.  He has martyred you into the Kingdom of Heaven, from death to life, by His death on the cross.  When Christ calls His Church, He calls her (Matthew 28) to make disciples by baptizing and teaching.  And Christ never leaves His Church without the promise: "Lo I am with you always, even to the end of the age, in Samaria, Judea, and Jerusalem and to all the ends of the earth."  The Church is in her fullness here at 16351 Springdale and yet her fullness does not end at our doors, but extends throughout the Holy Catholic Church as Christ gives her His very life blood through the Water, Word, Spirit, Body and Blood.

Mercy – Diakonia – is compassion, care, love and more.  It is the very life of Christ.  So many times in the Scripture, diakonia encompasses mercy in body and soul – and it must be in both body and soul – neglecting one over the other only diminishes both.  This is precisely how Christ cares for His people, in body and soul.  He sees the needs of the people – not just the people, who are easy to love, but the unlovable, the outcast, the sinner – and He has compassion on them.  The Greek word is splanchnon, an utterly visceral, guttural enactment of mercy and compassion for the neighbor in need. Mercy flows from the cross of Christ to us and from us to the neighbor and right back to the altar, right back to our Life Together in the Body and the Blood of Jesus.  His Table is what gives our tables their very purpose and being in life.  And we are called to show mercy not only to the poor and needy on the other side of the country or the world, but the other side of the street, in our alleys and neighborhoods where.  We need mercy that hits close to home.

Life Together – Koinonia - is used around forty times across the Gospels, epistles, and Acts.  Koinonia isn’t just the fun stuff – the picnics and parties, etc., which are essential to congregational life together - but every activity that the Church is gathered together for, especially (in fact inseperably so) given that the Bride of Christ has Life Together only where her day to day (week-in-week-out) life together is bound up in the very Koinonia that comes by way of relationship to/in Christ.  I challenge you to find an expression, metaphor or illustration in the Scriptures where the body of Christ, His Church, is spoken of individualistically.  Frankly, I think you’ll come up disappointed, but you're welcome to prove me wrong.  The Scriptures simply don’t speak of the “me” or the “I” the way our narcissistic culture does; it is always the body, the bride, the one, the holy people, the royal priesthood.  Koinonia is best and most tangibly known in this life (and the next) at the Lamb’s High feast, the Lord’s Supper.  We have fellowship with one another because of His fellowship at the Table.  Remarkably, koinonia also is used for alms-giving in the early church, especially Acts and the letters of Paul.  This is more than a common word-connection. The alms (koinonia) we share in the body of Christ are united with our koinonia in, with and under Christ at His high altar. 

These three words are the life-breath of the Church because this is the life-breath of Christ, who is the Lord of the Church.  They are inseparable as Christ is from His Church.  And this is a blessed, union.  Be fruitful and multiply!

No wonder all of these words are also found (implicitly if not explicitly) in both the Parable of the Sower and the Parable of the Good Samaritan. The Word is sown recklessly, prodigally, liberally to all.  There’s no soil testing necessary.  We don’t need to find the so-called “soft soil” for there is none.  Scripture is abundantly clear: there is no such thing; it’s all the same rocky, hard soil of unbelief.  Thankfully it is the same creative Word that is implanted, nurtured, and grown by the Spirit.  That’s His work; our work is to spread the seed, water the seed with the same reckless love as the Father.

I know it can seem overwhelming.  If we were left to our own selves it would be.  There’s good reason Luther once compared the Christian Church to a drunkard stumbling from one wall to the next.  When it comes to Redeemer Lutheran, and the work our Lord has called us to, there are two walls - two great temptations - we must avoid.

On the one hand we are tempted to think that this work of Witness, Mercy, Life Together, of sowing Gospel seeds, being merciful, and so forth – is entirely dependent upon numbers and growth  and success – as if we could quantify the work of the Lord in that way.  However, the Church is not called to count success in the same way the world counts success.  We count it in seeds sown.  You may never see that little preschooler or Sunday school child, or homeless man again; but the seed of the Gospel has been sown, mercy has been shown and for a short while (and perhaps longer) they have been a part of our Life Together.

The Augsburg Confession puts it this way:
    So that we may obtain this faith, the ministry of teaching the Gospel and administering the Sacraments was instituted. Through the Word and Sacraments, as through instruments, the Holy Spirit is given [John 20:22]. He works faith, when and where it pleases God [John 3:8], in those who hear the good news that God justifies those who believe that they are received into grace for Christ’s sake. This happens not through our own merits, but for Christ’s sake.

And on the other hand we are tempted to leave these three words - Martyria, Diakonia, Koinonia - on the page where we found them this morning.  And if that’s all it is – if these words are just a slogan and nothing more - then we are better off staying home for these are dead words.  If we think that just by talking about Witness, Mercy, and Life Together that we have actually fulfilled what we are called to do, then all we have is dead faith.  These words are not empty and therefore neither are you.  You are filled with the life Christ breathes into you by His Spirit.  God has called us to clear witness and caring service – together.  These are words to live by.

Yes, it may seem challenging, but take it one person at a time: one VBS child, one preschooler, one youth group member/friend, one adult catechumen, one visitor, one homeless person – whoever the neighbor in need may be.  Martyria, Diakonia, Koinonia are all yours by virtue of Baptism.  We have been “martyr-ed” from death to life, “mercy-ed” into mercy for mercy, “koinonia-ed” in Christ for the sake of our congregation and the community.

Toward An Apologetic of Mercy

The following article is a bit of a work in progress, begun for the May newsletter here in Huntington Beach.

Apologia and Diakonia.  Two Biblical Greek words that seem to have nothing in common with each other.  And yet, they have increasingly become a part of Christian vocabulary lately – and for good reason.  Apologetics, loosely defined, is defending the faith.  Diakonia (or mercy), broadly speaking, is the Church’s work of mercy in body and soul. 

When it comes to apologetics, many of the arguments and debates are familiar: How can a loving God allow pain and suffering?  Did Jesus of Nazareth really rise from the dead?  Are the New Testament Documents historically reliable? And so forth and so on.  Redeemer continues to tackle many of these issues in the ongoing Declare and Defend series.  These questions come from the realm of the skeptics: everyone from the hard-line atheists to the ‘average-Joe’; from the cynic who revels in questioning authority to the individual with genuine questions about the Christian faith.  And this is an entirely necessary field.  Christians ought not to shy away from hard-nosed, tough-minded intellectual debate and discourse so rabidly needed in our day and age, not only an age of skepticism, but out right anti-truth.  The Church is challenged from both alleged scholarly and genuine intellectual arguments, everything from popular writers such as Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchens to ridiculous op-ed films, such as “Religulous” by Bill Maher.

However, there is another side to apologetics.  Call it right-brained apologetics.  For some the logic and academic setting of discourse is less engaging.  Maybe they don’t wrestle with particular intellectual questions about the Christian faith.  For some, reading the works of the Oxford Inklings (J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis, et al), discussing the finer points of the Chronicles of Narnia, listening to a majestic Bach Cantata, or browsing Lucas Cranach’s collection of Reformation artwork can be just as winsome of a defense for the Christian faith as the hard-nosed argumentation is for others.  To paraphrase St. Paul, “O, People of the theatre, bookstore, and concert hall, I see that you are very artistic!  Let me tell you about the Word made flesh, by whom all things were made.”  The works of music, art, literature, film (and so forth) are not only God–pleasing vocations, whereby we serve God and the neighbor, they also form a “softer” under-belly to the watchful dragons of unbelief.  The people are no less unbelievers.  And the Holy Spirit is no less in charge – conversion is His from beginning to completion.  Yet, in the midst of these various means, the goal is the same.  One, if not the primary goal, of apologetics, is to break down barriers and answer objections that people have put in the way of the cross so that the Gospel might be heard clearly, all done out of compassion and care for the neighbor in need, body and soul, whether that neighbor is looking for an intellectual discussion or a good book to read, there is always a way to speak the truth in love.

And it is here – in the realm of compassion and care – where diakonia meets apologia, where there is an apologetic of mercy at work in the life of the Church.  To be sure, mercy is not primarily interested in defending the Christian faith.  That however does not mean the Church’s life of mercy is somehow separated from a faithful witness to the truth of the Christian faith.  It is, rather, quite the opposite.  The two are inseparably related – an indissoluble union - to Christ Crucified and perhaps it is through love and care for the neighbor that apologetics sneaks in through the back door of mercy in the end.

Mercy is chiefly concerned with loving, caring for, showing compassion to the neighbor in body and soul.  And because the Christian is set free from sin and death, the Christian is free to love the neighbor as Christ loved us.  Or, in the words of St. John, “In this is love, not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Son to be the propitiation for our sins. Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another” (1 John 4:10-11).  Nowhere is this love more apparent, more fleshly and visceral - even tangible - than in the ongoing reality of the Crucified and Risen present in His Church in the sacraments, the Eucharist in particular.  Christ's Mercy flows from the altar and returns us back to it.  And all of life revolves around the flesh and blood mercy in our Lord's flesh and blood.  For the early church - as it should be to day - any discussion, defense, discource or actual diakonia must begin and return us to the same flesh and blood Diakonia that our Lord has poured out for the forgiveness of sins.

In light of this all-encompassing reality, the early Christians had a Biblical understanding of a diakonic worldview.  A worldview different not only from Greco-Roman (and modern) paganism, but different, distinct and unique when compared to any other world religion.  Already in the book of Acts we see this developing as deacons (notice the root word diakonia) were appointed to care for the widows and the needy so that the preaching of the Gospel would continue (Acts 6).  They – like the church father Tertullian (ca. 220 A.D.) and even Luther, later in the 16^th century – had a common treasury, a voluntary fund set up to provide for the needs for the poor in the congregation but also outside as well.  Mercy, like salvation is given indiscriminately – there is no one Christ did not suffer and die for; there is no one to whom Christians do not show mercy.  This was – and still is – profoundly different from the common attitude in the world outside the Church.  Mercy given to all from Christ; mercy shown for all in Christ.

“The early Christians practiced what is called, caritas – or charity – as opposed to the liberalitas of the Greco-Roman world.  Caritas meant giving to relieve the recipient’s economic or physical distress without expecting anything in return, whereas liberalitas meant giving to please the recipient, who later would bestow a favor on the giver.”[1]  There was nothing inherent in the Roman pagan culture that motivated, taught or established any permanent work of mercy for those in need.  Whereas, among Christians, all the needy, sick, suffering, and dying – pagan or Christian – had intrinsic value.  Life meant something entirely different to the early Christians when contrasted with their pagan neighbors, so much, that when Tertullian wrote his Apology of the Christian faith to the Romans, he answers the accusation that Christian congregations and assemblies were gathered together with the collection of common funds, not for drunken feasts and parties as the Romans did, but rather for the support of the poor, the sick, the orphans and widows.

Our secular, materialistic society – the spirit of this age – is somewhat similar to that of the pagan Romans.  Today the tendency is to live within the self.  Just look at the top selling books at your local Barnes and Noble, even the Christian shelves are stocked with titles such as, “Your Best Life Now.”  This is nothing other than a new monasticism.  Rather than retreating into the monastery where imaginary good works were done for one’s own spiritual edification and salvation, now, Christians retreat to the care of self at expense of the care – read caritas and diakonia, mercy – of the neighbor.  To be sure, the secular world has myriads of charity organizations.  But, I would argue, that were it not for the life of Christ and the work of mercy done by the early Christians (where Christ is living in and through His Church) there would be no concept or glimmer of mercy in any meaningful capacity in the world around us, even to this day.  This is not to say that the evolutionist, humanistic (nominally - or even hard-core) secularist has no morals, is amoral or is incapable of morality.  We would be ridiculous to argue otherwise.  But the question must be asked: if there is no objective standard, no transcendant authority, where and who - does the standard come from?  If all we are is atomic particles in the wind - and all the universe is, is randomly molecules, and if survival of the fittest is really pushed to its logical conclusion - where is the motivation, the foundation, the goal and the purpose of morality, much less mercy to the neighbor in need?  There is a necessary distinction between secular and divine morality (a longer topic for another day).  As Lewis mentions in Mere Christianity the person who makes the claim that he believes in no objective moral authority will, in the next breath, deny that when you cut him in line on the bus.  Where will the standard come from - inside or outside of us?

A particularly insightful example of this kind of philosophy can be found in ancient Rome: when epidemics broke out they were the first ones to flee.  It was the Christians that stayed, even to their own risk, in order to help others in need.  Mercy is simply not in the secular vocabulary.  Just look at the language of materialism and atheism (i.e. look no further than Communist regimes the world over!)  To speak of misery and suffering we must speak clearly and candidly about the origin of suffering, misery and death.  Secularism – and pure materialism – cannot and will not entertain such discussions.  In fact, Christians are in the best possible situation to give a foundation for understanding – not just the source of misery and suffering – but infinitely greater, the answer to such evil in the person and work of Jesus Christ who is the Great Physician of soul and body. 

Secular atheism and materialism provide no intellectual foundation for the combating of suffering, misery and death.  They have no meaningful categories to discuss the objective reality of “good and evil” or “right and wrong.”  To go back in history, Rome – for all the grandeur of their architecture, military prowess and socio-political/philosophical advances – had nothing to contribute to society by way of care for the needy.  Yes, the Coliseum was (and still is) an amazing feet of human engineering, but good luck finding a hospital along those finely constructed Roman roads.  What few hospitals they did have were primarily for soldiers.  It was the Christian Church that filled the void by caring for the poor, sick, needy, widows, orphans and the dying by establishing the diakonia (Acts 6), lists of poor and needy in their congregation (matriculum), hospitals, nursing homes, orphanages, care the for the mentally ill – the list is overwhelming and comprehensive, not to mention merciful.  For centuries – from Acts 6 to the YMCA – Christians have been on the forefront of showing mercy and caring for those in need, living in the good works that Christ has prepared for them (Ephesians 2) and along the way many have seen their good deeds and glorified their Father who is in heaven (Matthew 5).

Because Christ has set us free, faithful Christians throughout the centuries have taken Jesus’ words in Matthew seriously: “For I was hungry and you gave Me food; I was thirsty and you gave Me drink; I was a stranger and you took Me in; I was naked and you clothed Me; I was sick and you visited Me; I was in prison and you came to Me.’ “Then the righteous will answer Him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see You hungry and feed You, or thirsty and give You drink? When did we see You a stranger and take You in, or naked and clothe You? Or when did we see You sick, or in prison, and come to You?’ And the King will answer and say to them, ‘Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me.’ (Matthew 25).  Notice the righteous have no idea that they were serving Jesus.  That’s the way mercy works.  It just happens.  How can you not help but serve, love and care for the neighbor?  How can a good tree not do anything but bear good fruit?

Mercy, like apologetics is wholly predicated upon the truthfulness and saving efficacy of who Christ is and what He has done on the cross to save sinners from sin, death and hell.  And although mercy – like apologetics is not the Gospel – it is never divorced from the Gospel.  Just as the Gospel is never divorced from diakonia and apologia.  Otherwise mercy ceases to be the mercy shown in faith and apologetics ceases to be a defense of the faith.  Mercy is defined and embodied by Him who is mercy in the flesh for a fallen world.  Mercy is tangible, a means whereby God comes to help the helpless, the poor and the destitute.  Mercy is noticeable.  Merciful Christians stick out in this world and that’s a good thing.  The Romans sure took notice of those “pesky” Christians.

Today, an apologetic of mercy looks like this: a Muslim woman in Indonesia, ten years after the tsunami, saying to a LCMS relief worker, “You came back” – after all the other aid organizations had left.   An apologetic of mercy looks like this: a nursing school, trade school and an agricultural school run by the Malagasy Lutheran Church (Madagascar), an orphanage in the Kibera slums of Kenya, dollars and people going to Japan in the wake of disaster, a hospital in the bush (wherever that bush may be!).  But an apologetic of mercy also looks like this: visiting the sick and shut-in at Redeemer, the youth making food bags for the homeless, the Priscilla Circle women making cards of encouragement and comfort for local nursing homes and I could fill the newsletter with examples that are presently ongoing.  What could be a better witness to a world so enveloped in misery?  An apologetic of mercy is done, not for mercy’s sake, not even for the sake of increased membership, building campaigns, community presence, or anything else, save that of Christ’s sake.  Christ is mercy and so is His church.  Christ loved us and we love you, “Go in peace, be warmed and be filled” (James 2:15-16)  It’s Christ working in His Church, in His people for the Church and for the world in need.  It is a clear witness through caring service.

[1] Schmidt, Alvin.  How Christianity Changed the World. p. 126. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2004.

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Lady Snail, The Church

In many ways the Church is rather slug - or better yet - snail-like.  Not in a culinary way (there is no Escargot Lutheran Church that I know of at least), but in some of her recognizable features.  It all revolves around the senses: you can touch, taste, see, hear and yes, even smell the Church.  This should come as no surprise for He who created her also came that He might be touched, seen, heard, tasted and even smelled - a pleasing aroma in the nostrils of the Lord.  And for you, a very present Savior in time of need.

"That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked upon, and our hands have handled, concerning the Word of life— the life was manifested, and we have seen, and bear witness, and declare to you that eternal life which was with the Father and was manifested to us— that which we have seen and heard we declare to you, that you also may have fellowship with us; and truly our fellowship is with the Father and with His Son Jesus Christ. And these things we write to you that your joy may be full." (1 John 1:1-4)

She leaves a trail - not of gooey slime - but a crimson pathway.  It's not that hard to find the Church in that respect, just follow the trail of blood.  It flows from the very killing fields that cried out for vengeance all the way to the blood that speaks a better word than Abel's - the precious blood of Christ, shed on the cross.   O, taste and see this fine, Crucified and Risen delicacy poured out in the shell and the chalice for your forgiveness.  From Genesis to Revelation - past, present and future - this trail of blood leads to the cross and flows out from it - or rather - to the One Crucified upon that cruel spit.  Her suffering is as recognizable as the freshly spread glimmer of the snail-trail upon the dewy sidewalk.  Stephen and the saints under the altar - that is, in, with and under the Lamb who stands and yet is slain - continue to cry out: "O Lord, how long before you will judge and avenge our blood on those who dwell on the earth (Revelation 6:10).

But the martyrs who rest from their labors are not the only members of this Church.  As she carries around her home wherever she roams, so long His marks remain visible to all the world - there are martyrs among the living as well as among the dead.  And these faithful witnesses in the land of the "living" leave another kind of trail, a righteous witness to Christ and the Word.  In some of the most unlikely, inhospitable habitats, in some of the tightest spaces, there is the Church proclaiming her Savior - you can touch, taste, see, hear and smell Him in the midst of her - and leaving a merciful, visceral trail of good deeds so that all who come into contact with her witness would see their good deeds and glorify her Father in heaven.  And like any good snail or slug, she moves slowly, deliberately - not haphazardly  or wayward - but finally and sublimely cared for by the pierced hands of the Gardener, the Word made flesh, who cares for her, creates and gives life as she presses toward the goal.

Yes, so it's not a perfect analogy, but what is? 

A Salty City Full of Light

5^th Sunday after the Epiphany – February 6^th, 2011

Text: Matthew 5:13-16

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

            You have to appreciate the irony: the same week the government issues a warning about your salt intake is the same week you hear from the Gospel reading: you are the salt of the earth.  And though today’s Gospel reading offers us an opportunity for several sermons, I promise to give only one. 

            Although that hardly makes Jesus’ teaching any easier to understand.  Light of the world – now that makes sense.  But sometimes He says the strangest things:  “you are the salt of the earth.” 

            Salt was sprinkled by the priest with the sacrifices of Israel.  Whether it was a bull or grain offering it was seasoned with salt, consecrated with fire and given for the holiness of the people.  Salt purifies, sanctifies, makes holy.  Where there’s salt, there’s a sacrifice – better yet a covenant, a testament cut between God and His people to purify, sanctify and make them holy.  And where things are made holy, God is pleased by the aroma.

            And there’s no greater sacrifice than the one cut between God and man on the cross – in Jesus.  Crucified.  Broken.  Beaten.  Consecrated in the fire of God’s divine wrath a perfect offering.  To purify, sanctify and make us holy.  He is the temple, the priest and the Lamb all in one perfect fleshly covenant.  Jesus’ death is a pleasing aroma, a suitable sacrifice, acceptable in God’s sight.  There’s even salt – mixed in sweat and blood –sprinkled in Christ’s sacrifice, flowing from His cross to atone for the sins of the world – for your sins.

            No wonder the early church used salt at baptism – a liquid covenant cut with water and Word and Spirit – pure, sanctified, holy.  A touch of salt on the tongue, oil on the eyes and lips and forehead.  What a confession!  Salted with Christ in the font – Baptized into His death. 

            And here you are today, the baptized, the salted, His holy people, His kingly priests, lighting the world around you with His light.  Salting it with everything you say and do in this world.  This is why He was preaching to His disciples in the Sermon on the Mount – for their sakes, yes.  For the world, yes.  But for you as well.  To bring that Word of salt and light – Christ’s perfect sacrifice, the radiance of His salvation – to you through water and Word and Spirit; through absolution and body and blood. 

            You went into the water a bland, tasteless, lukewarm dead sinner and you came out covered in the pleasing aroma of Christ’s death and resurrection – a holy, priestly, salty, lighty, blessed child of God.  Sprinkled – not just with water – but with the Spirit – the Lord and giver of life - and wherever the Spirit is present, there’s Jesus.

            You are who He says you are.  His proclamation lights you up. His words salt you. Salt in all His saltiness. Light in all His brightness. 

             And being the salt of the earth carries with it a responsibility.  Christ seasons us with His sacrifice and then scatters us throughout the world as a preservative.  You are Abraham pleading for Sodom and Gomorrah; you are Noah building the ark while the world carries on; you are John proclaiming in the wilderness: Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.  The world exists for the sake of Christ’s suffering church; and the church salts the earth with Jesus’ salvation and lights the way to the Crucified One with cruciform mercy.  There’s no running away from who you are.  To reject this salt and light is to reject Christ Himself.

            If salt loses its saltiness, it ceases to be salt; it has lost its purpose.  Hiding the light is as absurd as salt losing its saltiness.  It’s worthless, thrown out.  Trampled under foot.  No such thing as unsalty salt or hidden lights or invisible cities – or Christless Christian Churches or disciples of Jesus who do not believe, teach, confess in thought, word and deed.  The congregation that fails to carry out its purpose – of preaching Jesus Christ and Him Crucified - ceases to be the church.  The lamp-stand can be removed. 

Which is why Jesus’ warning horrifies you.  Or that it doesn’t scare you, horrifies you more. 

            For you aren’t salty by yourself.  You aren’t a light at all. Not even a flicker or a pinch.  You are blessed, holy, pure, sanctified because He is all the blessedness, holiness, purity and sanctification you need.

            And wherever Jesus is…there’s His salt and light – His sacrifice for sins and His life of mercy for those in need.  Your sins forgiven.  Mercy shown to the poor, food to the hungry, homeless given shelter, compassion for the needy.  Jesus’ teaching and good works go together – like a tree and fruit; He is the Vine you are His branches, fed and nourished in the Sacraments to feed and nourish the world – to salt the earth.

 

            Wherever the church is there will be care for the poor and the sick.  Salt of the earth preaching and teaching – Christ Crucified for you.  Light of the world mercy and love – Christ Crucified in the neighbor.  You can’t have one without the other.  Jesus teaching – the doctrine and good works go together: faith without good works is dead and yet good works without faith are meaningless, empty.  And in Christ you have both – faith and good works.  Jesus is the flavor of our saltiness, the brightness of our light, the foundation of the city of God.  You are His blessed ones, a salty city full of light.

            So that the world out there would see your lamp and glorify Him - not you. This hasn’t been about you at all, but about the One who brought you out of darkness into His wonderful light - your Father in Heaven.  A city on a hill shines. A lamp on a lamp-stand gives light to the whole house. And salt, it gives flavor - Jesus flavor. His sacrifice.  His forgiveness. His eternal life.

            He’s your salt. He’s your light. Given to you in His gifts. Gifts which salt you, light you, holy you, priest you, to salt, light, holy, and priest for others.  A living sacrifice – that’s who you are, St. Paul says…a pleasing aroma… Philippians.    Through your sharing the Gospel and your life of mercy – the world sees the God who is merciful to sinners.  These sinners see your good works and come to see that God is also their Father. 

            It is good to bear abundant fruit in your life as a Christian, but it is far more important to remain in the One who is the apple of the Father’s eye.  It is good to let your light shine before men, but it is far better to be sheltered under the shadow of your Father’s wing.  It is good to strive with all your might to keep the commandments of God, but it is of everlasting importance to know that all the commandments of God have already been kept for you by Christ.

            And so today, He sends you from here, given to, lit up with His light, and forgiven. His salt. His light.  Shining when you aren’t even trying to shine and salting everything you say and do with His Cross.  For the same lips that salt and light the earth are the same lips preserved by His New Testament.  Jesus’ great and never-ending covenant in His own body and blood – sprinkled – no, poured out, given and shed for you.  Pure.  Holy.  Forgiven.  Come, eat and drink.  See His good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.

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