Sermon for Pentecost 16: "The Parable of the Gracious Vineyard Owner"

 +16^th Sunday after Pentecost – September 20^th, 2020 +

Series A: Isaiah 55:6-9; Philippians 1:12-30; Matthew 20:1-16

Beautiful Savior Lutheran

Milton, WA

 

 

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

 

A misnomer. That’s the word we use when a person, place, or thing is mis-named. Like when you haul out a few classics for family game night only to discover that Yahtzee is better called “Yelling and Bookkeeping.” Sorry…Hah! More like not sorry! And Monopoly is a good recipe for family fight night.  

 

That’s what we in Matthew 20, a marvelous biblical example of a misnomer. 

 

Most of our bibles call this story the Parable of the Laborers in the Vineyard. And while the laborers in the vineyard are an important part of this parable, they’re not the most important. It’s about the master of the vineyard.

 

Calling it the Parable of the Laborers of the Vineyard isn’t wrong, it just buries the lead; puts the emphasis on the wrong syllable. It’s meant to draw our attention away from our work and wages and the works and wages of others and onto the gracious work of the vineyard owner.  

 

As we’ll see, Jesus’s parable should really be called something like “The Parable of the Outlandishly Gracious Vineyardist,” or “The Parable of the Mercifully Unfair Vineyard Owner,” or “The Parable of the Outrageously Generous Master of the Vineyard.” 

 

For that’s what this parable is all about: God’s mercy, grace, and generosity for all in Jesus. It’s about God giving us all what we don’t deserve so that we all live by his grace in Christ.

 

Here’s how the story begins. “For the kingdom of heaven is like a master of a house who went out early in the morning to hire laborers for his vineyard. After agreeing with the laborers for a denarius^[ a day, he sent them into his vineyard. 

 

So far so good. This seems to fit our understanding of economics. A denarius was roughly a day’s wages. Put in your 12-hour shift. Clock in. Clock out. Get paid your denarius. That’s the way of the world. But remember, the ways of the world are not the ways of the kingdom of heaven.

 

Then, for whatever reason – maybe high yield, maybe a quick harvest was needed – whatever it was, the master needed more workers. So he goes to the local downtown market and offers to pay what is right. 

 

‘You go into the vineyard too, and whatever is right I will give you.’ So they went. Going out again about the sixth hour and the ninth hour, he did the same. That’s 12 noon and 3 pm in our reckoning. 

 

Later on…about the eleventh hour the master went out and found others standing. And he said to them, ‘Why do you stand here idle all day?’  They said to him, ‘Because no one has hired us.’ He said to them, ‘You go into the vineyard too.’ 

 

I don’t know about you, but this vineyard owner is a rather odd fellow. It’s the 11^th hour, 5pm. One hour to quittin’ time. And yet he goes out and hires more laborers. 

 

Here’s where the fun really begins. The vineyard owner said to his foreman, ‘Call the laborers and pay them their wages, beginning with the last, up to the first.’ So the 11^th hour workers get in line first. And to their surprise – and the surprise of the guys at the end of the line – they get a denarius. A day’s wage. Let’s say $120. $10 an hour. Pretty good, right?! Absolutely. Generous. Gracious. 

 

Now, put yourself in the sandals of the guys at the end of the line. They’re watching the foreman handout a denarius to the guys at the head of the line. And they’re thinking, calculating, “Whoa, a day’s wage for only an hour of work? That’s a denarius an hour. $1,440 a day. Sweet!”

 

But what did they receive? The same. Equal. They all received a denarius. And what was their reaction? We’ve all heard it. Thought it. Said it. “That’s not fair.” ‘These last worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the day and the scorching heat.’ 

 

They grumbled. Israel grumbled in the wilderness. The Pharisees grumbled against Jesus when he ate with tax collectors and sinners. They grumbled against the master’s generosity. “Listen buddy, “I am doing you no wrong. Did you not agree with me for a denarius?  Take what belongs to you and go. I choose to give to this last worker as I give to you.  Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or do you begrudge my generosity? Literally, Jesus says, they have an evil eye towards the master. They despise his generosity and graciousness. 

 

What does this all mean? Why does Jesus tell his disciples this parable? In part, to burst the disciples’ (and our) giant bubble of pride and self-righteousness. In the kingdom of heaven, there’s no room for self-righteousness, only the righteousness that comes by grace in Christ. That’s how we live, labor, love our neighbor – by grace in Christ. 

 

Remember the misnomer. It’s not about the laborers. It’s about the grace and generosity of the vineyard owner. The day-long laborers in the story get it all wrong when they start comparing their work and wages to the other laborers, especially those 11^th hour guys. So the disciples. So do we. 

 

So the last will be first, and the first last. That’s the key to the whole story.

 

For the ways of the kingdom of heaven are not like the kingdoms of this world. As Isaiah says, the thoughts of this gracious vineyard owner are not our thoughts. God does not reward the rewardable. He is good, generous, gracious. God shows his love for us in this, that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. The kingdom of heaven is not about our merit, earning, working, or any transaction with God. It’s not about how good or bad we think we are, or how good and bad we actually are. It’s not about us. It’s about the Gracious vineyard owner, which means this parable is about Jesus crucified for you.

 

It’s about Jesus who went to the cross that we who are last in sin and death might be made first in his life laid down for us. It’s about Jesus who labored on the cross from the 6^th to the 9^th hour, who bore the burden of our trespasses, and the scorching heat of God’s wrath – all for you. It’s about the generous vineyard owner who sent his son to be the true vine, and to stretch out his arms from the cross to this altar, this cup, this bread. To give you the wages – not of sin – but of his very life won for you. For all. Forever.

 

In the Name of + Jesus. Amen. 

The peace of God which surpasses all understanding will keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.

 

 

Sermon for Pentecost 13: "Where, When, Why, and How?"

 

 + 13^th Sunday after Pentecost – August 30^th, 2020 +

Series A: Jeremiah 15:15-21; Romans 12:9-21; Matthew 16:21-28

Beautiful Savior Lutheran

Milton, WA

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

Last Sunday we learned the “Who and What” of Jesus through Peter’s confession. “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” 

 

And now, as Paul Harvey used to say, for the rest of the story. The “Where, When, Why, and How?”

 

From that time Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things from the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.

 

Jesus must go to Jerusalem, to the seat of religion and power. He must suffer many things at the hands of the religious leaders – the elders of the people, the chief priests and the scribes. Jesus doesn’t simply say that He would be killed, but it had to happen. He must be killed. And on the third day be raised.

 

Here Jesus reveals the true nature of His mission. Why He was virgin-born. Why He was baptized in the Jordan. Why He performed miracles. Why He came – to suffer many things. To be killed – not accidentally but intentionally, to endure the worst of deaths, death on the cross for you!

And on the third day rise again. Don’t forget how shocking these words are tha It’s the most audacious of predictions. No one had ever risen from the dead on His own. Yes, it happened a couple of times in the OT when a prophet would raise someone from the dead, notably Elijah and Elisha. Jesus would raise three people from the dead in His ministry. But no one in His right mind would make the claim that he would be killed and on the third day be raised. This is what sets Jesus apart from all other “christs,” all other “messiahs.” He said he would die and rise and then did it. 

Peter, sadly, would have none of it. He pulled Jesus aside and rebuked Him, yes, rebuked Him. “Are you out of your mind? That’s not how you roll, Jesus! Suffer, die, rise. Are you kidding? That’s the last thing in the world that must happen to you! You need to start flexing your divine muscle. You’re the Christ, the Son of the living God. Christ’s don’t suffer; they end suffering. The Son of the living God doesn’t die. How can men kill God? We’ve left everything to follow you. Everything! The family business, our homes, our friends. People are going to think we’re nuts. So no more talk like that, Jesus! Not another word about suffering, dying, and rising.”

Before we’re too hard on Peter, remember that we’d have been just as outraged as Peter. Maybe even more. Who wants to hear about suffering, dying and rising? That’s not our way of doing things. We don’t want to deal with the reality of Sin in this world or in ourselves. Suffering and death are the result of Sin. We are reminded of our own mortality, and we don’t like it. And we certainly expect any respectable God not to get Himself mixed up in our suffering and death. And we certainly don’t expect the way of salvation to be the way of suffering, death and resurrection, but that’s precisely the way.

Peter the confessor became Peter the denier. Peter the spokesman of the Father became Peter the spokesman for the devil. This was not the Father talking, as it was when Peter confessed Jesus to be the Christ, the Son of the living God. This was the devil talking. “Get behind me, Satan!” Satan. That’s right. Satan was talking through the apostle Peter, tempting Jesus as he once tried three times in the wilderness. “You are not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of man.”

In other words, you are not looking at thing as God sees them but as man sees them, and that’s precisely the way the devil wants you to see things. Man’s way. Your way. The devil would have you trust your eyes rather than your ears, to trust your reason rather than God’s Word, to trust your senses and sensibilities rather than the One who came to save you.

This is about our cross too. “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.” “Follow me” Jesus says. It means follow Him through suffering and death and resurrection to eternal life.

A disciple is a follower. That’s what the word “disciple” means – one who follows another. Being a disciple of Jesus is about more than learning. It’s about suffering, dying and rising. It’s about denying one’s self and confessing Christ. It’s about losing in order to win, dying in order to live. To be dead to Sin about alive to God in Christ.

To follow Jesus is to be baptized into His death and life, to be joined to Him by Baptism in His suffering, death and resurrection. Your suffering and death can’t save you. They are the just wages of Sin. They are what Sin pays out in you. There’s no life there. But Jesus’ suffering and death lead to resurrection and life. And baptized into His suffering and death, you come into a life you can’t have on your own. This is how Jesus’ death and resurrection comes to you, in your Baptism. 

In Baptism you were joined to Jesus’ suffering. His wounds are now your wounds for your healing. In Baptism you were joined to Jesus’ death. His death atones for your sins; don’t you try to atone for them with your sacrifices. In Baptism you were joined to Jesus’ resurrection and life. In Baptism you were given a new mind, the mind of Christ, set on the things of God not on the things of man, given to embrace the mystery of salvation.

And this is how we live, in the death and resurrection of Jesus. 

In the name of + Jesus. Amen

Sermon for Pentecost 12: "Who is Jesus?"

 + 12^th Sunday after Pentecost – August 23^rd, 2020 +

Series A: Isaiah 51:1-6; Romans 11:33-12:8; Matthew 16:13-20

Beautiful Savior Lutheran

Milton, WA

 

 

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

 

In high school at Portland Lutheran, Mr. Thurman taught an elective for the school newspaper, teaching us the fundamentals of journalism: Who? What? Where? When? Why? And the bonus question - how? 

 

Those are good research questions for a news story. They’re also good questions to ask when reading the Scriptures. They’re same kinds of questions asked throughout Matthew’s Gospel.  “Are you the Coming One, or shall we look for another?”, John the Baptist asks. “Who is this that even the wind and waves obey him?”, his disciples ask. “Who is this who teaches with such authority?”, the crowd and critics ask.

 

Who is Jesus? That’s the question that’s been building like a tropical storm throughout Matthew’s Gospel. Only this time, Jesus leads the interview, man on the street style:

 

 “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?”

 

This is one of Jesus’ favorite titles for himself. It reveals his humility and his humanity, and his passion and suffering. The Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.

 

Not surprisingly, the disciples give several answers. Like today, 1^st century opinions about “Who is Jesus?” were like noses...everyone had one. “Some say John the Baptist, others say Elijah, and others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.” Others thought he would be a priestly or kingly figure. A warrior. The Son of David. Now, in a way, all of these Old Testament titles, offices, and expectations of the Messiah are correct, and are fulfilled in Jesus. That is, if viewed through the lens of Jesus crucified and risen for you and for the world. 

 

Like a good interviewer, Jesus asks his question a second time, more pointedly. Directly. He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?”  And now, we get to the heart of the question. Simon Peter replied, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” 

 

Here’s the climactic moment. The revealing answer to the question that’s been burning in peoples’ minds since Mary’s stomach started showing over 30 years ago. Who is Jesus?

 

The Christ. Now, the Christ is not - like I thought in grade school - Jesus’ last name. It’s a title loaded with more Old Testament meaning than a mile-long freight train rolling through the Puyallup Valley. 

The Christ is New Testament language for the Old Testament word Messiah. The Anointed One. Priests. Kings. Prophets. They were all anointed in the Old Testament. Set aside for a holy purpose. The Messiah will restore, redeem, and rescue God’s people. 

 

Peter’s confession reveals that the prophet who is like Moses, only greater, has finally come, not in the burning bush but in the flesh and blood of Jesus. The true King of Israel and Son of David who will rule on an eternal throne is here. The great high priest to whom Aaron pointed has come as the atoning sacrifice for the sins of the world. It all happens in Jesus, the Christ. Son of Man and Son of the Living God. All God’s promises find their yes in Jesus.

 

Now, does Peter understand all of this yet? No, of course not. He and the rest of the disciples won’t get it until after Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection. For it’s on the cross that Jesus reveals most fully how he is the Christ.

 

Still, Peter’s confession is glorious. And a divine gift. “Blessed are you, Simon Bar-Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father who is in heaven. 

 

This is how it is for all confessions of faith. For Peter. For you. For me. Faith and confession in Christ must be revealed to us. Given to us. Planted like a mustard seed. This is always God’s work. 

 

The other thing about a Christian confession is that it points away from ourselves - where we usually like to spend our time – to Jesus. This is one reason we confess one of the three historic Creeds of the church every Sunday. Confessions, like Peter’s, point us to Jesus crucified and risen. 

 

Then Jesus makes a promise. And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church. 

 

It’s a word play between Peter’s name which means rock in Hebrew and the Greek word “rock.” “You are Rock, and on this rock I will build my church.” Jesus builds his church on this confession of faith and on Peter and the apostles who are called to confess this faith and preach this faith. Christ alone is the rock, the chief cornerstone. Everyone else is built on the rock of Christ. Just as Israel was cut from the rock of Abraham and hewn from the quarry of Sarah. By grace, God makes us the wise man who builds his house on the rock of Christ’s death and resurrection, not the sinking sand of our sin and folly.

 

Jesus promises more. The gates of hades shall not prevail against it. That’s a strange phrase in our ears. We hear it and think the gates of hell are on the offensive, but it’s the other way around. Gates are defensive. Gates are often the weakest point of a city or fortress. Breach the gates and you win. When it comes to Death and Hell, Christ is on the offense. 

 

This is what Jesus is anointed to do, to storm the gates of hell. The gates of death. In Jesus’ death, the gates of death will not stand against him. For he comes in the power of his life, death, and resurrection. His is a victory that destroys death. Death is utterly, completely defeated in Jesus dying and rising for you. On the rock of Golgotha and out of the rock of his tomb, Jesus has taken down the gates of Hades. Ripped them off their hinges. Trampled them underfoot. Death is dead. Done. Sin, death, and the devil hold no more power. Not over Jesus. And not over you. This is what Peter’s confession means. It is the confession of Jesus who overcomes death. And in Jesus, you overcome death as well. No matter how bad it looks in the world right now. 

 

And he who holds the keys of death, also opens the way to everlasting life for you. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.” The cross of Christ is the key to paradise. Today. Death is swallowed up in victory. Today, heaven is open to you, and so is our Lord’s table, Today, Jesus, the prophet speaks his word. Today, Jesus the high priest prepares his sacrifice on the cross in a holy meal for you. Today, Jesus our king rules and reigns in bread and wine for your pardon.

 

Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the Living God, come to charge the gates of death to save you. That is who he is and what he has come to do for you.

 

In the Name of + Jesus. Amen.

The peace of God which surpasses all understanding will keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.

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. 

Sermon for Pentecost 10 - "Treading on the Water"

 + 10^th Sunday after Pentecost – August 9^th, 2020 +

Series A: Job 38:4-18; Romans 10:5-17; Matthew 14:22-33

Beautiful Savior Lutheran

Milton, WA

 

 

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

 

We tend to think of the sea as a place of beauty and peace. Beach towels and sand toys. Kites and bonfires. Maybe, like me, you enjoy the calming sounds of ocean waves, or a relaxing day at the beach. And it certainly is all those things. 

 

However, the sea can be both friend and foe. “Never turn your back on the Pacific,” my parents always told us on our trips to the Oregon Coast.

 

That’s a good backdrop for today’s Gospel reading, Matthew’s account of Jesus walking on water. Like last Sunday’s account of Jesus’ miracle of the feeding of the 5,000, it’s a familiar story. But this isn’t a story, like so many say, about Peter’s great faith, or how we should be like Peter and step out of the boat. If that’s the point, Peter failed and so do we. No. It’s a miracle story, that, like all of Jesus’ miracles, reveals his great power and authority. And more. It reveals Jesus’ great patience and rescue and saving love for foolish sinners. For Jesus’ miracles, like his parables, point us to the grand miracle of his death on the cross for us his resurrection for us.

 

Immediately Jesus compelled the disciples get into the boat and go before him to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds. 

 

Remember how the disciples wanted to dismiss the crowds before dinner? Not Jesus. He dismisses the crowds only after they’re fed and satisfied. This is how Jesus works. Compassionately. Selflessly. Placing the crowds and their needs above his own. And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up on the mountain by himself to pray. 

 

Meanwhile, the disciples are out on the sea, rowing their boat into the wind. Probably several miles from shore. Stroke after stroke, and yet the wind and waves prevailed. The harder they pulled the oars, the more they seem to be rowing in place. All night they row, row, row their boat. Until the 4^th watch of the night, Matthew says. About 3 AM. The last watch before dawn.

 

Then they look out upon the water and see a shape, a figure. And he’s walking on water. 

 

Now, remember, the disciples are sane, rational men. At least four of them are fishermen, no strangers to tough weather or the ways of the sea. Yet, notice how Matthew draws our attention to their fear. They’re not afraid of the wind and the waves like they were back in Matthew 8. They’re not afraid of the boat capsizing. Nor even of drowning (at least not yet for Peter). When the disciples saw Jesus walking on the sea, they were terrified (and honestly, wouldn’t we be too if we were in a boat, alone on the water, at 3 AM and we saw a figure walking towards us on the water!), and they said, “It is a ghost!” and they cried out in fear. They’re afraid of Jesus. Afraid of their own unworthiness in his holy presence. Afraid of the same thing we are. Death. A holy God and me, an unholy, poor miserable sinner. 

 

Jesus, however, answers their three fears, and ours, with three words of comfort. Be courageous. It is I, I AM. Do not be afraid. This isn’t Jesus’ way of saying, “Hey you guys” like the Goonies. No. This is Jesus invoking the divine name, I AM. As in I AM who I AM. YHWH. Jesus tells his disciples they need not fear because he is the Lord. Jesus. 

 

But just to make sure, Peter speaks up. “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” 

 

And Jesus says, “Come.” One word. But this one word is no ordinary word. It is the Word from the Word Incarnate, the Word in the flesh, the Word through whom all things were made, the Word that laid the foundation of the earth, that shut the sea behind its doors, that made the clouds, and said to the proud waves of the Deep “thus far shall you come and no farther.” So when Jesus says to Peter “Come” that’s all it takes to bring him out of the boat and walking to Jesus on the surface of the deep.

This is no small thing for Peter. Jesus’ disciples would not have thought of the sea, even a smaller sea like Galilee, as a place of peace and quiet, but peril and chaos. Being good first century Jews, steeped in the Old Testament, the sea was the void and abyss of chaos before creation. The sea was the place of the great Leviathan. A place where death and Satan dwelled. The sea was darkness. The abyss. The deep. Death personified. The sea could swallow you up and never spit you out again (remember the story of Jonah!).

 

So when Jesus treads over the waves and walks on the water, He is showing not only His lordship over creation but also His lordship over Death. He’s walking on the back of Leviathan, treading the old serpent underfoot. 

“Come.” So Peter got out of the boat and walked on the water and came to Jesus. But here’s the difference. We have no word from Jesus to do this. So don’t try walking across Commencement Bay. You have a different word spoken in the water of your Baptism. Justified. Declared righteous before God. Forgiven. Holy. And that word too does what it says. You don’t walk on water, you live in the water of your Baptism. Drowned in forgiveness. Buried with Jesus into His death. Living with Jesus in His life. And that is as sure as the word that propelled Peter out of the boat to Jesus across the choppy Sea of Galilee. Jesus’ word does what he says and promises. For Peter, and for you.

But when Peter saw the wind, he was afraid, and beginning to sink he cried out, “Lord, save me.” That’s our prayer too. “Lord, save me. I’m drowning. In fear. In sin. In death. In darkness.” 

 

And immediately (immediately!) Jesus reached out His hand and took hold of Peter. Freeze that moment in your mind. Peter sinking, panicking, praying “Lord, save me.” Jesus reaching out His strong and sure hand and grabbing hold of Peter. Who’s grip mattered most at that moment? Like Peter, Jesus is all we have, and all we need. He pulls us out of death by going into death for us.

 

I love how Matthew ends the story. Jesus gets into the boat with Peter. The wind stops. All is quiet. Peace. Calm. For Jesus was present. With his disciples. In the boat. And they worship. They confess. Truly you are the Son of God. It’s no accident that the inside of a church often looks like a ship. For Christ is with us on the sea. In the storm. Present with us. And with him, peace. 

 

Jesus comes to us in the fourth watch of our day, when we are weakest and most exhausted. When we can’t pull our oars any longer. When the depths of Death have had their way with us. And He speaks a sure and powerful Word to us: Forgiven. It’s the same Word that caused Peter to walk on the water will raise you up to dance on Death and the grave. Take heart. It is I. Do not be afraid. 

 

In the Name of + Jesus. Amen.

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

Sermon for Pentecost 9: "A Feast in the Wilderness"

+ 9^th Sunday after Pentecost – August 2^nd, 2020 +

Series A: Isaiah 55:1-5; Romans 9:1-13; Matthew 14:13-21

Beautiful Savior Lutheran

Milton, WA

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

Israel had been set free from slavery. They fled Egypt. Crossed the Red Sea. Their joy, however, quickly turned to grumbling. “Why did you bring us out into the wilderness only to die of hunger,” they cried out to Moses, and to God. Israel found themselves wandering in the wilderness feeling broken and feeble, hopeless, helpless, and hungry.

And yet, in his compassion, Christ provided for his people in the wilderness. Manna and quail rained down in abundance. 

Crowds of people fled their homes, villages, and towns. They came beside the Sea of Galilee hoping to see Jesus. To catch a glimpse, a word, a healing touch. And yet, they found themselves in a desolate place feeling broken and feeble, hopeless, helpless, and hungry.

And yet, in his compassion, Christ provided for his people in the wilderness. Five thousand men, plus women and children ate bread and fish in abundance. 

What about us? It may seem like we’re far from the wilderness, at least geographically speaking. Even in this pandemic we still have food to eat, clothes on our backs, shoes on our feet, and plenty of toilet paper. And yet, we find ourselves in the wilderness, in a desolate place. The wilderness of fear and uncertainty. The wilderness of disease and despair. The wilderness of sin and death. As we hear Matthew’s account of Jesus’ feeding the five thousand, we see ourselves in the Galilean crowds and the Israelites in the wilderness, feeling broken and feeble, hopeless, helpless, and hungry.

And yet, in his compassion, Christ provides for you, his people, in the wilderness. In spite of the way everything looks in this wilderness, Jesus saves you. Jesus provides for you. Not just for eternal life, but for this life too. Soul and body. Daily bread at your table and from his table in abundance. 

From beginning to end, this is a story about Jesus and how he provides for the people of God. 

When he went ashore he saw a great crowd, and he had compassion on them and healed their sick. 

“Had compassion” sounds rather ho-hum. No. Splanchnidzomai is the word. Jesus has a gut-wrenching, feel-it-in-your stomach compassion for the broken and feeble, the helpless, hopeless, and hungry. And for you. But compassion is more than a feeling for Jesus. It’s an action. He heals. Feeds. Later on he bleeds. Suffers. Dies. Rises. Forgives. That’s his compassion for you. 

Now when it was evening, the disciples came to Jesus and said, “This is a desolate place, and the day is now over; send the crowds away to go into the villages and buy food for themselves.” 

Now, it’s easy to be hard on the disciples. After all, it was evening. They were tired. Hungry. And no doubt asking themselves the same question this crowd and Israel long ago had asked. “Is this Jesus really the one God has sent to save us? How is he going to provide for us in the wilderness?” 

It’s a question that, no doubt, has crept into our minds a lot lately. Will this pandemic ever end? Will the insanity on the nightly news ever get better? Will kids ever return to school, and parents to work, and people to church? Will the Lord provide? Is Jesus really God come into the world to save us? Matthew’s answer is clear. Yes, Jesus will provide. Yes, in Jesus, God’s kingdom comes to you. But look at how he will provide.

It’s no accident that this story began with Jesus hearing the news of John the Baptist’s death. John’s death foreshadows Jesus’ death on the cross. But where John suffers innocently for the sake of the Kingdom of God, Jesus suffers innocently for your sake, to bring his kingdom to you. 

And isn’t that just like Jesus to go about his work of saving and healing and having compassion by doing it in the most unexpected, unimaginable kinds of ways. Dying on a cross to give you life. Becoming the disease of sin to heal you. Hungering and thirsting to give you eternally, satisfying food and drink in his own body and blood. Or, using poor miserable sinners and a meager fives loaves of bread and two fish to feed thousands. 

Jesus said, “They need not go away; you give them something to eat.” ¹⁷ They said to him, “We have only five loaves here and two fish.” ¹⁸ And he said, “Bring them here to me.”

The disciples look down at the bread and fish. Look out at the crowd and down again at the bread and fish. “That’s it? It’s not much. It’s not enough.” We come to our Lord the same way. Nothing in my hand I bring; simply to Thy cross I cling. Like the disciples, even our best works are meager. All I’ve got is Jesus’ Word and the blood of Jesus on the cross. And yet, Jesus will take our meager selves and use it all the same. Stuttering Moses. Denying Peter. Doubting Thomas. Fill in our names too. Five loaves. Two fish. Jesus loves taking the ordinary and filling it with his extraordinary grace.

In his compassion, Christ provides for you in the wilderness. Jesus ordered the crowds to sit down on the grass [do you hear Psalm 23 in the background?], and taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven and said a blessing. Then he broke the loaves and gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the crowds. ²⁰ And they all ate and were satisfied. And they took up twelve baskets full of the broken pieces left over. 

Jesus piles on his compassion the way we stack up our thanksgiving dinner plates. All ate. And not just a little bit. All were satisfied. And not just satisfied. 12 baskets leftover. Doggy bags for everyone. A superabundance. In a word, grace. 

Jesus transformed that little Galilean hillside into a banquet table. A table that stretches all the way back to Exodus and all the way forward to the Lord’s Supper and even into eternity, to the marriage supper of the Lamb. In the evening, the Lord rained manna and quail. In the evening Jesus fed the crowds. On the night when he was betrayed, Jesus took bread, blessed it, broke it, gave it to his disciples and said. Take, eat. This is my body given for you.

From the Galilean hillsides to the hills of Milton, Edgewood, Fife, and Puyallup, Jesus feeds you. Forgives you. Pours out his compassion upon you. In abundance. In Jesus you are no longer broken and feeble, helpless, hopeless, and hungry. In Jesus’ death you have life. In Jesus’ compassion you have comfort. In Jesus’ feeding of the five thousand you have his promise that he will provide for you in body and soul. Jesus healed and then fed the crowds. Today, Jesus does the same for you in reverse, he feeds you and then heals you. In his compassion, Christ provides for you, his people, in the wilderness.

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

Sermon for Pentecost 7: "Parable of the Weeds"

+ 7^th Sunday after Pentecost – July 19^th, 2020 +

Series A: Isaiah 44:6-8; Romans 8:18-27; Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43

Beautiful Savior Lutheran

Milton, WA

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

Chances are that when you pick up a new book and look at the dust jacket or when a friend recommends a new show to watch on Netflix, you ask, “What’s the story about?”

Jesus’ parables are no different. A sower, a field, good seeds, wheat and weeds, enemies, servants, and harvest time. What’s this parable all about?

It is a story about many things: trust, patience, and the Lord’s deliverance; the problem of evil and the end times. For such a short parable, there’s quite a lot going on. 

But the thread that holds it all together is the Lord’s patience and mercy, his longsuffering. You O Lord, are a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.

Keep those words in mind as our Lord explains the parable in more detail.

The kingdom of heaven is like a man who sowed good seed in his field. The man is the Son of Man, Jesus. The field is the world, and the good seeds are the sons of the kingdom.

²⁵ but while his men slept, his enemy came and sowed tares among the wheat and went his way. ²⁶ But when the grain had sprouted and produced a crop, then the tares also appeared.  Jesus tells us that the weeds are the sons of the evil one, and the enemy who sowed them is the devil. 

²⁷ So the servants of the owner came and said to him, ‘Sir, did you not sow good seed in your field? How then does it have tares?’ ²⁸ He said to them, ‘An enemy has done this.’ The servants said to him, ‘Do you want us then to go and gather them up?’ ²⁹ But he said, ‘No, lest while you gather up the tares you also uproot the wheat with them. ³⁰ Let both grow together until the harvest, and at the time of harvest I will say to the reapers, “First gather together the weeds and bind them in bundles to burn them, but gather the wheat into my barn.”  The harvest, Jesus says, is close of the age, and the reapers are the angels. Just as the weeds are gathered and burned with fire, so it will be at the close of the age.

The Son of Man will send out His angels, and they will gather out of His kingdom all things that offend, and those who practice lawlessness, ⁴² and will cast them into the furnace of fire. There will be wailing and gnashing of teeth. ⁴³ Then the righteous will shine forth as the sun in the kingdom of their Father. He who has ears to hear, let him hear!

Jesus’ explanation sounds pretty straight forward. But did you notice that Jesus interprets every part of the parable with two notable exceptions? He tells us what everything means in the parable – sower, seed, field, weeds, enemy, harvest, and burn pile for the weeds. But Jesus says nothing about the servants or their questions to the farm owner. There’s a gap in Jesus’ interpretation.

This is the genius of Jesus’ storytelling in the parables. Jesus wants us to see ourselves in that gap. Not merely as someone who reads this parable casually, but to see ourselves as the servants/farm workers in the story. The servants ask: Sir, did you not sow good seed in your field? How then does it have weeds?’ 

It’s an age-old question. We’ve asked it ourselves many times. Why is there so much evil in the world? If God is good why does wickedness seem to run amuck? Why are there pandemics and riots and racism and such senseless violence? Why are police officers and 2 year olds being shot in our city streets? Why is the world full of so much suffering, pain, and cruelty. And the list of whys could go on. What’s going on, Lord? Why are there so many weeds? 

An enemy hath done this. Our Lord creates. The devil destroys. The Lord wants only to be gracious and merciful. The devil wants only chaos and death. Jesus sows good seed. The devil sows weeds. 

Jesus’ words are a sobering reminder that in this life, there is no utopia. For now we groan along with creation, as Paul says, and eagerly await the resurrection. For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us. As we live in this world, or until Jesus comes again, this world is like the field of wheat and weeds, full of good and evil.

The servants ask the next logical question. ‘Do you want us then to go and gather up them up?’ So, what are we going to do about all these wicked weeds, Lord?”

The answer is a jaw-dropping, shocking surprise. “Let both grow together until the harvest.”  The Greek word there could be translated “let it be”, or permit it. It’s the same word used for forgiveness. What does our Lord say to do with all the wickedness in the world? Let it be for now. Forgive it. 

If it were up to us, if it were my farm, we’d probably burn it all down, pull up the weeds and wheat together and throw it all on the burn pile. See the problem? If we were in charge of the field, we’d have made a mess of it all a long, long time ago. If sinners were placed in charge of separating wheat from weeds, how would we know which is which and who is who? As Alexander Solzhenitsyn once said, “the line of good and evil runs through all our hearts.” 

So, what do we do about all the weeds? Ignore it all? No. Lament it. Call it for what it is. Repent of our own weedy, sinful hearts, and look to Jesus, the farm owner. He only sows good seed. And that’s exactly what he has done for you. He loves you. Forgives you. Shows mercy to you. He is patient, longsuffering.

Remember, this is a story about Jesus, the Sower, the Son of Man who came into the field of this world for you. He let all the weeds of the enemy surround him, lay ahold of him, and nail him to a tree. He bound himself to all the wickedness of our sinful, weedy hearts as and died in our place on the cross. And as he hung there for you, he endured the fiery furnace of God’s wrath that we might shine like the sun in the kingdom of our Father.

Remember the words of the Psalms: You O Lord, are a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.

And that’s what this story is all about.

In the Name of Jesus. Amen. 

The peace of God which surpasses all understanding will keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.