Two Wisdoms

There are two kinds of wisdom – wisdom “from above” and wisdom “from below.” Heavenly wisdom and earthly wisdom. James is speaking in the way of the Proverbs and the first Psalm. Two ways, two wisdoms.

The wisdom “from below” is an arrogant, self-centered sort of wisdom. James calls it “earthly, unspiritual, dark, and devilish.” We’re accustomed with that kind of wisdom. It’s “in our genes,” so to speak. It comes naturally to us. “Don’t get mad, get even.” “Do unto others before they get a chance to do unto you.” “Might makes right.” “Me first; look out for number one.” We know it all too well. The will to power, to control others, to make others bend their will to our will and our way. “My will be done,” if we could get away with it.

This is the wisdom that tends to run the world of business, the world of politics, and all too often the church as well. Envy over the position of others. Selfish ambition – crawling up the ladder while standing on the backs of others. And with them comes disorder and all sorts of evil. It’s quite amazing, really, how much evil comes out of our self-centeredness – looking out for good old number one. We steal, we kill, we lie, and we justify our actions saying “I’ve got to take care of myself.” We neglect our duties and responsibilities and call it “me time.” It shouldn’t surprise us. Jesus said out of our hearts come murder, adultery, immorality, theft, lies. He knew the condition of our hearts, turned inward on themselves. Self-absorbed, self-indulged hearts.

James, the brother of the Lord, knew it too. He was the bishop of Jerusalem, the pastor of the first congregation of Christians. He’s writing his flock scattered by persecution. He knew that in every baptized believer, there is still old Adam, demanding to have his own way, wanting to be in power, willing to cut down, destroy, do anything to get ahead. He recognized, like the apostle Paul, that the life of the baptized believer is anything but easy. It’s a war, an inner conflict between two entirely different persons – Adam and Christ. Our sinful nature and the Holy Spirit.

Paul put it this way in Galatians: “The sinful nature desires what is contrary to the Spirit, and the Spirit what is contrary to the sinful nature. They are in conflict with each other, so that you do not do what you want.” He goes on to describe the works of the sinful nature, and essentially gives the same list as James: “immorality, impurity, debauchery, idolatry, sorcery, hatred, discord, jealousy, rage, selfish ambition, dissensions, factions, envy, drunkenness, orgies, etc.” In fact, Paul is even harsher than James in his assessment. He says, “I warn you, as I did before, that those who live like this will not inherit the kingdom of God.” James puts it this way: Whoever wishes to be a friend of the world makes himself an enemy of God.”

We are plunged into a paradox. We’re supposed to be in the world, yet not of the world. We know that God loved the world in the sending of His Son, and yet we are told quite clearly by Jesus and His apostles Paul and James, “Don’t get cozy with the world.” The world doesn’t have God’s interests, or yours, at heart. “World” means the unbelieving world, the world that wants nothing to do with Christ, the world that hates the good news of sins forgiven for Jesus’ sake, the world that prefers false gods to the real One, idols instead of Incarnation, “spiritualities” instead of sacraments, self-help instead of dying and rising.

The Spirit we have from God, the Holy Spirit which is ours by virtue of our Baptism, is a zealously jealous spirit. He wants us all for God. He won’t share us with any other god. And while our envy works disorder and evil, the Spirit’s zeal creates order and good. He’s envious on our behalf, knowing that we are engaged in a struggle. It’s good news to know that the Spirit is not one to put to flight and run off when things get rough, but He engages the struggle, He is jealous for us, He is grieved when we don’t live as the free children of God that we are.

The Spirit of God teaches us that heavenly wisdom from above, the wisdom that is truly “spiritual” in every sense of that word, God’s wisdom. It’s the wisdom of the cross, the way of dying and rising. We heard it again in the today’s Gospel. “The Son of Man is going to be betrayed into the hands of men. They will kill Him, and after three days He will rise.” That’s God’s Wisdom Incarnate.

His disciples didn’t get it. They were afraid to ask about it. They wouldn’t get it. Instead, they resort to their own wisdom, their own way of thinking, and argued with each other about who was the greatest. Imagine it. Jesus speaks of His death and resurrection, and the disciples are bickering over who is the greatest among them. Who is going to have the top cabinet appointments when Jesus takes power? Who is going to get the most recognition for a job well done? Will it be Peter, James, John? Certainly not the bottom rung like Thaddaeus or Bartholomew or that tax collector Matthew!

We know that game all too well ourselves. We play it at work, at home, at church. Wherever two or three are gathered, there will be a power struggle.

Jesus sits down and teaches His Twelve, and us, a thing or two about greatness in the kingdom. It’s not about being first, but being last. Literally dead last. The lowest slave. The bottom rung. The servant of all. That’s Jesus’ place. He came not to be served but to serve and to give His life as a ransom, an atoning sacrifice, not for the religious and the good, but for sinners. Not a king crowned with gold sitting on a throne, but a king crowned with thorns hanging on a cross.

He took a little child and had him stand among all the big people. In Jesus’ day, childhood was not something idealized, but something you got through as quickly as possible to productive adulthood. Children were considered losers until they grew to pull their own weight. They certainly had no time to indulge adolescence. But Jesus identifies with the littlest of the losers and says, “Whoever welcomes one of these, welcomes me, and in welcoming me, welcomes the Father who sent me.”

No, that’s not our wisdom, is it? Coming in last. Identifying with the little. With those who have nothing and receive everything in trust. On another occasion, Jesus said, “Unless you become as a little child, you cannot enter the kingdom of heaven.” Childlike, not childish. Childish is the way of the old Adam – self-centered, bratty, all about me. Childlike is the way of Christ – trusting, receiving, becoming the least.

What causes fights and quarrels among you, James asks. The early Christians had fights and quarrels. Think about that. There has never been a perfect church, a pristine Christianity. Not even among the first believers. What causes fights, quarrels, divisions? What goes on inside us. We want but we can’t have. We pray self-centeredly instead of Christ-centeredly, and then we complain that we don’t get what we pray for. We make our alliances with the world, and we betray our baptisms, the mark of ownership God stenciled on us in the water.

There has to be a better way, and there is. The way of heavenly wisdom, the wisdom that comes down from above. Pure, peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial, sincere. It’s the way of peacemakers who sow in peace and reap a harvest of righteousness. It’s what Jesus called “blessed” in the beatitudes. Blessed are the spiritually poor, those who mourn, the meek, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, the persecuted.

The world cries out, “That’s the way of losers!” And God cries out, “That’s the way of life in Jesus.”

Now this is not something you wind up in yourselves. This is what Paul calls the “fruit of the Spirit” – love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control (Gal 5:22). As Paul says, “There is no law against these.” These are the fruit that happens when the Spirit of God has His way and we get out of the way. This isn’t something that you do to be saved, but something God does because He saved you.

It’s there in that tiny little word “grace.” “But He gives us more grace,” James says. Undeserved kindness toward the sinner. Forgiveness, life, and salvation. Gifts in abundance. It’s all there for you, dear child of God. Complete and perfect forgiveness for all of your sin. Life in abundance in the death and life of Jesus. His own Body and Blood to strengthen and sustain you. Where sin abounds, grace does much more abound. “He gives us more grace.”

This isn’t grace as in power to do good. This is the grace of the father who embraces his wayward, loser son in the hold of his unconditional forgiveness. This is the grace that seeks and saves the lost. This is the grace that invites the uninvited to the wedding feast. This is the grace that welcomes a little child as a picture of greatness in the kingdom of heaven.

This is the grace that embraced you in the poverty of your sin, your selfishness, your desire to power and control. This is the grace that picks you up when you are humbled, broken, kicked, stepped on. Grace. Amazing grace. Undeserved kindness toward an enemy. “While we were yet enemies, Christ died for us.” That’s the wisdom of God, the wisdom that comes “from above” – pure, peace-loving, considerate, submissive, merciful, fruitful, impartial, sincere. That’s the wisdom that is yours in Christ Jesus.

In the Name of Jesus,

The Implanted Word – Heard and Done

“Be doers of the Word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves.” But don’t kid yourself. You have to first be a hearer before you can be a doer. James would have us consider our hearing of the Word this morning. And our speaking. And our doing. The Word goes in, the Word goes out, and in between the Word does its thing. It’s a lot like breathing. Air goes in, air comes out, and in between, it does its oxygenating thing. In the next chapter, James will compare faith and works to a body and breath. Just as a body that doesn’t breath is dead, so faith that doesn’t work is dead.

But before James can talk about faith and works, he needs to talk about the Word. That’s because faith, like every other good and perfect gift, is from above. From above is where our new birth is, where our life is. We are born “from above” in Baptism, through water and Spirit. And this is, of course, God’s doing, as James says so well. (James is a better Lutheran than many seem to think.)

“Of His own will He brought us forth by the Word of Truth that we should be a kind of first fruits of His creatures.” You didn’t choose to be born of your mother, nor did you choose to be born from above. This is God’s doing, not yours. Never mind what all the “born-againers” say. They need hear James. And we do too, or else we will start patting ourselves on the back for making the “right religious choices.” The unchangeable Father of lights willed to birth us through the Word of Truth, through the Gospel of Jesus, so that we might be a kind of “first fruits” of the new creation.

The “first fruits” are the fruits that come first. The first tomato on the vine; the first apple of the season. More to come, lots more. A whole new creation is on its way awaiting the appearing of Jesus. But already now, as the old creation dies, there are the first fruits of the new. You. Us. Believers sprinkled like salt throughout the world to show the world that in Jesus there is life even though we die. It’s a privilege, a gift, by grace, undeserved on our part. All by the Word of Truth having its way with us – killing us, making us alive, drowning the sinner, raising the saint; killing sin, raising righteousness. It’s all God’s work, a good and perfect gift from the Father of Lights through the Son by the Spirit.

“Faith comes by hearing,” the apostle Paul wrote. “He who has ears, let him hear,” Jesus said. “Everyone should be quick to hear, slow to speak, and slow to become angry.” That’s sound advice for our conversation with each other. Listen first, then speak. As your teachers always reminded you, you have two ears and one mouth, so you should listen at least twice as much as you speak. And if that’s true for our conversation with each other, how much more true is it of our conversation with God. Quick to hear, slow to speak. Before we can exhale, we need to inhale; before we can speak, we need to hear.

Here’s where the problem lies. We’re born deaf to God’s Word. There’s a ringing in our our ears, the tone deafness of Adam’s rebellion that has tuned out the Word of God and put our word in its place. We don’t want to shut up and listen. We want our voices to be heard, our opinions to be registered, our protests to be duly noted. Before a single righteous word comesout of our mouths, a steady diet of righteous words needs to go into our ears. Unless the Lord opens our lips, our mouths will not declare His praise. Not naturally. Before we can pray, praise, give thanks, we need to be still and listen, hear the Word of the Lord. That, by the way, is why we don’t have “prayer and praise” services. We have services of the Word and the Sacrament, services of preaching, services where the Word is drummed into our ears.

We are that deaf and mute man in today’s Gospel, deaf to the Word, mute to praise. Unless the Lord grabs hold of our tongue, there won’t be any praise coming out of our lips. Only the usual stuff – cursing, anger, harsh words, vile speech, dirty jokes, gossip, slander, lies. Unless the Lord sticks His fingers in our ears and cries Ephphatha! they won’t be attuned His Word.

Quick to hear, slow to speak, even slower to anger. Anger is the static in our hearing. Interference. Ever worship angry? Did you get anything out of it? Anger is like the static on your radio, or that “snow” on your television (that’s right, I don’t have cable TV). Anger plugs our ears and fouls our tongues. It never works the righteousness of God.

Anger is what happens when we realize we are not God, that we are not in charge, that we are not in control. That ticks us off. Anger is our response to loss. We lose our car keys, and we get angry. We lose our health, and we get angry. We lose our loved ones, and we get angry. Why? Because we can’t deal with death and it’s dogging us every day of our lives. And so we sit and stew and all the while God is speaking.

Get rid of the filth and wickedness that clogs our hearing like a wad of earwax. The world James knew was full of it, and so is ours. We sadly underestimate the cumulative effect of immorality, of wicked speech, of loathsome lies that grind away at our faith. Don’t imagine that you can wallow in the mud and not get dirty or that it will just float off of you as though you were coated with Teflon. James is not speaking to the world at large, to all those evil “sinners” out there. He’s talking to the church, to baptized believers, warning them to put away the filth of the old Adam, just as the apostle Paul urged his hearers to put to death the sinful nature with its sexual immorality, impurity, debauchery, idolatry, sorcery, hatred, discord, jealousy, rage, selfishness, dissension, division, envy, drunkenness. Do you get the picture? We live with it every day. We see it on TV and in the movies. We have it drummed into our ears through the music of the streets. We read about it in our magazines and newspapers, and it’s plastered all over the internet, that great superhighway of information whose chief commodity is porn.

Don’t think for a second that you are immune. Baptism is no Teflon coating against the cultural muck and mire, but a call to struggle, to war against the blatant appeals to our own sinfulness. As our catechism says, we are called in Baptism to die each day to sin and evil desires, and each day to rise up from our Baptism to live as the free children of God that we are, to receive and embrace by faith the Word implanted in us that saves us, and by that Word to live before God in the righteousness and purity of Jesus. That’s true freedom, my friends. Freedom to live, to love, to serve. And it begins with hearing the Word. Ephphatha! Be opened.

There’s a kind of hearing that isn’t really hearing. Where the words go in and rattle around and nothing happens. Hearing without doing. Hearing without the expectation that the Word is going to do something. James compares it to a man who goes and looks in the mirror, and the instant he turns around, he forgot what he saw. Impossible for me, you say. Have you ever thought about the readings during the singing of the hymn and say, “Now what were those readings about?” Do you recall the readings of five minutes ago? Or the sermon. Or the liturgy. God is speaking to us, implanting His Word. And then it hits those dull, clogged up ears of ours, and nothing happens. Remember Jesus’ parable of the four kinds of soil – shallow, weedy, rocky. The seed is planted but no fruit. Only in the plowed up, ground up soil is there fruit in the end.

There’s another kind of false hearing and that’s being a critic of the Word instead of a hearer. It’s a professional malady among preachers who can’t sit still to listen to a sermon preached by another. But you’re not immune to it either. The old Adam is a critic of God’s Word, picking and choosing what suits him, always wondering, “Did God really say?” We hear, and yet in our criticism, we don’t hear.

Be doers of the Word, not simply hearers. That Word of God is the same Word that made all things, orders all things, sustains all things. That Word of Jesus is the power of God for salvation. Don’t think it doesn’t have power. Expect it to have power. Expect it to do things. It’s Christ in action. He is the Word.

The Word you hear, that takes hold of your heart, that plows you under and then lifts you up, is no idle, empty Word. When the Word of Christ says you are forgiven, you actually are forgiven. Now live as one who is forgiven. You get to do that. When the Word of Christ says you are free, you are truly free. Now live as one who is truly free. You get to do that That’s what it means to be “doer of the Word,” – to let the Word have its way with you so that it is God at work in you both to will and to do His good purpose and pleasure. The Word says “believe on Jesus Christ, trust Him with your life and death,” and the doer of the Word believes. The Word says, “Don’t try to bear your sins, atone for your sins. Confess your sins, and hear forgiveness.” And the doer of the Word confesses and hears.

The Word says, “Love as you have been loved by Jesus.” The widow, the orphan in distress, the least, the little, the forgotten of this world – love them as Jesus has loved you, in your littleness and lostness. Works of mercy. Christ is hidden in these little ones for you to serve, not in order to be saved, but because you are saved. He hung on a cross to free you and them. He opened your ears that you might hear. He loosed your tongue to speak and sing His praises so that others might hear and believe. You are the first-fruits; and soon to come the harvest of the resurrection.

Truly, He has done all things well, and you are in on the receiving of all He has done. Hear it, speak it, do it.

In the Name of Jesus,

Hard Words

Words. They don’t seem like much. Sound waves pushing on air molecules that bounce off each other like billiard balls and eventually find their way into ears and bounce off eardrums to make sounds. The right word at the right time can bring great comfort. The wrong word at the wrong time can deliver distress. With our words we make promises, we marry, we encourage, we hurt, we build up, we tear down, we destroy.

Words are what our Gospel text is about this morning. Words from the mouth of Jesus, who is the very Word of God in human flesh. Words that are Spirit and Life. Words of eternal life. Hard words.

Jesus had just finished delivering his words in the synagogue in Capernaum. He said he was the Bread of Life, living Bread come down from heaven, sent by the Father for the life of the world. And the people who heard him began to murmur and grumble at these words. Jesus said that the bread that he would give for the life of the world was his own flesh. And the people again grumbled at his words. “How can this man give us his flesh to eat?” Jesus said his flesh is real food and his blood is real drink, and whoever eats of him, believing in him, will live forever.

Now it was the disciples’ turn to complain. “This is a hard word,” they said, “who can hear it?” Not “hard” in the sense of difficult to understand. Jesus’ words were simple enough. Bread, flesh, blood, eat, drink. Simple, one-syllable words. Nothing hard about them. Hard in the sense that it is an unyielding, demanding, scandalous word. It resists any attempt on our part to make it soft and sweet and spiritual and sentimental. With this hard word Jesus brings us to the faith point. Either take Him at His word and live forever, or reject this “hard word” and die.

There are no other options. This may not be the most “marketable” Jesus, but He’s the only Jesus you’ve got. The only One who hung on the cross for us as our flesh and blood Savior. The only One who is Son of God and Son of man, who came down from heaven to be crucified and who rose from the dead to be glorified.

This hard word is also a rejectable wird. Jesus forces His word on no one. Many of his disciples withdrew after the Bread of Life sermon and no longer followed him. The miracles were fun and the teaching was great. But this talk of flesh and blood, of sacrifice, was simply too much. Not what they bargained for. Best go messiah shopping somewhere else. Judas, one of the chosen Twelve betrayed him.

The Father forces His Son no one. He force feeds no one with the Bread of Life. God doesn’t save at gunpoint. In love He sent Jesus Christ to die and to rise for the life of the world. And He invites the entire world and everyone in it to die and rise with Jesus. He offers, delivers, and applies Jesus’ death and resurrection absolutely free through the “hard word” of the Gospel. He even works in us repentance and faith, breaking down our hard-hearted unbelief and giving us the ears to hear this “hard word” and to believe it. But if after all that, you still prefer death to life, hell to heaven, soft words to the hard truth, God will give you that too. But don’t blame Him for it; it wasn’t His idea.

Look at OT Israel. God had chosen them in father Abraham and claimed them as his own people in Egypt. He brought them out of slavery. He protected and fed them on in the wilderness. He drove out before them all the nations that occupied their land. He gave them a land of their own. He was their God. They were His people. He chose them; they didn’t choose Him. And as the people stood at the threshold of the promised land, Joshua exhorted the people of Israel to serve the Lord who had chosen them. But if serving the Lord who chose and saved them was not their cup of religious tea, then they were free to choose from the menu of false gods, whether the gods of Egypt they left or the local gods of the Amorites. Notice their choice. It’s not choose YHWH or some other god. God isn’t one choice among many, like 57 flavors of ice cream. If you reject the only true God, then your choice is among the idols.

If not the one true God who chose you, then choose your idol. If not Jesus the Christ who died for your salvation, then you may choose the god of your damnation.

“No one can come to me unless it is granted him by the Father.” Not “enabled” but “granted.” Given. Granted. Being a baptized believer is not the outcome of enabled choices. You don’t decide to follow Jesus, you are given to follow Jesus. You were given to come to Him when He came to you in your Baptism and when He comes to you in His Word of Absolution and in the Holy Sacrament. It’s all a gift, and you are at the glorious gift-receiving end of all that God has to give.

“The Spirit gives life, the flesh is of no avail.” Our flesh can’t save us. Jesus’ flesh can, but not ours. Ours is dead. St. Paul says that nothing good dwells in his flesh. It’s set against the Spirit of God. It does the things that damn us: sexual immorality, impurity, debauchery, idolatry, witchcraft, hatred discord, jealously fits of rage, selfish ambition, dissension, orgies, etc. That’s a hard word to hear. We think we can shape this old flesh up, and do a little spiritual nip and tuck and present it to God, and He’s supposed to be thrilled at the makeover. Wrong.

“The Spirit gives life.” He’s the Lord and Giver of life. He’s the Breath of life that breathed life into Adam’s clay and our own. And here Jesus says, “My words, the words I have spoken to you, these hard words you find unbearable to your ears, are Spirit and they are life.” Do you want the Holy Spirit? Then hear Jesus’ words – they are Spirit. Do you want to live? Then hear Jesus’ words – they are life.

With His words He created everything, sustains everything, upholds everything. With His words, He heals the sick, raises the dead, causes the deaf to hear, the mute to speak, the blind to see. Jesus speaks a word, and a sick child is instantly healed 27 miles away. Jesus tells a paralyzed man, “Get up and go home,” and he does.

He says to you, “You sins are forgiven,” and they are. He baptizes you with water and His words and you are reborn. He feeds you His body and His blood with the words, “given and shed for you, for your forgiveness.” Hard words? You bet they’re hard. They resist any of our puny attempts to analyze or rationalize. They are to be heard and trusted from the lips of the One who died and rose for you.

Capernaum was a turning point. Many disciples packed their bags and left. They no longer followed Jesus. His words were too hard for them to hear, too much for their ears to bear. And does Jesus go chasing after them saying, “Please come back, you misunderstood me. Let me say it another way”? No. He turns to His Twelve, and He asks them, “You too? Are you going to leave too?”

It’s every preacher’s nightmare, you know, short of the nightmare of waking up on Sunday morning thinking it’s Saturday. The sermon that chases them away, the sermon they can’t bear to hear. The sermon that brings phone calls and letters on Monday morning. We pull our punches for fear of that, soften those hard words of Law and Gospel. Sweeten them. Tame them. Domesticate them. We do our hearers a great disservice when we do that. We don’t need religious mush in our ears, we need hard words that are Spirit and life.

Simon Peter makes the great confession. “Lord, where else are we going to go? Lord, to whom shall we go? You and you alone have the words of eternal life.” I appreciate the fact that these words of Peter are the generic alleluia verse that accompanies the reading of the Gospel. “Alleluia, Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.” We know that sometimes we don’t like what we hear, that it seems as anything but “good news” to our ears. Sometimes it’s almost ironic to say, “This is the Gospel of the Lord” when it hardly sounded like “good news.”

But that’s faith talking. Faith delights to hear even the “hard words.” Especially the hard words. Those are solid and sure words, as sure as Jesus is crucified and risen from the dead. You can take those words to the grave with you, and with those words, Jesus will raise you up on the Last Day. You can take those words of forgiveness, and use them against your sin. You can take those words of promise in Baptism and in the Lord’s Supper and trust them for all they’re worth. They are Spirit and life from the mouth of Jesus into your ears.

Hard words? Yes. Rock solid words – from Jesus to you, to save you.

In the Name of Jesus,

True Food and Drink

This four-week romp through John chapter 6 seems a bit like the TV show “24” which plays out a day in the life of a federal agent, one hour at a time. We seem to be going through Jesus’ sermon at the synagogue in Capernaum at about the same pace.

When we left off last week, Jesus had just dropped a whopper of a sentence on the ears of the Jews who had come to hear Him. He said, “I am the living Bread which came down from heaven; if any one eats of this bread, he will live forever; and the bread which I give for the life of the world is my flesh.”

Think about it. It was hard enough for them to hear Jesus say, “I came down from heaven.” Now He talks about eating His flesh, and if that weren’t scandalous enough, drinking His blood. Of course this starts a dispute. Last week the crowd was merely grumbling, mumbling under their breath. This week, they’re arguing, yelling out loud. “How can this man give us His flesh to eat?”

That’s a good question. I always smile a bit when I read that verse. “How can this man give us His flesh to eat?” I think John must have smiled when he wrote this. Every week John said these words in the midst of one of his congregations,”Take, eat, this is my body. Take drink, this is my blood. Given and shed for you.” John knew the answer, and so do you. How can Jesus give His flesh to eat? Answer: By taking bread, giving thanks, giving it to His disciples and saying, “Take, eat, this is my body.” That’s how.

Now you can’t blame Jesus’ first hearers for not getting it, because Jesus hadn’t instituted the Lord’s Supper yet. He was “priming the pump,” so to speak. Getting them ready, just as He prepared Nicodemus for Baptism by saying, “Unless one is born of water and Spirit, he cannot enter the kingdom of heaven.” God has a way of doing that – preparing people ahead of time so when the thing happens, everyone says, “Aha. So that’s what He meant.”

Now you don’t exactly win friends and influence people, much less hit it big in the polls, by telling them they have to eat your flesh and drink your blood. Generally, they lock people away who talk that way, or medicate them heavily. In fact, everything Jesus says in this morning’s reading is downright crazy, were it not true. His flesh is true food; His blood is true drink. The living Father in heaven sent Him. He lives because of the Father, and whoever eats Him lives because of Him. This is crazy talk; the talk of a mad man. Except for the fact that this same Jesus also died and rose again from the dead. And that being the case, we need to listen to what Jesus has to say, regardless of how crazy it might sound.

“Truly, truly, I say to you.” When Jesus says this, He’s not kidding around. He’s put His “amen” to it. Amen means, this is certain and sure. Listen up. “Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood, you have no life in you.” Wow! And just in case you are tempted to “spiritualize” this passage, or say something like, “Oh, Jesus really means that you’re supposed to eat His flesh and drink His blood “spiritually” through faith,” or something like that, Jesus does a little switch in verbs.

Up until now He’s been using the common word for “eat” (esthien), which could be understood in a figurative way, the way someone might say of a good book or movie, “I just ate it all up.” But now, Jesus switches to a different word for eating, which can only be understood in terms of the mouth. Trogein. To chew. To grind with the teeth. That’ll grind your molars!

John has a good reason for quoting this saying of Jesus. No one else wanted to touch. Matthew, Mark, and Luke wouldn’t go near it. But John heads straight for it. He has in view two groups. The Jews who rejected Jesus’ messiahship, and those who wanted to blend pagan philosophy with early Christianity into a kind of 1st century “new age” movement later called “gnosticism,” a kind of “spirituality” that said material stuff is bad; spiritual stuff is good. For the Jews, John is showing that Jesus is greater than Moses ever was. Moses gave manna; Jesus gives His flesh. For the “spiritualizers,” John is saying that Jesus is God in the flesh, a flesh that suffers, dies, and rises, and you commune with this God in the flesh in your flesh, namely with your ears and with your mouth.

Watch for the spiritualizers. They’re all over the place, and not just the “new agers.” You hear people say, “I’m very spiritual, but I’m not religious.” By that they mean they believe in some higher cosmic power but they don’t want to be troubled by messy things like church bodies and congregations. And they especially don’t want anyone telling them what they must believe.

It happens among us, too. The old Adam in each of us is very “spiritual.” He would love to put God up on some spiritual shelf, a God who has nothing to do with this messy world, a God who doesn’t get His hands dirty. A God who doesn’t have hands! When we say “spiritual” we usually have in mind the opposite. Spiritual not material. Spiritual not temporal. Spiritual not earthly. Spiritual not secular. Spiritual not bodily or fleshly. Spiritual not real or actual. You’ll recongize this as all sorts of ways of pushing God out of the picture.

You hear it when we try to organize congregational life. “Pastor, you tend to the spiritual matters, and we’ll worry about things like money and property.” But aren’t we all priests to God in the royal priesthood of Jesus Christ? And isn’t everything, including money and property, “spiritual,” in the sense that everything has eternal implications for our lives? Jesus said, “Where your treasure is, there your heart is.” Money is certainly a “spiritual matter.” Paul wrote, “Offer your bodies as living sacrifices….this is your spiritual worship.”

Remember, the Word became Flesh and dwells among us. The Son of God, eternally begotten of the Father, the second Person of the undivided Holy Trinity, became and remains human flesh and blood. God is man and man is God in Jesus Christ. The infinite God dwells in the finite Flesh of Man. And no place is this more evident than in the Lord’s Supper where Jesus gives us His flesh to eat as bread, and His blood to drink as wine, with His own words, “Given and shed for you.”

The bread is His Body, His flesh, offered up for the life of the world. Israel ate the flesh of the Passover lamb and of the sacrifices. They were in communion with that sacrifice, and through that sacrifice, with each other. We have more and greater. The crucified and risen flesh of the Son of God, of Jesus Christ. That is true food. Food that lasts forever. Food that makes you what it is, the body of Christ. Food that unites us as one. “You are all one body for you all partake of the one Bread.”

This bread which is the flesh of the Son of God you eat with your mouth. It all sounds rather crude to the spiritualizers, but let them dream and meditate and sniff their incense. Without a sacrificial death, there is no forgiveness, no life. Without the shed Blood, there is no cleansing from sin. The sacrificial death of Jesus, offered once for all people, once for all time, some 1970 years ago on a cross is yours in the bread which is His Body, in the wine that is His blood. You feed off His death and you live.

Drinking blood was strictly forbidden in the Old Testament. “For the life of the flesh is in the blood; and I have given it for you upon the altar to make atonement for your souls; for it is the blood that makes atonement, by reason of the life. ” (Lev 17:11) In NT Israel it is given us to do, “Take and drink. This is my blood of the new testament.” The Blood is the life of Jesus the Son of God. And He gives His sacred Blood for wine that you may drink and live forever. The pagans feed their gods; our God feeds us.

There is no other food and drink in the world like the body and blood of Jesus. All other food perishes and spoils; the Body and the Blood of Jesus conquered death, rose from the grave, and endures to eternal life. All other food and drink, you earn with your sweat and work; this Food and Drink you receive as a gift of God’s undeserved kindness. All other food and drink eventually dies with you; this Food and Drink raises your body from death to life.

This is how Christ abides in us, and we abide in Him. He is our Bread and our Wine, our Food and our Drink. His Body given into death to save us and raised from the dead to deliver us; His Blood that is His own life poured out for our forgiveness, are God’s banquet of salvation, the table He prepares for us in the presence of our enemies – sin, death, hell, the commandments that condemn us.

So away with those naughty splits of vaporous “spiritualities.” God has joined our flesh in Jesus, and He puts into our mouths true food and drink with the promise, “I will raise you up on the Last Day.” You can’t more spiritual than the words the Lord puts into your ears and the Body and Blood he puts into your mouth. Eat, drink, listen, and live.

In the name of Jesus,

Living Bread

Why eat? Silly question. Because we’re hungry, that’s why. Well, sort of. Hunger is a sensation triggered by a need. Or sometimes not. Your brain senses a need, and therefore creates the feeling of hunger. Sometimes our brains are out of sync with out bodies, and so we’re hungry when we don’t need food, or we’re not hungry when we do. We call that disordered eating.

Eating incorporates food into our bodies for health, for energy, for growth. Take a simple loaf of bread, for instance. All the energy of the sun, the nutrients of the soil, the vitality of the life of the grain is baked into that loaf of bread. When you eat it, you incorporate and release all that good stuff into your bodies. As the Wonder Bread folks used to say in their ads, “Building strong bones and healthy bodies 12 ways.”

“You are what you eat,” we say. I’m not sure what that means exactly. I think it’s supposed to mean that it’s good to eat good food, a version of “garbage in, garbage out.” But it’s not literally true. When I eat broccoli, I don’t become broccoli. When I eat a steak, I don’t become a cow. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. What you eat becomes what you are. All the proteins, vitamins, minerals, sugars, fats of your food become part of you.

OK, now that I’ve stirred your appetites a bit for food, let’s talk about another kind of food. Not the food that becomes what you are, but the food that transforms you, the food that gives eternal life. Of course, I’m speaking of Jesus, who calls Himself “the Bread of Life” and “living Bread come down from heaven.”

Spiritual food for eternal life. All your other food, you eat to your death. That’s the outcome of Adam’s eating the food that was forbidden. And each of us is part of that death. Wonder Bread may build strong bones and healthy bodies 12 ways, but it can’t ward off death even in the healthiest of bodies. Even that miracle manna bread couldn’t save the Israelites from death in the wilderness. But Jesus, the Bread of Life, is an entirely different food on our diet. He is the Bread that conquers death; He is the Bread that overcomes our affliction; He is the Bread that brings life out of His own death. He builds life forever one way: by His death and resurrection.

Jesus is the Bread of Life. As I noted last week, He is not the chocolate of life or the caviar of life or the cotton candy of life. He is not some little delicacy you nibble at once a month or so. He is Bread. Daily bread. The staff of life. That’s why the church never treated the Lord’s Supper as something “special,” but something weekly and even daily. Bread is ordinary, daily food, and without our daily allotment of the Bread of Life, faith will shrivel up and die and anemic death.

When your eating is out of whack, we call it an eating disorder. There are spiritual eating disorders too. I’m afraid there are many Christians who suffer a spiritual eating disorder. Imagine trying to live on one meal a week, or one meal a month. It wouldn’t take long for the weakness to set in. You’d die. Yet some try to live on a starvation diet of the Word and the Sacrament. We make excuses about there being “no time” for church, no time for Bible study, no time for daily prayer and devotions. Yet there’s always plenty of time to stuff ourselves with the world’s idea of food.

We have churches offering “happy meals” instead of the Bread of Life, entertainment instead of the Lord’s bounteous table, principles and purpose-driven programs instead of the Word the kills us and makes us alive. Unfortunately, our natural appetites are drawn to that stuff like a sweet tooth pulls us to the dessert bar and away from the bread line. That’s what happens when you have Adam’s taste for forbidden fruit. Real food starts to taste bland, dull, boring.

I’ve read how kids today prefer artificially flavored ice cream to natural. Fake strawberry tastes much better to the modern set of buds than does real strawberry. Artificial flavors pack more punch and tickle the tongue more than their real counterparts. We actually prefer amplified digital music to the sound of real instruments. Our ears are tuned to the artificial sound. The same is true for our spiritual tastes. Sugary, sweet sentimentality is so much more enticing than sturdy, crusty bread. The artificial flavors of religion with all its emotion and fantasy and self-improvement tickle our spiritual taste buds so much more than that humble, homely Bread of Life that comes down from heaven to nourish us in His death.

Bread doesn’t seem like much of a meal, does it? Hometown Buffet is more to our palate. We’d prefer it if Jesus had said, “I am the Hometown Buffet of Life” – I am whatever you want, as much as you want, whenever you want it.

Bread doesn’t seem like much of a meal, does it? Word and Sacrament don’t seem like much of a religion either. Remember the prophet Elijah, who traveled 40 days in the wilderness on bread and water. Ordinary bread becomes extraordinary food in the hand of God, joined to His Word that says to you “Take, eat, drink.”

When the Bread is the Son of God in the flesh, you have food you can find nowhere else. Notice all the “exclusives” in today’s Gospel. “For my Father’s will is that everyone who looks to the Son and believes in Him shall have eternal life.” “Everyone who hears the Father and learns from Him comes to me.” “No one has seen the Father except the One who is from God; only He has seen the Father.” No one but the Son of God can speak this way. And no one but the Son of God can make this promise: “He who believes in me has eternal life.”

To eat is to believe. To trust in Jesus is to live off of His life and death. To say, “Not my works, Lord, but your work. Not my sacrifices, but your sacrifice. Not my crosses, but your cross. Not my blood, sweat, and tears but your blood, sweat and tears are what save me from my sins, from my death, from hell itself. I cannot save myself. I can only dig myself deeper into my own grave. But you, dear Son of God, sent by the Father, you have become a human being, a man born of a human mother, to save my own wretched flesh from the grave. And baptized into You, clinging to your promise, I have eternal life now, and I have this promise that keeps me: ‘I will raise you up on the Last Day.”

Resurrection. That’s what Jesus, the Bread of Life, does that no other bread in the world can do. No other religious figure can make that promise. Only Jesus died and rose. And only Jesus can make this promise to His believers, three times in this morning’s Gospel: “I will raise him up on the last day.” That’s our Christian hope. Not that we have an easy and happy life; not that we are bailed out of every difficult situation that befalls us; not that we are successful at everything we do; not that we are spared every sickness or even death itself. But that Jesus, the crucified and risen One, will raise our bodies on the last day. Jesus is the Bread of Immortality – eat of Him, trust in Him, and you not only live forever, He will raise you from the grave on the last day.

Those who heard Jesus grumbled when they heard it. It wasn’t the grumbling of empty stomachs yearning for bread, but the grumbling of hardened empty hearts unwilling to receive the gift given. They grumbled over Jesus claim to have come down from heaven. They knew His father (so they thought!). They knew His mother and His family. They knew where He was born and where He grew up. How can He call Himself living Bread come down from heaven?

It’s the scandal of the Incarnation. God became man, a flesh and blood human being. It’s utterly scandalous to our reason, our senses, our religious sensibilities. It’s the first thing you have to deny when you want to write off Jesus. You must deny His Incarnation, that He is the eternal Word become flesh. That’s what is often missed at Christmastime. Christmas is about the Word becoming flesh and dwelling among us. God is now man in the Son. And the world is still scandalized by this today. Jesus the teacher, the family values policeman, the ethical philosopher, the moral example – all of these are perfectly acceptable to the world. But Jesus the Son of God, the infinite God in finite Flesh, the Word Incarnate – unthinkable! Islam denies it; Judaism denies it; Buddhism, Hinduism, and every other -ism all deny it. They have to deny it, because if it’s true that Jesus is true God as well as true Man, then they’re all out of business, which they actually are anyway.

Only the flesh and blood of God become Man can save your flesh and blood from the grave that is our lot in life. Only the blood of God’s Son can cleanse from sin. Only the flesh of God’s Son, offered up for the life of the world, can raise your flesh from the grave. Faith in Christ feeds on His death, much the way scavenger birds feed on roadkill. Jesus said of His kingdom, “Where the carcass is, there the vultures will gather.” Where the death of Jesus, there the faithful gather to eat and live off the one Death that brings life.

In eating, we incorporate all the energies and vitalities of our food, releasing them for our life. Hearing Jesus’ Word of forgiveness, hearing His word “this is my body given for you; this is my blood shed for you” and actually eating His Body and drinking His Blood, trusting Jesus through the gift of faith (and faith is a gift given by God, not the result of our doing), all the energies and vitalities of the crucified and risen flesh of the Son of God are incorporated into you. Eat this Bread and you have life forever. Eat this living Bread and He will raise you up on the Last Day.

With this food, you are what you eat.

In the name of Jesus,

More Answers Than Questions

Questions. The crowds have lots of questions. And Jesus has answers. And with the answers come much more than anyone would dare to ask. That’s how it always goes with Jesus. We come with our questions – sometimes curious, sometimes trivial, occasionally challenging or even doubting. And Jesus meets our questions with answers that go far beyond our small, religious way of looking at things.

Feeding the five thousand with five little barley loaves and two small fish was a genuine crowd-pleaser. They wanted to make Jesus a king by force. And so He withdrew to a mountain, slipped away from their political plans. His disciples left by boat and headed across the sea of Galilee. Jesus decided to go foot. Literally, walking on the water. Again, it was another “messianic sign” – Jesus walking on the Deep, Tehom, the swirling chaotic waters. The Lord of creation is free to walk wherever He pleases, even defying the “laws” of buoyancy.

Of course, Jesus walking on the water in the middle of the night scares the wits out of His disciples, but once they hear His voice, they were more than happy to take Him on board. So when they land on shore, Jesus is with them in the boat, which leaves the crowd a bit puzzled: The boat left without Jesus, and then it landed with Jesus. So the first question is a logical one: Rabbi, when did you come here? How did you get here?

Now, of course, the obvious answer is, “I walked,” but that would have raised more questions than answers, so Jesus just leaves that question aside. How Jesus gets from one place to another as irrelevant as how water is Baptism or how bread and wine are the Body and Blood of Christ. The Lord is free to do whatever He pleases with His creation.

Instead of satisfying their curiosity, Jesus pushes on the issue of faith. Where was there trust? Why were they following Him? What did they want? “Amen, amen, I say to you, you are seeking me not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves.” “You’re looking for me to fill your bellies with food, to scratch your needs, to put a bandage on your bumps and bruises. But I have so much more to give you than bread and fish. You’d be thrilled with bread and fish for life, but I have a food that will give your much more than a full belly at the end of the day.”

“Do not work for the food which perishes, but for the food which endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give to you; for on Him God has put His mark.”

There are two kinds of food: Food you work for, and food which is given. Food that perishes, and food that endures to eternal life. You know about the first kind of food. Food you work for. That’s one reason you go to work, to put bread on the table. That food goes back to the Fall in the Garden in Genesis: “From the sweat of your brow you will eat your bread until you die.” That wasn’t how it was in the beginning. In the beginning, food was fruits and nuts, gifts freely falling off of trees where nothing dies. There was the tree of life, from which one could eat and live forever. In the beginning it was all gifts and no work.

But disobedience and death changed the ecology and the diet. No longer fruits and nuts, now bread, food you work for, work that eventually kills you. Farming uncooperative ground. Fighting weeds, climate, bugs. Grinding grain. Kneeding dough. Baking bread. Work, work, work. Sales quotas, production schedules, budget constraints, government regulations, unreliable suppliers, dishonest business partners, lawyers, cranky customers, mean bosses, lazy workers, endless piles of paperwork. Ecclesiastes calls it “futility,” endless chasing after wind.

God has rigged it that way. He’s made work a sweaty, frustrating business, to teach us work is not the way to life. It’s simply work. We cannot work our way to heaven; we can only work our way to the grave.

The food we work for perishes. It spoils, it rots, it gets moldy and smelly. That’s why we have refrigerators and freezers. Our food is dead and slowly decaying. We’re just trying to slow the decay with freezing and preservatives. Even the manna in the wilderness was like. If you tried to store for the next day, except on the Sabbath, it rotted and was full of worms and stank.

The world is decaying, and all our work to “save it” can only delay the decay a bit. It’s all the death of Adam worked out in the cosmos, as Paul says, “The whole creation has been subjected to futility and decay.” All that doom and gloom stuff in the headlines – pollution, global warming, melting polar ice caps, you name it – it’s all part of the grand death that is the wages of sin. And there’s no turning the clock back, no undoing the Fall or its effects. Remember, God isn’t into rehab, but dying and rising. We can only manage the death, much like a hospice that doesn’t try to cure the patient but comfort him.

Our food is dead and we die along with. And even though the manna was wonder bread from the hand of God HImself, the people who ate it still died. A whole generation of Israelites. The bread Moses gave couldn’t save them from death, no matter how “miraculous it was.” Nor could the Law Moses gave save them. That’s our lot as sinners, no matter how “good” you might be. That’s what Paul means when he says, “The wages of sin is death.” You earn it with your works – all the ways you’ve trampled on God and on each other.

“But the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus, our Lord.” Gift not works. Free gift – undeserved, unmerited, placed into empty, dead, receiving hands. “Do not work for food that spoils, but the food that endures to eternal life which Son of Man will give to you.” Jesus promises a food that requires no preservatives, no refrigeration. It doesn’t spoil. It endures to eternal life. And guess what? It preserves the eater to eternal life too. Imagine that. A food that doesn’t spoil, and it prevents you from rotting eternally. Talk about “health food,” this has vitamin supplements and nutrition shakes beaten hands down! We spend oodles of money on “health foods” and “nutritional supplements,” and here is free food from the hand of God that preserves to eternity!

And yet the world, and even us, you and I here this morning, pay more attention to belly food than eternal food. We lavish more attention and devotion on our daily bread than on the bread of life. We’re more concerned about Sunday brunch than we are about the Supper of the Lord. We’ll point a good restaurant much more quickly and easily that the Lord’s Supper. Our taste buds are not naturally inclined to eternity.

Look at the Israelites. They were fed by God’s hand in the wilderness, and what do they want? The menu of Egypt – leeks, garlic, meat, wine. All that good stuff in exchange for what – freedom. That was the food of their slavery. Our appetites are not geared for liberty, and we’d be willing to sacrifice most anything for loaf of bread.

The food that endures to eternity is not a food you work for, but a food that’s given you free, gratis, from the Son of Man, from Jesus, marked in His Baptism as the Son of God and Source of salvation. Jesus alone, and there is no other.

But the crowds, like us, are still thinking about works. What must we do to be doing the works of God? Surely we must do something? “There’s no such thing as a free lunch,” as economist Milton Friedman once observed. “What must we be doing to do the works of God?”

Listen carefully to Jesus’ answer: “The work of God is this: That you believe in the One He has sent.” Not “works” but a singular “work.” And not our works but the work of God, the singular work God does. Faith is God’s work, not ours. It’s the work of God that we believe, trust, in Jesus whom He has sent. St. Paul fleshes this out completely in this one sentence from Ephesians chapter 2: “For by grace you have been saved through faith; and this is not your own doing, it is the gift of God – not because of works, lest any man should boast.” (Eph 2:8-9)

Any works you and I do, are built on the work of God in Jesus. It’s not our good life that saves us, but Jesus’ perfect life, His sacrificial death, His victory over the grave, all given to us freely as a gift and received through trust that God Himself works in us. Our work can’t save us, our bread can’t save us. Only Jesus has a work and a bread that gives life to the world. He is the Baker of a new loaf of bread, a new and mysterious manna. Not as Moses gave. Not as the Law gives. Only as the Son of God gives.

“What sign will you give us,” they ask, “that we should trust you. Moses had bread from heaven, what you do have, Jesus?” And Jesus has them right where He wants them. And us too. At the place where He gives Himself. The bread He gives is Himself. “I am the Bread of Life. Whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever trusts in me shall never thirst.” Jesus our bread; Jesus our drink. If you’re thinking Lord’s Supper, you on the right track. And we’ll get there in a week or so as we tour John 6. But today it’s about trust in Jesus and His work to save you. If you don’t get trust in Jesus right, you won’t get the Lord’s Supper right either.

And what is the sign He gives that we should take Him at His word and trust Him? Nothing short of His death and resurrection. That’s how this Bread of Life is baked – in the fiery furnace of God’s wrath against our sin and in the burning heat of His passion to save His fallen creation. Like wheat ground up by the mill and put into the fire, Jesus endured the cross bearing our sin in order to be our Food, the Source of life.

“I am the Bread of Life.” Bread. Not caviar, not chocolate, not a delicacy to be indulged in once and a while. Bread. Daily, ordinary, earthy food. Jesus is manna for sinners – those who hunger and thirst for righteousness. You, in all the ways that sin has left you empty and hungry. There is food that endures forever. A Bread that gives life forever. A drink that quenches your thirst and soothes your parched soul. Not “chicken soup for the soul,” but bread of life for your life. And it is free. Not earned but given, received.

That Food and Drink is Jesus Himself – Jesus in the Word, Jesus in your Baptism, Jesus in the Bread and Cup. Eat and drink, trust in Him, and you will filled with life forever.

In the name of Jesus,

Borrowed Bread and Fish

Borrowed bread and fish are a feast in the hands of Jesus.

John writes, “Sometime after this, Jesus crossed to the far shore of the Sea of Galilee.” The “after this” refers to Jesus’ healing of the man at the pool of Bethsaida. There with a word, He told a paralyzed man, to get up, and he did. It was a Sabbath, and so the religious confront Jesus. “My Father is always at his work to this very day,” Jesus told them, “and I, too, am working.” He said He was the Son of God, and He had the works to prove it. The confrontation ends with a question to those who would follow Moses: “If you believed Moses, you would believe me, for he wrote about me. But since you do not believe what he wrote, how are you going to believe what I say?”

On this question, John hangs the next thing, this morning’s Gospel. Jesus crosses the Sea of Galilee to the far shore, and a great crowd of people follow after Him. They had seen the miracles, how Jesus healed the sick, and they wanted more. Faith in miracles always needs another miracle to keep it going. You can pack a stadium full of people that way.

Jesus goes up to a mountainside with His disciple. Watch when Jesus goes up to a mountain. Sermon on the Mount, the mount of transfiguration, Mt. Calvary. God’s holy mountain. In our reading from Exodus, Moses and Aaron, Nadab and Abihu and the seventy elders of Israel saw God, and they ate and drank, and were not destroyed. Keep that one running in the background.

Jesus sees the mob coming toward them, and He tests one of His disciples. “Philip, where are we going to buy bread for all these people?” He says this with messianic tongue firmly planted in messianic cheek. He knew what He was going to do. He wanted to hear what Philip would say.

Philip fails the test. He thinks only in terms of dollars and cents and work. “Two hundred denarii, the wages of eight months’ work, would not be enough.” Philip can see only so far as his own work. Jesus has nothing whatsoever to do with it. And so we, in our practicalities, and our Monday through Saturday Christianity that has little if anything to do with Jesus. He’s for Sunday, when we have the time. The rest of the week is for work. He can heal the sick on occasion, but feeding a mob of five thousand hungry people is another matter.

Andrew has his solution. He co-opts a little boy bringing lunch home to his mother. Five little cakes of barley and two dried fish. How far can these go among so many, Andrew wonders. He fails the test too. Borrowed bread and fish in the hands of Jesus go as far as needed. And even more.

He has them sit down. John, who was there himself, notes that there was much green grass. Why the grass? Perhaps John was thinking about Psalm 23, the psalm of the sheep boasting of his good shepherd. ‘He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.” Good Shepherd Jesus is there to feed His flock, to prepare a table for them in the presence of their enemies.

Jesus takes the borrowed bread into His own hands, gives thanks, breaks it up and distributes it. Sound familiar? It should. It happens every Sunday here in church. What He did with borrowed bread there, He does here for us, and so much more. Instead of multiplying it, He amplifies it, gives more than we ordinarily receive with bread – His body sacrificed on Calvary for your sins.

He takes the bread and begins to distribute it, and the bread keeps on coming and coming. Bread in abundance, like manna raining down from heaven. He does the same with the fish. In the wilderness, Jesus was tempted by the devil to turn stones into bread to feed Himself. Jesus refused. To serve Himself was not why He came. And to destroy one thing to make another is not the way of God. He made the stones, and He makes the bread. He loves them both, and will not destroy one for the other. In feeding the 5000, Jesus multiplies the bread and the fish. That’s God’s way.

The rabbis said that when Messiah came, he would feed His people with bread from heaven. That’s the sign of this miracle, what this miracle is intended to show. The age of Messiah had come. The Son of God in the flesh had come. Bread in abundance. More bread than they could possibly eat. A perfect twelve baskets full of leftovers, doggy bags for the disciples. And fish too. At the Sabbath meal, you always ate some fish in Jesus’ day. (That’s how we later got fish on Fridays, by the way.) It was said that when Messiah came, the people of God would feast on the flesh of Leviathan, symbolized by a great fish. (Think Jonah here.)

What a day it was! The Lord on a mountain, green grass, five thousand eating bread and fish with God to their contentment. And twelve baskets full of leftovers.

The people said, “This is the Prophet who is to come into the world.” They got that part right. We’ll give them a B- on that. Jesus was indeed the one of whom Moses wrote in Deuteronomy chapter 18: “The Lord your God will raise up for you a prophet like me from among your own brothers.” Jesus is that Prophet, and more. That part the people got right. The next part they got terribly wrong. They wanted to make Jesus a king by force, and so Jesus withdrew again to a mountain by Himself.

If you want to co-opt Jesus for your own cause, if you want to call the shots with Jesus, you will do it alone. Jesus will have nothing to do with it. He knew what they had in mind for Him. When they heard “Prophet” or “Messiah,” they were thinking revolution, an armed revolt against Rome. They were thinking a Davidic king sitting on the throne of Israel. They were thinking, like so many deluded people today think, that God would restore the nation of Israel to its former greatness, establish the throne in Jerusalem, and reign over the world through His chosen Messiah. And they were willing to push the agenda along, if necessary. Make Jesus king by force. Take up swords and clubs and storm the gates of Jerusalem. Jesus knew what was on their minds, and He wanted no part of their plots.

The people wanted a bread king. We do too. On the promise of a chicken in every pot, universal health care, the end of world hunger and poverty, peace in the world, we would put most anyone in power, including even the devil, were he a candidate. Think of all that could have been accomplished by putting Jesus into temporal power. The end of hunger in the world. Bread for everyone. The end of disease. No health care crisis. No worries about AIDS or bird flu or whatever pestilence makes the headlines. Global warming? No problem when the Son of God is in charge. War in the middle east? The Prince of Peace can settle that.

We expect that of our religions too. We expect a solution to our problems, a quick fix to our hungers, fulfillment of our needs, a bandage for broken marriages, a chastity belt for our kids, chicken soup for our souls. That’s what we expect from God, and there are plenty of religious hucksters out there peddling you the snake oil of health, wealth, and prosperity all in the name of Jesus. And when we don’t find them, we move on to other congregations, other religions, other gods.

The sign of the bread and fish was a stepping stone to yet greater things. Jesus was indeed a king, but not the bread king the people wanted. A beggar king. Riding atop a borrowed donkey. Wearing a borrowed purple robe. A crown of thorns. Bearing your sin in His body on the cross. Behold your king. In Hebrew, Latin, and Greek nailed to the cross above His head: Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews. That’s how it is when the Lord is King.

What Jesus offers is not fast food, not a quick end to your hunger, nor a religious pill to pop when you are feeling bad. He offers to you a bread you can have from no one else but Jesus. The bread of His body broken for you in your brokenness; His flesh offered up for the life of the world. He offers you a cup of wine you can have from no one else but Jesus. The wine of His life’s blood poured out for you; cleansing you from all your sins. Borrowed bread and wine are a feast of salvation in the hands of Jesus.

When you leave here this morning, what will you say to each other? What will you remember? What will you think about on the way home? The hymns were hard? The church was stuffy? The organist dropped a couple of notes? Pastor didn’t bring his A-game this morning?

Try this: We ate and drank with God on His holy mountain, and He did not lift His hand to destroy us.

In the name of Jesus,

Behold! The Lamb of God

Abraham was right. That faithful old man, the “father of believers,” was caught in the deepest anguish of his faith when God stuck him on the spear-point of his order to sacrifice his son. Laden with wood on his back, the boy asked, “Father, where is the lamb?” With fire in his box – and in his own heart – and with the knife in his hand, Abraham was faithful.

Behold the Passover

God provided the Lamb for the burnt offering. And so that you and I and the rest of the world might not miss the Lamb or get muddled with the claims of a thousand and one other messiahs who promote themselves – willing to make us sacrifices to their ideologies and dreams – God took the pains to send John the Baptizer to point to Christ. John, that bony, strange, and brave man, was sent for your service. Let him do his divine service for you as you listen with due attention to his speech: “BEHOLD THE LAMB OF GOD wo takes away the sin world.” Follow the direction of his bony finger when he points to that burnt-offering sacrifice on the cross.

Contemplate that Lamb on the cross, the sacrifice offered once and for all time for our redemption. The fire of God’s wrath, fanned by his mercy and passionate love to be our God, roasts this Lamb. Stretched out on the cross, this Lamb is God’s embrace of the world of his enemies: He is our peace. Like a magnet drawing filings itself, this Lamb, when he is lifted up, “draws all men” to himself. Into himself this Lamb draws the poison of our death: his death is ours. When he dies, we all died.

The curse of death is everywhere in the world. It is in us too. The slavery of death causes us terror in our loneliness, fear in our boredom, anger and grief in our loss. That curse lives us not rest, no Sabbath. It hunts us down, drags us out of hiding, and snatches us away from all we love. Death and its curse dog our days mercilessly and mock our deceits of culture, religion, and civilization to escape them.

Contemplate the wounds

And yet Israel lived safely in its houses when death passed over the land. Hiding behind the blood of the Lamb, they could eat, talk to each other, and rise up to walk to the land promise to them. So you too hide yourselves in these sweet and glorious wounds of Christ. Look on the Lamb of God and consider.

On the head of the Lamb are the wounds that heal your minds in the heavenly joy of repentance. Learn to think with a new mind about God and yourself by contemplating the wounds of his head.

In those hands are the wounds that heal the works of your hands, making them fruitful again in the service of God and your fellows.
In those dear feet are the wounds that heal your straying feet so that you may walk with your Lord on the way of your Lord.

On that back are the wounds of stripes that heal all your wounds of self-inflicted flagellation or the blows you receive from the hostility of your fellow victims. Your backs are healed to stoop down and pick up on your shoulders the lost and the straying and the bruised among your fellows.

And from the side of the Lamb, where the spear of our curiosity about death, where the hatred and the violence of our hearts, are rammed deeply into his heart, there flows the mystery of the love of God. There flows the holy church, the mystery of the unity with God as she is bound together in cleansing and forgiving. Water from his death cleanses you in the baptismal washing and cools down the feverish conscience. Blood fills the chalice you drink that your mortal and condemned body, riddled with disorder, might be ordered sweetly again with God in forgiveness of sins that is lively and salvific. In those wounds you may hide safely from the curse and sin and death. From those wounds flows to you the life that is full of blessing, fidelity, and vitality.


Behold and listen

And now, look at those parched, chapped lips. No chap-stick of mortals can heal or soothe them, for in his mouth he suffers the cost of the scorn, the lies, and the blasphemous abuse of his Name. The healing comes rather from his mouth. He utters through those cracked lips the words that heal you – at cost to himself. He is the Author of those gracious words. Therefore, those words have authority – authority to heal you in and with and through those words. He heals not himself but you.

The first word

His first and last words are addressed to his Father and ours. First: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” He does not scorn us in contempt for our ignorance and willfulness. He does not wither us with words of disgust and revulsion. He does not drive back into our souls resentment, the bitter hatred we pour out on him. He embraces it all – and us – to himself, into his body to carry it all to the grave and bury it. The lethal, murderous hatchet is buried. It sinks deeply into his soul and by him the sin is extracted from our soul. We are delivered.

In his body – the body of Mary, of the Tree, of the Table – he carries the sin. But out of that body’s mouth he speaks the word of the forgiveness of sins, the word which creates his body, the church. And by that word he fills the church chock full of forgiveness of sins. Into that body, the church, created by his word of the forgiveness of sins, you have been placed for the daily and generous forgiveness of sin so that you may as freely forgive as you have been forgiven. As the forgiveness springs from the heart of God, you can freely and heartily forgive those who sin against you.

His first word opens the door to life forever. That word, hot with the fire and passion of God, welds us to the faithfulness of the Speaker, creating the faith that embraces him. That union of his mercy and our trust heals us forever in the eternal redemption.

and the last

And his last word, “Father, into thy hands I commit my spirit,” finishes what he began. At the end of his life and work he prays the prayer of his boyhood, the prayer he learned from the lips and laps of his parents. It was his “Now -I-lay-me-down-to-sleep” prayer. Having gathered us together in himself he lifts us up into the Father’s hands as he returns whence he came. With a loud voice he roars into our confused ears and minds what our end is. These words tell us where we are going. He carries us with himself. As he offers himself on the cross, he takes us along that where he is there we may be also. Without ceasing day and night, he who alone can condemn you rather prays for you.

Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world and hear the words of his prayer. His first word is your beginning, your origin, your creation anew in righteousness. His last word is the way you are finished out in perfection. It is the word of your destiny, the word that teaches you to die well, to end your life where it has begun: in him with the Father. Hold that cross before your closing eyes. By faith enfold in your heat this One who has enfolded you in his. Who dies thus dies well.

“Today you shall be with me in paradise.”

In between the first and last word of Jesus, those gracious lips of the suffering Lamb nurture our life for living. To the thief on his right Jesus speaks the word that gives courage to suffer with patience and with hope the rewards we receive for our wrong doing. This is no superficial smile, condescendingly turned to look at a wasted life, botched opportunities, and broken hearts. Here is no look of regret at a life that is full of plain evil and harm unleashed on others. Here is no sentimental muttering about the evil of the system as the painful, shameful verdict falls on the perpetrator of evil. Here is the deep and terrible truth about us who are the proper targets of God’s infallible detection system.

But the deep and terrible truth is caught up in a deeper truth and the terrible good. “Remember me, Lord,” is the cry of faith in the midst of pain – pain justly deserved and suffered. And we, with nothing else than death on our hands, are taught by our Lord’s words how to pray to and how to confess the truth. From our cross we learn to pray to him on his cross: “Lord, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Jesus, our Priest, says the AMEN: “Truly (Amen), today you shall be with me in paradise.” For his shame there is the gracious look, the beauteous word that covers the thief with glory. For despair and anger there is the life-giving promise. For the empty sorrow of regrets there is the vivifying hope, the root of courage.

BEHOLD THE LAMB OF GOD WHO TAKES AWAY THE SIN OF THE WORLD that you may be filled with patience, courage, and hope.

“I thirst!”

Do not trick yourself, or deceive yourself, or deprive yourself of the benefits of this Lamb by imagining that his pain and sorrow were somehow not real, as if God’s only-begotten Son would not (surely) feel the brute pain as you do. His is real pain – as real as his real death. He hurt. He died. And for hours, now, he had been, mocked and scorned. He was the Victim of coarse injustice. Physically he had been knocked around, whipped, and slapped. Now he is thirst:y: plain, burning, parching, painful thirst. Indeed, he thirsts for you salvation, too. We heard him say in last night’s Gospel (Luke 22) how he longed and thirsted to eat this passover meal (the Lord’s Supper) with his disciples. But his thirst is also plain thirst. Don’ t by-pass this plain pain. The recollection of it will sustain you at times when you are in plain pain. Remember his thirst so that you may know the thirst for the Holy Supper when you are in pain and the help offered to you seems as cynical and manipulative as the vinegar he received when he wanted a drink of cool water. Recall his pain with yours so that you may also learn to have pity on those of your fellows who are hungry and thirsty. In them, Christ, incognito, still cries out. “ I thirst”; he still waits for you to care for him in his pain with something other than vinegar.

BEHOLD THE LAMB OF GOD WHO TAKES AWAY THE SIN OF THE WORLD so that in your pain you may have the companionship of him who feeds you and the comfort of him who knows real and inescapable pain.

“Woman, see you son; son, your mother.”

However, the pain goes deeper than the body. Loneliness and lostness, division and separation, loss and rejection, conflict within the circle of family, friends, and loved ones are aches of the heart and soul, too. Mary was a Jewish mother. Can you imagine the confusion that could beset the mind of this pious and God-fearing mother when her son has been tried, deemed worthy of death by God’s law as a blasphemer, despised, and now killed on this instrument of damnation and curse? Her son had been generous and faithful, good and true. He had borne the stamp of divine pleasure in his conception, birth and baptism,. And now she watches this scene. What would you women think if this were your son? Would that now be the cause of confusion compounded? Would you not wonder: “What on earth is God doing?”

And then think of John, Jesus’ special friend. What do you do when you stand by and see a friend abused? How desolate John and Mary must have been. They are impotent sufferers, and silent. But in their confusion grieved by the loss of their love, they receive the look of tender love from his eyes. With the gracious look of the face of God who sets the solitary in families, who wraps in the care of his arms those devastated by death, he says, “Woman, see your son; son, your mother.” the separation in his death is the death to our separation; he gives us to each other as mother and son in the company of the holy church.

A pledge of peace from God I see
When thy pure eyes are turned to me
To show me thy good pleasure.
Jesus, thy spirit and thy word,
Thy body and thy blood, afford
My soul its dearest treasure.
Keep me Kindly
In thy favor, O my Savior!
Thou wilt cheer me;
Thy word calls me to draw near thou.
(“How Lovely Shines the Morning Star,” stanza 4)

BEHOLD THE LAMB OF GOD WHO TAKES AWAY THE SIN OF THE WORLD and from his gracious look and gracious words, receive “your mother” and “your son” in your family and in your church.

Look at him too when he must go alone, even though our closet attention to him cannot enter he terrible God-forsakenness. The depth of the abyss of hell and damnation, the wretched loss of God himself, is beyond our knowledge and experience. He alone goes to that far country. He has come from the secret heart of God. Now he opens up that secret.

“My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”

Angels sang at His birth. Angels came to serve Him in the wilderness of temptation. Angels came to comfort Him in His Gethsemanic sweat. But now there are no angels. Ten thousand times ten thousand of powerful shining spirits, faces ablaze with indignation, swords drawn and singing, mounted on steeds chomping at the bit and pawing the sky for release, would have swooped to work a rescue that would have made the most powerful cavalry charge seem like a twitch of the nose. But God looks down on this Man of Sorrows, Grief, and Death, and says to the angels who love to do His will: “Stand back. Do not raise a finger to help. Verily, do not raise an eyelash.”

And God Himself turned away.
The burden is the burden of the Lamb alone.

We are that terrible and lonely burden. He is the God who comes to us in our loneliness, forsakenness, and curse. Lost in the “non-place” of our aloneness, He comes to be our place. We cannot go to Him. He comes to us. He is the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world. Caught in the enchantment of our self-love, bound in the enslavement of our own sin, strapped down by the Law’s verdict of condemnation, and writhing in our shameful servitude, this Lamb comes to us. Well do we sing, “Blessed is He that cometh in the Name of the Lord! Hosanna – please save us.”

Enough of this religious prattle that speaks of our doing this and deciding that. First He comes to us. He helps us, not by stepping on us, and not by shouting out commands for self-improvement at us, but by coming, by stooping down even under us to lift us up on His neck. He humbled Himself and became obedient unto death – even death by the cross. We are His burden.


“It is finished”

He isn’t finished. You are not yet finished. But the work is finished; redemption is perfected and completed for you. The price has been paid, in full. Redemption by the Lamb has no missing pieces that you must full in. It is perfected in order to perfect you. By his cross he has brought joy to the whole earth; he is out to perfect you in that joy. He who won the prize and paid the cost through suffering and death speaks the word of the perfected redemption to you so that you may know what you will be like when he is finished with you.

Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. Adore him. Adore his cross. In him on that cross the perfection of heaven, with pure joy, is given to you. He was put to death that he might vivify his people.

MERCIFUL JESUS. LAMB OF GOD, look on us that we may cling to you, and in your mercy have our peace forever. Amen!

Kenneth F. Korby, ThD.

Wake Up, Jesus, We’re Drowning

God is God, and we are not God, and that’s good. We make terrible gods. Jesus is God in human flesh, and that’s the best of all. The Word became Flesh. The Son of God is also the Son of Man, and humanity never had it so good as when the Lord of creation became His foremost creature.

It was Jesus’ idea to go across the Sea of Galilee that evening. He knew the ways of the wind and the waves and the weather. He’s the Lord of creation, after all. Still He says, “Let’s go over to the other side.” He puts the disciples in a vulnerable position, a dangerous place where they would have to trust in Him. The disciple agree. They put Jesus atop a cushion in the back where He won’t get in the way of the fishermen, and set out across the sea.

The Sea of Galilee is tricky. Cool air from the Mediterranean whips through the mountains and mixes with the warm, humid air hanging over the lake. Storms can be sudden and swift. An evening squall breaks out. The wind whips and the waves break over the sides of the little boat. From the perspective of dry land, we might wonder what the big deal was. But this is a small boat on a big lake with a very big wind. Even the fishermen were anxious. They knew all about the sea; they’d had their share of near misses. Perhaps they had friends buried at the bottom of the sea.

It’s easy to trust Jesus when the water is calm, isn’t it? When all is right and well with your life. No winds, no waves, no water coming into your boat. Just a nice leisurely sail with Jesus. More of a cruise, actually. “Jesus, Savior pilot me,” means “Jesus, put wind in my sails so I can take in the scenery, do a little fishing. Jesus and me out on the water. What a great time that would be.

But here’s the deal. The wind the blowing, the waves are washing over the sides of the little boat, which is taking in water faster than the Titanic, and Jesus is sound asleep on the cushion in the back of the boat. The disciples wake Him up! All hands on deck. We’re going down if you don’t do something, Jesus. Teacher, don’t you care that we are perishing?

Don’t you care? Of course He cares. He came because we are perishing in our sin, drowning in our death, with a heavy millstone of the Law tied around our necks, pulling us into the deep. He cares all the way to the cross, where He slept in death, bearing our sins. Make no mistake about it, Jesus cares. Compared to His caring on the cross, a little old sinking boat is nothing. Child’s play for the Lord of creation. He can stop the storm with a one-word rebuke from His mouth. He’s the one who separated the waters above from the waters below, who ordered the sea and the dry land, who said to the waves, “This far and no further.” He could calm the storm in His sleep with one hand tied around His back, if He wills. Or not.

Don’t you care? It’s an indictment of motive. If Jesus cared, He do something. If Jesus cared He wouldn’t be asleep in a time of crisis. You’ve probably said, or thought, the same thing when life got a bit “overwhelming.” At least the disciples could see sleeping Jesus, and grab hold of Him to wake Him up. He isn’t quite so shakeable for us, is He?

Perhaps we’ve said it in our prayers or held it in our hearts. Why should He care for you, for me? Who are we? What does He owe us? We want Jesus to fix it, to make the bad, boogy men go away. Remember the boogy man when you were kids? We adults still have them, we just don’t call them that. Cancer, heart disease, death, the grave. Oh, the boogy men are as real as those waves washing over the boat. When the doctor says, “I’m sorry, there’s nothing more we can do,” then we’d like to give Jesus a shake on His throne in heaven. Lord, don’t you care that we perish?

He cares. He cares enough to lay down His life to save us. To die on a cross and rise from the dead. Think about it. You can afford to. You’re not in a sinking ship at the moment. If all Jesus had ever done was die on a cross and rise from the dead, that would have been enough to save those disciples on that little boat. Oh sure, the boat would have gone down, but Jesus would have gone down with them. And that makes all the difference in the world. When your boat goes down, He goes down with you.

It takes faith to say that, to trust that a sleeping Jesus can save you. He opens a sleepy eye and looks around at the wind, the waves, the water, the soggy, frightened disciples. And He says, “Shhhh. Be quiet,” the way you might speak to a barking dog. “Be still.” That’s all it takes. One little word, and the chaotic waters are calm, the storm is still. Mark says, “there was a great calm.” Peace. Silence.

Jesus looks His disciples in the eye. “Why are you so afraid? Don’t you trust me?” He’s asking us the same thing this morning. Why are you so afraid? Why do you live small and fearful lives? Why do you act as though a sleeping Jesus were a useless Jesus, or an invisible Jesus was an absent Jesus? If Jesus singlehandedly conquered sin, death, and the Law by dying on the cross, don’t you think He has everything else covered as well?

There was a remarkable sentence in this morning’s epistle reading. Ordinarily, in the Pentecost season, the epistle reading is running on its own. We’ve been marching through 2 Corinthians. Whether by design or accident or “holy luck, “ here it is: “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come! All this is from God who reconciled us to Himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation: that God was in Christ reconciling the world (the cosmos) to Himself, not counting men’s sins against them.”

Reconciliation. Making peace. Stilling the storm. Calming the chaos. Setting things in order. That’s what God is doing through His Son. Making things new. A new creation. Creation began with chaotic waters, and here the Lord of creation in the flesh, Jesus, sets everything in order again. He reconciles wind and waves and water and boat and disciples and they are safe because they are with Jesus.

Jesus draws their fear to Himself. They once were afraid of the power of nature, of the sea and the storm. Now their fear is directed toward Him. “They feared a great fear,” Mark says, “and asked each other, ‘Who is this? Who is this that even the wind and sea obey Him?”

You know the answer. He is the Lord, the eternal Son of God, the Christ, the Messiah of Israel, the creative Word, the Savior of the cosmos. No one else can rebuke the storm. No one else can speak to wind and waves and have them obey. There’s only One like this, and He happens to be the One in whom you are baptized, in whom you believe.

He wants your fear. “We should fear, love, and trust in God above all things.” What causes your heart to race; what keeps you up at night. He wants that fear. Don’t fear the wind, the storm, the tumor, the bullet, the burst blood vessel, the grave. Don’t fear what can only destroy the body, but cannot harm the soul. Fear God. Fear the Son of God, for He will swallow up your fear. Who is greater than the Lord?

This miracle is an exceptional image, a piece of hard evidence, but it is not the rule. There are plenty of ships that go down into the deep. Some of them with Christians aboard. Airplanes fall from the sky. Tidal waves sweep across crowded beaches without warning. Hurricanes wipe out cities. Earthquakes turn solid rock to liquid. Wildfires roar through canyon communities. Bombs explode in crowded places. A chromosome has a tiny, devastating nick in it. A cell turns into a cancerous monster. Where is Jesus when all this happens? Is He asleep at the wheel? Does He care?

The answer is: He is there in the middle of all of it. Reconciling all things. Making all things new. Working salvation, making good. To see that and say that calls for repentance on our part, just as it called for repentance on the part of the disciples. A change of mind. A new way of looking at things. A turning from fear to faith. The same Word that stills the storm is the Word that forgives your sin and justifies you before God. You are safe, dear baptized believer. Safer than you could ever imagine. Safe in life and in death, when the winds and waves die down and when they don’t.

Imagine that you are out there on that stormy sea in the darkness. The wind howls, the waves wash over the side of the boat. You grab on to Jesus and say, “Lord, save us. We’re going to die.” But instead of rebuking the wind and waves, Jesus simply wraps those crucified and risen arms of His around you and says nothing more than this, “Don’t be afraid. It’s finished. You’re baptized into my death. You’re safe. Just trust me.”

That’s all you need to hear.

In the name of Jesus,

Small Sown Seed

You just know that summer is here. It’s hot and humid. The crickets are chirping late into the night. The smell of early fireworks in the air. It’s the “fourth of July” weekend and grills are ablazing. And we have parables.

Parables are a fun, subversive way to teach. Jesus used parables when people stopped listening to Him. Parables are earthy, everyday stories about seed and soil and grain and mustard plants that are little analogies for the very big topics of God’s kingdom, grace, and judgment. Parables require “ears to hear,” which is another way of saying “faith.” They invite you to trust in Jesus and to act on that trust in Jesus. And so this morning, we get a couple of kingdom parables for our consideration.

“This is what the kingdom of God is like. A man scattered seed on the ground.” Now the scattering was dealt with in the first parable, the parable of the four kinds of soil. There the sower sows the seed by walking along, reaching into a bag, pulling out a handful of seed, and scattering it all over the place. Some falls on the pavement, some among the rocks, some among the weeds, and some on the good, plowed soil.

The thing you notice right away is that the sower is pretty casual when it comes to sowing his seed. He doesn’t do any soil science. He doesn’t send off soil samples to some lab to see how receptive the soil will be and what the yield will be. He doesn’t count the seed, either. No measurements. He takes handfuls of unnumbered seed and scatters it all over the place, and doesn’t seem to care where it lands.

Now when you realize that the seed is the Word, who is Jesus Christ the Word in the Flesh, and the soil is the hearts of men and women, you start to get a picture of how God operates His kingdom in the world. He scatters the Word of Christ all over the place, without regard for whether it lands on good, productive soil, rocks, weeds, or hard pavement. And then the Word does His thing. Automatically.

Can you imagine a church that took this parable seriously? Can you imagine a church that sows the Word of Christ recklessly, without concern for where it lands? Can you imagine Christians going out into the world to proclaim Jesus Christ in their various callings, and not being terribly concerned about who hears it, or if they are “ready” to hear it, or if they will perhaps respond favorably? Can you imagine what would happen if baptized believers simply started sowing the seed of Christ’s Word?

Why don’t we? There are many reasons, I suspect. Fear is one. But the chief reason is that we really don’t trust the Word to do its thing. We have to help the Word along. Cultivate the soil. Do some digging and analyzing and weeding. Measure our scattering efficiency. But that’s not how things work in the parable. The sower sows his seed with a kind of joyful reckless abandon, and then when his seed bag is empty, he retires to the house, cracks open a beer, puts up his feet, watches a little tv. He sleeps, he gets up, he tends to his chores. And the seed sown in the ground sprouts and grows, and the sower has no idea how it all works. And he doesn’t have to know.

Our Lutheran Confessions say something similar when they speak of the ministry of the Gospel and the Sacraments. “Through these, as through means, the Holy Spirit works faith when and where it pleases Him in those who hear the Gospel.” How it works, we have no idea. That it works is all we need to know. And the Word does work. It never returns empty; it always accomplishes the purpose for which God sowed it. The Spirit works faith in the heart of those who hear the Gospel. The church’s task, our task together, is that people hear the Gospel. To scatter the seed. You don’t need to understand how it works. In fact, you can’t understand how it works. The seed just needs to be sown, that’s all.

The rest happens automatically. All by itself, without any input from the sower, the seedy soil produces grain – the stalk, the head, the full kernel, and then the harvest. But you’re not going to see any harvest if you don’t take the seed out of the bag and scatter it on the soil.

Seed left in the bag doesn’t accomplish anything. I had some grass seed that I tried to store. I was patching holes in my lawn and had some seed left over, so I put it into a dry, sealed container and left it in the storage shed behind the garage. Then I forgot about it. A couple of years later, I stumbled upon that container and opened it. Some of the seed tried to sprout, most of it rotted. There was a layer of mold on top. A bad smell came up. That’s happens when you don’t scatter seed into soil

The seed of the Word grows and produces fruit in being scattered – preached, proclaimed, spoken. It’s scattered when pastors preach and missionaries go out in mission. And it’s also scattered when you are scattered from here out beyond those church doors, with seed bags full of ripe, fruitful seed and God’s benediction. It’s scattered when you tell someone else about the hope that is in you, when you teach another about Christ, when you lead someone to righteousness, when you point someone to Baptism, to the Supper of Jesus’ Body and Blood, to the forgiveness of their sins. When you say to another, “Jesus Christ died for your sins, for your life, for your freedom. He has won for you the ultimate liberty – freedom from condemnation, from hell, from yourself.”

I’ve been thinking about these things this week. I’ve been thinking about why I decided to go into the ministry in the first place. I look back at almost 14 years in the holy ministry, and I’m wondering what was the energy that pushed me out of a very comfortable life in the laboratory out into the mission field of the world. And I remembered what it was. It wasn’t the chance to wear cool vestments or chant old liturgies or study venerable doctrines. That’s fun, but it wasn’t what propelled me. It was seeing the Word at work in the lives of people, literally killing them and making them alive. It was seeing that the Gospel really is the power of God for salvation, that it packs divine power to turn people from sin to Christ. It was being a part, an instrument, in someone’s rebirth to faith in Jesus. Seeing someone brought out of the darkness of unbelief into the light of faith. Conversions. That’s what propelled me into the ministry. As a pastor much of my work is trying to keep Christians Christian. It’s like the difference between planting a garden and watering and weeding it.

Conversions are what inspire a complacent and comfortable church, too. Nothing like a bunch of new converts to liven things up. That’s what happened to the church at Antioch, the church that sent Paul on his three missionary journeys recorded in Acts. There’s no harvest without some sowing of the Word, some scattering on hearts through ears. This past Easter we had no baptisms at our Easter Vigil. I don’t think we should be satisfied with that. We ought to expect a richer harvest. The Word works, you know. We need to be sowing that seed now if there’s going to be a harvest next year at Easter time.

The Word of Christ doesn’t seem like very much, does it? Not impressive as the world measures impressive things. But don’t be fooled. Seeds may be small, but they pack quite a punch. Consider the mustard seed, Jesus says. When sown, it’s among the smallest of seeds. Yet when it’s planted, it sprouts and grows into a bush that even has room for the birds.

The amazing thing about seed is that it’s all there in a tiny little nugget. Everything for a mustard plant is already there in the seed. When you plant a little mustard seed, you are planting the entire plant. There’s nothing more to add. Everything for your salvation – forgiveness, life, freedom, resurrection from the dead – is already fully there is that tiny little word of forgiveness spoken into your ears, that speck of Gospel read from a book, that splash of baptismal water, that tiny piece of bread and the small sip of wine. The seed of the Word is planted, and without out help, without our knowledge, automatically, all by itself, it grows. And what starts out as a small, insignificant planting – a seed dropped into soil – grows into something far greater than we could ever have imagined.

But first the seed must die. Jesus said, “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. “ He was referring to His own death on the cross. He is the promised Seed of Abraham, the Seed through whom all nations of the earth would be blessed. He had to die and be buried like seed in the ground. If Jesus hadn’t died, there be no fruit, no forgiveness, no life, no salvation. You’d be left to earn points with God and hope for the best. There would be no way out from under the Law. No fellowship with God. No freedom. No worship. Nothing but sin, death, and hell, had Jesus not died.

The seed needs to die, to be buried, in order to fulfill its purpose. Yu need to die too. Every day in your Baptism as that implanted Word has its way with you. You must die to sin, to self, to all the ways you try to be God. And each day you must rise up to new life in Jesus. Dying and rising is the way of the seed, it’s the way of Christ and His kingdom. Scattered seeds that die to live.

We might think we are insignificant here at Holy Trinity. A hundred or so believers gathered on a Sunday morning. Less than 0.2% of the population of Hacienda Heights. Mustard seed sized. I would remind you that the seed of the church, the first group of believers was only slightly larger – about 120. But the Word preached through that little church at Pentecost sprouted to a harvest of 3000 in a single day, and filled the Mediterranean world with the Gospel by the close of its century. Don’t think for a heartbeat that we are too small or insignificant.

Your bags are full of good by the Divine Sower Himself. Now scatter it. Fearlessly, recklessly, in the confidence that it will grow and produce fruit, all by itself, just as it has in you.

In the name of Jesus,