Visible & Invisible – Sermon on Matthew 18:1-11 for St. Michael & All Angels (Observed)

Matthew 18:1-11

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

In April 1961, the Russian cosmonaut, Yuri Gagarin, became the first man to go into outer space and orbit the earth. Sometime later, the leader of the atheist Soviet Union was on an anti-religion campaign. The leader said that they had been to space and hadn’t seen God. The conclusion he wanted people to draw was that this must be proof that God doesn’t exist. C. S. Lewis heard about this and wrote a short essay called “The Seeing Eye.” In that essay, Lewis shreds that argument. He says that looking for God in outer space is like reading every play Shakespeare wrote in the hope of finding Shakespeare as one of the characters.

Shakespeare is in every play he wrote, but he isn’t a character on the stage like Hamlet, Lady Macbeth, Romeo, or Juliet. God created the universe, so creation is the set. You could travel millions of light years and still be no closer to God than you already are sitting in this sanctuary. God is not an item to be found inside the universe He authored. We know Him because He has entered His own creation. The second Person of the Trinity became flesh and shed His blood to save it. Lewis named his essay “The Seeing Eye” because we need to be given one.

In our Old Testament reading (2 Kgs. 6:8-17), Elisha’s servant needed a seeing eye to keep him from despairing. All his eye could see was the human army surrounding him and Elisha. What he couldn’t see was that the mountain was already full of allies—the Lord’s horses and chariots of fire. When God gave the servant a seeing eye, nothing new arrived. The only thing that changed was that the servant could see the whole stage.

The Soviet leader looked at outer space and said God was not there. Elisha’s servant looked at the enemy and said they were finished. Both trusted eyes that cannot see the whole set. We just confessed what an opened eye sees: God the Father almighty, maker of heaven and earth, and of all things visible and invisible. The Nicene Creed names two realms in one creation—visible and invisible. The authors of the creed didn’t make this up. They got that from Colossians 1:16, which puts it this way: “By Him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible.” God gives us that seeing eye through His Word. Some things are real even though our physical eyes don’t see them. The invisible is not a different universe. There are not two creations. There is one. The Lord’s host that surrounded Elisha and his servant was notsomewhere else. It was on that mountain near Dothan.

Even though we aren’t surrounded by the army of Syria, the same angel hosts are present with us right now in this sanctuary. If God gave us seeing eyes, we’d be stunned, amazed, and, maybe, fearful (Dan. 8:16-17; Lk. 1:11-12, 29-30, 2:9; Mt. 28:2-5; etc.) at the number of creatures the Lord has surrounding us. We take attendance here each week. But the numbers on those slips of paper are always wrong. (No offense to you who have taken attendance.) Hebrews 12 says that you have come to Mt. Zion and to “innumerable angels in festal gathering” (Heb. 12:22). In other words, every congregation is a “mega church.” We just can’t perceive it, but just because we can’t perceive it doesn’t make it any less true.

Scripture calls the angels “ministering spirits” sent out to serve Christians (Heb. 1:14). In this Gospel text, Jesus says that the little ones who believe in Him have angels who always see the face of God the Father (Mt. 18:10). The angels are with us wherever we go because God sends them to guard us in all our ways (Ps. 91:11-12). 

These angels also worship God (Is. 6:2-3; Neh. 9:6; Lk. 2:13-14; Heb. 1:6), and fight on our behalf (Rev. 12:7-12). These angels are holy, which is why the Church calls them ‘saints.’ The word ‘saint’ simply means a ‘holy being.’ You are also saints, but in a different way than the angels. Angels have a holiness that is native to their being. God created them good (Gen. 1:31). You have a holiness as well, but you have a holiness that is bestowed, imputed, and given through faith.

Here’s the amazing thing: You are not less holy than the angels. Even though you have sinned, you through faith (Php. 3:9) have the righteousness of Jesus Himself (1 Co. 1:30; 2 Co. 5:21). The angels look at you and are aware of your sins. But when the angels see your righteous and holy status in Christ, Scripture seems to imply that their mouths drop in amazement (1 Pet. 1:12).

So, yes, it’s appropriate to call the angel Michael a ‘saint,’ just as it would be appropriate to call Gabriel or any other angel a ‘saint.’ But, Christian, you have a greater holiness than the angels because you have the righteousness of Christ through faith. They don’t.

That being said, we also know that not all the angels are saints. The devil led many angels in a rebellion against God. Those fallen angels are demons, and they hate us. A compelling argument for why Satan led this rebellion is that he didn’t want to be a ministering spirit. He hated the fact that we are made in God’s image and were given dominion over creation. That jealousy may have led to his rebellion. Scripture doesn’t say that in so many words. But what it does say is clear. Our fight is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, the authorities, the cosmic powers over this present darkness, and the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places (Eph. 6:12). All of those are titles for the demons.

In the prophet Daniel, the Bible shows that these demons can stand behind kings and nations. Daniel is told that the “prince of the kingdom of Persia”—this refers to a demon—withstood God’s messenger for 21 days until Michael came to help him (Dan. 10:12-13). From that, I think we can infer that the demons can stand behind organizations that promote abortion, groups that try to redefine marriage, many evil and oppressive governments, and all sorts of other groups that seek to destroy and deface humanity.

The demons also start false religions. In Galatians 1:8, Paul says that even if an angel from heaven should preach a gospel contrary to the Gospel of Jesus, let him be accursed. The false religion of Islam claims to originate from a message brought by the angel Gabriel. Mormonism claims an angelic origin as well. Both claim to have angelic origins, but both claim a different salvation. Don’t listen to them.

The same thing goes for worldly spiritualism. Ouija boards, horoscopes, psychics, and the use of crystals are not toys. They are not cute hobbies that try to manage the invisible realm. They are demonic portals. I’m going to give you an example. Just know that I am going to be vague on specifics on purpose to protect the identity of the people involved.

Several years ago, I got a call from someone late at night. This person had recently had a family member die in a tragic way. This person asked, “Pastor, is there a way I can talk to my dead relative?” I said there wasn’t and cited several Scripture passages as proof (Lk. 16:19-31; Lev. 19:31; Dt. 18:10-12; Ecc. 9:5-6, 10; Job 7:9-10; Is. 8:19-20). This person said that their significant other insisted that using crystals was a way to communicate with the dead. But I stopped this person right then. I said, “If you’re hearing voices while using crystals, you’re hearing the voice of demons.” There was silence on the other end of the phone. I asked, “Have you been doing this tonight?” “Yes.” So, I asked, “What did the voice say tonight that troubled you?” After a brief pause, the person responded, “How did you know?” Well, I knew because getting a call like that at 11:00 PM isn’t normal. And I know what Scripture teaches about the demons. They are real, and they will try to lure people into horrible things. I told this person to get away from their significant other. For the next several minutes, I heard this person walk out of the house, run outside, get into a vehicle, and another person pound on the window of that vehicle while screeching in a non-human voice. The entire time, I prayed for God’s protection and that the blood of Jesus would guard this individual.

For the next several weeks, I regularly talked with this person. Sadly, my contact with this person was received less and less. Today, I couldn’t tell you how this person is doing. Pray for this person.

I share this story for two purposes: First, to warn you. The demonic forces are real and they are active. They will do all sorts of things to lure you into their trap and influence. Don’t dabble in the demonic. Second, to prepare you. Even if you aren’t drawn to dabbling in these things, you probably know someone who is. You might be the instrument God uses to draw someone else out of and away from these demonic practices. Yes, the demons are real, but, God be praised, they are already defeated. 

Scripture is clear. The Son of God took on flesh and blood “that through death He might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil” (Heb. 2:14). Christ disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame at the cross (Col. 2:15). St. Michael and the angels do throw the dragon down. The brothers conquer him “by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony” (Rev. 12:11).

The demons do not get the whole stage. Elisha’s servant could only see the Syrian army. But the mountain was not empty then, and it is not empty now.

That is why, in this Gospel reading, Jesus will not let the disciples stare at a greatness they can see. The humble state of a little one who is dependent on another is the greatness Jesus points you to. Do not despise that dependence.

Dear saints, you are the little ones that Jesus talks about in this Gospel reading. Like that little child Jesus put in the midst of the disciples, you are dependent upon another—upon Jesus. God has sent His angels to serve you. They behold the Father’s face, and His face is turned toward you.

Christ has come for you. “The Son of Man came to save the lost” (Mt. 18:11; Lk. 19:10). The Author has walked onto His own set. He became the little Child in the center of all history and grew into the man who is crucified, risen, and returning for the lost.

Today, we thank God for His work through the angels He sends to serve us. And we praise Him because through His Word, your Savior has given you the seeing eye to know about the visible and invisible realities. The mountain is not empty. Amen.

The peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus (Php. 4:7). Amen.

Saintly Geometry – Sermon on Ephesians 3:13-21 for the Sixteenth Sunday after Trinity

Ephesians 3:13-21

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

When someone is learning to ride a bike, they need to learn how to balance, how to keep up their speed, and how to stop. Those are the most basic things, but they need to learn other things too. Another dimension of riding a bike is knowing where to look. If a rider looks at the wrong thing, it can lead to a crash. There’s actually a term for it—“target fixation.” Fighter pilots in World War II had to be taught not to lock their focus on the target, or they would fly right into it. Your hands follow your eyes. Pilots, motorcycle riders, and bikers are still taught the dangers of target fixation. A bicyclist has to learn not to stare at the pothole, the mailbox, or the parked car. If they fixate on the thing they are trying to miss, they will drift straight into it. Yes, notice potholes, mailboxes, and cars. Just don’t make them the thing you look at.

Here, the Ephesians are staring at a pothole. Paul, the man who brought the Gospel to them and founded their congregation, was in prison. He’s suffering on account of the Gospel, and they can see it. They see trouble and start doing what comes naturally to all of us. They get fixated on it and start to measure the trouble. How deep is the trouble? How long will it last? Will it spread? Will they also end up in prison? Or will they face something even worse?

Paul knows they are fixated on the wrong thing, which is why he writes, “Do not lose heart over what I am suffering for you, which is for your glory” (Eph. 3:13). Paul isn’t trying to put a positive spin on his suffering or make it sound like everything is just fine. He doesn’t deny it’s happening. But he doesn’t want the Ephesians to fixate on it. He refuses to let suffering be the only thing they measure.

We naturally measure our pain. We stretch our measuring tape across the height, depth, breadth, and length of our troubles. Then we let our hearts live inside those numbers. We could produce an exact 3D rendering of our troubles because we will fixate on them for weeks or months or years. It’s no wonder we keep drifting toward them.

Notice what Paul prays for here. He drops to his knees before the Father to ask for strength for the Ephesians and for you. He asks that, according to the riches of God the Father’s glory, you would “be strengthened with power through the Holy Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith” (Eph. 3:16-17).

The first thing Paul asks for is not that his prison door would open. He prays that the people who are worried about his imprisonment would be strengthened to measure something other than suffering. And the thing he wants them to measure is too big for a weak heart to measure. They will need some help, strength, endurance, and focus to measure Christ’s love.

Look at v. 17-19 to see the rest of his prayer. “That you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God” (Eph. 3:17-19).

God repeatedly does this in Scripture. There are several times God hands someone a measuring rod when things look hopeless. In a vision, Ezekiel is told to measure the Temple while he is in exile (Ezek. 40:3-5). Zechariah has a vision of a man measuring Jerusalem while it is still a pile of wreckage (Zech. 2:1-5). John is told to measure the Temple of God and those who worship there in the middle of tribulation (Rev. 11:1-2). When it would be natural to simply stare at the wreckage, God will tell people to, “Measure what I have claimed, even before you see it restored.” Here, Paul is handing you the same kind of rod.

So, here’s some saintly geometry for you. Four dimensions: breadth, length, height, depth. He wants them (and you) to measure the immeasurable love of Christ.

Measure its breadth. How wide is the love of Christ? His love is as wide as the world He died for. He is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world (Jn. 1:29) and the propitiation—the atoning sacrifice—for our sins, and not for ours only but for the sins of the whole world (1 Jn. 2:2). No matter how far you drift, Christ’s mercy reaches wider than your wandering.

Measure its length. How long has this love been after you? Paul opened this letter by saying that, from before the foundation of the world, He chose you in Christ (Eph. 1:4). Through every year you can remember all the way to eternity, He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ (Php. 1:6). This love was there from eternity past and continues with you until the Last Day. And even after the Last Day it doesn’t run out.

Measure its height. How high has He lifted you? You were dead in your trespasses and sins, but He made you alive together with Christ and seated you with Him in the heavenly places (Eph. 2:1, 5-6). Death looked like the highest wall imaginable. Christ’s love soared over it.

Measure its depth. How deep has Jesus come for you? He came all the way down to earth when He took on flesh for you. But Christ went deeper. He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross (Php. 2:8).

Already, that’s a lot of measuring, and it has only scratched the surface. Paul knows that. That’s why he says that the love of Christ surpasses knowledge. Did you catch that in v. 19? Paul wants you to know something that surpasses your capacity to know—the love of Christ. He wants you to be rooted and grounded in that love. Those words—rooted and grounded—are the right words here. A tree doesn’t study to get a degree in soil science. It simply lives in the soil. Christ’s love is the soil God wants you to live in. Sink your roots deep.

Paul says you don’t take this measurement alone but “with all the saints” (Eph. 3:18). You are not the first one holding the rod. The saints who have already finished the race are not measuring their troubles anymore. They are measuring His love, and they are not disappointed.

What he prays for the Ephesians, he prays for you. He asks that God the Father would grant you strength “according to the riches of His glory” (Eph. 3:16). This strengthening happens as the Holy Spirit gives you strength and as Christ dwells in your heart through faith.

And there’s no sugarcoating here. This doesn’t make the suffering go away. Paul was still in prison when they finished reading his letter. But this saintly geometry—the breadth and length and height and depth of Christ’s love—reorients you. Look there. Your heart will follow.

“Now to Him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, to Him be glory in the Church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever” (Eph. 3:20-21). Amen.

The peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus (Php. 4:7). Amen.

Defiant Joy – Sermon on Habakkuk 3:13-19 for the Fifteenth Sunday after Trinity

Habakkuk 3:13-19

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

“Be careful what you ask for because… you just might get it.” Habakkuk asked God to do something about the sin and violence that surrounded him. God did.

This reading from the end of Habakkuk makes more sense if you know what came before it. Thankfully, summarizing the book of Habakkuk is easy because it’s only three chapters long. The first two chapters are two complaints from Habakkuk (Hab. 1:2-4, 12-2:1) and two responses from God (Hab. 1:5-11, 2:2-20). The book concludes with Habakkuk’s psalm of praise (Hab. 3), which you just heard.

The book starts with Habakkuk praying and asking God to act. He had looked around at his land and countrymen and all he could see was violence, injustice, and sin. He cried out, “God, how long am I going to cry to You, and yet You won’t hear? How many times am I going to point out all the violence, but You don’t do anything? All I can see is sin, destruction, contention, and strife. The wicked surround the righteous. But You just keep twiddling Your thumbs” (Hab. 1:2-4).

God answered, but not in the way Habakkuk expected. God didn’t say that He would start a revival or send a spiritual awakening. Instead, God answered, “I’ll send Babylon, that bitter and hasty nation, with all their military might” (Hab. 1:6a). Then, God talks about how dreaded, fearsome, and violent Babylon is (Hab. 1:7-9). He highlights their pride and arrogance, how Babylon isn’t afraid of anything, and how they laugh at the kingdoms and castles they have demolished (Hab. 1:9-10). God even mentions that they are so prideful that they worship their own might as a god (Hab. 1:11). Babylon—a ruthless, pagan people—is going to be God’s answer for the sin and idolatry of His own people.

Habakkuk isn’t too keen on God’s plan. In his mind, that cure was far worse than the disease. He tries to get God to pump the brakes on His plan, but Habakkuk does it in an extremely arrogant way. He basically tells God, “This plan is no good. You’re too holy to use Babylon like that. I’m going to stand on my mountain of right and wait for You to change Your mind” (Hab. 1:12-2:1).

The majority of chapter 2 is God telling Habakkuk to wait, to trust Him, and to remember that the righteous shall live by faith (Hab. 2:4). He has it all under control, and He’ll deal with Babylon’s sins in His time. That leads to this final chapter, which is Habakkuk’s psalm of trust.

In a way, the whole book is about how God formed and shaped Habakkuk. He began as a man who thinks God is snoozing on the job and who arrogantly tells God, “You don’t know what you’re doing.” But Habakkuk ends up with this bold, confident trust in God’s plan. In a lot of ways, the book of Habakkuk parallels the book of Job. It’s like a bite-sized version—just without the boils and round after round of friends giving bad advice and offering sham comfort.

With that in mind, look again at v. 17 of our text. Habakkuk goes through this list of things that could fail. The fig tree, the vines, the olive trees, fields, flocks, and herds. To our modern ears, sure, that all sounds bad. To the people of Habakkuk’s day, it sounded like the end of the world.

That list of things that could fail crescendos. It doesn’t start out so bad. Figs were generally considered a delicacy, almost like a candy bar. They were nice to have around, but you can live without figs. No fruit on the vines means no grapes and wine. Wine was part of feasting, and it was mixed into ordinary drink. It was more common than figs, so more people would miss it, but you can live without wine. Olives are where things start to get more serious. They used olive oil to bake many things and to light lamps at night. Losing olives would almost be equivalent to your power going out. The flocks and herds at the end were the sources of transportation, work, clothing, and food.

Today, we have ways to adapt if these types of things disappear. The people of Habakkuk’s day didn’t. This isn’t just empty shelves at the grocery store. This is no planes, trains, or trucks coming with product from somewhere else. On top of that, there is no production from the fields. This isn’t just power lines being down and waiting hours or days for the electrical grid to be restored. This is the very plants and dams that produce electricity being destroyed.

This scenario Habakkuk imagines isn’t something you adapt to because every alternative is completely blocked. That kind of devastation would take years or even decades to recover from. Notice (this is important), this isn’t actually happening as Habakkuk sings this song. However, it is likely that all of this will happen. Habakkuk knows God’s plan—Babylon is coming. Habakkuk doesn’t know when, but he knows that. They’re ruthless and brutal. So, he looks into the future that he knows is going to be horrible. It isn’t happening yet. But Habakkuk resolves what he will do when all of this takes place.

Habakkuk says, “Though all of that should happen, …yet. Yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will take joy in the God of my salvation” (Hab. 3:17-18). This is defiant joy. And he has this defiant joy because he looks to the past.

Look again at v. 13. When God goes out, He goes out for the salvation of His people. Habakkuk isn’t just mustering up some good feelings. He is remembering and singing about history—specifically the Exodus out of Egypt and the crossing of the Red Sea. He remembers God crushing the head of the wicked and trampling the sea with His horses (Hab. 3:13-15). When they were in Egypt, Israel didn’t have their own horses or a navy. Pharaoh did. But God sent His hosts so the waters became a grave for the enemy and a road for His people.

Habakkuk uses the past as a lens to look at a future that he already knows will be terrible. Babylon is coming, and when it does, the figs may not blossom, the vines and olive trees may fail, the fields may yield no food, and the flocks and herds may disappear. The whole thing fills Habakkuk’s bones with rottenness (Hab. 3:16). Habakkuk doesn’t say that the collapse will be fine. Instead, he says that even if it comes, he already knows that God is at work to save His people. That’s what God has done in the past, and that is what God has promised to do in the future.

Dear saints, the future is out of your hands and full of unknowns. Staring at all those unknowns is the recipe for a life full of worry. Go ahead and glance at the unknowns long enough to name them, but don’t stare at them.

Remember the past. God goes out for the salvation of His people. He has gone out against Pharaoh, and He promises Habakkuk that He’ll take care of Babylon. But most importantly, you can look to the past where God has gone out against the serpent, the enemy of all mankind. When it was time to deal with your greatest enemies—sin, death, and the devil—God didn’t send another evil empire. He sent Christ, His Son. Jesus is the God of your salvation who endured God’s wrath against your sin and went to His death for you. Now, He is risen and ascended to reign on the throne of all creation.

The future is out of your control, but it was never supposed to be in your control. It is in the nail-pierced hands of the God who has already gone out for your salvation. That’s why you can have the same kind of defiant joy that Habakkuk has here. Because of what Christ has done, you don’t have to wait for figs to come back. You can stand in front of barren fields and empty stalls and sing about your God who splits seas. More than that. You can look at the grave—the grave of your loved ones or even your own grave—and declare that your Savior has already defeated it.

Dear saints, your God is your strength right now. Right now, He makes your feet like the deer’s. He makes you tread on your high places (Hab. 3:19). This is not a mood that you feel. It is what Christ is doing for you now, whether you feel it or not.

The future will always be full of things you cannot manage. But you don’t have to wait for your circumstances to get better before you can sing. Christ is your strength right now, and He will never leave you. Sing with Habakkuk now, before trouble comes, and even after it arrives: “Yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will take joy in the God of my salvation” (Hab. 3:18). Amen.

The peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus (Php. 4:7). Amen.

The Way – Sermon on Proverbs 4:10-23 for the Fourteenth Sunday after Trinity

Proverbs 4:10-23

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

If you had to get from here to Lowe’s, you have many different options as to which route to take. And your route might depend on where your car is parked in our lot. From here, you’d have to decide whether to go east to 220 or west to take River Rd. Let’s just assume you go to 220. As you approach Gateway, you have to start making more decisions. Your main options for going west are Gateway, Demers, or 32nd. And your options for going south are Belmont, Washington, Columbia, or I-29. If it weren’t for the construction, you could also pick 42nd.

There are advantages to each—fewer railroad crossings, less traffic, fewer stoplights, faster speed limits, fewer turns. The decisions you make for your route would probably depend on your preferences. As I was writing this sermon, I pulled up directions from here to Lowe’s not because I need directions but so I could see what route the app recommended as the shortest and which was the fastest. By the way, the shortest isn’t the fastest. Between Apple Maps and Google Maps, there were seven suggested routes. And both apps changed their suggestion as the fastest route multiple times.

Scripture regularly talks about how there are only two ways to go through life. One is the path to life, and the other is the path to death and destruction. Basically, the first nine chapters of Proverbs are a father letting his son know that there are only two routes, two paths, two ways.

Just to be clear, the father isn’t trying to help his son make wise decisions on what career to pursue, where to live, whom to marry, how much to save for retirement, and so on. Those bits of wisdom will come in chapters 10-31. The first nine chapters are mainly about these two ways. Only after the father has given his son a clear understanding of those two ways does he get into all that other stuff. It isn’t that those other things don’t matter. They do. But what matters most is the son being on the right path—the path to life. Everything else in his life can serve being on that right way.

Scripture is clear. You are either allied with your Savior and trusting in Him, or you are against Him. There are no other options, and there is no neutrality (Dt. 30:15; Jer. 21:8). You’re familiar with Jesus saying exactly this, “Whoever is not with Me is against Me” (Mt. 12:30). God is always working on you. You are either being built up in faith toward God or being harmed by whatever else is going into your soul. This is why the father’s instructions here are so clear and urgent. Six times in v. 14-15, the father commands his son to shun the way that is contrary to God. 1) Do not enter the path of the wicked. 2) Do not walk in the way of evil. 3) Avoid it. 4) Do not go on it. 5) Turn away from it. And 6) Pass on. Could the father be any clearer or more fervent?

None of this means that the way of life is easy. Jesus doesn’t sugarcoat it. “The gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life” (Mt. 7:14). We know from experience that it is through many tribulations that we enter the kingdom of God (Act. 14:22). Yes, that way and path of the righteous is like the light of dawn that shines brighter and brighter until full day (Pr. 4:18). But look again at what Proverbs 4:19 says, “The way of the wicked is like deep darkness; they do not know over what they stumble.” Notice that the text doesn’t say anywhere that the righteous will never stumble. Believers still stumble. We still fall into sin, but the believer knows what caused that stumbling. So, the contrast between the two ways is obviously the destination, but along the way the main difference is the amount of illumination.

When the evil man is stumbling, he doesn’t even know what makes him trip. There’s a foolishness to him. He doesn’t know what is and what isn’t good for his soul because he doesn’t know his Lord. The righteous man is different, but not because he does everything perfectly and never falls into sin.

Dear saints, you aren’t different from unbelievers because you are sinless, have it all together, or have everything figured out. Life is confusing and hard for everyone. The difference between you and an unbeliever is that when you stumble, you know the sin that tripped you up. Even more importantly, you know that you are walking on a narrow way with the One who has saved you from your sin. That’s a big advantage.

The unbeliever doesn’t even know what he’s stumbling over. You do. You can look back and see that root or crack that tripped you up. And even though it causes you to fall—even if it’s a colossal fall—you know the problem. Better than knowing the problem, you know the Savior who is beside you. The Savior who is there to pick you up. The Savior who is there to tend your wounds and heal… you.

This is why the father here doesn’t stop after telling his son to avoid the other way. He presses his son to keep listening. “Be attentive to my words; incline your ear to my sayings. Let them not escape from your sight; keep them within your heart. For they are life to those who find them, and healing to all their flesh” (Pr. 4:20-22). This is how Christ heals you. He puts His Word in your heart. Then, the father closes with the command and promise: “Keep your heart with all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life” (Pr. 4:23). In other words, the way of life isn’t a route to memorize and master. Instead, it’s a Word that you keep.

Your heart isn’t a room that you do your best to keep tidy and neat. It’s a spring, and whatever is in it will flow out of it. You’ve been given a new heart by your Savior who does not leave your spring empty.

Christ Himself is the Wisdom that the father has been teaching his son. Jesus is the Way that leads to life. He entered the creation that our sin had darkened. On the cross, the Light of the world (Jn. 9:5) was covered, and it looked like the darkness had won, but it hadn’t.

Easter morning is the dawn mentioned in v. 18 of our text. The light of Christ’s resurrection shines brighter and brighter until it will reach full day when Christ returns. Until then, He keeps walking with you on a way that, yes, is narrow and hard. But it isn’t a way that you walk alone.

So, when you fall this week—and you will, I will, we all will—you aren’t in the dark about what hit you. You know the cause. So, repent of that sin. And know the Savior who puts His Word of forgiveness back into your ears and His Body and Blood into you again. He keeps your heart by filling it.

Your navigation apps will keep changing their mind about the fastest way to Lowe’s. But your heavenly Father doesn’t recalculate the way to life. Jesus is and always remains the Way, the Truth, and the Life (Jn. 14:6).

Keep hold of His instruction. Do not let go, because there, and there alone, is Life. Amen.

The peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus (Php. 4:7). Amen.

Space – Sermon on Luke 10:23-37 for the Thirteenth Sunday after Trinity

Luke 10:23-37

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

Two people can use the exact same words and mean opposite things. For example, if someone says, “I want space,” you need to know who is talking. A person stuck in a crowd might yell, “I want space!” They want others to clear out so they can be alone and breathe. A newlywed looking to buy a house might tell the realtor the same thing, “I want space!” She means room for kids, and for large family Christmas gatherings. The first person wants space from others. The second wants space for others.

The lawyer in this text wants space in all the wrong ways. He wants space from the Law’s accusations. And to stay free of those accusations, he wants space between himself and his neighbor.

Luke tells us why the lawyer asks what he asks. That is unusual, and it’s important. A lot of people come to Jesus because they are desperate. This man is not. He stands up to test Jesus, to trip and discredit Him. “Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?” (Lk. 10:25). Part of that is right. Eternal life is an inheritance that belongs to the children of the eternal God. The problem is the first half, “What shall I do?” You do not do anything to inherit. An inheritance is given.

The lawyer wrongly thinks the Law is a ladder. He imagines that if he can climb high enough on that ladder, he can reach God. But eternal life doesn’t come that way (Gal. 3:18, 21). The Law is good. It tells you how God made creation to work. It shows you that you need mercy. What it cannot do is get a sinner to heaven. That only comes by promise to those who believe (Gal. 3:22). 

So Jesus answers a Law question with the Law. “What is written in the Law? How do you read it?” (Lk. 10:26). The lawyer does well with his response. He stitches Deuteronomy 6 and Leviticus 19 together, the same way Jesus does (Mt. 22:37-40). Love God with everything you are, and love your neighbor as yourself (Dt. 6:5; Lev. 19:18). And Jesus confirms his answer, “Correct! Do this, and you will live”(Lk. 10:28).

The problem isn’t the answer. The problem is the man. He can’t do it. So he looks for a smaller law. A kind of law that puts limits on God’s command. A kind of law that leaves enough space so he can set up his ladder and climb.

That’s the lawyer’s second question, which sounds holy but is not. Desiring to justify himself, the lawyer asks, “And who is my neighbor?” (Lk. 10:29). He is not asking for more people to love. He is asking who he can skip. If Jesus would put a limit on the extent of the lawyer’s love, he can stand inside that circle and call himself righteous. He wants space between himself and God’s command to love. But even the context of the passage the lawyer just quoted will not give him that space.

Our Old Testament reading (Lev. 19:9-18) is the home of that verse. There, God does not allow His people to harvest the field all the way to the fence. They had to leave a strip. Do not pick the vineyard clean. The fallen fruit is from their land, but God says it belongs to the poor and the sojourner (Lev. 19:9-10). Then God gives commands about people who are closer. Do not oppress your neighbor. Do not hold a hired man’s wages overnight. Do not hate your brother in your heart. Do not take vengeance or bear a grudge. “You shall love your neighbor as yourself: I am the Lord” (Lev. 19:18). In short, the stranger has a claim on the edge of your field. Your brother has a claim on the inside of your heart. God’s Law demands love for the near neighbor and for the one you would prefer to keep at a distance.

There is an order to that love. God has not dumped every neighbor on you at once. He has put some people closer—the people in your house, in this congregation, the worker whose paycheck sits in your hand. Those are the first neighbors you are called to love. And that is good. A father who lets his own children go hungry so he can feed other children he will never meet is not a better Christian. He is missing the people God has set right in front of him (1 Tim. 5:8; Gal. 6:10).

But that order is not a fence. It does not let you un-neighbor the person God puts in front of you. The lawyer wants a fence. Leviticus doesn’t give him one. Neither does Jesus. That’s why Christ tells the parable.

A man is traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho. He falls among robbers who strip him, beat him, and leave him half-dead in the ditch (Lk. 10:30). A priest sees him and swerves to the other side. A Levite does the same. God puts a needy man at the feet of these holy men, but they make space. A few feet was all the justification they needed to avoid helping him that afternoon. Then a Samaritan stops. He binds up the man’s wounds, pours on oil and wine, sets the man on his own animal, brings him to an inn, and opens a limitless tab. He promises the innkeeper, “Whatever more you spend, I will repay you when I come back” (Lk. 10:35).

Jesus will not answer the lawyer on the lawyer’s terms. He does not give the lawyer a list of who counts as a neighbor and who doesn’t. He asks which of the three became a neighbor to the man who fell among the robbers. That question shines a spotlight on the lawyer’s desire to create space from the Law’s demand to love.

Notice that the lawyer refuses to answer in the simplest way by saying, “The Samaritan.” He won’t admit that the Samaritan did the right thing. He won’t even say Samaritan and mercy in the same sentence. Instead, he says, “The one who showed him mercy” (Lk. 10:37). He will name the deed but not the man. He still wants space from the neighbor Jesus just set in front of him.

Dear saints, whenever you hear this parable, consider which character represents you. You are not first the hero Samaritan or even the priest or Levite. You are the man in the ditch. The Law can walk past you and refuse to help you, and the Law would still be just and correct to do that. The Law is good, but it can only tell you what love looks like. The Law cannot put you on its animal.

Jesus does. He is the Good Samaritan. He was despised and rejected (Is. 53:3) like a Samaritan. But He is the One who stops. He comes all the way down from heaven, all the way over to the ditch where you lie—the ditch that the Law cannot get you out of. He puts Himself in the road with you. He binds what you cannot bind. He pays what you cannot count. He does not want space from sinners. Instead, He makes space for you in His kingdom. The Church is the inn. His Word and Sacraments are the medicine of oil and wine. He pays your bill. You are not here because you guessed the neighbor-question correctly. You are here because Jesus would not pass by you on the other side.

So, when Jesus says, “You go, and do likewise” (Lk. 10:37), He isn’t giving you another ladder to climb. Apart from Him it would be. In Him, it is the shape of a life that has already been paid for. Love the people God has placed closest to you. And when the road gives you a neighbor you did not choose, do not step to the other side. Do not make space from him. God has given you space for him.

Yes, it’ll cost you to love that neighbor. But know that because Jesus has rescued you from the ditch, whatever that love costs you is already covered by Christ’s account. Amen.

The peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus (Php. 4:7). Amen.

Wholly Opened – Sermon on Mark 7:31-37 for the Twelfth Sunday after Trinity

Mark 7:31-37

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

No one expects infants to be able to speak from the moment they are born. They cry and fuss and make noises. After a while they start to babble and eventually are able to say “Mama” or “Dada.” For most, it takes more than a year before they are able to say words, and months more before they can put those words together into a sentence. Even then, most people outside the family can’t understand a toddler and need parents to translate. Learning to speak is a long, slow process. That’s not what happens to this man.

Jesus is far from His normal stomping grounds and is in Gentile territory. He has just healed the Canaanite woman’s daughter near Tyre and Sidon and is returning to Galilee, but He takes an odd route. Instead of traveling straight south, He turns east and goes through the region of the Decapolis. That would be like traveling from here to Fargo by way of Bemidji. It appears that Jesus goes out of His way to be at this precise place at this precise time. Even though He’s far from where He spent most of His life, the people there know that Jesus can heal. So, they bring this man who was deaf and mute to Him.

Jesus takes the man away from the crowd and does this little liturgy. He stuffs His fingers into the man’s ears, spits, touches his tongue, looks up to heaven, sighs (lit. ‘groans’), and says one word, “Ephphatha,”which means “Be opened.” Jesus isn’t just acting like a magician with some sleight of hand. His power is displayed through His one-word command to deaf ears. He’s the One who spoke creation into existence (Jn. 1:3). This miracle shows us that the Creator has come down into His creation to undo the Fall. And this comes at a cost to Him.

Mark wants us to ponder that last part where Jesus looked up into heaven and sighed. ‘Sighed’ is a fine translation so long as we see it as a heavy sigh. The word is normally translated ‘groan’ (Ro. 8:23, 26; 2 Co. 5:2, 4). We should see that Jesus is pained and burdened when He sees what sin and death have done to this man and to all creation. Also, see that these miracles come at a cost to Jesus. They take something out of Him. With this groan, it’s like Jesus is taking the man’s deafness and muteness into His Own body, and it weighs on Him.

And the word Jesus speaks, “Ephphatha,” is interesting. He’s speaking a command to deaf ears, but He doesn’t demand them to open. (Sometimes, I’ll try to open a jar for my wife and command the lid, “Open.” Spoiler alert: lids don’t care about my commands.) That isn’t what Jesus says here. Instead, it’s a passive command, “Be opened.” And they are. (Maybe I should try that next time I come across a stubborn lid.) Immediately, the man’s ears are opened, his tongue is released, and he spoke plainly. The word Mark uses for plainly is orthōs, which is where we get the word ‘orthodox’ and means rightly or correctly.

The remarkable thing is how thoroughly the man is healed. Even though this guy had never spoken, he doesn’t start in the same place as a newborn. He didn’t have to go through the long process of learning words; learning how to manipulate his tongue, lips, and mouth to speak them; and then combining those words into sentences. He spoke as though he had been speaking correctly his entire life. Jesus opened his ears and lips wholly and completely. This is the same kind of power Jesus demonstrates when He rebuked the wind and waves. Jesus simply says, “Peace! Be still!” (Mk. 4:39). The wind didn’t slowly die down. It ceased. The white caps didn’t turn to rolling waves then ripples. The sea turned to glass. The same thing happens here. The results are immediate and complete. He opened this man the same way—wholly. 

This is what Isaiah had promised in our Old Testament reading (Is. 29:17-24), “In that day the deaf shall hear the words of a book, and out of their gloom and darkness the eyes of the blind shall see” (Is. 29:18). The man had been closed in the gloom and darkness of silence, but the word of Jesus reaches him and does its work. The man hears and speaks the way he was created to hear and speak. Our Lord opens his lips, and his mouth declares God’s praise (Ps. 51:15).

God created our ears to hear His Word and our lips to respond in worship. Faith comes from hearing, and hearing through the Word of Christ (Ro. 10:17). With the heart one believes and is justified, and with the mouth one confesses and is saved (Ro. 10:10). Now, this man can do both. He hears the Word and speaks it rightly.

Throughout the Gospels, Jesus often heals immediately. This man. The woman who had been bleeding for twelve years is made well the moment she touches His garment (Mk. 5:25-34). Lazarus (Jn. 11:43-44). The blind, the sick, the lame, and the leprous are all made whole at His word (Mk. 1:34).

We often pray and desire those immediate results. We want the diagnosis reversed now. We want the relationship fixed now. The grief gone now. The wandering soul to repent and be saved now. We pray for all sorts of things and want God to have it done before we finish with our “Amen.”

Sometimes, God will do that. More often, He makes us wait. But in that waiting, He is doing something more. So, what should we do when we have to wait? We remember and retreat to His promises.

God is not slow to deliver on His promises (2 Pet. 3:9). He is not reluctant or limited in giving us what is good. The same Jesus who immediately and wholly opened this man is the One who hears your prayers. If the full restoration is delayed, it is not because He cannot do it. Instead, it is because God knows what He is doing. He is working a better opening than the one we have imagined. He is teaching us to live by every word that comes from His mouth (Dt. 8:3), and not only by the kind of answers we can see and hear right now.

So, when you have to wait, you can groan with Jesus at the fallen state of creation. But you do not groan without hope (Ro. 8:23-24). Christ has given you the Holy Spirit to open your ears to the Gospel. Let His promises drown out the noise of the rest of this broken world. Your tongue has been loosed. Use it to confess that He has defeated death by His death and resurrection and that He now reigns.

Even as you live through things that are not as God intended them to be, you know that Christ’s return is coming. Jesus Himself will descend from heaven with another word—a cry of command (1 Th. 4:16). That cry will be another “Ephphatha.” The graves will open. Ears that have been closed by death will hear. Tongues that have decayed will speak correctly. The meek shall obtain fresh joy, and the poor shall exult in the Holy One of Israel (Is. 29:19). He will make all things new (Rev. 21:5). Until that day, you wait. But you wait with Christ’s Word in your ears and the confession of His Gospel on your tongue.

Dear saints, your Savior has done all things well, He does all things well, and He will do all things well. He knows what He is doing. The One who spoke “Ephphatha” to this man will speak again over all creation. And in that day, nothing will remain closed. It will all be wholly opened. Amen.

The peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus (Php. 4:7). Amen.

Popeye Gospel – Sermon on 1 Corinthians 15:1-10 for the Eleventh Sunday after Trinity

1 Corinthians 15:1-10

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

Sin makes everyone prideful. It’s true that some people are more prideful than others. Some wear their pride as prominently as a ten-gallon hat on top of their heads; some keep it better hidden. But pride isn’t a special weakness of only a few. Pride is the default setting of the sinful nature of every one of us.

In our Old Testament reading (Gen. 4:1-15), we saw Cain’s pride. God had established the sacrifice that covered nakedness and shame with the slaughtering of an animal (Gen. 3:21). Abel followed that pattern by offering the firstborn of his flocks. But Abel’s brother, Cain, proudly thought his offering of crops was good enough. When God didn’t accept Cain’s offering, his face fell. Rather than examining his heart and actions, Cain didn’t let go of his pride. Since Abel was offering acceptable sacrifices, Cain murdered him. Cain would rather destroy what was better than repent of his unacceptable sacrifices.

In the Gospel reading (Lk. 18:9-14), the Pharisee does same thing. Instead of comparing himself and his actions to other Pharisees, he picks the worst of the worst—extortioners, unjust, adulterers, and tax collectors. Instead of looking into the clear mirror of God’s Law, he compares himself to scoundrels and fornicators, which couldn’t give him a clear picture of himself. Even though his resume of works was extraordinary according to human standards, it doesn’t impress God. That was why the tax collector went home justified. He simply pleaded for mercy. Pride keeps score, and faith begs for mercy.

Pride always boasts. It boasts of what it has accomplished, what it has avoided, and what it is by its own strength. Some of you will remember the old cartoon Popeye the Sailor Man. Besides eating spinach and having ridiculously large forearms, Popeye is known for his quote, “I yam what I yam, and that’s all that I yam.” Sinful pride does the same. It says, “I am what I am, so look at me, my accomplishments, and my achievements.” That kind of prideful boasting exalts the self while excluding God, and it is deadly. But there is another kind of boasting.

Paul uses almost the same words as Popeye, but in a stark contrast from the spinach-eating sailor, Paul doesn’t let those words stand alone. He puts more weight on what he says before. “By the grace of God I am what I am” (1 Co. 15:10). Paul knew what he had been. Before Jesus appeared to him, he was the church’s primary and fiercest enemy.

Paul had been trained by one of the most prominent teachers and a member of the Sanhedrin (Act. 5:34-39; 22:3). He had lived a life that was blameless under the law (Php. 3:6). He consented to Stephen’s death (Act. 8:1) and was ravaging the church all over the world (Act. 9:1; 26:11). Then, Christ stopped him on the road to Damascus. “Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting Me” (Act. 9:4). Christ brought the self-righteous Saul to the dust. The Gospel opened his eyes (Act. 9:17-19). And he became the apostle to the Gentiles (Act. 9:15; 22:21).

Paul never forgot that moment. From that day forward he refused to stand before God saying, “I thank You that I am not like other men,” and instead said, “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the foremost” (1 Tim. 1:15). The same man who once trusted his own righteousness now trusted only in the righteousness that is given by God to those who have faith in Christ (Ro. 3:21-22). 

When Paul boasts, he doesn’t do it from a place of pride. He will not take credit. “By the grace of God I am what I am.” If God had dealt with Paul according to justice, damnation would have been his due. It was grace—and grace alone—that made Saul into a Paul.

Dear saints, you and I all stand in the same place. By nature, you are not better than Cain, the Pharisee, or Saul the persecutor. You were not less of a sinner. We are all “by nature children of wrath, like the rest of mankind” (Eph. 2:3). The only reason any of us became Christians is that God has done the work. His Law cast us down and humbled us. Then, the Holy Spirit enlightened us with the Gospel, brought us to faith, forgave us, and adopted us as His own. What you are today, you are by the grace of God alone.

To confess that you are a Christian is already a boast of God’s pure grace. It is to be called out of darkness into light, out of damnation into salvation—all for the sake of Christ. By the grace of God, you are what you are. As a part of the body of Christ, you have work to do.

Here, Paul says that he has worked harder than any of the other apostles, but it wasn’t to his own credit. It was the grace of God that worked through him. This is a Christian boast. The work Paul did was real, and the glory belonged to God.

That’s why Paul says, “His grace toward me was not in vain.” Grace does not leave a person unchanged or idle. It produces real labor and real results. Paul actually did work harder than the rest. He traveled farther, suffered more, planted more congregations, and endured more hardship than the others (2 Co. 6:4-10). Yet every moment it was the grace of God at work in and through him. The same is true for you.

God has called you to serve Him in His kingdom. In your family and household; in your workplace; in this congregation; with your neighbors; in your city, your state, and country—in those ordinary places God’s grace does remarkable things through you. The grace that is saving you (1 Co. 15:2) is active and powerful.

There is a ‘bad’ kind of humility that sounds pious, but it actually lessens the work of God. It says, “I’m just a nobody who isn’t significant. My vocations don’t really matter. God isn’t using me for anything special.” Hogwash. That might sound humble, but it denies the power of God’s grace that already made you who you are. It’s an anti-spinach that weakens what God is doing and will do through you. It treats the living Christ who lives in you as if He were weak or uninterested in using ordinary believers for His kingdom. That false humility minimized God’s grace and actually harms faith. Imagine if Paul had said, “What I’ve done for the kingdom doesn’t matter because I used to persecute the Church of Christ.” That would grossly dishonor the work God did through him. And it would deter him from continuing to do the work God gave him to do. Don’t let the devil lull you into that kind of complacency!

You don’t have to outwork Paul and plant churches on every corner. But you are a Christian. That is already a high enough calling. The grace that has made you God’s child is not in vain. It works through your hands, words, and presence. It moves you to be generous, forgiving, and bold in your witness. In the quiet places of your everyday life, God advances His kingdom in ways that will only be fully seen on the Last Day. God has made you to be His salt and light (Mt. 5:13-16). He has placed you on a lampstand so that you give light to those around you. And He makes your light shine.

Sure, confess that you have not done enough—no Christian ever has. Plead for the grace that makes you willing and able to walk in the good works God has already prepared for you (Eph. 2:10). Whatever is done through you—even the smallest act of faithfulness—is not of yourself. It is the grace of God that is with you.

That is the kind of boasting that belongs in a Christian’s mouth. “By the grace of God I am what I am, and His grace toward me was not in vain.”

That grace comes to you now as Jesus comes to feed you with His Body and Blood. He still forgives yesterday’s sins and the sins of this morning. He is your righteousness. He has made you what you are, and He is the One who will keep working through you until the day He brings His work to completion. Amen.

The peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus (Php. 4:7). Amen.

The Untaming of the Shrewd – Sermon on Luke 16:1-13 for the Ninth Sunday after Trinity

Luke 16:1-13

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

We’ll get to the parable, but we’ll start with a little congregational participation. Ready? Pick one hand and hold it in front of you. Point your thumb toward your face and line your other fingers straight behind it like you’re going to do a karate chop. Keep your hand like that and look at me for a moment.

Imagine you’re at the grocery store to buy a snack for yourself. It could be a bag of chips, a box of cookies, or a pint of ice cream, whatever you fancy right now. No self-checkout today. You’ve handed the cashier a $20 bill, and she’s about to hand you your change. Without looking at your hand, move it into position to receive the change. Now, look at your hand. I’m guessing your palm is toward the ceiling, fingers slightly open, ready to close around the change. We’ll call that the ‘receptive’ hand.

Put your hand back in the karate chop position and keep it there again. Imagine you spot a $100 bill on a shelf in the store. No one else is around. Forget about what you would do with it. Just move your hand as if you’re reaching to take it. Look again—that’s the grasping and taking hand.

Everyone knows that hand. It is the hand of a child who snatches a toy and yells, “Mine!” It is the hand that treats everything as something to control rather than receive. That grasping hand is not new. It is as old as the Fall.

God created our hands to be the hands of a steward with open palms. First, receiving from Him; then, offering to Him. God created us in His Own image and gave us dominion over the fish of the sea, the birds of the air, the animals, and all the earth. He gave every plant for food (Gen. 1:28-30). That dominion wasn’t permission to beat creation into submission. It was entrusted to us as image-bearers, so that we would reflect the heart of our all-giving Creator.

Not only did God give all of creation to be under our dominion, He also gave us a home. He put Adam and the woman in the Garden of Eden and gave them a clear purpose, “to work it and keep it” (Gen. 2:15). The two Hebrew verbs there are the same words God used when He established the priests who were to ‘serve’ and ‘guard’ the Tabernacle (Num. 3:7-8; 8:26; 18:5-6). In short, Adam wasn’t only created to be a gardener. He was created to be a priestly guardian of the sacred space of Eden. There was only one vocation in Eden, and that was the vocation of steward. God created us to receive everything from His open hand—palms up, receiving every gift of creation from His generosity. That open, receptive hand is the original stewardship hand.

Sadly, the hand rolled over. In Gen. 3, the devil suggested that God was holding out. Out of all creation, God said that one tree was off-limits. The devil lied to the woman and said that things would be better if she would eat the forbidden fruit. Suddenly, that is all her eye could see. The woman sees that the tree is good for food, a delight to the eyes, and desirable to make one wise (Gen 3:6). That desire and covetousness twisted her vision. The hands of the woman and Adam—hands that had been open to receive—those hands turned over to reach, grasp, and take.

That single motion—palm down, fingers closing around what wasn’t theirs—was the tipping point. The stewards presumed to be owners. But God never transferred ownership. Instead, they took and grasped what didn’t belong to them. They became thieves. In a sense, they stole the fruit. But the deeper theft was their attempt to take God’s place. The closing, grasping hand was the first act of original sin. It showed that they no longer trusted God, and whatever does not proceed from faith is sin (Ro. 14:23). That hand turning over and grasping what God hadn’t given was a violation of at least the 1st, 3rd, 4th, 5th, 7th, 9th, and 10th Commandments.

Now, bring that picture into the parable Jesus tells today.

There is a rich man whose hand was always open, always giving. He entrusted his possessions to a manager. The manager’s hand was supposed to stay palm up so he could receive the master’s wealth, manage it, and return it to the owner. But the manager’s hand has already rolled over. He has been wasting what was never his. Some commentators suggest that this manager was scamming the tenants by collecting more than he was supposed to and keeping the extra for himself.

When the master calls for an accounting of the books, the manager’s closed fist is exposed, and he will be removed from his position. The manager knows himself well enough to admit that he isn’t strong enough to dig, and he’s too proud to beg. So, what does he do? He acts shrewdly and hatches a plan. He probably worked harder that afternoon than he had in years.

He calls in the debtors one by one and reduces what they actually owe without the master’s permission or authorization. The unrighteous manager is still living off the master’s open-handed generosity, still using the master’s resources. He keeps his hand turned over so he can cleverly take more—this time, from the master himself. He is using his boss’s generosity as his own personal safety net. He knows that these debtors will be singing the praises of the rich man. But they will also associate him with their debt being slashed.

Notice that when the rich man figures the whole thing out, he still doesn’t close his hand. Instead, the master commends and praises the manager—not for his theft, but for his shrewdness. The manager knew the giving nature of the rich man and bet everything on it. That’s what Jesus is praising.

Jesus is not holding him up as a moral example. The man is unrighteous. His motivation is purely self-preservation. He’s a thief, but he’s a shrewd thief. Look at the energy this little scoundrel pours into securing a few friends who will toss him bread when he’s finally out of his job. Look at how he plots, stays up late, and reworks the books for his own benefit.

What Jesus praises is the shrewd use of what belongs to another. The manager did it only for his own benefit. Jesus wants us to do it for the benefit of others. In short, Christ wants us to use what God gives and entrusts to us in shrewd ways that reveal the generosity of our heavenly Father. That’s why Jesus says, “The sons of this world are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than the sons of light” (Lk. 16:8).

Dear saints, you have infinite treasures. You have the Gospel, the forgiveness of sins, the hope of the resurrection and the life of the world to come. You have all of that because of the open hand of our God who gives and gives and gives. He promises that you don’t have to worry about any of your needs for tomorrow because He will provide (Mt. 6:31-34). But still, we are careful, cautious, and stingy. In our selfishness we have tamed ourselves to be close-fisted. Repent.

That is the rebuke Jesus has for us today. Our closed hands are greedy and lazy. The 7th Commandment forbids both. Greed selfishly grabs. Laziness selfishly refuses to work. The virtue the Holy Spirit is after in us today is generosity. He wants us to open our hands to both freely receive and freely give. Jesus presses the point: “Make friends for yourselves by means of unrighteous wealth, so that when it fails they may receive you into the eternal dwellings”(Lk. 16:9). Eventually, money will fail. The day is coming when our hands can’t hold anything. So today, use what is already the Lord’s to make eternal friends—people who will stand with you in the Resurrection because the Gospel reached them through the resources you have stewarded.

David recognized this in our Old Testament reading (1 Chr. 29:10-15). When the people freely gave and poured out their gifts so the Temple could be built, David prayed, “All things come from You, and of Your own have we given You” (1 Chron. 29:14). Whenever and whatever we give, we are only returning what the open hand of God first placed in our hands. There is no such thing as ‘my money’ or ‘my stuff’ in the kingdom of heaven. There is only the Lord’s money and the Lord’s stuff temporarily in our care. That fact frees the fist that desires to grasp. That truth untames us and makes us shrewd. Closed hands always end in idolatry by making a (little ‘g’) god of the self and of the stuff we think we can control.

Repent and always know that Christ is the perfect Steward. His hands stayed open. Though He was rich, yet for your sake He became poor, so that you by His poverty might become rich (2 Co. 8:9). He emptied Himself. He stretched out His hands on the cross and let everything be taken. His blood, His life, His whole Self—He gave it all as pure gift. You are not just a failed steward left to dig yourself out of sin. Instead, you are a redeemed steward who has been washed, forgiven, and claimed. The Holy Spirit is still at work to turn our hands back over, palm up, open again.

Jesus wants us to have the same energy that the unjust steward showed. He wants to untame us so we shrewdly use that same intensity, that same foresight, that same willingness to stay up late and work hard for His kingdom.

You have a mind. Use it to find new ways to love your neighbor. You have a body. Use it to serve others. You have resources that are already His. Use them to make friends who will welcome you into the eternal dwellings.

Dear saints, your Master’s hand is always open. He has already given you everything that matters. You are free. Be shrewd with His gifts, and rejoice in His goodness. Amen.

The peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus (Php. 4:7). Amen.

Odd Wolf – Sermon on Matthew 7:15-23 for the Eighth Sunday after Trinity

Matthew 7:15-23

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

We live in a dangerous world. Because sin and death have entered God’s good creation, there are all sorts of things that can harm you. You could get hit by a drunk driver on the way home. A lunatic could shoot and kill you at the grocery store. Smoke from wildfires can do damage to your lungs. An asteroid could fall from the sky. But Jesus doesn’t tell you to beware of any of those things. The reason Jesus doesn’t warn you about those things isn’t that He is naïve and thinks they are harmless. Rather, He doesn’t warn you about them because they can only temporarily harm you. Christ does warn you—and it’s a stern warning—against false prophets.

Don’t get the wrong idea about these false prophets. A prophet isn’t only someone who predicts the future. Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and Daniel were all prophets who spoke accurately about things that were still in the future. King David was a prophet when he wrote about Christ’s death, resurrection, and rule in many of the Psalms. They did that because they were inspired by the Holy Spirit to declare God’s Word. And sometimes, that Word dealt with things that were still to come. But the Bible also gives the title of prophet to those who publicly preach and teach God’s Word (Act. 15:32; 1 Co. 14:1, 3, 29-32). That is what Jesus is referring to here when He warns against false prophets. They are people who preach and teach God’s Word, but they do it falsely.

Jesus describes these false prophets as ravenous wolves who dress up in sheep’s clothing. It’s a stern warning. It’s a solemn warning. It’s right up there among the most dire warnings that Jesus speaks in all of Scripture. As serious as this warning is, we should find comfort even in the warning. Let me explain that first, then we’ll get to the warning.

Imagine you were sick. You’re in pain. Your strength keeps declining as you become more and more lethargic. Your body is slowly shutting down. You’ve tried all sorts of things, but none of them work. Doctor after doctor can’t figure out what’s wrong. You know that if this sickness keeps progressing, it’ll kill you. Imagine you finally went to a doctor who had the answer. He diagnoses your illness perfectly, gives you a prescription, and it works. After the first dose, the sickness is gone. Your energy returns. You get back to normal. You go back to that doctor for a follow-up.

He is pleased after he looks at your vitals, sees how well you’re doing, and is delighted. Then the doctor’s face becomes utterly serious. He looks intently at you and says, “Listen to me. Don’t ever stop taking this medicine. Never miss a single dose. Take it exactly as I’ve prescribed it to you. If you ever stop taking it, you’ll die. If anyone tries to tell you about another remedy, they’re wrong. This is the only cure. I’ll always make sure you have it for free. No cost to you ever, but you need to keep taking it.”

Now, would that warning from the doctor be good or bad news? Of course it’s good news. There’s medicine that keeps you healthy, and it’s free. That’s the way we should hear Jesus’ warning against these false prophets. Yes, it’s a stern, sober warning. But it also means that there are true prophets and shepherds who give the medicine of immortality for free.

As you receive the free medicine of the Gospel, beware of false prophets. Beware of the ravenous wolves who would lure you away from this Gospel. They are the most serious danger you face, Christian.

Jesus tells you why they’re dangerous. Sure, Jesus calls them ‘ravenous,’ but that isn’t what makes these wolves a threat to you. The danger isn’t in their sharp teeth and powerful jaws. It isn’t their speed and strength. No, the wolves Jesus warns against are strange. They are odd wolves.

This might sound a little silly but, as I studied this text this week, I kept thinking of children’s stories. I first thought about “The Three Little Pigs.” In that story, the wolf is dangerous because he huffs, puffs, and blows the houses of straw and sticks down. I don’t know for sure, but I don’t think wolves are known for their lung capacity. That wolf at least warns before he comes after the pigs.

Then I thought of “Little Red Riding Hood.” In that story, the wolf doesn’t barge in the door or announce himself with a roar. Instead, he puts on the grandmother’s nightgown, pulls the cap over his ears, softens his voice, and climbs into the bed. For Little Red, the most dangerous thing in the room looked and sounded like the safest person she knew.

That’s the kind of wolf Jesus warns about here. What makes these wolves dangerous is their deception. They come disguised in sheep’s clothing. The wolves who will destroy you look like sheep. They sound right. They will talk about Jesus. They can quote the Bible. They may even do mighty works in Christ’s name (Mt 7:22). The danger is not their strength. The danger is their clothing. 

If these false prophets came to you and looked like a wolf, you would run. If they came preaching open blasphemy, you would barricade the door. But that’s not how they come. They come dressed as a Christian teacher. They appear with a Bible in their hand and a smile on their face. These false prophets come saying things that sound almost right. That is how they get into the house.

Jeremiah warned about the same thing centuries earlier in our Old Testament reading (Jer. 23:16-29). The false prophets of his day did not stand up and say, “Forget about Yahweh,” or, “Follow these other gods.” No! They sounded nice. They softened God’s Law. They proclaimed false things to sinners. “Everything will be fine, and no disaster will come upon you” (Jer 23:17). They spoke visions of their own minds and called it the Word of the Lord. They filled the unrepentant people with false hopes and false comforts. And, sadly, the people listened, because the message felt safe, soft, and comforting. Like a grandmother’s voice. We face the same deception.

But Jesus tells us how to spot the difference. Christ gives us one test: “You will recognize them by their fruits” (Mt 7:16). You don’t recognize them by their personality, by how nice they are, or even by whether they can quote Scripture. Remember, the devil himself used Scripture when he tempted our Lord in the wilderness (Mt. 4:1-11).

According to Jesus, you spot these false prophets by their fruits. The fruit of a prophet is his teaching—just like the fruit of a baker is the bread he bakes, or the fruit of a doctor is the healing he brings. For anyone who prophesies—anyone who proclaims God’s Word—you have to ask two questions: First, “Does this point out where I have sinned? Does it faithfully proclaim that I am a sinner in need of God’s grace and mercy?” Or, “Does this tell me that God loves me and others just the way we are without any repentance?” The second question to ask is, “Does this point me to Christ crucified and risen, freely, without my works?” Or, “Does this put the weight back on my shoulders? Am I being told that my salvation depends on me putting in a little more effort or sincerity or a few more good works?”

Jesus says that a healthy tree cannot bear bad fruit, and a diseased tree cannot bear good fruit (Mt 7:18). In other words, the teaching will eventually show itself. But you need to know the real thing well enough to compare.

That is why Christ keeps driving us back to the Scriptures. That is why studying the Bible is not just some optional busy-work. You can’t turn off your ears and mind the moment a sermon starts. Jesus is calling you to be fruit inspectors. Not because you are smarter than everyone else, but because the wolves are that good at disguise.

God’s Word doesn’t always flatter you. It doesn’t always say, “Peace, peace,” because there isn’t always peace (Jer. 6:14; 8:11; Ezk. 13:13). Scripture isn’t always pleasant. It isn’t always what you want to hear. God’s Word kills our old, sinful nature so that it can make us alive. It shows you the wolf and then points you to the only refuge—Christ Himself.

Whenever someone claims to proclaim God’s Word, be suspicious. Watch for red flags. That discernment is a good work that Jesus gives you to do today and every day.

Be wary of every teacher and preacher—including the one standing in this pulpit. Don’t just trust me because I’m so smart, handsome, and friendly. (I’m not much of any of those things.) Test the teaching. Compare it to the Scriptures. Hold fast to God’s Word. See the goodness of His Law. And cling to the Gospel—the full, free forgiveness of sins that the Gospel delivers to you. Build on that.

The wolves are always out there in their soft, wooly, sheepish disguise. But the Good Shepherd has already laid down His life for you, His sheep. His voice, His Word, is what will keep you safe now and for eternity. Amen.

The peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus (Php. 4:7). Amen.

Claimed & Filled – Sermon Exodus 20:1-17 for the Sixth Sunday after Trinity

Exodus 20:1-17

In the name of Jesus. Amen.

Once upon a time there was a perfect world. There was no death, no pain, no tribulation, no tumult. Everything was perfect because there was no sin. There were no ‘little white lies’ or gossip. No one ever said, “I promise,” because everyone only and always spoke the truth. No child retaliated against a sibling. There were no unfaithful husbands or wives because each man and woman only had eyes for his or her spouse. Not only was there no murder, there was also no fighting, no insults, no anger (Mt. 5:21-48). 

This perfection existed because everyone heard God’s Word and listened. They received every good gift from God’s hand with open hands and thankful hearts. There was no turning away from Him, no idolatry, no suspicion. God was their everything, and they were His. They trusted Him completely, loved Him above all things, and rested in Him and the gifts He freely gave. And this peace with God spread to peace with the rest of creation (Gen. 1:31; 2:15-25).

People wanted nothing but good for their neighbor. There was no envy, no suspicion, no asking, “What’s in it for me?” Work was joyful and fruitful. Life was whole because the God who created all things was in perfect harmony with each part of His creation. Because the one relationship that matters most was perfect, everything else was perfect.

This perfect world is not a fairy tale. It was the world as God created it to be, and the Ten Commandments are simply a description of what that harmony looked like. The Commandments are not a list of arbitrary rules that God made up after suffering, death, and sin entered the world and everything had already gone wrong. They are the blueprint of creation as God designed it to function. They show us what life looks like when we are right with God which makes us right with our neighbor and right with the rest of creation.

Sin—both your own sin and the sins others commit—is what has disrupted the perfection that God created (Gen. 3:1-19; Ro 5:12). Because of that sin there is now death, pain, lies, anger, betrayal, covetousness, and every brokenness that we live with every moment of every day.

Into that brokenness, God came to reclaim what was lost. He did it in the Garden when He promised to send the Seed of the Woman who would crush the serpent’s head (Gen. 3:15). He did it when He promised Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob that all the families of the world would be blessed through them (Gen. 12:3; 22:18; 26:4; 28:14). God also does it when He speaks these Ten Commandments.

The most overlooked part of the Ten Commandments is what is often referred to as the introduction, “God spoke all these words saying, ‘I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery” (Ex. 20:1-2). Notice that God doesn’t begin with rules His people must keep in order to be His people. He begins with the proclamation, the promise, “I have already claimed you because I have brought you out of slavery. I have made you Mine.” Only after that does God give them the rest of His words that shape the life of His people.

I’ve preached this before, but it bears repeating: Nowhere does the Bible refer to this portion of Scripture as “the Ten Commandments.” Instead, Scripture calls them “the Ten Words” (Ex. 34:28; Dt. 10:4). Notice how, as God speaks them, it isn’t, “You must,” or, “You must not.” It is, “You shall,” and, “You shall not.” These words describe the life of one who belongs to God. This is how life will be if you belong to God.

So, when these words don’t describe us (and that will regularly be the case), that means that we aren’t living as God intends us to live. That is when we need to repent and run back to God and ask Him to rescue us from our deadness and slavery to sin (Ro. 6:1-2).

Also, notice who speaks these words. The text says, “God spoke all these words.” In Hebrew, the word for ‘God’ is Elohim, which is plural. The triune God—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—is speaking from that mountain. The Holy Spirit is inspiring the Word. The Father is also there. But it is the Son who speaks these words with His Own voice (c.f. Ex. 3:2-4, 12). Jude 5 explicitly says that Jesus, the Son of God, saved His people out of the land of Egypt. The very Son of God who would come to die and rise again is the One giving the Ten Commandments/Words to His people.

This changes how you hear them, doesn’t it? These are not the cold demands of some distant deity. These are the words of your Savior who loves you and has claimed you by His death and resurrection. He tells you how to live once again in perfect harmony with God and with the rest of creation.

In our Gospel reading today (Mt. 5:17-26), Jesus says, “Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them” (Mt. 5:17). Jesus didn’t come to set the Commandments off to the side or to say they don’t matter. He came to fill them up, to keep them perfectly in your place. And He clearly shows us just how deep they go. It is not only murder that breaks the 5th Commandment—anger in the heart does too. It is not only adultery that breaks the 6th—lust does too. The Commandments are multifaceted. They reach into the heart. They expose us. They show us that we have not lived as the people God has claimed us to be.

That’s why the Law accuses. Because of our sin, we cannot fill what God requires. When Jesus says that He’d come to fulfill and accomplish the Law and Prophets (Mt. 5:17-18), He’s giving us a picture. Imagine that God has given each of us a five-gallon bucket and says, “Fill this bucket to the brim and overflowing with perfect obedience, with holiness, with good works done from a pure heart.” That is what He asks. But what do we do with that bucket? In our sin and weakness, we don’t fill it. Instead, we toss it around, spill its contents, and leave it empty and damaged. We turn inward and are selfish, lazy, and rebellious. We do not love God with all our heart. We do not love our neighbor as ourselves. Our buckets are dry.

But, dear saints, here is the Gospel. Jesus does not come and take the bucket away or wink and say it doesn’t matter. He does not coddle us and say the Commandments are too hard or that we should just ignore them and give up. No! He comes and fills your bucket for you.

Christ lives the perfect life of obedience in your place. Every Commandment kept from the heart, every jot and tittle fulfilled. On the cross, He takes your spilled and empty bucket from your rebellious hands and fills it Himself. He bears the shame. He bears the punishment you and I deserved. He dies the death our sin earned. He rises again and hands your bucket back to you full of His perfect obedience. That is what Jesus means when He says that He came to fulfill the law.

Now, because of what He has done, you are claimed by His Blood and filled with His righteousness. You stand before the Father not with your own empty bucket, but with Christ’s overflowing bucket (Gal. 3:27; Ro. 13:14). The Father is pleased with you and proud of you for Jesus’ sake (Heb. 2:10-11).

What this means now is that the Commandments aren’t only accusations standing against you. They are also the path your Savior has already and perfectly walked for you. And they curb sin as you walk through this life and this world. They guide you as His claimed and filled people to love God and to love your neighbor. You do not keep them to earn God’s favor—you already have that in Christ. Now, you keep them because you are His, because His Spirit is at work in you, because this is the life He has given you to live.

When you hear the Commands, do not hear a bunch of impossible demands that God knows you cannot keep. Instead, hear the voice of your Savior who has already kept them for you and who now, by His Spirit, empowers you to walk in them. Because of Christ, you are dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus (Ro. 6:11). Yes, repent when you fail. But also, trust that Christ has filled the bucket. And then, by grace, strive to live as the claimed and filled people you are.

You are not your own. You were bought with a price (1 Co. 6:19-20). You have been claimed out of slavery—out of the slavery of sin and death—and you have been filled with the very life of Christ. That is who you now are because that is whose you are. God has claimed you as His own, and you are filled by God with the perfection of Jesus. God be praised! Amen.

The peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus (Php. 4:7). Amen.