Sermon for 4/3/15: Good Friday (Wounds sermon series)

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The Wounds that Heal

Isaiah 53:1-6

We adore You, O Christ, and we bless You, for by Your Holy Cross, You have redeemed the world. Amen.

    

A crucifix makes us uncomfortable, and well it should. We squirm before it—and our discomfort has nothing to do with any anti-Catholic bias. It is simply painful to look upon our Lord as He suffers and to know the reason for His suffering. Earlier in Lent we sang: “Mine, mine was the transgression, but Thine the deadly pain.” In the darkness of that first Good Friday, the totality of human sin—from the first sin of our first parents to the very last sin—all of it was gathered up and loaded on to Jesus. He bore the whole weight of it as if it was His own, including its penalty: death.

Look upon His cross. See His wounds, the nails fixing His hands and feet to the beams. See the blood continuing to run down His face from the cruel crown of thorns. Behold the gory mass of His mutilated back. And as you look, understand this: the wounded Man, dying in agony, is not suffering for a single wrong that He has done. His whole life was one of love. He was the only man who completely loved the Father with all His being, who perfectly loved His neighbor. And yet, it is because Jesus is love that He is now upon the tree of the cross. Love will not leave the sinner in his sin. Love takes that sin upon Himself. Love is wounded to grant us healing. Love is offering atonement for all the wrongs that we have done.

Yes, it is hard to look at a crucifix, because it is hard to accept the truth that this is the penalty our sins deserve. It is hard, and yet, it is salutary to look, to contemplate. It is salutary to pray that Christ would imprint this image on our hearts, so that we might carry it with us wherever we go, so that it can also be before our eyes in the moment of our death. You see, when the moment of death comes, Satan, who played down the importance of sin when he was luring you into temptation, will emphasize those sins in your memory in the hours of despair. When death is coming to you, he will replay in your mind the many sins you have forgotten. He will taunt you, saying that you are no Christian, that you are unfit for the Kingdom. He will tell you that you are his and that you have wanted to be his with every sin you have committed. And all the while, all those sins will be playing, in vivid detail, before your eyes, as you are struggling in the throes of death.

That is why it is vital to train yourself now to look upon the crucifix, to behold your Savior’s wounds, to hold them close to your heart. In the hour of your death that will be your only weapon against the despair of the enemy. You will be able to look at all your sins as the accuser brings them before your eyes, and you will be able to acknowledge their hideous nature as testimony to your countless failures. But foremost in your sight will be another image: the image Isaiah holds before us of the Crucified One. And it is this image that will shatter the devil’s attempts to draw you into despair. That is why we pray:

Be Thou my Consolation, my Shield when I must die.
Remind me of Thy Passion when my last hour draws nigh.
Mine eyes shall then behold Thee, upon Thy cross shall dwell,
My heart by faith enfold Thee. Who dieth thus dies well.

The image you want before your eyes as they are closing in death is the image of the Son of God in His last agonies, where He answers for your every sin, pouring out His blood to blot out the accusations that Satan would use against you. Each sin, no matter how awful, has been covered over in the blood of the innocent Lamb, your Jesus. In the Book of Revelation, St. John writes: “And they have conquered him by the blood of the Lamb and by the Word of their testimony.” In that final hour, you will say with boldness: “Lord Jesus, You are my righteousness. You have taken upon yourself the sin that is mine and have given to me the holiness which is yours. You have become sin to make me a saint.”

    

In this way you will indeed be prepared for death: when the image of the Crucified One hangs before your eyes. His life is your righteousness; His death is your forgiveness; His wounds are your healing; His sufferings are your crown and glory. You are beloved of God. That is what this day is about and nothing else! God in human flesh, Jesus Christ, has proved to be your dearest Friend, and He would make you His forever. Look upon His cross boldly and with confidence, and live.

We adore You, O Christ, and we bless You, for by Your holy cross You have redeemed the world. Amen.

Sermon for 4/2/15: Maundy Thursday (Wounds sermon series)

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The Wound of Abandonment

Matthew 27:45-46

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

How many are the wounds we inflicted upon our Savior in His Passion, suffering, and death! We have pondered together these past Lenten evenings the wounds of betrayal, apathy, denial, and mockery. We have seen our own lives reflected in Judas, in those three sleepy disciples, in Peter, and in the Roman soldiers. Yet of all the wounds our Lord received, none so struck and terrorized and weighed on Him as the one we ponder this evening. We did not inflict this wound, though we were the cause of it. It came from His Father: the wound of abandonment.

From out of the depth of His agony on the cross, our Lord cried out the words of Psalm 22: “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?” As all the sin of the world is laid upon the Lamb of God, as He takes all of it as His very own, He experiences in Himself what every one of those sins demands. He will taste the bitterest dregs of the cup that He will drain down for us in its entirety. He will taste it for us all. He will know for us the loneliness so profound that its pain is unimaginable. How can we even begin to understand what it was like for Him in that moment? He is the Eternal Son, who took on human flesh from His virgin mother without ever leaving the presence of His Father. He is the Word made flesh, who lived among us as all men were meant to live, conscious of His Father’s never-failing love and the presence of His providential hand. All of this is now withdrawn, and Jesus is all alone.

People joke about hell, saying, “Well, at least I will have a lot of company there.” Such willful ignorance! Think of the story of Lazarus and the rich man. In that story, the rich man is all alone. Lazarus has angels for company as well as Abraham, to whom he is so close that he lays his head on his bosom. The rich man hungers and thirsts for a human touch. “Send Lazarus to dip the end of His finger in water to cool my tongue, for I am in anguish in this flame.” He is alone—all alone—and he will be alone forever. Ponder that, and you will begin to understand the reality of hell. Ponder that, and you will see its true terror. Ponder that, and you will bow in love before the Savior whose love for you was so great that He chose to enter that loneliness Himself and to endure it in your place that you might be set free from it forever. Never alone, never again!

Because Jesus endured the wound of abandonment that our every sin demands of God, because He drained the cup down to this, its last and bitterest dregs, you can look to your Savior and pray with the confidence of being heard:

My Savior, be Thou near me when death is at my door;
Then let Thy presence cheer me, forsake me nevermore!
When soul and body languish, O leave me not alone,
But take away mine anguish by virtue of Thine own!

Do you see it now? You will never have to know what Jesus went through in those darkest hours. You will never have to face life or suffering or even death alone. He has made sure of that. He will be with you. He will walk with you every step of the way. For you hell itself is undone, sin forgiven, death destroyed. Your Savior, Your Shepherd, attends you through the valley of the shadow of death so that you fear no evil, for He is with you. His rod and His staff, they comfort you. He feeds you in green pastures with His own body and blood. He brings you out from the valley of darkness into the glorious light of the never-ending day in the kingdom of our Father. In the name of the Father and of the Son (+) and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

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

Sermon for 3/25/15: Lent 5 midweek (Wounds series)

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The Wound of Mockery

Matthew 27:27-31

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

The soldiers thought it funny, this Peasant pretending to be a king. They decided to have some fun with His apparent delusion. They began by taking His clothing. He had to stand there naked as they mocked Him. Then they found a scarlet robe and draped it over His shoulders. “There; now He is beginning to look like a king,” they joked. “But something is missing. He needs a crown!” And so, one of them thought up a crown for this peasant King from Galilee, a crown to teach Him a thing or two about His foolish dreams: a crown of entwining thorns. Hear the distant echo of those words of judgment God spoke to Adam in the Garden: “Thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you.” They smashed the crown down upon His head, and the thorns drew blood. His response was not what they had hoped for. He was silent to their taunts, the mockery, and the jeers.

Then someone came up with another missing item: “A king needs a scepter!” They scrounged around and found a reed, and put it in His hand. They stepped back to admire the finished product: blood running down His face from the thorns piercing His brow, His naked body barely covered with the scarlet robe, and a flimsy reed that flopped this way and that in His hand. “Behold, the man who would be king,” they said. Laughing with scorn, they fell on their knees. “Hail, King of the Jews,” they cried. Still, He looked on in silence as their mockery turned vicious. He would not play along with them, so He would pay. They began to spit on Him to show their utter contempt for Him. They took His scepter and whipped His head with it. “Some scepter. Some kingdom. You are nothing. You are about to die, King of the Jews!”

As He looked at them, these men missed the depth of His pity for them, for those who wounded Him with mockery, who tried to shame Him, who prepared to torture and murder Him. Look into His eyes, though, and you will see a depth of pity and love that will shake you to your core. It is a mere human trait, common to all of fallen humanity, to love your friends and to seek to do them good. But to love your enemies? To have nothing but pity and compassion for those who taunt you and are preparing to kill you? That is the mark of the heavenly Friend, our Lord Jesus Christ.

What language shall I borrow

To thank Thee, dearest Friend,
For this Thy dying sorrow,
Thy pity without end?

There is no end to His love, His pity for them. The pity from the mocked King extends not only to those who tortured Him, but also to the entire human race, all of whom are complicit in His death. Only a few hours later, He would say: “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

Of course, the truth beyond all truths is that Jesus actually was King. Yes, Jesus was the long awaited Son of David. But even more, He was also the King of Gentiles and their Ruler. He is the One to whom the entire universe belongs. Every one of us, including those who mocked and shamed Him, owe our existence only to His will that we exist. You will never ponder the Passion correctly until you remember that a single thought from Jesus could have undone all those who sought His death; a single act could have destroyed us all. But all He returns is love, pity, and mercy. That is what fills Him. That is who Jesus is. And that is how He reigns as King. He rules in love: a love that hatred cannot conquer.

Jesus was determined to share fully in the lot we have chosen for ourselves. We were destined to lives of glory and majesty; that was what God wanted for us. But we threw all of that away and embraced instead the path of suffering and death. But He would not have that be our end. He came to walk that path as King so that, through His suffering, all that we lost might be restored to us again. Jesus was stripped of His clothing that our naked sinfulness might be clothed in the robe of His righteousness. He wore the crown of thorns, that we might wear the crown of eternal life. He was beaten and mocked, that we might be welcomed and treasured. The love of Christ overcomes all hatred and mockery, and remains love, so that a way would be opened for us to return from this misery of sin and death to the kingdom the Father planned for us from the beginning.

Jesus walked that suffering road in kingly fashion. None of the mockery can take from Him His majesty, His glory, His peace. He carries out every act of His Passion in burning love for the fallen race of men so that we might be restored. He chooses to lay down His life that we might live in Him. Such love on His part creates love on ours. That is why we sing:

O make me Thine forever!
And should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never,
Outlive my love for Thee.

Behold your King! Behold, beneath the blood and the blows, the eyes that look upon you with tender compassion. He does this for you, in undeserved love, that you would live with Him forever. In the name of the Father and of the Son (+) and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

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

Sermon for 3/18/15: Lent 4 midweek (Wounds series)

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The Wound of Betrayal

Matthew 26:69-75

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

“Even if I must die with You, I will not deny You!” That is what Peter said to the Lord he loved. Peter could not imagine his love for Jesus ever being insufficient. But of course, the Lord knows what is in man. And in fallen mankind there is fear—fear of death above all. And fear of death is something the devil uses against us. So, the Lord tells Peter before it ever happens that it will happen. Not once, not twice, but three times Peter will be given the opportunity to confess his Lord. And not once, not twice, but three times, Peter will deny Him.

Among the wounds that afflicted our Lord during His Passion, surely the denial of His brash, but beloved, disciple, Peter, figures large. And who among us has not added to that wound? Opportunities to confess our Savior arise at every hand, yet how often we pass them by in silence. And our silence denies Him. Isn’t our fear the same? We fear the loss of a respect from others, for who can respect someone with such narrow views? We fear the loss of friendship, for who wants to befriend a religious fanatic? We fear the loss of our reputation, for what will others say about us if we become known for speaking up for the Lord? And thus, the silence, which is denial just as surely as saying, “I don’t know the man.”

But Jesus goes into His Passion to be wounded for our transgressions. Our denials of Him do not result in His denial of us. He has carried those denials into His death and, where we denied Him, He made the good confession before the high priest and before Pontius Pilate. Jesus did not let fear of anything deter Him, and we do well to ponder that truth. Though our Lord despised death, He did not fear it. He came into this world to destroy it. Indeed, He came among us to let death devour Him so that He would destroy death forever, and so that His faithful people would be set free from the slavery of sin and the fear of death.

Standing before Israel’s High Priest, Jesus knew exactly what was going to happen. He knew He would give up His life on the cross, an offering and sacrifice to His Father, His blood blotting out forever the guilt of our sin and the sin of the whole world. And Jesus also knew, and rejoiced, that His Father would never abandon Him to the grave. Although death would take Him, He would break the bonds of death. Jesus did not fear death because He knew that death would not be the end of Him or of anyone who is joined to Him in faith.

To this point, Peter had only heard that Jesus would be raised from death. But now, before his eyes, he saw the Master in the hands of those who would turn Him over to be crucified. Peter’s heart trembled in fear. Rather than, in peace, confessing His Lord, in terror of death Peter denied Him. And as the fateful rooster crowed, he recalled how Jesus said it would be so, and Peter went out and wept bitterly.

Peter wept bitter tears for his own fear and sin and cowardice, but he did not despair. Here Peter differs from Judas. He saw the look in his Lord’s eyes when they took Jesus away, the look that said: “Remember, I told you that you would deny Me, and I was right; so you have. But remember that I also told you I would rise again, and I will be right about that, too! And I have prayed for you, Peter, that your faith will not fail!”

Now, think of the man we meet on the other side of the Resurrection, on the Day of Pentecost. That same man, who crumbled in fear before the serving girl and her friends, boldly told the crowd that day: “This Jesus whom you killed by hanging on a tree God has raised from the dead, and we are all His witnesses.” What changed is the resurrection of Jesus and the coming of the Spirit. And so it is with you and your baptism. There in the water you were drowned, placed into the tomb with Christ, and raised with Him as the guarantee of a life that will never end. In that water, the Holy Spirit descended on you even as He descended on Peter and the other disciples on Pentecost, transforming them from quivering cowards to bold confessors. What changed was the conviction of faith that Jesus truly had destroyed the power of death by enduring it Himself. And He has atoned for all our denials by His confession and His suffering for us.

Years later, the story goes, Peter was told that he had to sacrifice to the emperor and deny Jesus, or die. By the grace of God, he refused the emperor’s demand. He refused, and Peter went the way of his Lord. He, too, was crucified, though, according to a long Church tradition, upside down, because he did not feel himself worthy to die in the same manner as his Master. In the end, Peter looked the fear of death in the face. Peter’s prayer that day might have been what we sang only moments ago:

My Shepherd, now receive me; my Guardian, own me Thine.
Great blessings Thou didst give me, O Source of gifts divine.
Thy lips have often fed me with words of truth and love;
Thy Spirit oft hath led me to heavenly joys above.

May we be so faithful when called upon to make confession, and may that be our prayer at the hour of death as well. In the name of the Father and of the Son (+) and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

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

Sermon for 3/11/15: Lent 3 midweek (Wounds series)

The Lent 2 midweek service was canceled due to inclement weather and horrible road conditions. This was the sermon meant to be preached that week. We're just moving all the sermons back a week, with the sermon that was supposed to be Lent 5 midweek preached on Maundy Thursday, since I originally had to import a stanza from TLH for O Sacred Head Now Wounded to fill Maundy Thursday.

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The Wound of Apathy

Matthew 26:36-45

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

Jesus didn’t want to be alone as He wrestled in prayer with His Father that night. How easily we forget that our blessed Lord was truly and fully human! He desired the comfort of companionship, the encouragement that comes from loved ones. And so, as Jesus leaves the larger group behind, He takes with Him His three closest friends: Peter, James, and John. He can no longer hold back the grief. “My soul,” He says, “is very sorrowful, even to death; remain here, and watch with Me.” He stumbled a few steps further and landed on His face.

Before the eyes of His soul was the cup of suffering. To understand that cup, you must go back to the Old Testament. In Psalm 75, David said: “For in the hand of the Lord there is a cup with foaming wine, well mixed, and He pours out from it, and all the wicked of the earth shall drain it down to the dregs.” Isaiah later foretold of a time to come when that cup would pass from the people, to another. “Thus says your Lord, the Lord your God, who pleads the cause of His people: ‘Behold, I have taken from your hand the cup of staggering; the bowl of My wrath you shall drink no more.’”

And so, the cup that was set before Jesus for Him to drink, down to the bitter residue, was the cup that held the wrath of God: His wrath against all your rebellions, all your lovelessness, all your passing of judgment on others, all your selfish acts, all your indulging the flesh, all your spiritual apathy. That was set before Jesus, and He knew exactly where it would lead. Jesus quotes the prophet Zechariah: “(The Lord) will strike the shepherd, and the sheep of the flock will be scattered.” Make no mistake about: Jesus receives what is coming, knowing that it comes entirely from His Father.

None of us is nearly as frightened of hell as we should be. We have no clue about the terror of its emptiness and eternal loneliness. But Jesus knew. And before that reality, looking into that ultimate and eternal poison in the cup, He trembled. And why wouldn’t He? He trembled and begged His Father that, if possible, some other way may be found, some different approach, something other than what was in the cup before Him. He looked over the brim of that cup into its bottomless depths, and He shook in terror.

We sin so casually. “God will forgive,” we say. “He is loving and merciful and kind. Sin is really no big deal.” Go with your Lord this evening to Gethsemane, and see with your own eyes whether or not it’s a big deal. Look at Him as He shakes in terror before the sin we carelessly and foolishly choose for ourselves time and time again. And see Him as He lifts His eyes from the cup to the Father, and pleads for some other way. But then, see also how our Savior distinguishes Himself from all other sons of Adam and daughters of Eve. See Him lower His eyes to the cup again, and say, “Nevertheless, not My will, but Yours be done.”

It has exhausted Him and terrorized Him, looking into that cup. And so, He turns back to His friends for the comfort they can give. But here, another wound strikes Him. As He has struggled with the terrors of death and hell for them, they have fallen asleep. He cries out, “Could you not watch with Me one hour? Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.” We wound our Lord with our weakness, our apathy. We wound Him with our careless sinning. We add to the terrors of the cup He must drink. Surely Jesus’ word of warning will keep His disciples awake, and in prayer. The most terrifying events of their discipleship are only moments away now. Surely they will realize that, and pray. But, no. They are like us after all, or we are like them.

Jesus turns back and, again, struggles in prayer. Then He again returns for comfort from His friends and again encounters only apathy. They are sound asleep. He is all alone in this. He turns back for a final prayer. The sweat falls from his brow in great drops of blood as He bows to the Father’s will. He will do it; He will go forward to drink this cup. He will do so, trusting that, having experienced in Himself the penalty of our disobedience, His Father will not abandon Him forever. Look into the face of your Lord as He rises from prayer, and you see peace.

That peace came from His trust in His Father. To submit to the One who has loved you with an everlasting love is not terror, but joy, no matter how dark the path. In that peace, Jesus turned back to His disciples for the last time. Their apathy can wound Him no more; He is going forth to bear that sin, together with all their sins and the sins of the whole world. While they had slept, He had won the battle; He had won it alone! Now He would go forth to meet His betrayer. And He woke up His disciples so that they too might meet the terrors to come.

Seeing Him go forth to meet these terrors in peace, we sing, in astonished awe:

What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered
Was all for sinner’s gain.
Mine, mine was the transgression,
But Thine the deadly pain.
Lo, here I fall, my Savior!
‘Tis I deserve Thy place.
Look on me with Thy favor,
And grant to me Thy grace.

As He looked in pity on His disciples, so Jesus looks in pity on us. Through His struggle to drink the cup and empty it forever, He shows us that He will never be apathetic about us. He who drained the cup can be counted on to save us completely. To Him be glory, with His all-holy Father and His life-giving Spirit, now and forever. Amen.

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

Sermon for 2/25/15: Lent 1 midweek (Wounds series)

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The Wound of Betrayal

Matthew 26:20-25

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

The “sore abuse and scorn” that paled our Lord’s head “with anguish,” as we sang, actually began long before the physical abuse. It began with the actions of a friend, of one whom He loved, a companion with whom He had traveled many miles and shared many meals. Here was a wound that weighed down our Lord’s sacred head and brought Him sorrow and grief that only compounded the weight of sin He bore on the cross.

“One of you will betray Me,” He said at the table that night. And they became sad, and one after another they asked, “Is it I, Lord?” We, too, need to ask that question of our Lord. Have I sold you out, Lord? Have I lived for this world and its pleasures and bought into them, rather than wanting you, rather than spending time with You, rather than hearing Your words of life? Have I lived as if I mattered most and You mattered not at all? Is it I, Lord? Jesus makes it pretty clear, doesn’t He? The wound of betrayal is not inflicted by those who are distant from Him, from those who are not His companions, His friends. No. This is a pain that comes from those nearest to Him, from those whom He held in special love. “He who has dipped His hand in the dish with Me will betray Me.” Not someone distant and unknown, but someone near, and dear, and loved.

   

But note the love of the Lord! Do not think for one moment that the Lord’s love for Judas, His betrayer, was in any way altered by betrayal. Of our Savior, the Psalmist spoke truly: “The Lord is good to all, and His mercy is over all that He has made.” He loved this man who would go his faithless way. Jesus loved this man who would first despise and turn from His love, and then despair of what he thought he had lost forever. For Judas, the betrayal was so big a sin that he was convinced he could never be forgiven. The betrayal by Judas was a horrible sin, to be sure, and it is a horrible sin in us. What on earth could ever justify handing over the Creator of all, who has shown us only kindness and love, into the agony of torture, crucifixion, and death? What madness is it that would lead the creature to betray the Creator? What folly it is to chase a few dollars in this world, spurning, all the while, the gift of a life that never ends.

   

“The Son of Man goes as it is written of Him, but woe to that man by whom the Son of Man is betrayed! It would have been better for that man if he had not been born.” That had to be the most terrifying word our Lord uttered. But do you see, people of God, that Jesus did not say those words out of hatred or anger or any such thing? He spoke from the depth of His sorrowful compassion. He saw, as is His way, where Judas would end his life, that in the end Judas would despair of the mercy of God and go to his grave believing that his sin was greater than God’s mercy in Jesus Christ. And that broke our Lord’s heart even more than the betrayal itself.

   

How little Judas understood the Son of Man whom he betrayed! For it was also for the sin of Judas, and the sin of all us Judases, that Christ stretched out His hands and let them pound in the nails. It was for our sin that Christ pleaded, “Father, forgive them.” It was for our sin that the Lord of life let “grim death, with cruel rigor” rob Him of His life so that sin and death would lose their claim on us forever.

The pain of betrayal is great, and it wounded our Lord’s heart. But it could never turn that heart to bitterness. In that heart lives a love too great, too strong, too mighty for bitterness and hatred to ever conquer it. Although betrayal hurt, like the pain of hell itself, Jesus went on loving Judas, even as He goes on loving you and me.

   

And so, in the wounds of the crucified One we find a love that sets us free to love as we have been loved. Our Lord spoke often of taking up our cross and following Him. Do you see, now, what your cross is? You are betrayed when you love others. Instead of your love being returned, it is rejected. Such betrayal hurts and wounds you in terrible ways; you may be crushed and even reduced to tears. Then that old sinful nature inside rises up in indignation and anger and eagerness to get even. But by the strength of the cross of Christ, by the power of your baptism into His love and mercy, you nail that old sinful nature to the cross and say, “By the power of Him who forgave me, even when I have betrayed Him so many times, I forgive. By the power of Him who loved me, even when I sold Him out, I will love you, the one who has hurt me.” This is the cross we are often called on to bear. And when we do, it will mean torture and death to that old sinful nature. But to the new man, who has arisen in Holy Baptism, it will mean life and joy. You will be partaking of the very life of your Savior.

   

We have not begun to love with the love of Christ until we have come, by God’s grace, to love those we thought were our friends but who have betrayed us, hurt us, brought us sorrow. When we go on loving them and seeking good for them and their blessing—a feat impossible for fallen human nature, but possible through the love of Christ—we begin to taste something of the joy known by the martyrs of Christ across many centuries who loved and prayed for the very people who brought them to death.

   

As often as the Church gathers to hear God’s Word and to receive the Holy Sacrament, she celebrates the love that is in her Savior, which is stronger than all our betrayals; a love that He freely gives us in His body and blood, that won forgiveness for Judas, for you, for me, and for all. It is our experience of such love that frees and strengthens us to bear the wounds of betrayal ourselves, following our Lord with joy. May He give us the grace to do so. In the name of the Father and of Son (+) and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

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

Sermon for 2/18/15: Ash Wednesday (Wounds series)

This is the beginning of the Lenten sermon series "Wounds," based on the Gerhardt hymn "O Sacred Head, Now Wounded." 

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Wounded Savior for Wounded People

Joel 2:12-19

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

We have all heard it, perhaps on another Ash Wednesday, perhaps at a grave side: “Dust you are, and to dust you shall return.” The ashes for which this day is named are a symbol of death, the reality that lies before us all, old and young alike. Dust we are, and to dust we shall return. Such is the wages of sin.

As we begin our Lenten journey this evening, we look in amazement on One for whom those words should have no meaning. We see Him and cry out: “O Sacred Head, now wounded, with grief and shame weighed down, now scornfully surrounded, with thorns Thine only crown!” If ever there was a head that did not call for the ashes of this day, it is His sacred head! Why thorns, when it should be a crown of gold? Here we see in flesh, that One who formed us from the dust at the very beginning. Here is the One who in unfathomable love for our fallen race became dust for us. And now He will even lay down His head in the dust. But there is no sin in Him! In Him there should be no death! How, and why, will He die? We will spend this Lent pondering, in awe, such questions.

When Joel declares a sacred fast, when he urges the trumpet to sound and the people to gather, we discover that the occasion is one of return. Lent is always about a return. Of course, we so often think of Lent in terms of turning away from something—what we are giving up, what we will fast from. And make no mistake about it, fasting is a good thing. Didn’t our Lord assume that His disciples would do so in our Gospel reading; “When you fast...” When, not if! But by itself, fasting can be nothing more than an empty religious exercise. The Lenten fast goes much deeper than your decision to deny yourself some tasty treat. Rather, it invites, it summons, it urges you back to someone, to the Lord. “Return to the Lord your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love; and he relents over disaster.” A Lent that is anything less than a return in faith to the Lord is only a religious game and worth less than nothing.

Rather than play games with God this holy season, hear His summons to you to come back to Him, to return to Him now. He does not want some piece of you, some outward display, like torn garments, or a few minutes tossed His way one day a week. No, He wants you! That is why Joel says: “Rend your hearts, and not your garments.” 

Lent is not for pretend sinners. Lent is for real, honest-to-God sinners who have failed in their love of God, who have failed in their love of neighbor, who see this reality, and who, by God’s grace, despise their sin and ache for His forgiveness and for strength to do better. And to such sinners the invitation rings out as refreshment: the invitation to return and see the sacred head of your Savior, now wounded. He is the One who knew that we, on our own, could not come to Him, return to Him, or even find Him. So He came to us, returned to us, and found us, and by His cross draws us to Himself.

And we marvel this Lent at how far He went to find us. It is a marvel indeed that the eternal God should take on human flesh and blood, as He did in the Incarnation. That, all by itself, is enough to leave us astounded forever. But He went further than that. Not only did He take on our flesh and blood, not only did He become dust for us, but He also went so far as to lift from us the burden of our sin, to bear it in His own body to death, to take all our failures to live in love as His very own. Indeed, in the words of St. Paul: “He who knew no sin, became sin for us, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God.” He not only died, but He also died as the greatest sinner of all time, with the sin of the world upon Him, all of it; yours, mine, everyone’s. In this way the Lord revealed that He is merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love. Look to the cross and see! He bore your sin to death that neither death nor sin would be the end of you. Such is the measure of His love.

During Lent, when the Church calls us to return, she is calling us to return to Christ, to draw near to this Savior who was wounded for our transgressions, who was bruised for our iniquities, upon whom was the punishment that brought us peace, and in whose stripes we find healing. She reminds us that only real life in this whole world is fellowship with Him, and that every time we have settled for something less, we have allowed ourselves to be deceived and cheated of that great gift of which our baptism has made us heirs. And as often as she sets her table, the Church calls for all her children to return, to come to this wounded Savior who bore our wounds in His own flesh, shedding His blood for us, so that His flesh might be our living bread from heaven and His blood the blotting out of our every sin.

“Dust you are, and to dust you shall return.” But the cross reminds us that we have a Savior who became dust for us, whose sacred head was laid in the dust of death, that the dust of our corrupted being might become incorruptible in Him. It is no wonder, then, that, pondering such love, the Church raises her voice to that sacred head and rejoices to call it her very own, her greatest treasure. In the name of the Father and of the Son (+) and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

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