Anointed: Prophet

Rev. Dr. Joel D. Biermann

Anointed: Prophet

November 30, 2016

Some of our church traditions are ancient—dating back to times even before the birth of Christ.  We speak and sing psalms, today, much as believers have done for millennia; and, crosses and altars are a standard part of our church’s arrangement as they have been since early in the church’s history.  But, other traditions aren’t as old.  Advent wreaths only began appearing in American churches in the 1930’s.  It’s a relatively new thing, but it’s already rich with symbolism.  Four candles for the four Sundays in Advent each have a singular message.  The first candle, the one that burns tonight, is the prophets’ candle and speaks a message of hope as the prophets longed for the fulfillment of God’s plan.  The second is the Bethlehem candle and reminds us of faith—especially the faith of Joseph and Mary as they traveled to Bethlehem trusting the messages received from heavenly emissaries.  The pink candle declares joy and is associated with the celebrating shepherds.  The final candle, the angels’ candle, speaks peace, the message the angels brought that first Christmas night.  But, this night in November, we’re at week one.  Tonight, we think about prophets.

So, what images come to mind when you think about a prophet?  It’s likely that you conjure a picture of a rugged looking man with long, unkempt hair and beard, wearing rough robes, and wielding a long staff.  He has a far-away, half-crazed look in his eye, and when he opens his mouth he talks about a blood red moon, swarms of locusts, crumbling kingdoms, invading armies, and holy wrath to come.  No doubt, there’s some truth to the image.  There were prophets who fit the description pretty closely if not in every detail.  But, our preconceived ideas about prophets can also be a bit misleading.  Not all prophets were wild desert dwellers who wandered into the city with a message of doom.  Some were farmers, some cultivated grapes and figs, some were women, and some were from refined and influential families, still others were well-groomed and polished priests.  Prophets came in many varieties.  And, they didn’t just spend their time seeing and relating visions about what was going to happen.

Today, “prophet” usually means someone who foretells the future.  But, in the world of the Old Testament, foretelling the future was only a small, and not even required, aspect of a prophet’s work.  Mostly, prophets were busy forth-telling the word of God to people.  They were more like preachers than mystic seers.  They were more interested in what people did this day in the present, than in what was going to happen someday in the future.  Prophets spoke for God.  That’s what made a prophet a prophet.  Oh, and prophets killed people.  You did catch that in the reading from I Kings, didn’t you?  Elijah is sent back into Israel with a list of people he is supposed to anoint for holy office.  Two men, Hazael and Jehu, are to be made kings—replacing failed rulers rejected by God.  And one man, Elisha, is to be anointed as Elijah’s own successor, a new prophet to speak God’s word in Israel.  These new rulers had work to do enacting God’s justice: Hazael and Jehu were to strike with the sword and deliver judgment.  And, so was Elisha, who we are told, would put to death any who escaped the killing of the two new kings.  A prophet with a bloody sword is not a standard prophet image, is it?  But it is part of the picture.

So, we’ve got our Old Testament precedent firmly set.  Anointed by God for their holy work, prophets saw clearly into God’s unfolding plan.  They spoke God’s truth.  And, they knew how to use a sword.  Now, we move forward to the One who came to complete all the work of the prophets—the One who came to fulfill the promise made by God’s prophet, Moses—the One who came to be anointed to accomplish God’s plan.  And so, Jesus, came.  And, he was anointed for his work.  Yes, it’s true that at a dinner party in his last days, he was anointed—the fragrant and precious oil was poured down over his feet and hair.  But, Jesus’ anointing for his work came earlier.  It happened in a river when the last great Old Testament prophet, John, anointed his far greater successor.  Jesus’ baptism was his anointing for his work.  He is the Anointed One.  That, of course, is exactly what we mean when we call him Christ.  Christ is not Jesus’ last name.  Jesus is his name given.  Christ is his title delivered.  Messiah and Christ both mean the same thing.  They are the Hebrew and Greek words for Anointed One.  Jesus is the anointed one who gathers up all the preceding reality of anointed kings, priests, and prophets and pulls them into himself and surpasses and explodes them all.  He is the great and final king, priest, and prophet.  Jesus does what prophets do: he forth-tells, he speaks God’s truth to the people.  And, of course, he also does some foretelling, pointing ahead to what is yet to come as God’s plan takes shape.

But, what about the sword part?  Actually, he does fulfill even that work.  Remember, he declared it: I haven’t come to bring peace, but a sword.  Jesus, the Great Prophet does indeed carry a sword.  But, he’s not using his sword to lop off limbs or to slice open bodies.  In John’s vision recorded in the last book of the Bible, the old apostle sees Jesus in glory, with a sword, this time coming out of his mouth.  It’s the prophet’s sword—the sword that kills.  It does not take physical life.  It cuts much more deeply and profoundly.  Jesus’ sword kills people spiritually.  His sword speaks God’s word of judgment on sinners and leaves them in a helpless, hopeless situation with no recourse and no power to do anything about it.  When Jesus’ sword is unsheathed, people die spiritually.  They are killed by the sharp and deadly word of God’s unyielding law.  Elisha may well have done some physical damage with a literal metal sword—but his greatest prophetic weapon was undoubtedly the spiritual sword he carried and used.  He had the sword of God’s piercing and devastating law.  He had the message that God’s creatures do not measure up to their Creator’s standards, and that by their sin and failure they have earned for themselves God’s just condemnation and eternal wrath.  That was the potent sword carried by Elisha and every prophet.  That was the sword that Jesus brought.  It’s the sword that kills so that God can then do his great work of making alive.  And, of course, that’s the full and final prophetic work that Jesus ultimately and perfectly accomplishes.  Jesus brings not only the sword of law and judgment, but he brings the life-giving gospel of forgiveness and restoration.  That’s what prophets do.  When people repent, they declare forgiveness.  Jesus declares and delivers forgiveness.  He is the great, ultimate prophet.

But, the prophetic work of Jesus is not just a past event.  God’s Word continues to be spoken into the world.  The sword is still being wielded.  Today, the prophetic work of God goes on every time that a pastor steps into a pulpit and preaches Gods’ truth to people.  The Office of the Holy Ministry is a very real continuation and extension of Jesus’ prophetic work.  And for that work, we set aside men who are to do the speaking.  So, it is that an ordination and installation is a sort of anointing for the prophetic task.  When preachers preach well, they kill with the sword of God’s law, and they make alive with the wonderful Gospel of God’s grace and promise.  But, it is not only pastors who are called to speak God’s truth into the world.  All of God’s people have that task.  You have that task.  You are to be God’s prophet, in the world, today.  That’s right, you are a prophet.  You don’t need to grow out your hair, buy burlap for your robes, or move to the desert.  You just continue to be yourself, fulfilling each day’s tasks and obligations, and living your life doing what God has given you to do.  But, in the midst of the ordinary routine of your ordinary life, you also fulfill the work of a prophet.  You speak God’s truth.  You too have a prophet’s sword, and it still does its deadly work.  While you live your regular life, you do your prophetic work—you speak God’s truth to the people that you meet.

It’s not as complicated or as difficult as you may think.  Being a prophet is simply a matter of telling people what God wants them to hear.  So, your little son or daughter disobeys you, or an older child violates an agreement—you speak Gods’ truth, making clear that they have done wrong, that sin destroys relationships and hurts other people.  And then when repentance comes, you speak words of forgiveness from God himself, and assure your children that Jesus loves them and that their heavenly Father fully forgives them, even as you do.  That’s what prophets do.  When you are at work or gathered with a group of friends and the conversation takes a coarse turn to what does not build up, or an absent person becomes the topic of discussion, you speak for God and call the group to what is right and what honors God’s will.  You wield the sword of the law, and challenge what is wrong.  You do the same for Christian brothers or sisters who are straying from God’s path and getting mired in behaviors and habits that pull them out of step with God’s purposes.  You don’t stand and watch or just pray silently.  You open your prophet’s mouth and you speak God’s word to them.  You call them to repent.  And, when necessary, you kill them with the sword so that God can make them alive as you speak the gospel of forgiveness and renewal.  That’s what prophets do.  That’s what you do.

The prophets’ candle burns tonight.  It reminds us of all those faithful servants of old who boldly declared God’s truth in a world that was often resistant and reluctant to hear.  Even more, that candle points us to Jesus who came and with his brilliant light, fulfilled the work of every prophet.  He not only spoke God’s truth, but embodied, and incarnated God’s truth so that everyone would hear God’s clear word of law and Gospel.  He used the sword, and he used the healing gospel.  So, do you.  You continue the work of the Anointed One even today.  You’ve been set aside and designated as a prophet.  You’ve got your sword of God’s law.  You’ve got the healing gospel of God’s grace.  Go and use them.  The prophets’ candle is your candle.  Amen.

God's Excuse

Rev. Dr. Joel D. Biermann

Luke 17:11-19

Thanksgiving - November 23, 2016

“Prof., I know that I’ve got an exam in your class tomorrow, and I’ve been studying for it, but I just found out that my grandmother died; can I reschedule the test for later in the week?”  It is, of course, the classic “grandmother’s funeral” excuse, and on campuses of higher learning, it’s considered tried and true.  College students have a well-deserved reputation for concocting excuses for late or sub-standard work.  Possessing newly-acquired and expanded gifts of creativity, verbiage, and practiced sincerity in conjunction with a proclivity for immature and irresponsible behavior, they are ideally positioned for perfecting the art of the excuse.  In one study done on a college campus, 25% of the students admitted that they had used the grandmother’s funeral excuse, and 87% of professors reported having heard it at one time or another.  It’s an old excuse—but it’s effective.  Most of the professors in the study conceded that it is an excuse they generally accept at face value.

Excuses play an integral role not only in the world of the academy, but in all of our social interactions.  Their significance and importance are such that excuse-making actually has been the subject of focused psychological and sociological study since at least the middle of the last century.  And why not?  Our lives are filled with excuses—a day does not go by that you don’t hear several excuses.  They are so part of our lives that we hardly notice them.  “Sorry, I’m late, but traffic was worse than I expected.”  “I’m not sure what happened, but my alarm didn’t go off.”  “My battery died.”  “I couldn’t get a signal.”  “My car was in the shop.”  “I wasn’t feeling well this morning, and got a late start.”  “We weren’t prepared for such a big turnout.”  “This isn’t my area of expertise.”  “I’m not in charge.”  Genuine or fabricated, compelling or flimsy, honest or embellished, they are all just excuses, and they are a key part of our social and relational fabric.  Some of them are trivial and insignificant—a throw-away phrase lacking substance.  Others are carefully crafted and articulated, meant to change minds and influence behavior.  Excuses are an essential part of life.  We depend on them to keep our interactions with one another working smoothly.

People need excuses because they need some way to deal with their own frequent failures.  We cause so many disappointments to so many people, we inflict so much hurt and create so many difficulties, that we need excuses just to deal with the unpleasant nastiness of it all.  “I’m sorry I snapped at you, but I have a pounding headache,” is far more palatable than, “Sorry I’m so crabby, but you just bug me to death and make me ill.”  “I didn’t mean to be late, but I had a minor family emergency,” is a lot easier to say than, “I’m late because I wanted to see the end of the football game and frankly would rather still be at home than here with all of you.”  Excuses help to smooth over the rough places in our interactions.  Excuses help human society become a bit more civil and tolerable.  But, as useful and as commonplace as excuses may be, they are still a glaring mar, a screaming witness to our own human frailty and failing.  Excuses are part of our lives only because messing up, falling short, and causing hurt are part of our lives.  If there were no sin, there would be no excuses.

But, sin there is, in abundance, and excuses there are, in abundance.  So, we get used to them and we begin hardly to notice them.  Most excuses we take in stride—the way we learn to take sin in stride.  And, because they are so common and so readily accepted, we are expected to accept them as well.  And should you have the audacity actually to question the excuse that is offered, then suddenly you are the one with the problem; you have broken the rules, you haven’t played your part in the excuses game.

In the story from Luke, Jesus gives ten men a gift: a miracle of healing from the gruesome living death of leprosy.  These men were resurrected by Jesus; they were given their lives back.  Nine hurried off to get on with their new lease on life.  One turned back to offer thanks.  But, hey, we can understand how it must have been for the nine can’t we?  Picture it: there’s the group of thirteen, Jesus plus the twelve watching and grinning as the ten used-to-be-lepers, heading in the direction of the priest, suddenly discover their new baby skin.  Ecstatic, they quicken their pace, but then one stops and turns back while the rest hurry on.  Now, Jesus isn’t smiling.  And Peter, who can’t miss Jesus’ displeasure, is saying, “They were so excited, Jesus, they just forgot to come back to say thanks.”  And then Andrew tries to help, “Right, they aren’t snubbing you, Rabbi, they’re just so eager to see their families that they can’t think of anything else.  You can see their thanks by the joy in their faces.”  Of course, Luke records no excuses; but we have no trouble supplying them—we are, after all, experts at the practice.  Jesus, though, isn’t so ready to make excuses for the nine men who failed to speak their thanks, and he appears altogether unwilling to accept the excuses we might offer.

You and I may learn to accept excuses, and even to expect and welcome excuses, but God is not so easily persuaded.  Excuse-making and excuse-accepting breeds mediocrity.  It cultivates the ideal environment for the growth and spread of sin.  And while you may be perfectly willing to accept that, and learn to get along with it, God is not.  God is no more willing to accept excuses than he is ready to accept sin.  When nine newly-born men failed to do what they should have done, Jesus did not hide his disappointment.  He did not cut them some slack, overlook their failure, and let everyone revel in the wonder of the miraculous moment.  He didn’t make excuses for them in order to minimize and marginalize their failure.  No, he faced it, and addressed it.  So, it makes you wonder: are you really doing your brother a favor when you accept his excuse and dismiss his sin?  It seems that there are times when such action would, in fact, be the antithesis of grace.

God doesn’t look kindly on excuses.  Nevertheless, with all the confidence, or perhaps naïve stupidity of a professional college slacker, we go to God and offer him our excuses.  When we should be opening our mouths, and uttering only repentance, we too quickly, almost instinctively, open our mouths and let the excuses flow.  “Lord, I know I’ve fallen short of your expectations, but I tried, and after all, I’m only human.”  “But, Lord you have to understand, I’m just one person, you don’t expect me to be the only one to speak the truth, do you?”  “I know it wasn’t the best thing to do, but what else could I do…I had no choice.”  The tired litany drones on and on.  With infinite variation and creativity, we spew our excuses to God.  But to God they all sound pathetically and scandalously alike: just excuses.   He hates them all.  They reek with the gagging stench of sin.

How absurd for us to offer God excuses.  God does not operate in the realm of excuses.  He doesn’t speak the language of excuses.  God has no reason for excuses.  He never makes excuses…he never makes mistakes.  He never fails.  He never falls short of the standard.  God is the standard.  He has nothing to excuse.  He owes nothing to anyone.  God does not need to make excuses.  But, he does…he makes one.  God who never disappoints and never fails, and who has no use for any excuse, does make one excuse.

It’s like the boy who’s getting over some illness and can go back to school, but can’t get overexerted yet.  Following the scheduled routine, he goes to gym class, but while his classmates run laps, sweat through exercises and get clobbered with dodge balls, he sits in the bleachers.  He’s got a note written and signed by his doctor.  He’s golden.  The authority has spoken.  He’s excused.  My friends, you have been given your excuse from the ultimate authority.  Your excuse is written in blood.  God who needs no excuses, chooses to make one excuse.  He makes one for you.  He sends Christ for you, and for you, Christ willingly drains his blood.  With that blood, he writes your pardon, your excuse from the guilt and condemnation of your sin and failure.  Jesus’ excuse is the only one you need.

You spend your life making excuses, trying to cover your tracks, making up for your failure.  You are desperate to make yourself look good to other people, proving that you are worthy of their praise and love.  But, you can’t do it, and you can’t offer any excuse to make up for it.  You can’t excuse your sin.  But God can, and he does.  In Christ, God gives you the excuse.  In Christ, through his perfect life and perfect sacrifice, your Father pardons you.  You are set free, excused completely for every failure.  That’s what grace is all about.  And, it’s yours.  In baptism, God wrote your name at the top of the pardon.  You have been excused.  God doesn’t just overlook the sin or act like it’s not there.  He meets it head-on.  He covers it with his blood.  That’s how God makes the only excuse that counts.  He deals directly with sin.  He defeats sin.

God gives you the only excuse that you need.  He gives you Jesus.  Next to the pardon offered in Christ, all of your excuses look pretty pathetic.  They are sorry and useless—any excuse you create is always worthless.  The pardon you have been given in Jesus is valuable beyond estimate.  God’s excuse doesn’t just smooth over bad feelings and defuse angry reactions.  God’s excuse actually does something.  It makes you a new person.  You are a person born all over again, and made brand new.  The excuse God gives you removes the sin and its stain of guilt.  With God’s pardon, you don’t need any other excuse.  With God’s pardon, you can live more and more like a new person—a man or woman of integrity who doesn’t spend time concocting excuses, but instead spends time celebrating God’s excuse and the difference it makes in your life.

We usually consider people who are without excuse to be the lowest of the low.  Bad enough for someone to do some horrendous thing—but if they have no reason, and are without excuse, it is so much the worse.  In Christ, though, holding onto the written excuse that he provides, you become a person without excuse—you don’t offer reasons for your actions.  You don’t supply explanations for your words.  You don’t try to make people understand where you’re coming from.  You don’t mess around with any of those excuses anymore, because you now have the one and only excuse that matters.  You’ve got God’s pardon, and clutching that pardon, you go forward into life doing the things that a pardoned man does.  You’ve been given new life.  You become a person known not for your good, legitimate excuses, but for your consistent integrity as you live with God’s excuse at the center of your life and your actions.

God has given you what you do not deserve.  Don’t offer him reasons and explanations for your failures and shortcoming.  There’s no point in going to God with your excuses.  God already knows you inside and out.  He knows your motives and your sin better than you do.  And yet, in spite of that, he loves you and holds out his excuse, his pardon, to you.  Go to him and receive from him his incredible pardon.  Armed with that pardon, what grace you have, my friend.  What a God you have.  What a Lord and Savior you have.  Don’t offer him excuses.  Offer him what he delights to hear.  Offer him the only thing you can offer: offer him your thanks.  Be done with excuse-giving, and get busy with Thanksgiving.  Amen.

Feeling Like an Heirloom

Rev. Dr. Joel D. Biermann

Malachi 3:14-18

Sunday of the Fulfillment

November 20, 2016

Most families have, in their homes, a few treasures that occupy places of honor.  Typically, these treasures have been in the family for several generations, and are carefully, sometimes ceremoniously, passed down from parent to child.  Each new generation is given the charge to preserve and protect the family heirloom.  Maybe it’s a piece of furniture, a knick-knack or decoration, or an article of clothing or jewelry.  Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote in several of her books about her mother’s treasured China shepherdess that always occupied the prominent place of honor wherever they lived, and signified that the place was home.  You’ve probably got an heirloom or two in your family.  It doesn’t necessarily have monetary value.  In fact, most heirlooms don’t have nearly as much monetary value as sentimental value.  The memories and value attached to the heirloom are the significant thing.  That’s why family members almost always have a tough time at estate sales.  They can’t believe that treasured possessions are being sold at such ridiculously low prices.   But a broker looks at an old table and sees only a piece of furniture, and not all the different hands that polished it for generations.  He doesn’t remember all the meals, conversations, and celebrations that happened around that table.  That’s the way that it is with an heirloom.  Its value grows out of its relationship to the one who possesses it.

It’s that way with Christians.  The value of a Christian is not inherent.  As Christians, we know that in and of ourselves there is nothing naturally present of value and worth.  Your value is not inborn, it is derived.  It grows out of your relationship with God.  The value that a Christian has is the value that God brings by his choice.  You have value and worth because you are chosen by God, not because there is some innate aspect of you that makes you precious.  You’re precious because you belong to God.  God chose you; and through the work of Jesus, bought you and claimed you.  You are his very own.  Like an heirloom, your value is based on your relationship to the one who possesses you.  You have value not because it is built-in, but because you belong to God.  And you do.  You are his heirloom.  You have infinite value.

Of course, I’m not telling you anything new.  Even though these truths are not readily recognized in the world, you know the reality.  The world endlessly peddles its nonsense about self-esteem and positive self-regard; and it obsesses over teaching people to value and celebrate themselves—you know better.  You know that the only esteem that matters is God’s esteem for you, and the only regard that matters is that God regards you as his own child.  You know that in your natural state, on your own, there is nothing to esteem, value, or regard: you’re just a sinner incapable of anything good or worthy.  But, you also know that God loves and chooses you, anyway.  You’re his heirloom.  Baptism proves it.  You know it.  Unfortunately, though, that rock-solid truth doesn’t always seem to make much difference in your daily life.  Even though you know what the Bible says, even though you know that you are God’s own chosen one, his own heirloom; that knowledge doesn’t always seem to do much for you when it comes to the realities of life here and now.

Heirloom or not, God’s own chosen possession or not, life doesn’t always, or maybe even often, feel so good.  In your head, you know the facts about what God has done, and in your heart you even believe those facts; but somehow, that knowledge and faith don’t translate into the good feelings you’re looking for and think that you should have.  Regardless what your head knows and your heart believes, your feelings don’t cooperate.  You may even begin to wonder about the point of all this Christian faith, church, stuff.  What good is it, if it doesn’t deliver the feelings you want?  When it comes right down to it, people are driven and motivated more by what they feel in their gut, than by what they know in their head or believe in their heart.  The need for good feelings is a powerful force, and the search for good feelings leads people into a host of destructive behaviors.  Self-indulgence, addiction, debt, and divorce, all have the quest for good feelings and a life of enjoyment as their common core.  Indeed, when you stop to think about it, it becomes clear that the search for good feelings routinely causes devastation in individual lives and in families.

What is less obvious, but every bit as harmful, is what the search for good feelings does not only to individuals and families, but to the church.  Think about the many churches that build their ministry or programs around trying to make people feel good.  It’s standard wisdom in many circles of church experts: growing churches must meet people’s felt needs.  In other words, growing churches must make people feel good.  Of course, people in the pews are quick to agree.  “Pastor, what our church needs is…” and the sentence is completed with whatever solution or program they think will make people, usually themselves, feel better.  People want to feel good, and they expect their church to help them reach that goal.  Church should feel good.  Members should feel good about worship, and they should feel good about what their church does.  Naturally, if the feelings aren’t good, well, then, it’s time to find a new church.  It feels like it’s time to move on, so it must be God’s will, because God wants me to be happy, doesn’t he?  People rarely leave churches for scriptural or theological reason.  They leave because it doesn’t feel good, or meet their needs.

People want to feel good.  So, they church-hop and they relationship-hop.  They lobby and maneuver.  They plot and plan.  They expect and they demand whatever it takes to make them feel the right way.  It’s a problem out there.  Its’ a problem in here.  The realities of what God has done, and the promises of what he will do, matter less than feeling good here and now.  It doesn’t matter that God sent Jesus to live, die, and rise; that’s not making good feelings now.  It doesn’t matter that God has promised that Jesus will return in glory; that’s not generating good feelings now.  It doesn’t matter that God claims you as his own; that past event and future promise don’t create good feelings now.  Maybe those things provided some good feelings once, but now…not so much.  The luster has worn off; the sweetness has diminished.  It’s not a problem of unbelief.  You do still believe, of course.  The foundation of your faith is still the same, but the feelings aren’t what they used to be.  Life doesn’t feel as good as you think it should and you find yourself questioning what you know should not be questioned because it seems like you should feel better than you do.

I’m not here to argue with you.  I’m not going to tell you that you should instantly feel good again when you review the facts of God’s love and grace.  I don’t doubt that many of you are simply plodding through your days with only fleeting moments of good feelings.  I don’t doubt that many of you don’t feel especially warm or tingly when you come to church.  I don’t doubt that you frequently find yourself wishing that you felt different, and wondering what you can do to make it different.  I won’t debate with you about any of those things.  In fact, I’ll even concede them, and assume that they are all true.  Life, even a Christian’s life, doesn’t always feel good.  That’s a fact.  So, what are you going to do about it?  Are you going to do what most people do, and start off on a search, looking for those elusive good feelings?  Are you going to point a finger of blame at those who aren’t giving you the good feelings you expect?  Are you going to lobby and demand changes in the church or in your home to create the good feelings you’re missing?  Are you going to experiment with new things and new relationships until you find the right mix to generate the feelings that you want?  What are you going to do?

When life doesn’t feel good, when routines and relationships and responsibilities don’t feel good any more, there is a solution.  The solution is not to go on a hunt for good feelings.  That’s actually the worst possible way to deal with tired, lukewarm feelings.  Trying out new relationships, visiting different churches, changing jobs, or starting a new hobby will not solve your problem.  That only postpones and masks the problem.  The answer to the problem of unpleasant or stagnant feelings is not to change your environment.  The answer is to change your thinking.  Instead of demanding your spouse, or your job, or your church, or your friend to be different so that you can feel good; instead of going out and finding a new spouse, job, church, or friend to help you find good feelings; demand yourself to change.  Find a new way of thinking.  When the people of Israel in Malachi’s time were feeling down about the monotonous routine of life, and the apparent triumph of evil over good, many were tempted to go on a good-feeling-search.  Many did go on that hunt.  And, God condemned them for their selfish choice.  Their good-feelings-search led them, as always, away from God and his truth.

God’s answer to the people’s spiritual malaise and emotional emptiness was a reminder of their favored position.  He told them that they were his special, treasured possession, his heirloom.  Of course, this was something that they, like you, knew already…and it wasn’t helping a lot.  But, then, God went further and taught the people what their privileged status was going to mean on the Last Day.  On that day, every monotonous routine will come to an end, God’s glory will be cut loose and held back no more.  His wrath will blaze forth against all who reject him.  His mercy will enfold his chosen people, and they will find an eternal resting place in God’s presence—a place of honor reserved for an heirloom.  On the Last Day, the day of judgment, belonging to God, being God’s heirloom, counts for everything.

It might seem like a far-away thing, but that final day is coming.  The day is coming when Christ will return for all people to see.  On that day, all that matters is the fact that you belong to Christ.  You are his chosen one, his treasure.  It does make a difference right now.  The coming day of judgment is not some distant, irrelevant, event.  The radiance of that day of glory shines so brightly and intensely that is casts its light even into the present.  God’s answer to his people who are discouraged and missing good feelings is the reassurance that he knows exactly how they feel, cares about how they feel, and guarantees that the feeling will not last forever.  God reminds us that we are his, and that the day is coming when that will be the only thing that matters.

The key to living in the here and now is to live in the light of the coming judgment.  You live each moment of each day in the certainty that Christ is coming, and that when he does, he will share his grace and glory with you.  The light of judgment day shines into the present day.  The light of that coming day illuminates today, making it clear how and where you should walk.  Instead of searching and scurrying around looking for good feelings—so often in the wrong places—you see God’s promised Day shining on the horizon, and you take direct aim for that day.  You live and function in the present with the confidence that when that day arrives, you will be ready.

As you live now in the light of that coming day, God gives you the change that you need.  What changes is you.  What changes is your thinking.  You stop focusing on yourself and your own feelings.  You focus on Christ and his promises.  Whether it feels good or not, you live in the light of Christ’s return.  Whether it feels good or not, you rejoice that you are God’s chosen one, his heirloom for eternity.  And as you do that, as you live in the light of the Last Day, you discover that even though it’s true that feelings don’t matter all that much, your new thinking will bring with it new feelings.  In time, you learn to know and even to feel the peace, security, and joy that come when you are God’s own heirloom, forever.  The last day is coming.  Its light is already shining.  Live, today, in the light of that day.  Amen.

Heads-up Faith

Rev. Dr. Joel D. Biermann

Luke 21:27-28

November 13, 2016

This past week, we’ve been hearing a lot about historic events and stunning surprises.  While many people seemed to be running out of superlatives or comparisons, I did hear one commentator compare Tuesday’s election to the election of Andrew Jackson—a political outsider popular with people who were not part of the elite.  Jackson was elected in 1828.  Most of us probably don’t have much familiarity with events that far back in US history.  And, if you’re not too familiar with President Jackson, I’m virtually certain that you’ve never heard of the Great Disappointment.  It happened just after the Jackson presidency.  A Baptist pastor named William Miller had been poring over his Bible, studying end times prophecy, especially in the book of Daniel, when he was surprised to discover that the ancient prophet had actually provided detailed information about the precise date of Christ’s second coming.  His theory had to be fine-tuned, but, with the help of a few other believers, Christ’s return was calculated and determined to the exact day: October 22nd, 1844.

For more than ten years, Miller traveled around the young nation lecturing to anyone who would listen, urging them to get ready for Christ’s return.  And, people actually listened.  In fact, many people from the general population joined the group that had come to be known as the Millerites.  These people sold their belongings, quit their jobs, and on October 22nd 1844, donned white robes, and stared heavenward ready for Jesus to appear.  They watched and waited and nothing happened.  For the Millerites, the failure was devastating.  For the world, it was an occasion to mock believers.  The whole affair came to be known as the Great Disappointment.  Great expectations crashed into great disappointment.  The believers had anticipated October 22nd with their faces turned heavenward in eager anticipation.  The day ended with their heads hung low in shame and disappointment.

None of you, of course, had the sad experience of living through the Great Disappointment.  And, even if you had been living at the time, I’m confident that you would have been able to discern the absurdity of any man declaring special knowledge about the day of Christ’s return.  Still, you’re definitely not immune to your own hard disappointments.  In fact, for many of you, your life of faith has been dealt some severe blows and your head has been bowed.  Great expectations dissolved into great disappointments.  You’ve all experienced it.  Disappointments invade every life.  They are part of reality for every one of us.  A relationship degenerates into despair, a job is taken away, a talent is spurned and rejected, a spouse is buried, a child snatched away by the world, a happy home torn apart.  Disappointment, hurt, and loss, is real.  It breaks your heart.  It drives your head down.  Far more serious though is when you allow those disappointments to define you, and a bowed head becomes your standard posture.  Worse yet, it becomes a choice.  “Keep your head down,” you think, that’s the way to deal with life’s hard knocks.  “Keep your head down,” is the advice given to people in the midst of severe trials.  “Keep your head down,” is the way to get through the disappointments.   “Keep your head down,” has become the motto of many Christians.  They’ve been disappointed—you’ve been disappointed—by personal loss.  A bowed head means less risk: living with your head down, you don’t expect too much.  And, that’s safe.  If you don’t expect much, if you keep your head down, then you don’t have as much to lose.  Personal hurts and tragedies can compel Christians to lower expectations, drop their heads, and shuffle through life hoping for little and looking for even less.  Disappointment defines them.

Not only do the challenges and difficulties of life have a tendency to push our heads down, but so can the culture around us.  The world loves quiet and hesitant believers; and discourages Christians from speaking boldly about their faith or living courageously in the reality of their faith.  Too many Christians seem to be more than ready to comply with the pressure to keep quiet and they accept the standards of the social order.  They keep their heads down and their eyes aimed at the floor.  It’s safer and simpler to take a low-key, head-hanging approach than to get committed too deeply.  The world is also very good at leading believers to see themselves as second-rate, not quite-up-to-the-standard, not quite able to cut it in the real world.  Christians have been taught that they are fools to believe that Christ rose, lives now to rule the world, and is coming again to judge the world.  It’s implied that a committed Christian faith is appropriate only for the simple, the unsophisticated, and the uneducated—something for people who don’t know any better.  In the face of a hostile world, too many Christians, maybe some of you, go through life like a whipped puppy—uncertain, excessively apologetic, intimidated, fearful.  You don’t want to impose.  You don’t want to offend.  You don’t want to provoke ridicule and mockery.  Subdued and cautious, you slip through life, trying not to be noticed, trying not to stick out from the norm.  You keep your head down.

Jesus commanded the opposite.  He made it clear that his disciples were not to keep their heads down.  There was nothing about their faith that should cause them shame or embarrassment.  There was no reason for them to hang their heads.  Jesus spelled it out just a few days before his crucifixion.  “When you see everyone else at the end of their rope, fearful and fleeing the pain and sorrow of this broken world, when everyone around you is overwhelmed with disappointment, and shattered expectations, I want you to stand up, lift your head up high, and move forward!  Don’t be afraid.  Don’t be intimidated.  Don’t be embarrassed.  And certainly don’t drop your head and be ashamed of who you are in me.”  Jesus wants you going through life not hesitant and despondent, but functioning with confidence and great joy—functioning and living with your head held up.  You should look up and ahead with sure confidence knowing that Christ is in control of everything, knowing that sorrow and difficulty today, just means that the day of Jesus’ return is a little closer.

It’s sad that the very thing that should encourage Christians so frequently discourages them.  Jesus told us that when we see the signs of his coming, we should lift up our heads with expectation.  But, too many Christians see the hostility and the unraveling of this world, and get frightened and discouraged.  It should not be that way!  The signs of the end should encourage you.  Christ is coming.  He is coming soon.  The signs prove it.  the signs of this world coming unglued and falling apart as it rebels against its Creator are the evidence that Christ is near, your full redemption is getting very close.  Get your head up and get ready.  Christ is coming.

It’s like dealing with one of those strong, gusty, north winds as fall turns to winter.  You know how it feels.  That blast of frozen air can slice right through a body.  Most people go out into the driving wind with a shudder.  When the force smacks into them, they bend their heads low, stare only at the ground a few steps in front of them and hurry as fast as they can to get out of the cold.  But, not everyone does this.  There are those unique, perhaps odd, souls who greet the blast with exuberance.  They have the heart of a polar explorer.  They love the cold.  They love the jolting embrace of the sharp wind against their faces.  So, they step out into the gust with their heads held high looking straight ahead, relishing every moment spent in the invigorating air.  They love it.  That’s how it should be for you.  When you are tempted to drop you head and try to muddle through; don’t shudder, don’t be afraid.  Instead, delight in the nearness of your Lord.  Rejoice when the signs are roaring around you and ringing in your ears: it means that Christ is coming.  Get your head up!  The promise will be kept.  God does not disappoint his people.  Get your head up and look, because when you look up, you see Jesus.

When their world was falling apart, and everything was screaming, “failure!” and “disappointment!” the disciples should have been looking up.  If they had looked up, they would have seen Jesus—Jesus lifted up and crucified as the full payment for all failure and the healing for every disaster.  But they weren’t looking up.  On Easter evening, gathered in the upper room, their heads were hanging low in fear and shame.  And Jesus would have none of it!  He did not let his disciples remain in their dark defeat and disappointment. He came.  He lifted up their heads.  He gave them new joy and new hope.  He does the same for you, today.  God does not want you plodding through life with your head hung low.  He does not want you in a state of fear, despondency, embarrassment, apprehension, or shame.  He wants you confident, joyful and expectant.  You are confident because he is faithful.  He keeps his promises.  He will come again, and we do know when.   No, the Bible does not tell us the exact day or even year when Jesus will return, but it does tell us when he will come: he comes today, right now.  Look, up here.  He’s coming right now, right here.  In flesh and blood, here and now, Jesus comes in the Sacrament to you.  Whenever we celebrate his life, death, and resurrection in the Lord’s Supper, he comes.  He comes to tell you that you are his own.  He comes to you to wash away the stain of every sin.  He comes to reassure you that he is in control and that he has perfect plans for you.  He comes to lift up your head, stand you up tall and certain, and direct you forward into the teeth of the gale with his grace and strength.  That’s what happens, here at the altar.

Jesus is the confidence in your living.  He’s the spring in your step.  He’s the fire in your eye.  He’s the resolve in your decisions.  He’s the authority in your words.  He’s the guarantee in your future.  He’s everything.  It’s because of him that you lift your head high, today.  It’s because of him that you greet every cold blast of this sinful, world with unflinching determination, with your face forward, a gleam in your eye, and a smile on your lips.  Christ came for you.  Christ comes now, for you.  Christ will come again for you.  He comes this morning and fills you with his grace, and then sends you away, whole, complete, restored.  He heals hurt, erases disappointment, and brings everything to completion—including you.  No space is left unfilled, no expectation remains unmet, everything is restored when he comes.  He comes, today.  And, he comes, certainly, on the Last Day.  Our Lord comes and everything comes together in him.

It’s getting colder outside.  The chill of sin and evil blows hard and invades every space.  It’s a harsh and nasty world—just like Jesus told us it would be.  The northwest winds howl with fierce, unrelenting determination.  And, that’s all right.  Jesus told you to expect it to be that way.  When the wickedness and brokenness of the world rage and roar around you and threaten to freeze you, it just means that Jesus is coming soon.  You taste that coming, here, this morning.  Quit bowing your head and bending to the wind’s icy fury.  

Lift your head up.  

Greet the promise of the day.

Christ is on the way.

Your redemption is drawing nigh;

Meet the gale with face held high.

Amen.

Problem Children

Rev. Dr. Joel D. Biermann

I John 3:1-3

November 6, 2016

Names are important.  More than just labels, they are pieces of identity, part of what makes each of us the unique person that we are—that’s especially true of the name that was not given to you, but was simply inherited by you.  The name that is yours by virtue of who your parents happened to be says something about you.  Your cultural heritage and how and where you ancestors lived and worked can all be wrapped up in your family name.  So, I guess it’s not surprising that people with the same family name sometimes decide to celebrate the fact by getting together for a reunion.  When my wife and I are walking the circuit around Forest Park, we’ll often see them: crowds of people converging on a picnic shelter that has become the temporary home of some vast extended family.  Music will be pounding, grills will be smoking, and coolers will be everywhere.  On occasion they even have bounce houses and shaved ice stands—and, certainly, they all have the official family reunion t-shirt, at least the fully committed family members are easily identified by the common, usually ill-fitting, family shirt that they proudly wear.  It’s been a long time since I’ve been part of a big family reunion.  I suppose I might be missing out on something, but I’m not too concerned about it.  I’m content with more intimate gatherings of family members and celebrations that don’t include picnic shelters, bounce houses, and t-shirts.  Besides, if I ever want a big family reunion experience, I’ve got all of you, don’t I?

No, we don’t have official t-shirts this morning.  And we don’t have grills and bounce houses.  But, a family we are, and a reunion this is.  It is, after all, All Saints Day.  It’s like a family reunion or homecoming.  Today, we remember the saints who have gone before—and there are a lot of them.  And, today, we celebrate the saints that are still living—and there are a lot of them, too.  Remember: a saint is not a perfect person.  A saint is not someone who has been granted a superior status by church officials.  A saint is not a person who does miracles or who never sins or who seems to be particularly spiritual and heavenly-minded.  No, a saint is just a person who knows and trusts Jesus.  A saint is someone who’s had her sins forgiven because she believes that Jesus lived and died and rose again to pay the price for her, making her right with God now and forever.  Everyone who has faith in Christ is a saint.  That makes you a saint, and that makes All Saints Day your day—well, yours and every other believer’s day, that is.  In other words, it’s a great big family reunion.

That’s what we are, of course, we’re family, you and me together, we are the family of God in this place.  We share a peculiar bond—much more than a feeling of kinship or camaraderie, we share a common name, a common heritage, and a common inheritance.  We share all of this, because we share a common brother, and a common Father.  Saints are bound together, united by family ties far stronger than the ties of DNA.  Saints are the children of God.  We are children of God.  You are God’s own child.  By God’s choice, by God’s action, and by God’s continued provision, you are who you are: a Christian, a child of God.  It’s a high honor.  It’s a stunning gift.  It’s a real problem.

Well, at least there are times when it’s a problem.  There are times when the children of God seem to be burdened by the designation or made uncomfortable by being held accountable to the name they’ve been given.  You know, the “live-up-to-the-family-name” expectation.  It can weigh heavily.  Much is expected; and the children do not always live up to the family name they have inherited.

Certainly, that was the experience of the Old Testament believers.  They were the children of Israel.  Called out of Egypt, specially elected at Sinai, given God’s name, the children of Israel were the children of God—a holy nation, a chosen people, set apart from the world to be the family of God.  But this status proved difficult for the people to bear.  God’s call was explicit: “I will be your God, and you will be my people.”  The children of Israel were hand-picked by God to be his own.  They were given a name and a task that made them unlike all the other nations.  They weren’t like the rest of the world.  They were God’s children.

But, they betrayed that name and went back to old ways—the ways of the world.  A golden calf, a full-blown idol that they made and then worshipped; perpetual dissatisfaction with God’s provision of food and water; a refusal to trust God’s plan and to rely on his conquest of Canaan on their behalf; a yearning to be like the nations all around; a choice to look like the children of the world rather than the children of God: these were the ways that God’s chosen people handled their holy status.  You know the stories.  The common thread through them all is the rejection of the plan of God, and the enthusiastic acceptance of the ways of the world.  In name only were they children of God.  In fact, they were children of the world.  They were problem children.  

As you consider Israel’s routine failure to live up to their name, you might be inclined to breathe a prayer of thanks that you don’t struggle with the same problems as the Old Testament children of God.  We can thank God that we don’t collect gold and shape it into farm animals.  We can rejoice that we receive God’s gifts with real joy and heartfelt gratitude.  We don’t despise his benefits to us and we don’t disobey his direction…do we?  The truth, of course, is that we are every bit as human as the Old testament children of Israel.  Like them, we do succumb to idolatry, impatience, fear, and failure to follow God’s ways.  The temptations may be updated, shiny, and sophisticated, but they are the same.  In fact, one of the most dangerous temptations you face is the old temptation to want to look like the world around you.  It’s a serious temptation.  You’d rather not be odd or different.  You don’t want to stand out from everyone else.  Whether intentionally or not, most of us have been quite successful at blending in with the world around us.  We don’t look any different than anyone else.  And, that’s a problem.  The Apostle John names it.

In John’s time, there was a definite and dramatic division between the church and the world.  The world was dumbfounded by the church.  The children of the world, bent on serving their own desires and oblivious to God’s will and purposes looked very different from the children of God who were living lives directly opposed to the norms and agenda of the world.  John understood that when Christians live like Christians, they will always be out of step with the world.  Christians should live such drastically selfless, humble, generous, pious, compassionate lives that the world will feel rebuked, shamed, and challenged by the very existence of such odd, non-conforming, people.  That’s what John knew would happen.  When people follow Christ, the world will not “get” it.  The people of this world did not get Jesus—they couldn’t figure him out.  His teaching, his ways, his very being threatened their comfortable, status quo, existence.  So, they killed him.  God’s radical way of grace and forgiveness is always a threat to a world founded on pride and self-preservation.  So, those who follow Jesus, those who are God’s children, should be the same kind of people—a threat to the world, dangerous, disruptive of the social order, subversive.  When John wrote, that’s what it meant to be a Christian.

Where do you fit?  Do those around you feel out of step with you?  Do you live in such a strangely Christian way that people wonder and worry about you?  Do people describe you as one of those peculiar, odd, Christians who seem to challenge everything that the world takes for granted?  It’s interesting how people can feel great pride in being known as part of Cardinal nation and will gladly, eagerly, proudly, endure endless grief from the rest of the baseball world; yet scratch their heads, or shudder at the thought of being recognized or labeled as a zealous or fanatical Christian who rejects the ways of the world.  The great threat we face is not persecution; it is the temptation to blend-in.  Christians are tempted to conformity and compliance, tempted to look and sound like everyone else.  We give the impression that we’re just nice people who happen to believe in God and heaven, spend Sunday mornings with friends at church, tend to be socially conservative, and that’s about it.  Other than some religious overtones, we’re just like every other good, solid, American pursuing the American dream, doing what everyone else does, just trying to be happy.  We act more like children of the world, than children of God.

As God’s child, you should not only resist the world, you should be a threat to the world.  You should be a threat to all that the world (even the American world) stands for—when it stands against God and his plan.  Complicity with the world; complacency in the face of the world’s pretensions; comfort in the circles of worldly pleasure and prestige; these are the great unconfessed sins of the church, today.  These are the sins for which you and I must repent.  Like the children of Israel, you too have yearned to be like the nation around you.  You have chosen to identify with the world, and have failed the name you have been given.  You are to live up to the name God gave you; but the comfortable and easy way that you blend into the world and its ways declares a different name giving you your identity.  You are a problem child, a disappointment to your Father, a disgrace.  You are a problem child: not a child innocent, carefree, and full of potential; but a child helpless, hungry for approval, uncertain, selfish, dependent, needy.  To be called child is not a compliment.  It is a reminder of the truth of our own limits, your own neediness, your own dependence.

When you realize what God expects of you; and then recognize what you actually do in your life—when you see your failure to live like the child of God that God says you are, you can only do what broken and repentant children do: drop your gaze, hang you head, and confess your sorrow and regret for dishonoring the sacred name that you bear.  Like a child before a disappointed and grieved parent, you have nothing to say: nothing but, “I failed you.  I betrayed your love.  I shamed your glory.  I disgraced your name.”

And at that point, exactly at that point of your most bitter despair, when the searing shame burns white hot in your face, and the suffocating reproach swells into an infinite weight that threatens to crush your heart; precisely then, when all the weakness and foolishness and futility and crippling helplessness of a child flood over and through you, just then, softly and tenderly, your Father speaks your name, lifts your chin, looks you straight in the eye, and with a smile folds you to himself to surround you in his love and grace, and his warm, wonderful, wild, forgiveness.  Such it is to be a child: possessing nothing, given everything.  Such it is to have a father who still claims you and names you as his own.  Such you are, right now…and such gifts your Father has for you. Some gifts can only be given when Christ appears and the whole creation is at last restored: resurrection, rejoicing, and the ultimate reunion—for that reunion there will be no ill-fitting t-shirts; you’ll get a robe of righteousness tailored just for you.  But, of course, some gifts do come now—right now, here: membership in Christ’s body, the church, peace that sustains you through every trial, and a place set at God’s table with your name on it.  Listen.  He’s calling his children; God’s calling you now: “Come, dine with me.  Come receive my gifts.  Come, live as my child.”  The saints are gathering at the rail.  It’s time to feast together at the reunion meal.  Amen.