"Ex Nihilo"

Rev. Dr. Joel D. Biermann

I Corinthians 1:26-31

4th Sunday after Epiphany

January 29, 2017

Christians, these days, don’t enjoy a great deal of favorable press or good feeling from the surrounding culture.  Several books and studies have appeared in recent years documenting this animosity. But you don’t need books to tell you what you already experience.  Being a serious Christian intent on following Christ, honoring his truth, and living according to God’s will does not exactly inspire the world’s applause. More often, it invites the world’s derision and contempt.  But this is nothing new.  Already in the second century, a Roman writer named Celsus described the Christians of his day as uncultured, ignorant simpletons.  They were, he said, “the most uneducated and vulgar persons.”  Celsus compared Christians to “a swarm of bats or ants creeping out of their nests, or frogs holding a symposium around a swamp, or worms in conventicle in a corner of mud.” Christians have been putting up with attacks and insults from the culture for a long time.

Some believers get rather perturbed by these characterizations and attacks.  And some believe that the church should challenge the misinformation and the slander by fighting back with declarations and evidence to prove the greatness, wisdom, and accomplishments of Christian men and women.  That may be a worthwhile idea…or maybe not.  I’m not certain it would have much real impact.  Besides, there’s a bigger problem we need to face.  It’s bad enough when the world speaks harsh and cruel words about Christians, but, what happens when the unflattering descriptions and accusations of Christians don’t come from unbelievers, but from your own leaders?  Writing to the Christians living in Corinth, the Apostle Paul reminded them of the hard facts: they were uneducated, unimportant, powerless, and largely insignificant in the eyes of the world.  It’s not particularly nice, but it’s right.  There were a few exceptions, but for the most part, the first believers fit Paul’s description to a tee.  And even the assessment of Celsus was probably not far off target.

Still, describing the early Christians that way is one thing, but using those words on today’s believers is another matter altogether, isn’t it?  You can probably put up with your spiritual forebears being described harshly; but it’s harder to swallow the words when they are aimed at you.  Foolish, weak, low, despised: these are not easy labels to bear.  But, doing research or piling up evidence to disprove the charges is beside the point.  Whether most Christians, today, are actually successful, middle class, college-educated, critical thinkers is irrelevant.  Those who reject Christ and his church are going to think what they want to think about us despite statistics or facts.  And what does it actually matter what they think, anyway?  What people think about us ultimately isn’t overly important.  People may think that Christians are ignorant, unsophisticated, obscurantists, who cling to archaic, falsified notions and superstitions; so, what?  Let them believe what they will.  It doesn’t matter.  Neither, though, does it matter what we in the church may think about ourselves.  Neither what the world thinks of us, nor what we think of us are of any consequence whatsoever.  What counts, the only thing that counts, is what God thinks of us.  And although it may be hard on our tender, easily bruised human egos, what God thinks of us is even less flattering than what the world has to say.

We all know that God is thoroughly unimpressed by human achievements, worldly deeds, and cultural accomplishments.  We know that he is not wowed by the brightest and best that this world has to offer.  God is no respecter of persons, and does not privilege the rich and powerful.  Still, we are mistaken if we think that the opposite must be true. While God is unimpressed by human accomplishment, he is not favorably disposed to human mediocrity, inability, or failure to achieve.  To be simple, uncultured uneducated, and underprivileged, does not put a person a little closer to God.  People living in poverty are not inherently more virtuous or appealing to God because of what they don’t have or haven’t done.  People who have all the perks don’t merit God’s favor…and people who have none of the perks do not merit God’s favor either.  No human offering or action can ever impress God or wrest loose some blessing of God.  Power, knowledge, and wealth are not impressive to God.  Weakness, ignorance, and poverty are not impressive to God. We cannot offer to God our triumphs.  We cannot offer to God our defeats.  We can offer to God, nothing.  And that’s the point.

You remember that when God created our universe, he did it ex nihilo—out of nothing.  God did not start with atoms, or nuclear particles.  He did not start with unharnessed energy or force.  He didn’t even start with a black hole.  He started with nothing.  God took nothing and made everything.  In creating the world, God violated every scientific rule of cause and effect, and ignored virtually every rule of physics.  Everyone knows that you can’t make something out of nothing.  But God did.  God created out of nothing, ex nihilo.  The same truth, the same Latin phrase applies to your spiritual life.  When God created faith in you, he did it the same way.  He created ex nihilo.  He created out of nothing.  That’s how God always creates.  He makes something, some great thing, out of no thing.

God did not take your humility and lowliness and create faith out of that.  He did not take your guilt and your sense of shame and worthlessness and use those things to create your justification.  And he certainly didn’t take your sincerity ad goodness and because of them create salvation for you.  He took from you what you had to give, he took nothing.  Nothing in you creates faith.  Nothing in you makes you a believer.  Nothing in you makes God care about you, or think twice about you.  Not your success, not your failure.  Not your confidence, not your humility.  Not your position and achievements, not your lowliness and defeats.  Nothing.  You bring to God nothing; because only where there is nothing does God create something.  This is a critical truth.  God cannot work his miracle of spiritual creation when something else is already there.  The something that keeps God out is any preoccupation with self.  It can be puffed up pride and self-sufficiency that can’t stand to be called poor, ignorant, and gullible; or it can be despairing self-hatred that is offered to God.  But, when God creates, we can give nothing.  Nothing.

It turns out that the analysis of the enemies of Christianity is on the right track after all.  Celsus was right—well, actually, he didn’t go quite far enough!  To be Christian, one must first be nothing.  Before God creates, he first has to remove everything in the way.  God works in us only when there is nothing in us.  “God chose the things that are not to nullify the things that are so that no one may boast before him.”  That’s how Paul put it.  In other words, God only does his work of creating ex nihilo. That’s how it works when God saves you, when he justifies you.  And that’s also how it works when God leads you as his disciple.  When you trust yourself, your commitment, your sincerity, your passion, your determination to follow Christ and do his will, you will fail.  There probably aren’t many Christians who will readily admit it but, this self-sufficient sort of discipleship is rather common among believers.  Even people in the church who claim to know all about grace and who say that they are trusting God for everything have a tendency to begin counting on their own wits and abilities to get things done, and to grow in their Christian walk.  When you count on yourself, you push God out.  Salvation is never a cooperative venture.  Discipleship is not a mutual effort between you and God.  It’s all God’s work from start to finish.  From the font to the funeral, it is all God’s work.

God’s his work is remarkably consistent.  He works in you when you are nothing; and, he worked to win your salvation by himself becoming nothing.  In his letter to the Philippians, Paul relates the work of God to save us.  He tells us that Jesus Christ, the Son of God, emptied himself or poured himself out.  Jesus was fully God in human flesh.  All the power of the entire universe was completely his as he walked this earth.  He was the Creator.  He was the Lord.  But, to save the creation, he used none of that power.  To restore this world, he revealed none of that might.  Instead, he emptied himself.  He made himself nothing.  He humbled himself to the point of letting others nail him to a cross.  Jesus joined us in our nothingness.  He became one with us by himself becoming nothing.  Crucified.  Dead.  Buried.  Nothing.  And then God made him everything.  Raised.  Vindicated.  Exalted.  Everything.  This is how God worked your salvation.  This is how God continues to work in the lives of his people.

Those who follow Christ come to their Lord each day an empty vessel—not just in theory, but in reality.  It’s a conscious admission of the score.  They have nothing; God has everything.  That’s how each day begins for Christ’s followers.  And from that point of nothingness, God takes over and makes them everything.  He creates and gives and guides.  Each day God fills his people with the strength and the zeal they need to follow and do what he calls them to do that day.  God does it.  It’s creation ex nihilo every single morning.  St. Paul understood this truth about God’s work in the lives of believers.  His letters breathe the reality.  Paul disparaged all of his own earthly accomplishments—and he had many both before and after his conversion to Christ.  But he rejected them all and counted them as garbage, as…nothing.  He was weak.  God was strong.  He was incapable.  God was more than able.  He was ignorant.  God was wise.  He was nothing.  Christ was everything.  Every follower of Christ knows this reality.  Disciples don’t rely on themselves and what they have.  They rely on Christ and all that he has.  This is the core of the Christian life.

It’s a daily process, of course.  And, it’s a process that you will never leave behind, or “grow out of”.  The longer you are a Christian, the more you need to check yourself to make certain that you are not putting things where there should be nothing.  It’s too easy to slide into self-reliance.  It’s so easy to be deceived into a self-assured swagger.  When things are going pretty much the way that they are supposed to go, it’s tempting to take the credit, or at least begin to forget that you need God for everything.  It’s precisely when you are on track and seeing success in your efforts in your home at work, or in the neighborhood, that you most need to be on guard.  It’s then that you are most vulnerable to forgetting that you have nothing and need God for everything.  It’s then that you are in danger of leaving God behind.  People rarely fall from faith in one fell swoop.  No, it’s not the great crisis or sudden disaster that drives people to renounce their dependence on God for everything.  Hard events may be a critical juncture or a crystalizing moment, but the rejection of God always begins long before.  Faith is lost incrementally and gradually.  It’s given up by degrees.  And it is the seasons of success and plenty that are the most dangerous to the Christian.  Those times breed a spirit of independence and self-reliance that are the antithesis of faith.  Trusting what you have, puts an idol where only God can be.  God works ex nihilo.  That’s how he saved you.  That’s how he grows you.  The daily rhythm of your life must begin with an admission of your need and God’s provision.

The world’s motives may be vindictive and cruel, but their assessment of Christians is closer to the truth than even they know.  It’s true, we Christians are poor.  We are ignorant and unlearned.  We are incapable and prone to fail.  But the truth goes even further.  We are nothing, which is just fine, because Christ is everything.  You are nothing.  He is everything.  And to you, who are in Christ, he gives everything.  Amen.

When God Calls the Wrong Person

Rev. Dr. Joel D.Biermann

Matthew 9:9

January 22, 2017

When you walk into the old and enormous churches of Christendom you often see magnificent statues of the apostles who served as the very foundation of the church.  Of course, probably the single greatest concentration of these churches and statues is found in Rome.  The main nave of one of the most important cathedrals, there, St. John Lateran, is lined on both sides by enormous marble statues almost twice the size of real life, of all twelve of the apostles.  Each of them exudes strength, courage, piety and virtue.  They portray the twelve apostles as literal pillars of righteousness and holiness.  Each is mounted on a slab base higher than a man can reach, so that as you walk beneath each apostle you are compelled to bend your head to gaze up at the magnificence.  There is Peter with a fiery countenance, an outstretched arm and his key of authority clenched in his fist. St. Philip stands with his foot crushing a dragon’s head his bare chest revealing his muscular torso.  And Matthew is there, studying with a fierce bearing, an enormous book that his muscle-bound arms hold propped against his leg.  Judas, naturally, is not there; he’s replaced with St. Paul.  No traitor, and no failure is allowed in this noble army of great saints.  There’s no blemish on this assembly of remarkable men, no failing, no weakness, no shame.  The men are giants in every way.  

But before Peter and Paul or Philip and Matthew were awe-inspiring statues in one of the world’s greatest churches, they were simply apostles, disciples, followers of Christ.  And before that, they were just men, unassuming Jewish men living unexceptional lives, in utterly unremarkable ways.  In fact, had you known any of them when they were just ordinary guys from the neighborhood or the synagogue, you would never have thought it possible that one day people would celebrate them in wonderful marble sculptures.  Indeed, none of the twelve themselves would have been able to imagine such a thing.  Before Jesus called them, there was nothing special about any of them.  But, Jesus called them, and that changed everything forever.

For two Sunday’s now, we’ve heard gospel readings tell us about Jesus gathering his disciples.  He went about it in rather unconventional ways—which isn’t too surprising.  Jesus never seemed to be bound to the usual way of doing things.  No rabbi in the 1st century chose a follower or invited someone to be a disciple.  Instead, people would offer themselves to the teacher.  But not Jesus.  He does the choosing.  Matthew tells the story.  It all seems so casual and spontaneous.  Jesus has moved, a trek of several days walking from the Jordan River and Judea where he was baptized, back to his home area to the north: Galilee.  And he begins to preach.  His ministry has begun.  And then one day, as he walks by the Sea of Galilee, he issues his first calls.  A couple of fishermen are there—two men who’d already had some interaction with Jesus back in Judea.  Jesus invites them to join him and to be remade into a new kind of fisherman.  And that’s it.  They drop everything and follow, just like that.  Moving on, the three of them spot the next two to be called.  Not only do James and John leave their boat and business, but they leave their father.  Again, just like that.  Jesus calls.  They follow.  But, what peculiar men to choose to be apostles, leaders, preachers, and pillars of the church.  Everything was going to depend on them.  But, they weren’t scholars.  They weren’t practiced theologians.  They weren’t civic leaders.  They weren’t wealthy and influential members of society.  They weren’t polished public speakers.  No, the four of them were fishermen, just plain, unremarkable fishermen.  And Jesus chose them.  Their most distinguishing feature was their lack of distinction.  It’s hard to understand how Jesus had called the right men for the job.  Actually, it seems like Jesus had called the wrong men.

Jesus, though, makes his choice and calls his first four followers.  And while his first four selections may have been unexpected, they are choices that we can understand and even begin to appreciate.  After all, every one of these four are solid guys.  These are hard-working, parent-honoring, God-fearing men who make their living by trusting in God’s provision.  There’s no guarantee when you fish.  God has to show mercy.  These four fishermen know how to trust God and how to honor his creation.  So, while these men were not exactly elite, they did have a solid, salt-of-the-earth quality about them.  They may have been surprising choices as apostles, but, it can be argued, they were good choices: good men, good stock, good potential.  Jesus is off to a good start, it seems…and then there’s Matthew.  We have to jump ahead a few chapters; Jesus’ group of disciples has taken shape for a while already—all those good, solid, Jewish, Galilean fishermen are going wherever Jesus goes, walking and talking, sleeping and eating in his company, when he suddenly does something incredible.  He calls Matthew to follow too.

Matthew.  Mathew was a tax-collector.  Matthew came with issues—a lot of them.  Matthew, was a guy who worked for the enemy.  Matthew was the man who made people pay, the man who took Jewish money and gave it to Roman occupiers.  Matthew was a sell-out.  He was an opportunistic, self-serving, lover of money, who cared more about his own bottom line than about the suffering of his own people.  Matthew was ready to turn his back on people and bargain with Rome to make a buck.  His occupational choice made it very clear where his priorities lay.  He had little room for God or country or countrymen.  Matthew was busy looking out for himself.  He was greedy.  He was rich.  He was a traitor.  Matthew was everything that Peter, Andrew, James, and John were not.  They were hard-working people tied to nature: simple, solid, and trustworthy.  Matthew had soft hands, a shrewd, conniving mind, a pile of wealth, and complicated relationships with everyone.  He couldn’t be trusted.  And Jesus calls him.  What was Jesus thinking?  Matthew is not disciple material.  The Pharisees gathered at Matthew’s party were not impressed with Jesus’ choice.  They knew that Jesus had called the wrong guy.  Even the other disciples must have been shocked and dismayed.  It was all too obvious to them as well that Jesus had called the wrong guy.

Truth be told, I’ve got a few problems of my own with Jesus’ choice of Matthew.  Getting called as a disciple was quite an honor—a really good thing.  But, really good things like that are supposed to happen to really deserving people.  We know that’s the way that it works.  People who get good things are those who deserve good things, and everyone understands that those who deserve special good things are those who are nice, decent, and hard-working, and yet somehow don’t have a lot of things.  In other words, to be deserving is to be good and to be poor.  To be deserving is to be men like Peter, and Andrew, and John and James were.  Matthew was neither good nor poor.  He wasn’t helping anyone but himself, and he was filthy rich.  He wasn’t down and out.  He wasn’t one of the humble, but honest folk who got the short end of the stick.  Face the facts: Jesus called the wrong guy.

He always does.

Jesus doesn’t do what he’s supposed to do.  It’s bad enough that Jesus doesn’t seem to play by the rules of the world and give due deference to those in places of power and authority.  And, it’s a bitter pill for some to accept that uneducated and simple people find a place in the ranks of the chosen few.  Still, by now, we’re getting used to that.  It is more or less the standard way that Jesus operates.  He always seems to go for the fringes and comes to the aid of the powerless and the humble.  But, with Matthew, he doesn’t even follow those rules.  Matthew had made deliberate choices about the way he lived his life.  He wasn’t a helpless peasant by no fault of his own.  He wasn’t a victim of the system.  He was not down-trodden and poor.  He was not an honest guy caught in the evil of others.  He was the other evil one.  He was “the system.”  He was a calculating, rich, fat cat…and Jesus calls him.  What a grossly unfair and arbitrary thing to do!  What a bizarre and unbelievable thing to do.  Indeed, there’s a word for this incredible, inexplicable, erratic behavior.  It’s called grace.

Grace makes no sense.  Grace is a scandal.  Grace means that God goes after the undeserving.  Jesus elects those who have made deliberate choices to reject God and God’s truth.  Jesus chooses the people that we would never choose.  He calls not just society’s loser, but even worse, he calls society’s hot-shot winners and manipulators.  Grace singles out the undeserving for special treatment—even the wicked, even the well-off.  It doesn’t add up.  The only thing obvious about God’s choosing is that he has a decided preference for sinners—the worse, the better, it would seem.  That’s clearly the modus operandi of Jesus.  Jesus has no use for righteous people.  The Pharisees, the guys who were doing things right and trying hard to obey God’s law, these people Jesus dismisses.  “If you’re satisfied with your righteousness,” Jesus says, “fine; keep your righteousness, and go on, get out of here…and take your righteousness with you.  Oh, and put some effort into what really counts: go figure out what mercy means.”

Matthew knew what mercy meant.  He was living it.  Mercy was blowing him away.  Mercy meant that he was elected.  Matthew, a sinner, a really successful sinner, was elected.  And once chosen, he did the most astounding thing.  He left his successful sin and he actually followed Jesus.  How could he not?  He had met mercy.  Still, none of it makes sense.  Why didn’t Matthew do the reasonable thing?  Why didn’t he do what was expected and balk at the call of Jesus like the rich young man?  Why didn’t he hedge a bit and at least discuss and negotiate?  Why didn’t he say no to Jesus so that he could say yes to his already comfortable and lucrative life?  Matthew’s call makes no sense at all.  Grace never makes sense.  Jesus called Matthew?  Matthew said, yes?  How can it be?

It’s grace.  From beginning to end, it’s grace.

It’s sinners that Jesus wants.  It’s sinners that he elects.  God as no interest in the righteous.  Got your act together?  On top of your game?  Plenty of good works to your credit?  Self-satisfied and secure?  Then, Jesus is not interested in you.  He’s interested in sinners.  He elects the undeserving.  He wants the likes of Matthew.  He wants the likes of you.  Grace is still operative here and now.  And, it is still unpredictable, bizarre, and absurd.  Never minimize the scandal of God’s grace; and never forget that the most scandalous reality must always be the grace that God gives…to you.  God elected Matthew.  Why?  I have no idea, but he did.  God elected me.  Why?  I have no idea, but he did.  God elected you.  Why?  I have no idea, but he did.  At the font, he most certainly did.  And if the reality of God’s grace to you does not blow you away with the absurdity and audacity of it all, then take your place with the Pharisees, and go figure out what mercy means.  Grace is for the undeserving.  Jesus chooses sinners.  Go figure!  No, on second thought, don’t go figure.  Don’t try to understand it.  Just revel in it.  You are the target of grace.  God elects the wrong person.  He always does.  He elects you.  He chooses his disciple.  He chooses you.  So, take your place, not among the magnificent sculptures of super-sized extraordinary apostles.  No, take your place next to Peter, Andrew, James, and John—ordinary men.  Take your place next to Matthew a truly colossal sinner.  Take your place in the grace of God.  Amen.

Lights, Camels, Action

Rev. Dr. Joel D. Biermann

Isaiah 60:1-6

January 15, 2017

Have you noticed?  It’s happening ever so gradually, and ever so slowly, but it is happening.  On schedule and with clockwork precision, with each passing day, the days are getting just a little longer.  There’s a bit more sunlight at the end of the day; and in the morning, the sun appears a few minutes earlier than it did only a week or two ago.  Indeed, each day we’ll be adding about two minutes of daylight.  So, the world around us actually mirrors the church year.  Out there, the winter light is on the increase, and in here, it’s Epiphany, the season of light.  During Epiphany, we celebrate that in Jesus, God’s light has blazed forth into the world.  That’s what the word means: epiphany is just Greek for “to shine upon”.  So, Epiphany and light belong together perfectly.  They fit together like St. Louis and baseball, or like cold cereal and 2% milk.  You can’t have the first without the second—at least not in my home, you can’t.  But, like cold cereal and milk, most sermons about God’s light coming into the world are regrettably common and painfully predictable.  The light metaphor is great and powerful, but it only goes so far and a preacher can only do so much with it.  In our text for this morning, the classic epiphany text from Isaiah 60, we have that powerful metaphor of God’s light breaking into the world.  And we know that that great metaphor was fulfilled to overflowing when God himself broke into the world as the one true light.  But, you’ve heard that sermon before.  So, have I.

The light imagery is great—and it is beautifully described by Isaiah, but the part of Isaiah’s text that captured my attention and my imagination as I was thinking about this sermon was not, “Arise, shine, for your light has come.”  For all the tingling wonder and sparkling grandeur that those words engender, they didn’t hook me.  But, verse six did.  Verse six packed one of those, “always-there-but-I-never-really-noticed-before-surprises” that got me; and verse six hasn’t let go yet.  The “arise, shine” part I’ve heard to the point of unhearing numbness, but I don’t know that I ever really noticed verse six before.  But there it was: “A multitude of camels shall cover you.”  What a wonderful and wild image that has conjured for me.  Let it take shape in your mind: camels…big, ungainly, noisy, slow, irritable, ugly, camels—but not just two or three or even a small herd like you can see at Grants’ Farm or the zoo, no, a multitude of camels stretching as far as the eye can see…camels everywhere, camels covering the land.  Imagine the sound.  Imagine the stench.  “A multitude of camels shall cover you.”  What a picture.

My western mind delights in the oddity of the image.  Actually, to me, it seems less like a blessing than a strange plague.  But, of course, Isaiah is not suggesting an invasion and overrunning of the countryside by occupying hordes of camels; his point is what the camels carry.  In Isaiah’s world of the ancient near east, camels were the 18-wheelers of the road.  They carried everything that needed to be transported.  And the camels of Isaiah’s vision are groaning under the burden of the wealth of the nations.  Gentile nations, heathen nations, and their camel caravans are bringing gifts of gold and frankincense—gifts fit for a king…or for the nation that is basking in the astounding brilliant light and glory of God, their king.  When the light beams with dazzling radiance, people notice…everyone has to notice…and they know what to do: they come running with gifts.  Isaiah pictures a time when God’s glory and grace have shined so brightly and unmistakably on his chosen people, Israel, that all the rest of the world cannot help but take note, and are so captivated and excited by the wonder and glory of God, that they are moved irresistibly to join in the celebration.  They’ve just got to be part of it, too.  It’s sort of like the enthusiasm that attends a royal wedding or coronation it’s a once-in-a-lifetime national celebration, only in Isaiah it’s a once in the history of the world moment.  Isaiah looks ahead and sees a day when all the world will notice what God is doing for Israel, and all the world will join in the festivities by sending their best gifts, and they’ll send them, certainly, on camels, a multitude of camels.

And, that, of course, is what Epiphany is all about.  Gaspar, Melchior, and Balthasar finally make their belated appearance at the Christmas scene.  They come bearing their gifts from their Gentile nations: myrrh, gold, and frankincense.  And they come, naturally, on camels…at least in any crèche that’s worth displaying, they come on camels.  Their mini-caravan arrives at the source of the light that summoned them and they unload their cargo—wonderful gifts.  But, this is not the final or ultimate fulfillment of Isaiah’s vision.  It’s just a foretaste of the camel multitude still to come.  It’s a down payment, or better a first-fruits example for all to follow when the great final day comes and the “glory of the Lord has risen upon you.”  On that day, when Christ comes again in full glory and brings to completion the entire plan of God for his people, on that day, when he at last weds his chosen bride, on that great day of celebration, the nations will load their camels and their 18-wheelers, and their railcars and shipping containers and they’ll bring their best gifts to the ultimate celebration.  They will bring extraordinary gifts to God’s Messiah, the King, and also to that great king’s chosen bride, his people, his church.  Such a flood of gifts from the nations will be quite right and appropriate on that day as the bride and her groom will finally fulfill their long engagement and mark the event with the much-anticipated marriage feast.  What a day that will be: a new earth, fresh heavens, all of creation remade and perfect, endless crowds of men and women from every tongue and tribe, happy reunions among God’s people, a wedding and the feast to go with it, celebrating and rejoicing, and camels, or course, camels everywhere, multitudes of camels

Epiphany and its season is all of that.  The light shines in stunning splendor.  The Messiah is manifest in all of his eschatological, end-of-time, resurrection glory.  God’s people, the chosen nation, thrills and rejoices and every other nation, the Gentiles and the heathen, stunned by that light cannot but obey it: “every knee will bow and every tongue will confess.”  But, in the meantime, in the now of the present, in the today of hope-filled anticipation of the final and full epiphany when Christ appears in heaven’s glory, we still delight in the light.  The last great epiphany, when Christ returns, still lies ahead; but Epiphany is right now.  The manifestation of God’s brilliant gospel plan is a present reality.  The light, the glory of the gospel, shines today.  It shines here…and now.  God has visited his people.  He’s visiting them, he’s visiting you, still.  The light of forgiveness, restoration, and righteousness blasts onto and into the lives of God’s people and they delight in that radiance.  And the nations, the unbelievers, those not the people of God, are also invited and, even they come, and here they also find a place.  Just like the magi, they belong in the scene.  Once not a part of the people, now they too are the people of God.  When people come together in the light of Christ that is now present in the world, there are no foreigners, no Gentiles, no immigrants, no aliens, no outsiders.  There, in that light, all people are Israel…in the light of Christ, everyone is part of the chosen nation of God, the people of God.  And, it is the light that brings them.  It is always and only the light of the Gospel that finally brings those who are outside inside to become part of the repentant and forgiven people of God.  Only Christ and his true light can draw outsiders in, and make people God’s people.

So, what then, is the business of this gospel-bathed nation?  What is the task of this people washed in the brightness of Epiphany glory?  What is God’s church supposed to be doing in this dark world?  More pressing and to the point, what are you, one of those who has been blessed by Epiphany light, what are you supposed to be doing?  The answer is actually easy and obvious.  Isaiah made it clear: “Arise and shine!”  In other words, do your part to shine God’s light onto those around you.  You are to proclaim, to make known, the Gospel—the light of God.  And with all due respect and sincere deference to pious and tireless Sunday School and preschool teachers everywhere, this Gospel light is neither “little,” nor is it “mine.”  When you go out into the neighborhood of your world, you go shining the screaming brilliance of Christ’s light.  This is not a small pinprick of light in a world of stifling darkness.  The light of Christ is a consuming, dazzling, flood of glory-light.  It blazes out directly form God’s presence.  The bright light is not your own.  It belongs to Christ.

When the light of Christ shines on his people, that radiant reality cannot be concealed.  That’s how it is in the church.  That’s the purpose of God’s people.  That’s your purpose.  You have God’s light.  You were first given that light personally and powerfully when you were baptized, and it shines on you fresh and new each time you hear his word of promise and every time that you kneel at his altar and receive Christ’s Body and Blood.  God’s light shines on you and so you now live an authentic, faithful, forgiven life in the brilliance of the reality of Christ.  That’s what pushes back the darkness.  That’s what declares the gospel.  That’s what pulls in the nations as they are drawn to Christ’s light.  What does this look like?  It’s not complicated or mysterious.  The light is just the people of God living all of their lives with integrity and authenticity.  The light shines when you live knowing who you are, what you’re doing, and where you’re going living in the reality of God’s grace, and following in the way of Christ.  The light shines when you do what God gives you to do with zeal and compassion, fulfilling all of your responsibilities to all of those you meet.  The light shines when at every possible opening, you speak his gospel truth to all of those you meet with real words.  That’s how the light of Christ shines.  And when it does, people notice and people come.

There is something profoundly wrong-headed about schemes intended to lure the nations into the church by some means of making the church more attractive or relevant to unbelievers.  The church must remember her true identity and must never trade in the dollars of darkness.  Christ’s gospel is not just another product to be peddled in the media.  It is not a commodity to be made interesting and attractive and so more desirable to consumers.  The gospel is not an idea that needs to find shelf-space in the marketplace of ideas.  When we treat the gospel like a product or another consumer option that must compete for the attention of shoppers, when we try to make it more captivating or relevant to contemporary people, when we saddle the gospel with gimmicks and slick packaging, we diminish the truth and beauty that are inherent in the gospel.  The gospel of Christ does not need to be marketed or promoted or updated or re-packaged.  The light of Christ does not need to be refocused or diffused or refreshed so that people will notice it.  It is God’s truth.  It is always right.  It is always relevant.  It is always interesting and inherently attractive.  It does not need our help to give it a make-over.  It simply needs to be proclaimed.  It simply needs to be lived.  When the gospel shines on and in God’s people, it gets noticed.  Always.  It can’t be ignored.  Christ’s light is never little.  It always shines full-blast and all-out.   And when people see that light, they come.  They come with gifts.  They come with camels.  They come ready to give what they have, ready to give themselves to the light, ready to become part of the people who know and live in that light.

Christ’s light shines today.  It shines here.  It shines on you.  It shines in you.  You hear God’s truth spoken to you.  You taste the bread and the wine and know his grace and power.  You know that you belong to him.  His light shines, and when it does his people are stunned and amazed one more time, overwhelmed again by the wonder, warmth, security and comfort of God’s light that comes to them and gives them everything.  Christ claims his own.  He claims you.  Forgiven and redeemed, you bask and revel in his light, and the nations around you notice.  They can’t help but notice.  They hear and see the Gospel shining in the midst of God’s people.  They see it shining in you.  That’s what goes on here, in God’s church and among his people.  In this place, God’s truth is proclaimed and celebrated.  God’s truth, his light, his Christ shines in the work, the prayers, and the worship of this congregation.  And it shines in the individual lives of each you as you live in God’s light and then shine that light into and through the way that you live and interact with everyone that you meet.

It’s Epiphany.  The light has come.  Arise and shine, people.  Shine with the brilliance of Christ’s incredible Gospel.  And, don’t forget to be on the lookout for camels.  They are certainly coming!  Amen.

Nightmare on Sanctification Street

Rev. Dr. Joel D. Biermann

Romans 6:1-11

January 8, 2017

This morning I’d like you to use your imagination.  Imagine that someone decided to make a movie about your life.  For me, this exercise requires a great deal of imagination—because there is precious little in my life that might be considered worthy of a movie, and it’s not easy to imagine why anyone would ever be inclined to produce a movie based on my life.  Well, except for that one part where the awkward, uncool, boy falls in love with the very cool princess of the school and miraculously manages to win her affection and her hand in marriage.  But, on the whole, the rest is typical enough.  Maybe you feel the same way about your own life: nothing too exciting, pretty normal, highly typical.  But, let’s press on.  Give it some thought, think about a movie based on your life.  What sort of movie would it be?  Would it be an action adventure?  Would it be a travelogue recounting a long journey?  Would it be an emotional drama full of pathos and angst?  Would it be a romantic comedy?  A suspense thriller?  Or, would it be a documentary filled with facts and homey anecdotes and not much else?  Regardless what you might think about the life you’ve lived so far and the kind of movie that might best portray that life—or even whether or not there’s anything movie-worthy about your life, this morning, I’ve got news for you.  Your life, ordinary and uninteresting as it may seem, is actually an extraordinary story, one worthy of a movie—and it’s got a plot that could make it the ultimate feel-good movie.  Let me tell you about your movie.

You already know the lead actor—that would be you, of course—and you’re playing yourself.  The plot is simple.  There’s no need to get bogged down in details.  Frankly, they aren’t that important!  What matters is the basic plot development of your story.  This movie, your movie, is a story about redemption.  It’s the classic tale of great sorrow turned to joy, a movie about terrifying peril that gives way to celebration.  You know the story.  It’s your own.  It begins with the lead character (remember, that’s you) in a desperate situation.  You were cursed with an unfortunate birth—coming into the world already in trouble, burdened by the weight of the sin of all your ancestors, and so culpable and flawed from the outset.  It didn’t take long before your life was riddled with sins of your own.  Between the crushing weight of original and actual sins, you were doomed—lost in the dark despair of your sinful life and fated to spend an eternity enduring holy and just wrath as the righteous punishment for your sinful failure.  When put so bluntly it sounds particularly horrible, but this is the reality of the story, your story—and it’s this reality that makes the redemption all the more remarkable.

Our movie is off and running—the protagonist is in trouble and in need of some mighty and dramatic intervention.  It comes.  With the birth of a baby, the amazing life of a savior sent from God, and then his tragic yet perfect death as your willing and eager substitute, the price for your sin is paid.  The salvation is accomplished.  And when at the baptismal font, God makes his claim on you, and your sin, all of your condemning, damning sin, is washed away; the story of redemption is complete.  The protagonist of our movie is saved.  You are saved.  Where there was despair, now there is hope.  Where there was fear, now there is peace.  Where there was sorrow, now there is joy.  Where there was death, now there is life.  Where there was Hell, now there is Heaven.  The conflict is resolved.  The movie can wrap up on a grand high note, the lead character can walk off into the sunset ready to live happily ever after.  Perfect.

But then, just as the credits are ready to scroll across the silver screen, something terrible happens.  Without explanation or justification, the protagonist turns back, looks straight into the camera, and willfully and flagrantly sins.  The exact nature of the sin doesn’t matter.  Again, such details are unimportant.  The fact of the sin is what matters.  And there it is.  In spite of all that was done for the hero of the film to accomplish redemption and to free the hero from condemnation, the protagonist dives back into old ways and sins.  This is, of course, the story of the Christian life—your life.  Suddenly, the short and sweet, feel-good, movie has turned into something quite different.  The heart-warming story of redemption has become an unsettling and terrifying horror film.

The reality of the Christian life, of course, is that sin remains.  We all wish that it wasn’t so, and some Christians even insist that it’s not so, but both Scripture and experience make it clear that even after we are redeemed and made right with God, sin still hangs on, sticking to us like a permanent stain.  The sin comes in an endless variety of kinds and sizes.  Some is obvious and appalling, some is so common and ordinary that it’s hardly noticed.  But, it’s all a violation of God’s will for his creation, and it is most definitely there.  Adultery, theft, hatred, gossip, fornication, vain-glory, slander, selfishness, envy, lust, prejudice, apathy, pride: all of it is sin.  God hates it all.  And it all ruins the story of our lives.  It makes your story a horror movie.

People sometimes talk as if it is shocking or unexpected when a Christian sins.  And, mistakenly, people who are not part of the church will often label such sin as hypocrisy—a disconnect between what a Christian professes and what he practices.  But, it’s not necessarily hypocrisy when a Christian sins.  Christians make no claim to moral perfection.  Sin is just sin and failure.  And when a Christian sins, it’s not astonishing or shocking—profoundly disappointing, yes, and a cause for great sadness indeed, but not a surprise.  We know, deep in our understanding of the Christian faith, that these things, these sins, should not be.  They don’t belong in the lives of God’s people.  We know this.  But, we also know that they are there—always.

All of this brings us to wonder, “Why?”  Why is it that Christians who know better, who have God’s grace, who have God’s strength for living, keep on sinning?  Why?  Why do they keep repeating the same old sins?  Why are they even capable of committing huge, whopping sins with devastating consequences?  No explanation or rationalization ever suffices.  Actually, there is no good or satisfying explanation for why Christians sin.  Having been claimed by God and made new, you shouldn’t sin anymore.  But you do…again, and again, and again.  You sin.

There is no satisfying explanation for why this is so, but there is a reason.  It has to do with that sinful nature you have had with you from the very beginning of your story.  St. Paul calls him your Old Adam, or if you prefer, your Old Eve.  Your Old Adam cares about nothing but self.  God’s will does not matter.  Other people do not matter. The Old Adam wants only what the Old Adam wants.  When you were baptized, your Old Adam was drowned.  But, he doesn’t stay dead.  That’s the trouble.  You try to hold him down, but he keeps fighting back.  You try to kill him, but he keeps coming back to life and reappearing at the worst times.  He’s like the antagonist in those cheap horror movies.  The hero throws him over a bannister, and we see the villain lying twisted and motionless on the pavement—obviously dead.  But, then in the next frame, he’s not there and in fact he’s creeping through the dark after the hero once again.  He won’t stay dead.  It’s the same with your Old Adam.  You can kill him, but he’ll come back again.  Be sure of it.  He’s got more lives than a cat.  And the great oddity of the Christian life, the great mystery at the heart of your personal movie, is that you are both the hero and the villain at once.  Your Old Adam is very real, very destructive, and very wicked.  And he’s in you.  He is you.

God wants you to face squarely two great realities.  You are to embrace the reality of your justification: in Christ you have been forgiven, declared holy and made new.  And you must face a second reality: you are not yet perfect; your Old Adam or Old Eve is still living and tempting you to reject God and God’s ways—tempting you to sin.  Both realities are truth.  To claim that you no longer sin or are tempted or are vulnerable is to deny the reality of the Old Adam.  But, to say that sin doesn’t matter because God will always forgive you anyway is to deny the reality of who you are as a new person in Christ who loves what God loves and hates what God hates.  A justified Christian can’t make peace with sin or with the sinful nature.  So, you live in the middle of an incredible tension, a war, as your Old Adam and your new man in Christ fight with each other to the death.  It’s not a pleasant battle.  To call a truce is defeat.  There can be no peace treaty or compromise with sin and the Old Adam.  Neither is there some secret strategy or method that you can learn from a book or a seminar or conference that will allow you to conquer sin once and for all in your life.  It’s not going to happen.  As long as you live in this world, your Old Adam will live with you and harass you.  So, the battle of the Christian life rages on.  Your ever-expanding movie is now a war movie.  The Christian life is a war with sin, with Satan, and with self.

Almost 500 years ago, in the Wartburg castle in Germany, Martin Luther spent a lonely winter translating the Bible into German.  It is said that during that time, while working at his desk, he fended off a direct attack from Satan by hurling his ink bottle straight at the face of the demon.  According to the story, Luther’s defensive strategy left a large ink splatter on the plaster.  Luther himself never reported such an incident, and today in Luther’s old study there is only a hole where the stain is said to have been.  But, for centuries before, tourists to the Wartburg were shown the stain and told the story.  That Luther battled Satan with his inkwell is a nice tale for tourists, but not of much value for us.  Far more important is what the reformer actually did do as he daily fought with both Satan and the Old Adam.  He writes often about this battle.  When feeling oppressed, tempted, or hounded by the devil or his own sinful flesh, his Old Adam, Luther would get out his favorite weapon and swing the mighty sword of Baptism.  Baptism changes everything.  It makes you God’s child forever.  In the midst of a temptation—even better, at the very outset of a temptation—he would cry out: “But, I am baptized!”  And so are you.  

Baptism is the great weapon that God has given you for your battle against Satan and your Old Adam.  It’s not magic.  It’s not a secret pathway for success.  It’s not a formulaic way to live a perfect life.  But, it is real, and it is powerful.  In the sacrament of Baptism, God did his work for you.  In Baptism, you were bound to Christ.  Your Old Adam was killed—drowned in the waters of the font.  Your sins forgiven.  Your future assured.  Through Baptism, you belong to God.  You are his forever.  That knowledge, that reality, is what makes you who you are, and what equips and prepares you for your continuing battle.  You never fight alone.  You couldn’t.  You fight with Christ.  You fight in Christ.  Daily you make the choice to die to sin in your life.  Daily, hourly, you make the choice to claim baptismal truth: you belong to God; you live accordingly.  Remember it and live it.  Your Baptism is a powerful weapon in your battle with your Old Adam.  And one day, the power of Baptism will finally destroy your Old Adam.

So, what kind of movie are you making with your life?  As you follow Christ, you can be certain that it is no fluffy, feel-good, date movie.  Neither is it simply a horror movie, or even a war movie.  No, your story is a life-long epic filled with drama, plot twists, great joy, great challenge, and much pain.  But, when it is complete, it is going to have a crazy-happy ending.  Your story concludes in the presence of God and surrounded by his re-created world.  It ends when what he says now about you through Baptism—that you are his own perfect, sinless child—will be fully realized.  Your story ends when your Old Adam is finished, killed for good, never to rise again.  Then, at the end, your Old Man will be left in the grave forever; and then, at the end, new and completely holy in Christ, you will live forever.  I doubt that anyone is ever going to make a movie of my life, or of yours.  That’s ok.  Your life is still a story worth telling—better yet, it’s a story worth living; and living it certainly beats watching it at the movies.  Amen.

Lord God, you made us your very own in Baptism.  Now work in us with your grace so that we live as your people, dead to sin and alive in Christ.  Amen.

Day 8

Rev. Dr. Joel D. Biermann

Luke 2:21

January 1, 2017

1-1-17—New Year’s Day, the beginning of a brand new year.  It’s day number one of 365.  The baby, newly-arrived only a few hours ago, is still crawling in diapers, at least for another few days; but soon enough, the infant will be forced to grow up and face the sober realities of life in 2017.  Today, though, it’s still new.  Today, it’s all fresh and unspoiled—a full set of 365 days lies ahead waiting to be lived and enjoyed.  So, most people make the most of the new year.  They set goals for the year ahead.  They make plans.  They make new beginnings.  They resolve to start fresh—and why not?  It’s New Year’s Day.  It’s Day 1.  It’s the perfect time to start a tobacco-free, debt-eliminated, always-clean-house, reach and keep the ideal weight, never-be-late, get into shape, spend more time with the family, read the Bible every day, and eat healthy meals almost all the time, year that you’ve always dreamed of.  Day 1.  New Year’s Day.  The first day of the rest of your life, and all of those other applicable platitudes.  It all sounds wonderful.  It might even be cause for just a little bit of excitement as you sit here on the cusp of a new year.  A fresh start with fresh motivation and enthusiasm—it’s exactly what everyone needs.  Welcome 2017!

So, why don’t I feel all tingly with excitement?  Where’s that everything-remade, fresh start, new beginning feeling?  Maybe it’s just me and my well-honed realism (all right, it borders on pessimism…) getting the best of me.  Actually, to be honest, New Year’s Day has never done much for me.  I don’t know quite what to make of it, or what to do with it.  Every other Christian and even national holiday makes sense.  I know what Memorial Day and Thanksgiving are for, and I can appreciate the Fourth of July and even Labor Day.  Christmas, Easter, All Saints—those are easy and obvious.  But, what’s the big deal about New Year’s?  What, exactly, are we celebrating, on New Year’s Day?  Personally, I suspect that the whole thing is nothing but a thinly disguised excuse for one more round of excessive consumption of comfort food and alcoholic beverages.  New Years’ Day is little more than the necessary period of post-binge recovery before returning to the normal routine.  We act like it’s a big deal: a brand-new beginning, a significant intrusion in the flow of time.  But, besides changing the final digit on the date, January 1st is absolutely no different than December 31st.  Nothing has changed.  The “new beginning” is pure fabrication.  It’s not real, and you know it.

The fact is that you woke up this morning and you greeted the same exact reality that you left when you fell asleep last night.  Nothing has changed.  Your credit cards are still groaning under the load you’ve forced them to carry.  Those extra pounds that bother you have not magically melted away, and the unresolved argument with your spouse, or parent, or sibling, is still unresolved.  The fact that it’s day one of 2017 makes no difference.  The empty hole ripped in your soul by death is still empty.  The loneliness and fear that stalked you last year were waiting for you at the front door of 2017: the same responsibilities, the same health problems, the same boss, the same routine, the same all of it.  The big problem with New Year’s Day is that it can’t erase or alter everything that went before.  Changing 2016 into 2017 changes nothing else.  The partying of the previous night was a fraud.  The festivities were forced.  The celebration was contrived.  There was no real fun in any of it because nothing significant happened.  New Year’s Day is about as farcical, phony, and futile as Las Vegas or a riverboat casino.  It’s hollow and hopeless and everyone knows it.  Joining in the charade of celebration changes nothing.  There’s nothing new about Day 1.

I know, it’s a hard, nasty, bitter, disappointing dose of reality.  But, it is reality.  With the arrival of 1-1-17, your world has not changed—not one bit.  But this is not the worst of it.  No, the worst thing is that neither have you.  You start 2017 as the same person who finished 2016.  You have the same fears, the same weaknesses, the same temptations, the same failures and flaws, the same body with the same aches and pains, the same mind that too easily wanders and worries and misses the joke, the same personality that struggles to fit-in, and the same will that struggles to master your emotions.  You still have the same sin that embarrasses and shames you.  Yes, you’re still you, with all the same weary reserve of resources available for tackling your reality.  Let’s face it.  The prospects for success in 2017 are exactly what they were in 2016.  There’s nothing different about today, January 1st.  Day 1 changes nothing.  Day 1 is no big deal.  Call off the party.  Cancel the festivities.  Save the celebration.

But, do save it.  Don’t pack it in, just yet.  Don’t let all hope drain away.  Don’t give up on today entirely.  Perhaps this day can be salvaged, yet.  It’s true: Day 1 of 365 is nothing to celebrate.  It changes nothing.  But, January 1st is not just the first day of an arbitrarily declared new year.  Today, is also the eighth day.  That’s right: it’s day 8.  And day 8, is a very important, and very good day.  Did you hear that?  January 1st is also day 8—the celebration is back on.  Reschedule the party.  Line up the festivities.  Let the blow-out begin…ok…so, you’re not buying it, are you?  You’re not convinced that Day 8 is a big deal.  All right, then, I’ll prove it to you.  We’ll start with that strange reading from Leviticus.  Chapter 8 of the third book of Moses records the elaborate and demanding process that Aaron and his sons endured to become priests of God.  This ordination procedure took a full week of fasting, and waiting in isolation in the tabernacle.  And then in chapter 9, we read, “On the 8th day, Moses summoned Aaron and his sons,” and for the first time, the newly ordained priests offered sacrifices for the people.  Through God’s system of sacrifices, the people would maintain their relationship of grace with God.  Through the sacrifices, their sins would be forgiven, fellowship restored and peace extended.  The priests were not part of a legalistic game of earning grace.  The entire system of sacrifices was a mark of mercy—God’s mercy in providing a means of grace.  Aaron and the sacrifices were that means.  On the 8th day, that system began, and we’re told that “fire came out from the presence of the Lord and consumed the burnt offering and the fat portions on the altar.”  When the people saw it, they shouted for joy—God was confirming the plan and delivering his grace; and it all happened on Day 8.

Now to Genesis, chapter 17.  God’s called man, Abram, is about to become Abraham.  God is going to make his covenant—a promise of unending grace and love.  Well, actually, God is going to cut his covenant with his man, Abraham.  Blood is going to be shed; the man is going to be changed…quite physically and permanently.  Circumcision is the sign for God’s chosen man.  Circumcision will be the sign for all God’s chosen men.  “For the generation to come,” says Yahweh, “every male among you who is eight days old must be circumcised.”  It’s another day 8 event, one repeated for every on of God’s men.  On the 8th day, the covenant was cut; the boy was now part of the people—part of God’s people.  God’s grace was his: another Day 8, when God gives grace to his people.

You’ve probably noticed a pattern developing, here.  Day 8 is all about God’s grace.  Day 8 is a grace day.  It is essential that 7 days must pass before we get to Day 8.  Day 8 comes after an entire week’s worth of real life has elapsed.  Day 8 takes into account all the hard and happy, bitter and bright events that mark a week of living.  Day 8 is about reality.  Unlike an artificially declared Day 1 that tries vainly to ignore all that has gone before, Day 8 faces the facts.  Day 8 is God breaking into the reality of life after a full week has gone by—seven days of the rhythm of life, one complete cycle of 7 of the daily routine that marks and measures all of life.  Day 8 comes after a week of typical days.  First we live; first we face reality; first the 7 days…then Day 8, then God comes and delivers grace.  God does not declare the past gone and of no account; he declares it forgiven and redeemed by his grace.  Day 8 always deals in realities—the hard, painful realities of sin and failure, and the astounding, joyful reality of grace that forgives and then re-makes.  That’s what happens on Day 8.

And, today, remember, is Day 8.  It is.  It’s the 8th day of Christmas, the 8th day since the shepherds came and the angels sang, the 8th day since Mary and Joseph made the best of things, and found a cradle in a manger, the 8th day since the birth of Jesus.  Today is Day 8.  It’s the day.  It’s the day of circumcision, the day for Jesus to join his people, the day for the covenant to be cut again, the day for Jesus to shed blood…for the first time.  It’s a significant event even for you—bigger than you may realize.  Certainly, Jesus does not need the rite of circumcision.  He does not need to be made a part of the covenant.  He is, in fact, the covenant-maker.  Nor, does Jesus need to be brought into a right relationship with God.  The Son is already (and always) in perfect harmony with the Father.  No, the circumcision is not for Jesus.  It is for Joseph and Mary and the shepherds, and Herod, and the wise men, and the Pharisees, and the Romans, and…you.  Jesus is circumcised, his blood is shed, for you.  In complete and perfect obedience to the Law, to his Father’s law, to his Father’s will, Jesus is circumcised.  He does it as the Messiah, as the one sent to save.  And, being circumcised, living fully in obedience to the command of God, he is doing messianic work; it is the work of saving his people.  It is an act of grace, a Day 8 act of grace for God’s people.

All of those previous Day 8 acts of grace on behalf of the people are captured by, are fulfilled by, this one.  Abraham and the grace given to him, and the grace of circumcision given to his heirs, Aaron and the grace of the priesthood and the grace of the system of sacrifices: they are all present today, on the day of Jesus’ circumcision.  Jesus is Israel reduced to one. He is all of the people reduced to one.  He is born for all people, his birth replacing their sinful births.  He is circumcised for all people.  His blood is shed, and so theirs is shed, so yours is shed.  He lives in perfect harmony with God the Father, and so in him, you live in perfect harmony with the Father.  All that God has previously done for his people on Day 8 points to the Day 8.  That’s why Jesus’ circumcision matters.  It means that God’s grace is for you because you have in Jesus the one who fulfills all of God’s will for you.

So, today is a day to celebrate: it’s January 1st, it’s Day 8.  It’s the day when grace is delivered.  But, not only is it January 1st, it’s Sunday, January 1st.  It’s Day 8 twice over: once for the 8th day of Christmas, and once for the 8th day of Holy Week.  Every Sunday marks that Day 8.  The day of Palms is day one.  Day 6, Jesus blood was shed and the work was finished.  Day 7, just as God had designed it, Jesus’ lifeless body rested in the still darkness of the tomb.  And then…Day 8—the day when grace was delivered to God’s people.  A touch of glory, a flood of grace and all the previous week suddenly made sense and was redeemed.  So it is with every Day 8.  And that’s what we celebrate, today.  It’s Day 8.  Jesus is circumcised, for you.  It’s Day 8.  Jesus is raised for you.  It’s Day 8, God’s giving new grace to you.

You don’t need a new year to get your act together, or to find some way to start fresh.  There’s nothing special about the arbitrary naming of Day 1 of 365, anyway.  It’s Day 1—so what?  Day 1 means nothing.  It’s Day 8—thank God and rejoice.  Day 8 means everything.  Day 8 means that God knows all that you know.  He knows everything that’s gone before on the previous days.  He knows the reality you went to bed with, and the reality still waiting for you when you awoke, today.  He knows the truth about you: the you that is still the same even on the first day of 2017.  He knows the past and he gives you, today, grace, anyway, grace to face and overcome your reality.  “New beginnings” and “fresh starts” are the stuff of myth and empty wishing.  You can’t flee reality just by declaring a new beginning.  You don’t need those futile and fake attempts to justify a celebration.  Far better than an arbitrarily declared “new” start, today you’ve got abundant, real, grace for the past and for the future.  With that kind of God-given grace, you can deal honestly with the truth about you and your reality.  It doesn’t matter what those truths are—no matter how sad, how discouraging, how worn-out, how terrifying—no matter what reality you’ve got, today, God’s grace has got it covered…all of it.  It’s Day 8, God’s delivering his grace now.  It’s Day 8, let the celebration begin.  Amen.

Lord, better than a new beginning, today, I have you and your grace delivered to me in the middle of my reality.  Keep me in that grace, secure, strengthened, and forgiven.  Keep me in that grace this day and every day.  Amen.