Jesus Only

Rev. Dr. Joel D. Biermann

Matthew 17:8

Transfiguration Sunday

February 26, 2017

Thomas Aquinas lived 750 years ago, yet he remains one of the most influential philosophers and theologians of the western world.  His most significant work, The Summa Theologiae covers nine volumes and 3,500 pages.  Not only is it comprehensive, but it’s exceedingly well written and its arguments are lucid and compelling.  This is not to say that you and I would agree with all that Thomas has to say, and it’s certainly not often that a Lutheran sermon would consider Thomas Aquinas other than to criticize or dismiss a teaching attributed to him.  But, there’s something about Thomas which is altogether remarkable no matter what your confession.  You see, his greatest work, the nine-volume Summa, is incomplete.  It has three parts: theology, ethics, and Christ.  The third part on Christ was never finished.  And while it’s true that he died before he reached fifty, it wasn’t death that stopped the scholar from his work.  No, sometime in the year before his death something happened to Thomas that changed everything.  During a regular celebration of the Lord’s Supper, the great author had some sort of ecstatic, incredible, experience which dramatically impacted him.  He refused, or perhaps was unable, to describe or explain it to anyone.  The most amazing thing, though, is that after the experience, he wrote nothing more of his Summa.  When urged to work on it, he could only say: “all that I have written seems like straw to me.”  Thomas, it appears, had come face-to-face with some glimpse of some great reality that left him stunned into silence.  What did he see?  We don’t know.

What is clear, is that the glimpse of reality that filled Thomas’s vision overwhelmed him, undid him, and changed him.  Getting a straight dose of reality can be hard on a person.  Reality can be tough.  But, you know that.  Maybe you’ve never had some sort of inexplicable, ecstatic experience during a worship service.  Maybe you’ve never had anything that even comes close to what could be called an intense vision or an encounter with the hyper-reality of the numinous.  But, with or without penetrating visions into the deeper and greater realities that surround and cover us all the time, you’ve had plenty of experience with the impact that mundane reality can have on a person.  One good shot of reality is like a brutal slap in the face or a punch in the gut.  A hard dose of everyday reality can upend your life and ruin your future outlook forever.  Reality can be brutal.

Longtime Christians look around on any given Sunday morning and compare what is with what once was, and it makes their hearts ache.  The heyday of bustling facilities, insufficient parking spaces, and Sunday School rooms spilling over into every odd nook and corner seems distant and dreamlike.  And the societal and cultural clout that the church once enjoyed has been all but spent long ago.  Now, the church is looked at as little more than a source of therapy to help with life’s hard knocks, or worse is considered as basically an irrelevant relic with outdated, disproven ideas, or worse yet a factory for hate.  The reality is that these are not great days for the institutional church.  It’s a hard reality to face.

Reality’s hard truth, does more, though, than mock our memories and make our hearts ache for what the church has lost.  Reality in the wider culture and world around us is, in all likelihood, even more devastating.  We look at the situation in America, today, and there is so much to cause concern.  Cultural divides, indeed cultural fractures, alarm many and generate a great deal of angst in the media and among ordinary citizens.  Polarizations over issues ranging from sexuality to immigration to foreign relations leave many feeling anxious.  People worry about what the future might hold.  Then there’s the nightmare threat of radical Islam and the terrorism that is fomented by radical groups hoping to inflict suffering.  Urban violence, stagnant wages, a shrinking middle class; wars in the middle east that grind on without any real sign of resolution: the world’s reality is altogether disturbing.

Yet worse than all of the things that confront us when we look out at the world around us, are the hard realities we find within our own homes and our own lives.  A marriage that started with such promise and optimism has deteriorated into a grudge match in which everyone loses.  Parents struggle to maintain a productive and congenial relationship with children who resist every overture.  Employment is not satisfying, and going home is the opposite of the respite that it’s supposed to be.  Addictions of every variety invade the lives of ordinary people and drive them into a reality that is overrun with desperation and despair—but no joy.  Disease grinds down the healthy and withers the very personalities of once vibrant people leaving only hard, abrasive shells obsessed with trivialities—hardly recognizable to themselves let alone to those who love them the most.  And always, inevitably, death intrudes, strikes down, and destroys, leaving behind nothing but aching grief that will not heal.  Reality is hard.  You know it.  You see it.  You live it.  The reality that you encounter can leave you numb and wondering where you fit and why anything at all matters.

And it is in the context of hard, crippling, incapacitating reality that we arrive, today, at the Sunday we call Transfiguration.  Perhaps here, in this story, we’ll find some respite from the relentless reality that weighs on us and that threatens to pull us under altogether.  The story of Jesus’ remarkable mountaintop transformation is often billed as the great pick-me-up glimpse-of-glory-event that is supposed to give us a charge to get us through the pending Lenten fast.  We’ve been told that on the mountain the disciples were given a taste of Jesus’ true being, a bit of heavenly reality, to help steel them for the arduous and devastating days that would soon unfold.  This day is supposed to be the bright ray of sunshine before the descending gloom.

But, I wonder if that view of Transfiguration is missing the whole point.  How can this event on the side of a mountain be such a great jolt of joy and promise of brilliant prospects when it leaves Peter, James, and John face down in the dirt, totally undone, and beside themselves in abject terror?  Maybe we too easily miss that part…and why not?  With so much great and exciting stuff going on in this story, why linger on the reaction of the disciples?  Why not focus on the radiance of Jesus, the conversation with Moses and Elijah, the glowing cloud, and the voice of God himself?  That’s the sort of reality that we don’t usually see or experience; and we could use something truly amazing and wonderful to console and inspire us in the midst of our reality on this Sunday before Lent, couldn’t we?  But, it won’t do.  We can’t impose our needs and our opinions on the reality recorded in the text.

For Jesus’ inner circle, the day on the mountain side was not a pleasant one.  Think of the story from their perspective.  First, Jesus, their teacher, their friend, their trusted and familiar leader, was changed.  He was literally glowing with a radiance they had never ever seen.  This was more than a little unnerving.  The scene intensified when the two greatest patriarchs of Old Testament faith arrived to converse with Jesus.  The sight of Moses and Elijah, the very embodiment of the law and the prophets, was incredible.  The three disciples were seeing things that went beyond the realm of possibility, things that would blow the mind of any Israelite.  It was right at this stage of the story that Peter spoke up and made his gambit to build some shelters.  Clearly, Peter’s adrenalin was doing the talking.  His offer was nonsense, the babbling of a man who’s coming apart, but talking itself can provide some semblance of normalcy and so it was reassuring and comforting.  Mercifully, Peter’s offer was ignored.  Yet, the progression toward terror only increased and Peter was soon pushed well past the talking stage.  First, it was the shining, dazzling cloud.  The disciples needed no explanation.  They knew it when they saw it: they had been enveloped by the shekinah-glory, the presence of God himself.  The divine voice confirmed what they knew.  They were standing before the face of God.  There was only one thing to do: squeeze their eyes shut, dive into the dust, and wait for annihilation.  God’s reality left the three men powerless and helpless.  It’s what always happens when humans see the reality of God.

Most people think that this was the reality that so overwhelmed Thomas Aquinas that he could no longer write: in the light of God’s glory, all his work was nothing but straw.  Unsettling as the story of Thomas may be, there is a profound and beautiful truth embedded here: next to God’s glory, man’s greatest achievements and most wonderful works are nothing but trash.  This is what Peter, James, and John saw vividly on the mountain.  They were worthless.  They had nothing to offer.  They were done-for.  Reality destroyed them.  So, they lay there, hugging the dirt on the mountain waiting for the bolt of holy and just wrath to finish them.  But what they next felt was not the hellfire of God, but the touch of Jesus.  And when, at last, they were persuaded to look up and open their eyes that had been welded shut against the glory of God, what they saw was Jesus.  Just Jesus—ordinary, plain, non-glowing, earth-bound Jesus.  And that, of course, was the most wonderful sight they could ever have seen.  That was the only thing they ever wanted to see: Jesus only.  For Peter, James, and John, Jesus was their rabbi, their friend.  He was with them like any other man was with them.  It was that ordinariness that was the comfort; and it was reassuring and encouraging ordinariness that was the power of the Transfiguration.  They didn’t need heaven’s glory—they couldn’t handle that glory.  They just needed Jesus.  

This is the extreme wonder and the real glory of the Sunday of Transfiguration.  When reality drives you into the dirt, when the heavy monotony of life grinds you into dust, when the unraveling fabric of the culture and the horror of sin and disease and death all crash into your life and conspire against you and push you into subdued silence and inability, you do not need a bit of heavenly glory or a flash of divine majesty to lift you up and make things right.  What you need is Jesus, just Jesus: plain, ordinary, in-the-flesh Jesus.  Jesus is the only reality you need.  And Jesus only is exactly what you get.  For the disciples, it was Jesus in the flesh—ordinary, routine, and reassuringly real.  For you, it is Jesus cloaked in a bit of bread and a swallow of wine—both plain and unremarkable.  The bread does not glow and the wine does not radiate.  It’s common, routine and reassuringly real.  Week after week after week, here in his church, you meet Jesus.  And week after week after week, Jesus is all that you need: only Jesus.

Learn what the disciples learned.  Jesus is enough.  He’s all you need.  Reality is not going to let up or melt away.  It is, after all, real.  But the hard, shocking reality that steals your joy, saps your energy, and depletes your life, is more than matched, indeed is tamed and conquered, by the far greater reality of Jesus here for you.  Don’t yearn for something more.  Don’t venture off on a search for something else to give meaning to life.  Don’t fall into the trap of seeking what is more scintillating, attractive, or incredible.  Glimpses of heaven’s glory and divine reality aren’t all that they are cracked up to be—they can be altogether devastating—just ask Peter, James, and John, or Thomas.  What you need is the ordinary; the ordinary is the most real and the most powerful.  What you need is just plain Jesus and nothing else.  And, that’s what you get: Jesus only.  Amen.

No Fine Print

Rev. Dr. Joel D. Biermann

Galatians 6:1-10

February 19, 2017

It’s such a common thing you’d think we’d all be used to it and hardly notice it anymore.  But sometimes, you may still find yourself getting sucked into the trap only to be bitterly disillusioned.  You get the circular from the sporting goods place in the mail.  Of course, they’ve got a sale going on, and they’ve included a coupon good for 20% off a pair of athletic shoes.  Perfect.  You need new shoes, and clip the coupon.  At the store, there are hundreds of shoes and dozens of brands.  You make your selection, head to the check out, and smartly hand over your 20% coupon…which was rejected.  Your brand has been excluded from the coupon.  It’s right there on the back, in microscopic font—a dozen lines of excluded merchandise, which includes, of course, the brand you had picked—along with every other brand you liked.  Or, maybe it’s an ad on the radio pitching the very car you have been noticing and considering.  They quote a price that is so low that your mouth actually drops open and you find yourself staring at the radio.  What a deal.  And then it starts: the rapid-fire four-second disclaimer.  It’s impossible to decipher all that is siad, but you hear vital words like, “significant, down-payment, required, not, qualify, trade-in, and extra.”  In fact, the verbal fine print negates all that the ad had promised.  It’s no deal at all.

We’re used to it, but we still hate it.  Fine print takes away what the headline gives.  Fine print limits and excludes and qualifies until the deal disappears.  Fine print teaches us to be cynical, suspicious and wary.  Our lives are filled with fine print.  What a relief, then, that in the church there is no fine print.  It’s true.  While the world and its business, law, contracts, and politics are filled with fine print, in the church fine print does not exist.  It’s all straight-forward with no hidden surprises, no qualifications, and restrictions that effectively eliminate all that was good.  Here, what you see printed on a page and what you hear proclaimed and declared is exactly what is.  There is no fine print.  So when you hear that Jesus Christ is God in the flesh, that he lived a perfect life and died according to God’s plan as the sacrifice for all the sins of all the world, that is exactly the way that it is.  There are no caveats, no disclaimers, no restrictions, and no extenuating circumstances.  God’s work of creating and then reclaiming and restoring his creation, including you, is completely “fine-print-free”.  He says it and that’s it.  This means that you never have to wonder where you stand, you never have to doubt whether it is all really true.  It is.  God has said so; there’s no fine print.   There’s no fine print in the church, and that’s a good thing...or maybe not.

Just as there is no fine print regarding your reception of grace, your entry into the church and your place within God’s plan; so, there is no fine print when it comes to what it means for you to be part of the church.  It’s all spelled out with great clarity in plain black and white.  Paul’s pointed direction in Galatians six is only one of many places where the New Testament teaches this truth.  You heard it read, but maybe you didn’t hear it.  It’s all pretty simple and straightforward…and it’s all rather challenging and unsettling.  If you see another Christian, Paul says, who is doing something that is out of bounds, that doesn’t match with his Christian confession; then you need to deal with it.  You need to bring that person back into line with God’s will.  In other words, Paul is taking for granted a truth that seems to be far from the thinking of many 21st century Christians.  Paul assumes and asserts that Christians are responsible for one another.   This means that in the church, you are required to look out for fellow Christians.  You need to know what’s going on in your brother’s life, and you need to care about what’s going on—even, no especially, when it’s not good.  That’s what Christians do.  That’s what it means to be part of the church.  Mutual responsibility.  Mutual accountability.

So, is Paul saying that if another Christian is being lax in his church attendance, that you need to go and talk to him about it?  Yes, that’s exactly what he’s saying.  And if another Christian is gossiping, or making off-color jokes, or showing too much interest in alcohol, or losing interest in his marriage, or neglecting his family, or excusing his shameful or destructive entertainment habits, and you see it, then you need to do something about it.  In other words, yes, you are your brother’s keeper.  Yes, his business is your concern.  Yes, you do have an obligation to speak to another believer about his words, his choices, and his behavior—even the private and personal ones.  You are responsible for the person sitting next to you and in front of you and behind you and sitting on the opposite side of the sanctuary from you.  His Christian walk is your business.  And of course, this means that your Christian walk, the life you live, the words you use, the choices you make in every area of life are all the business of everybody else.  That’s what it means to be the church.

Contrary to the standard criticism, living this way does not fuel a judgmental atmosphere of criticism or foster self-righteous legalists.  In fact, what happens is the opposite.  When people take seriously the direction that God gives for the conduct of his church, and start looking out for one another with genuine concern for each other’s Christian life, it cultivates an atmosphere of support, encouragement and discipleship that allows people to thrive in God’s truth.  There is nothing harsh or judgmental about humble and circumspect Christians urging other Christians to be humble and circumspect in their own Christian walk.  It’s what you do in the church.  That’s what Paul is getting at when he tells us to bear each other’s burdens.  This is what he means when he instructs us to do good to others, especially other believers.  The good that you do is to help them stay close to Christ, grounded and growing in his truth.  That’s the good thing.  You bear the burdens of other Christians by putting up with their odd problems, and their peculiar habits, and their unusual way of looking at things.  You bear their burdens by caring about what is going on in their lives.  You bear their burdens by gently calling them back to Christ’s way when they are wandering into foolishness or error.  That’s what it means to be the body of Christ.  That’s the way God calls you to live.

The sort of church described by St. Paul is rather unfamiliar, today.  We are taught to mind our own business, and to live and let live.  We are encouraged not to judge and stick our noses into the affairs of others.  We are led to believe that being Christian and joining the church is pretty simple.  What’s expected isn’t too demanding: show up on Sunday morning a few times a month, put something into the offering plate, enjoy polite conversation with people you like, and smile and generally be nice to everyone else…and that’s about it; that’s the extent of the Christianity that we know.  But, this is not God’s version of the church, and it’s not the sort of church that Paul describes.  A lite version of Christianity and the church is not the sort of church that you should be content to accept.  God calls you to more.  The “more” that he calls you to embrace—genuinely caring about others and staying invested in the Christian walk of your fellow believers—is not some optional “platinum” version of Christianity accepted only by a handful of elite super-Christians.  No, the direction from St. Paul is aimed at every believer.  Paul spells out the way that God expects every believer to live.

A life of mutual accountability and mutual responsibility for all in the body of Christ is what is expected of every one of us.  It does no good to protest that you didn’t realize all of this when you signed up.  The full expectations are all spelled out in the Bible.  The insipid and individulalistic “Christian-lite” that infects the church in America was never God’s desire.  You can’t claim an exemption based on your inexperience, or your insignificance.  Paul’s expectation of a church filled with believers who are responsible for one another is not limited to a few key leaders or a small group of spiritual stars.  It’s expected of everyone.  It is expected of you.  There is no exception.  There is no excuse.  There is no fine print.

This vision of the church is rather exciting, isn’t it?  Oh, sure, it’s intimidating, and unusual, and a bit scary, I get that…but it’s also crazy and adventurous enough to spark a bit of a thrill—and the church could benefit from a little thrill, I think.  Don’t be content with a benign faith and a tame church.  God calls you to something very different.  The church is unlike anything else in the world.  It is not a club or a society, or a business, or a service organization.  It is the body of Christ.  It is the place where God delivers grace.  It is the place where God forms sinful, messed up people into his people.  It is the place where God is at work remaking the entire universe.  The church is different.  Christians are different.  We don’t look and act like everyone else.  We look and act like followers of Christ.  We expect each other to do the same, and we spur each other on in that pursuit.  The church is not about making people comfortable.  It is not about making your life complete or providing resources to make your life more fulfilling.  The church is not here to provide an inside track to success.  The church is the body of Christ.  At the center is the cross.  It’s not just about comfort; it’s about conformity to Christ.  It’s not about getting blessings; it’s about getting shaped into the will of God and being a blessing to others.  It’s not about a fulfilled life; it’s about fulfilling God’ purpose for your life.  This is what it means to be the church.

The world around us is in desperate need of the church.  People in the world need to see Christians living lives that are different than everything else they see.  They need the church to be radically different than anything else in the world.  The world needs the church to be the church—not a watered-down lite version, but the church that Christ created and that Paul describes.  The world needs this church to be the church—a church without fine print.  When we make the church less than what God designed it to be, we hurt people—both inside and outside the church.  It’s no wonder that people think the church is irrelevant, boring, or inconsequential.  They think that because that’s the kind of church they see.  The church that is faithful is many things; but it is never boring or irrelevant.  We need to show the world that kind of church.

If you’ve been holding out during this sermon, waiting for the word that lets you off, the comforting assurance that softens the demand, the disarming smile that mitigates the hard message, I’ve got bad news for you.  It’s not going to happen.  There will be no final disclaimer that blunts the sharp truth.  There is no fine print.  You’ve heard the word of God, and that’s all there is.  No fine print…only the clear word of God: you belong to Christ, now.   You are part of the church, now.  Now live in that reality.  Amen.

The Bottom Line

Rev. Dr. Joel D. Biermann

I Corinthians 2:1-5

February 5, 2017

Have you ever had a fascinating story, an interesting experience, or some keen insight into life that you couldn’t wait to share with someone?  And when you find someone who’s willing to listen, you tell that story, experience, or idea rather deliberately.  You’re careful to unfold each detail, and every nuance, leaving nothing out.  It takes a while, but you know that all those details and running commentary are actually pretty important if the story is going to be told or the idea shared.  But, then, as you are right in the thick of your careful presentation, you realize that the person you’re talking to has assumed that certain look.  You know that look.  And you know what it means: too many details, too many extraneous facts, cut to the chase, get to the bottom line.  But, you can’t.  At least not if you want to get your idea or story across in a proper way, you can’t.  The listener may not know it, but you know that without the details the story or the idea isn’t going to make sense or isn’t going to make much difference.  The details and the extra commentary are essential.  Sometimes you can’t just skip all the details and get to the bottom line.  [pause]…ahem, ok…It seems that some of you have already assumed “the look”.  No, it’s…it’s ok.  I get it; and I’ll get to the bottom line—eventually.

The Christian faith is one of those things that is packed with a lot of details, nuances, and subtleties that can’t be ignored or skipped.  Actually, Christianity is loaded with so many aspects and emphases and actions that when you stop to think about it, it can be almost overwhelming.  There’s a lot of stuff in Christianity.  If you’ve ever tried to explain to a person who is new to Christianity what the Christian faith is all about you understand my point.  There are so many things that are all so important.  It seems impossible to leave any of them out.  We all know that worship is a critical part of our Christian faith.  Indeed, for a lot of people, Christianity is “going to church”.  Worship is important; but, then so is teaching God’s truth—especially to young people.  Christianity is absolutely dependent on people learning foundational truths—the kind taught in catechism and Bible class.  But, what about fellowship, isn’t that important too?  Gathering together with other Christians for mutual encouragement and growth is vital to a Christian.  And so is prayer.  Christian faith without prayer is inconceivable; prayer is essential.  But, so is reading the Bible.  Digging into Scripture to hear God’s story and to explore God’s truth is a standard part of the faith.  And, we can’t forget about the importance of living according to an exemplary moral code.  Christians don’t do things that other people do.  We all know that.  Even unbelievers know that.  So, moral conduct is one more important thing.  And what about serving and sacrificially giving for the sake of others?  That can’t be left out, either.  There is a lot going on in the Christian faith.

So, what’s the bottom line?  What’s the point of it all?  What’s the essential center of Christianity?  There are so many details, so many important aspects, and so many critical parts that it’s easy to lose track of the bottom line.  So, what is it?  Is worship the bottom line?  Or is it teaching the catechism?  Is fellowship at the center?  Is the bottom line prayer?  Or is it Bible reading, or is the Bible itself the bottom line?  And what about morality or serving, is one of these the bottom line?  So, what is it?  What’s the absolute center, the very bottom line of Christianity?  Let’s get a few things clear: the bottom line of Christianity is not serving, and it’s not morality and it’s not reading the Bible.  The bottom line is not even the Bible itself.  The bottom line is not prayer or fellowship.  The bottom line is not teaching the faith or worship.  As important as all of these things are—and they are all important, none of these things is the bottom line.

So, what’s the bottom line?  You’ve probably guessed it: it’s God.  God’s the bottom line.  Of course, he is.  Still, that’s not quite enough is it?  Asserting that God is the bottom line doesn’t distinguish Christianity from every other religion that also claims God as the bottom line.  So, what makes the Christian claim unique?  Paul gives the answer.  The bottom line is Jesus Christ crucified.  “When I came to you,” Paul tells the believers in Corinth, “I determined to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified.”  Nothing else, only Jesus crucified.  “I thought it through carefully,” Paul says, “I considered all the things that I could teach you and all the things that I could preach to you and I came to the only possible conclusion: the only thing to preach, the only thing to teach, the only thing to know is Jesus Christ crucified.”

Christ crucified—that’s the bottom line.  Paul did not say, “I resolved to know nothing when I was with you except God’s holiness,” or God’s power, or even God’s compassion.  No, Paul considered everything and concluded that there was only one thing that finally mattered: Christ crucified.  Paul is abrupt, sweeping, and exclusive in his bold assertion.  “Nothing else matters.  Nothing.  I resolved to know nothing except Jesus Christ crucified.”  It’s clear and certain and unequivocal.  But why is this the bottom line?  What does it even mean to confess Christ crucified?

Jesus crucified is the critical bottom line of everything because it is on the cross that God was at work taking decisive and eternal action to restore all of creation.  The cross is the center because the cross is the declaration of God’s unimaginable love for his broken and rebellious creation.  The cross is the place and the cross is the way that God makes everything right again!  God knew very well the evil, the suffering, the sorrow and the pain that pervade and pollute this world.  He knew it; and he determined to conquer it.  God’s plan to overcome the brokenness and horror of this world was not about dazzling deeds of power or spectacular displays of majesty.  No, God’s plan was to come into the very center of the world’s wickedness, grief, and hurt; and then to endure it, carry it, and end it.  On the cross, Jesus took the evil and the pain.  On the cross, Jesus took the sin and the shame.  On the cross, Jesus took the futility and the failure.  On the cross, Jesus undid all that brought grief and frustration and put the entire creation back where it belongs—back in a right relationship with God.  Christ crucified means that God has come to us, and that he has worked fully and forever to save us.  Christ crucified means that creation is restored.  Christ crucified means that you are restored. Christ crucified transforms your world.  Christ crucified transforms the entire world.  That’s why it’s the bottom line.

If Christ crucified is not the bottom line, then nothing makes sense and nothing finally matters.  All the stories in the Bible from creation to Moses, to David, to Daniel are all just stories.  None of them matter.  Without Christ crucified, not one of these plans or people or promises that we know and treasure makes any difference.  Without Christ and his cross, this church is a waste of time.  What difference does it make if it grows or if it dies?  What does it matter if it’s got great music or programs or people?  All of that is foolish nonsense, nothing but a futile game.

If Christ crucified is not the bottom line, then nothing in your own life makes any difference, either.  Without Christ at the center, then everything in your life that seems so important evaporates into senseless, disjointed stuff that ultimately means nothing.  The hard truth is that without Christ crucified, no matter what you do or how you live…in the end, you die, and that’s it.  There’s nothing more.  Without Christ crucified, there’s no reason to be a good person, to strive for morality, or to embody virtues.  If death is the abrupt and final end, then does it really matter how you live?  Without Christ crucified, why bother to scrimp and save and sacrifice for the sake of children who rarely appreciate any of it?  Why get out of bed far too early and go to a job you don’t enjoy to help people who treat you like a tool?  It finally doesn’t matter that you rake your leaves, wash your car, disinfect your house, and in the spring plant cheery flowers along your sidewalk.  It makes no difference whether you work with relentless zeal to stay in shape and eat only healthy foods, or let yourself degenerate into a junk-food-fueled screen addict who rarely stirs from the couch.  If Christ crucified is not the bottom line, none of it matters.

But with Christ crucified as the bottom line, everything in the universe all suddenly makes sense and every bit of it matters. The cross changes everything.  When Christ crucified is the bottom line, then all the millions of facts and stories and people and promises and activities of God’s unfolding drama all drop into perfect place.  The whole plan of salvation now comes precisely together and speaks truthfully into our lives.  Adam and Noah and Abraham, and exodus and exile and exaltation all make complete sense.  And when you know the bottom line, all of those many aspects of your Christian faith also find their place and fall into order.  Worship, prayer, teaching, morality, fellowship, service, and the Bible all line up, fitting neatly into the perfect purpose of God.  In the light of the cross, it’s not complicated and it’s not confusing.  Everything points to Christ, and everything is fulfilled in Christ.  

This is the sharp and direct truth that must guide everything that is done around here.  The bottom line teaches us how to think about this congregation and its purpose.  The cross norms everything.  This congregation does not exist merely to perpetuate itself; the point is not to insure a long healthy institutional future.  Nor is the purpose of this congregation to generate good feelings, offer attractive programs, or be a presence in the community.  This congregation is not here to bring spiritual meaning to life, provide moral training, or offer consolation in the face of life’s pain.  The measure of success is not people, programs, size of staff, musical offerings, or satisfied customers.  What counts is Christ crucified and the clear proclamation and celebration of that life-changing reality.  This congregation lives and declares the bottom line.  Everything hinges on Christ crucified.  That’s what matters, and around that central core, everything else takes its right place.

Because Christ crucified is the bottom line, then everything in your life matters—every bit of it has eternal significance.  You are wise and right to knock yourself out for your family—that work counts for eternity.  You do give all you’ve got to the work you’ve been given to do—even if it seems trivial or insignificant.  Your work is important because Christ was crucified for the sake of this world and your part in serving this world matters to God.  And, you do strive for virtue to show in your life because how you live impacts others and yourself for eternity.  Everything in your life matters…even the flowers along the walk matter—all because Christ was crucified.  The bottom line transforms everything in your life.  But, what about that big, wide world out there?  What does the bottom line have to do with the world?

There is a lot going on in the world with its overwhelming busy-ness.  When we think about the world, It’s tempting to conclude that with all the important and complicated things going on, this must be one of those times when you can’t just cut through all the fluff and extraneous details and reduce everything to a simple bottom line.  It seems evident that the world can’t be summed up in a single bottom line.  But it can.  Even the world’s bottom line is Christ crucified.  The world, the church, and your own life all have the exact same bottom line: Jesus Christ crucified, God in the flesh for the sake of the world, for the sake of the church, for the sake of you.  Don’t get distracted, confused, or perplexed by all the stuff in your life, in the church, and in the world.  You know the bottom line.  You know the difference it makes.  The church knows the bottom line, and the church recognizes the transformation it brings.  Someone, it seems, needs to let the world know about its bottom line.  Go tell the world.  Speak it.  Live it.  Believe it.  The one and only bottom line is Christ crucified—God at work for the world, for the church, and for you.  Amen.