Reverently Irrelevant

Rev. Dr. Joel D. Biermann

Matthew 16:18-19

August 27, 2017  12th Sunday after Pentecost

The Midwest is littered with country churches that were once the bustling center of life in the farming communities of a century or more ago.  Time and technology have not been kind to these little parishes.  Families have shrunk and farming requires less manpower so there simply aren’t as many people as there used to be, and now good roads and cars make a 15-mile drive into a nearby town a simple thing, not an all-day affair.  So, a church around the corner is not the necessity it once was.  Many of these old congregations have disappeared altogether, leaving behind cemeteries and old buildings for avid re-modelers.  Others hang-on, supported by a handful of faithful families.  I’m sympathetic to the plight of these once-vibrant churches and the great challenges that they face; none, more than the congregation my family used to visit when we vacationed along Lake Michigan.  Without the aid of GPS or even Google maps, finding the church was never easy.  But, I would always know I was getting close when I’d make the final turn from the county road onto the side road that led to the church.  My landmark was the very prominent DEAD-END sign that greeted every driver leaving the main road.  A quarter mile down the dead-end, just where the blacktop ran out, sat the church.  It was the church on a literal dead-end.  It’s still there, and thirty-some people continue to gather there Sunday after Sunday.  The church on the dead-end isn’t dead yet.

In so many ways, the unfortunate congregation on a dead-end road in rural Michigan may seem quite distant from suburban St. Louis.  But, the problem of a church stuck on a dead-end is hardly an isolated phenomenon.  And simply having a prominent location on a major north-south thoroughfare, just a block off of an even more major east-west thoroughfare, does not provide certain protection against the possibility of being a church on a dead-end.  But, you know that; and in this congregation, you’re taking nothing for granted.  You are working hard to protect this parish from being a church on a dead-end.  So, how’s it going?  Do people in the wider community know that this place matters?  Do people in the area grasp the centrality and significance of all that happens right here in this place?  Or, is this place known mostly for its much-lauded pre-k facility and program—the desirable place where every caring parent in the area wants their child to be nurtured?  Or, is this place primarily known as the gracious host for AA meetings, or the convenient employee parking lot for the Chrysler dealer?  What do people think when they think of this congregation?  Does this congregation have anything in common with the church on a dead-end?

The relationship between God’s church and the surrounding culture has never been an easy one, of course.  But, in recent years the happy cooperation that long prevailed between the Christian church in the United States and the wider American context has deteriorated and all but collapsed.  There is a steadily increasing number of voices that openly challenge the work and even existence of the church, much worse, though, is the far more common response of disinterested indifference.  For many people, the church simply does not matter.  It does not play a significant or even tangential role in their lives, and they do not miss it.  Most people are content to live their busy, comfortable, important lives without making any room in those lives for the church.  They don’t even bother to be Sunday believers.  As far as they are concerned, the church is irrelevant to real life, it’s an old, abandoned institution harmlessly falling into disrepair on a forgotten and unused sidetrack, languishing on a dead-end.

This is not news to any of you, of course.  You know this.  You know that unbelievers deem the Christian faith as at best quaint and spiritually useful for some people; and at worst, toxic, hateful, and detrimental to modern culture.  It’s hardly a new thing for the world to push back against the claims of the church.  We expect it from those who don’t know and follow Christ.  More troublesome, I think, is the reality that even among those who do come to church on a regular basis, there is a tendency to adopt the thinking of the surrounding culture.  Even church-goers are prone to relegate the church to a sliver of their lives deemed “spiritual,” leaving little to no place for the claims of Christ and his truth on the rest of their lives.  In other words, too many Christians are content to confess Christ on Sunday and keep their spiritual lives in order, but then recognize no impact from their Christian faith or their church on the remainder of their lives.  For them, the church is irrelevant and largely unimportant when it comes to real life.

When those who confess Christ, and profess to follow him and his ways, live the bulk of their lives as if Christ made no difference, then the church is on a dead-end.  When even believers fail to see and celebrate how the claims of Christ transform every part of life, the church is at a dead-end no matter how many people still show up there.  Indeed, packed pews are no guarantee that the church is not at a dead-end.  The reality is that many of those who do bother to go to church on any given Sunday are actually content with an irrelevant and dead-end church.  After all, it’s easy to be part of a bland and compliant church that demands nothing and expects little.  It’s far more comfortable being part of a church that shuffles down the path of irrelevance than one that takes seriously what it means to follow Christ in the way of faith.

So, what’s the solution?  How does one keep the church off of a dead-end?  The remedy to the threat of irrelevance is not more energy, enthusiasm, expenditure, programs, or activity.  Ramping up the busy-ness of the people does not make the church matter.  Creating more beneficial services for the community does not yield relevance.  The way to keep the church off of the dead-end is not to succumb to what the wider world insists or assumes is right and acceptable.  Churches that comply with the demands of the culture and wilt and wither into the molds of accommodating service organizations designed to meet people’s felt needs are altogether dead and rotten inside regardless what signs of life they may portray with all of their endeavors and community work.  No, the church does not stay off of the dead-end of irrelevance by rebranding, recreating, or rebooting itself.  The spiritual reality of the church, a reality rooted in God’s truth, is that the church is incapable of manufacturing relevance for itself.  No doubt, a parish can stir up some excitement and notoriety in the community by pursing a slate of innovative and fresh events and products that will tantalize the insatiable demands of the surrounding consumer culture.  But whether those activities are home-grown or the prescribed formulas of experts, they cannot make the church matter.

The church’s relevance is not something that can be produced by the people, regardless their level of sincerity or commitment.  Relevance is not generated, it is given.  The fact is that the church matters and is surpassingly relevant by definition.  The church is the body of Christ who is the Creator, the Lord, and the Savior of the entire universe.  That’s relevant.  The church is the place where Christ is at work.  Here, in his church, Christ himself comes to real people and gives them what they need to live real lives in a real world.  Here, he comes and he delivers the only perfect solution to life’s biggest problems.  Here, he solves the problem of death once and for all.  Here, Christ speaks his truth and teaches people about the reason for their very existence and the purpose for the life that they have been given.  Here, Christ solves the problem of meaning in life.  He tells you why you’re here, what you are to accomplish in life, and why, and how you are to live to find joy and satisfaction in the day in and day out reality of ordinary life.  Christ answers every one of the “big questions” that nag and terrify those rare people who have the courage to look behind the farce of modern life to face the problems of death and meaninglessness.  Christ matters.  His church matters.  Always.  No exceptions.  The church is not on a dead-end.  It is vibrant and alive and exceedingly relevant wherever it is because it is the place that is giving God’s gifts in Christ and teaching God’s truth for his people.  The church’s relevance is never in question.

Much less certain, however, is the degree to which God’s people believe, receive, live, and give God’s relevant gifts and truth.  And, the failure of God’s people to immerse themselves in God’s gifts and reality absolutely puts congregations on a dead-end.  The death of a parish is not a lack of relevance.  What kills a congregation is not a dearth of meaning or purpose.  What brings death is people who fail to embrace God’s reality in every part of their lives.  That always leads to the dead-end of crushing irrelevance.  God and his work in Christ always matter.  God answers the deepest needs of every person alive.  But, when God’s people do not live fully in that truth, and when they do not celebrate the forgiveness freely given in Christ, and when they do not norm their lives according to God’s good will, the message and work of God’s church are sabotaged and that church ends up stuck on a dead-end.

Jesus himself made the promise—hell itself will not be able to resist the forward march of God’s church into the world.  The gates of Hell will be breeched and Satan’s kingdom invaded by Christ’s triumphant church.  The church cannot be stopped or hindered because where his words are spoken and his gifts given, Christ is present in his church. Christ has given his authority, his presence, and his power to you.  When you speak his truth, he is the one who is speaking and his Spirit is working.  When you tell someone about the wonder of God’s perfect plan for his creation and the remarkable part that each person is called to play in fulfilling that plan, it is Jesus who is making the appeal through you.  His Spirit is calling another person into his Kingdom.  When you strive to raise your children, and serve your neighbor, and love and honor your spouse the way that God has called you to do those things, it is Jesus who is at work in you and through you making an impact on all the world.  This work is never a dead-end.  It is never irrelevant.  

By God’s grace, you are part of the most astounding reality—the reality of God’s plan and purpose for the universe.  You are part of the unstoppable force that is Christ’s church.  You have the power to live in his reality, and the power to speak his gospel and his truth to those around you so that they also encounter God’s reality.  There is nothing irrelevant or meaningless about this.  The story of God’s creation, redemption, and final restoration of his creation and his people carries a profound and universal meaning that will never grow stale or out-of-date.  Don’t ever become discouraged by the world’s bravado, dismissive indifference, and outright attacks.  Christ’s church cannot be defeated.  He has given his promise.  Congregations may come and go, of course, and churches on dead-ends may well be compelled to close their doors for good; but the church of Christ will never be curbed or stopped.  It will not ever die.  It will triumph over every force of sin and death and hell.  It will triumph because it is Christ’s church.  And you will share in that triumph, because you are Christ’s church.  Press forward with confidence.  Press forward with conviction.  Press forward with God’s story on your lips and his power at work in your lives.  Press forward and God will bring the victory.  He has promised it.  Amen.

Timidity, Terror and Trust

Rev. Dr. Joel D. Biermann

Mark 4:35-41

August 20, 2017

What’s got you worried this morning?  Maybe there’s not much on your mind, and the most worrisome thing bothering you is whether or not the Cardinals are going to be able to pull it together and muster enough wins to make the play-offs.  Or maybe, you’re concerned about some uncertainty that comes with the start of a new school year—how’s the schedule going to work, will there be success, or will there be heartache?   Maybe you’ve got bigger, more immediate worries on your mind this morning:  what’s the doctor going to say at that appointment later this week?  Is your job as secure as you think it is?  Are you going to have enough to cover that expense you weren’t expecting?  Is your marriage going to survive?  Are your kids going to keep going to church...or come back?  Are your grandkids going to be able to live strong Christian lives without pressure or even persecution from the rest of the culture?  What’s got you concerned this morning?  Maybe you know better than to worry, you’re not supposed to do that after all, but there are some things that make it hard not to be at least a little concerned, aren’t there?

For the twelve in our text, the great concern, the all-out worry, facing them required no reflection or deliberation at all.  The need was obvious and immediate.  They were in the middle of the lake, in the middle of a gale, and their boat was sinking.  They were worried about the wind and the water.  They were worried about all the forces of nature that seemed to be turned personally against them and bent on their destruction.  I suspect that most sane people would sympathize with the twelve disciples and agree that they had a legitimate concern.  This was not some manufactured worry or artificial threat.  Their problem was quite pressing and altogether real.  They were about to drown.  They were going to die.

So, what is the response of the terrified disciples?  Quite reasonably, they turn to the one in charge to see what he can do about the situation.  And the one in charge is, of course, Jesus.  He’s the one man in the boat who is not worried—he’s the man in the boat who is actually sound asleep in the stern, his head resting on a pillow.  And it’s here that the story gets interesting.  Well, actually, it’s already pretty interesting if you stop and think about it; it’s even a bit bizarre.  The wind is howling, the waves are crashing, the little is boat rapidly being swamped, and Jesus is sleeping through it all.  It’s almost like he was doing it on purpose…like he was trying to prove a point, or something.  Or, it could be that he was simply exhausted and sleeping like a dead man.  He did keep rather a full schedule, after all, and it had been a very full day of teaching.  But, now in the throes of their panic and fear of imminent death, the disciples rouse Jesus back to the realm of those who are living…but who are in the process of dying, and ask the painful, panicked question: “Don’t you care that we are perishing?”

It’s important to keep in mind, here, the great disadvantage of the disciples.  They had only spent a few months with Jesus at this point.  They did not yet fully understand exactly who he was.  They knew he was a great teacher, an unparalleled rabbi, and maybe something more—maybe even the Messiah, but there was still much that they did not know.  So, without realizing it, the frantic question that they asked Jesus from the depths of their terror was actually rather an audacious and ironic question.  One of the many quite remarkable elements of this short story is what Jesus did not say in response to this anxious, yet nevertheless accusatory, rebuke on the part of the disciples: “Don’t you care that we are perishing?”  Jesus might well have risen from his pillow, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, stretched, and then righteously rebuffed his twelve ignorant, impudent disciples: “Don’t I care?  Don’t I care that you are perishing?  What do you think I’m doing, here, with you in this boat?  Don’t I care that you are perishing?  What do you think I’m doing, here, with you in this body?  What do you think I’m doing here on this earth, in your broken world?  Of course, I care that you’re perishing; I’m here fulfilling the Father’s mission redemption because I care.”  The question of the disciples was an affront to God’s mercy and God’s plan.  But, all of this was lost on the twelve.  They had no idea.  They didn’t get it…and they also did not get the rebuke that they justifiably deserved.  Instead, Jesus turned his attention to the problem at hand and rebuked the gale and commanded the sea.  Like he was speaking to a servant or a hired hand, Jesus gave orders to wind and waves and both obeyed.  Just like that, they obeyed.

The wind and waves stopped.  The danger was gone.  And all was well in Galilee.  And all is well for us.  The point of the story seems clear and neat and predictable.  Jesus has taught the twelve an important lesson that will help them as they move forward in their lives of discipleship.  They have been taught that when Jesus is in your boat, you’ve got nothing to worry about.  It seems like this is a reasonable conclusion and summary of what this story is all about.  The story teaches the twelve to trust Jesus and not to worry.  It’s the obvious lesson, isn’t it?  And with very little effort, we are then able to transport the same relevant lesson forward 2,000 years into the world of 2017.  And we conclude that this story teaches us a timeless truth: that when Jesus is in your boat, you’ve got nothing to worry about.  What this story is all about, we think, is that we should not worry because Jesus makes things better.  And so, with our comfortable, and standard, conclusions firmly re-established, it seems that we’re done with the text, and the sermon can wrap up neatly with an “amen,” and be done.  So…go in peace; serve the Lord.  Amen.

But…that’s not how the story ends, is it?  Perhaps we’d like this to be the lesson and then be done with it, but the story does not conclude with a “faith-lesson” learned and grateful smiles and happy slaps on the back all around.  There’s more to the story.  It turns out that Jesus is not quite done rebuking after all.  After taking care of the wind and the waves, he’s still got a few stern words left for these disciples as well.  “Why are you afraid?”  Or, more pointedly and in the spirit of the Greek text: “Why are you guys such wimps!?  Don’t you have any faith?”  Once again—and as always, it seems—the disciples have fallen short of all hopes and expectations.  Jesus did expect much from these twelve men.  These were the men who one day would have to stand before kings and rulers and judges and tribunals and make bold confessions of their faith and declare the truth of the gospel.  These were the men who would soon face adversity, ridicule, violence, and death for the sake of Jesus’ message.  Knowing what was in store for these men, Jesus knew that groveling cowardice and timid fear could have no place.  Firm trust would need to manifest itself in a steely resolve to do what needed to be done.  The disciples would need to face every threat with the certainty of God’s complete provision.  They would need to be men of faith, men who trusted.  But, this night on the Sea of Galilee, the disciples aren’t there yet, not even close.  So, their rabbi reprimands them for their failure.  And even if Jesus said it gently and with a smile, it was still a rebuke.  They had failed.  It might seem harsh for Jesus to correct them for forgetting their faith and being afraid to die; considering the circumstances, their reaction seems about right.  But the point is that Jesus expects more from them.  Even at this stage, much more is expected of them than what they have so far managed.

Jesus corrects their failure of faith, and the disciples were chastened.  But in truth, Jesus didn’t need to say anything at all to undo every single one of them completely.  In fact, what Jesus said probably barely registered at all.  They were already undone by what Jesus had done.  The stark reality of the deafening silence and deathly stillness all around them was already more than they could handle.  In an instant, the lake had gone from tempest to tranquil from turbulent to a flat sheet of watery glass stretching to the shore.  The twelve were stunned.   They had seen Jesus do miracles, of course.  They’d seen him drive out demons and heal sick people, and that was pretty cool—quite a rush, actually.  But, Jesus giving orders to the fury of nature and getting immediate servile obedience…well, that was another thing altogether.  It was in a league by itself.  The twelve may have been asking one another the question, but they already knew the incredible, breathtaking answer.  Who is this who has that kind of authority over the force of the wind and the formless chaos of the sea?  They knew the answer, but could hardly believe it.  There was only ONE being in the universe with that kind of authority.

The disciples stood there, soaked, breathless, trembling, hearts still pounding, and eyes wide staring at their rabbi and trying to fathom exactly what they were seeing.  It was still just Jesus who stood before them, the man who only moments before had been sleeping soundly without a concern or worry in the back of their boat.  It was just Jesus but, at that moment, something clicked, and they knew that it could not be just a man that stood there.  It had to be the LORD, adonai, Yahweh, God Almighty himself.  No other being could command the creation with such absolute authority.  God, the Creator, was with them in their boat.  Their minds were blown.  Or, as the text puts it, “they feared a great fear.”  Indeed, to say the least.  What else was there to do?

And that’s the end of the story.  The conclusion of the account is simple and profound: Jesus is lord; Jesus is God.  Which means, of course, that when Jesus is in your boat with you, then you have everything to worry about—well, no, actually only one enormously big thing to worry about: you’re in the presence of God.  For a sinner, like each of the twelve and like me and like you, being in the presence of a holy and just God is never a good thing.  That’s why the twelve were far more terrified in the gentle calm than they had been in the teeth of the storm.  And yet, even here, there is grace: Jesus stands there with them and with us as true God…yet, still a man.  We do not face God in his naked holiness, majesty, and just wrath.  We have God, here, wrapped in a human body.  We have Jesus as God in the flesh, a man like us—the one who does care that you are perishing—the one who proved the height, and the breadth, and the depth of his care on the arms of a Roman cross.  It took a while, actually it took the coming of the Holy Spirit, but eventually led by that Spirit, the disciples did figure it out.  Jesus was God and man, he was Lord and savior—both at once for them.  In the light of that Spirit-given knowledge, fear was finally pushed out and they were remade.  Cowardice was replaced with trust.

Jesus is Lord.  He is God.  That truth changes everything—even timid and terrified disciples.  Jesus is Lord.  Those who know it and confess it are humble and grateful.  Jesus is Lord.  Those who know it—who know him and confess him and trust him are bold and confident.  And, so it is for you, disciple of Jesus the Lord, so it is for you.  Amen.

Call Day

Rev. Dr. Joel D. Biermann

Romans 10:9-16

10th Sunday after Pentecost

It happened a lot of years ago—in fact, it was almost 18 years ago, back when the Rams were still in St. Louis, and still winning football games.  Some of you probably remember a wide receiver for that team named Isaac Bruce.  He was a skilled football player, but perhaps not as skilled as a theologian.  In December, toward the end of the 1999 season, Bruce was driving back to St. Louis from Columbia when a tire blew out and sent his car rolling off of I-70.  Bruce, walked away from the crash without a scratch.  He wasn’t wearing his seatbelt, but he was driving a Mercedes.  But Bruce did not credit the car with saving him, nor his driving abilities for that matter.  It was widely reported that for Bruce, it was a matter of faith.  One story from CBS put it this way, “He said he knew he’d be fine when he shouted ‘Jesus!’ as the car began to spin, then he took his hands off the steering wheel and waited for the chaos to end.”  Bruce himself added this quote: “I knew I was healed and I knew I’d be protected, and that was it.”  And then he offered some spiritual counsel: “The moral of the story is to yell out ‘Jesus’ when you’re in trouble.  That’s what I tell everybody.”  So, there you have it.  When you’re facing a crisis, yell, “Jesus,” let go of everything, and you’ll be fine.  At least that’s the way that Isaac Bruce saw it.  It’s possible that you are a little uncomfortable with his advice.  I know that I am.  I mean, it’s great that people pray to Jesus, and expect him to help, but is the essence of faith really that you yell out, “Jesus” when you’re in trouble, and then he comes to the rescue?  I bristle at the trivialization and almost magical sense of these ideas.

Faith isn’t magic, is it?  Faith is trust.  Faith is knowing about God’s truth.  Faith is a relationship between God and creature.  Faith is cultivated and careful.  Faith follows certain pathways and progressions.  Faith comes through God’s means and through God’s men.  Faith is what Paul was talking about when he wrote his powerful, sweeping series of phrases about the need for preachers to peach God’s word, because, as his great verbal flourish concludes, “faith comes from hearing, and hearing through the word of Christ.”  Paul’s words are the great inspiration for missionaries and pastors and all those who support them.  It all follows so logically and methodically: “how are they to believe in him of whom they have never heard?  And how are they to hear without someone preaching?  And how are they to preach unless they are sent?”  It seems from Paul’s words that it’s all about preachers of the word and making sure that they are sent.  That’s reasonable and manageable and sensible.  These are words that justify institutions like seminaries and the millions of dollars it takes each year just to keep a single seminary open and training people to be faithful preachers.  So, this text is all about pastors, and formation in a faith that is deep, thoughtful, and serious and certainly not magical or superstitious.

But, is the point of Paul’s great words the making and sending of pastors?   Actually, when you work the progression of ideas backward to the central thought, you don’t arrive at pastors.  In fact, pastors are not the end of Paul’s thoughts, they are only the necessary beginning.  There has to be a man to preach, and that man has to be sent, but what’s next?  Well, there has to be someone to hear what is preached, and then even more importantly, the goal is that there is someone who believes what is preached.  In fact, that’s the point of Paul’s entire argument.  What he’s interested in, what he wants, is people who believe.  The reason Paul wants preachers is so that there can be believers.  Paul’s main concern is not with the making of a gospel worker or the sending of a preacher.  His interest is not in the people being called and sent to deliver God’s good news.  No, Paul’s driving concern is with the people who are coming to faith.  The goal of Paul’s tour de force of logic and rhetoric is not a called pastor, but calling people—that is, people calling on God as Savior and Lord.  “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.”  That’s Paul’s point.  His great desire is for people calling…not a pastor, but people calling on God.  Paul’s text is about call day—not a spring day at the seminary when men are called to go and preach, and not a special voters’ meeting to elect a pastor, but a day when people call on the Lord and are saved.  Call day is today.

That’s what the story in the Gospel of Matthew is all about as well.  The story of Peter and his brief walk on the waves is a call day story.  It’s the story of Peter calling out to Jesus and being saved: call day.  Call day did not come easily to Peter.  In fact, all through the gospels we read about Peter’s struggle to come to terms with his need for what only Christ could give.  Peter did not like having to call out for help.  Calling for help meant that he was unable.  It meant that he couldn’t do it.  It meant that his pride was wrong.  And Peter struggled with that.  Peter struggled with pride again and again.  It was pride that prompted Peter to take the devil’s side and rebuke his rabbi when Jesus had started talking about his own imminent rejection and execution.  It was pride that prompted Peter to declare that he would never fall away from his Lord.  It was pride that led him as he swung a sword and lopped off the ear of Malchus.  And, it was pride that got Peter into trouble that night on the Sea of Galilee.

Pride, you see, is the very antithesis and enemy of faith.  Pride kills faith.  Pride inflates a person’s self-obsession and leaves no room for anything or anyone more important or more pressing than self.  It pushes out everything else—including faith, including Christ.  Pride focuses on self.  Faith focuses on Christ.  They cannot coexist.  So, the beginning of faith must always be the death of pride.  And, that’s what Peter learned in the wake of the bold suggestion that he join his Lord walking across the windswept, choppy waters of Galilee.  But, understand, when Peter crawled over the edge of the boat to walk with Christ on the water it was not pride at work—that was faith in action.  The idea might have been born in impetuous, unthinking enthusiasm, but once he was on the water, it was all about faith.  He was looking at Christ, and trusting what Jesus could do.  As long as Peter kept looking there, he was walking in faith…he was walking on water.  But, pride came back and got him.  Pride made him think about himself and what he was doing, instead of thinking about Jesus and what Jesus was doing.  Pride made Peter question everything.  He was putting his life in the hands of someone else.  He was at the mercy of another.  What was he thinking?  Why was he out of the boat on the water?  And as the thoughts of pride grew, faith was pushed out.  Peter felt the fear and then felt the water give way beneath his feet.  He went down.  Pride sunk him.

That’s when the night on the lake became call day.  All too clearly, Peter saw the reality of his own inability and the failure of his own pride.  Pride can’t do much, actually.  It can’t walk on water.  It can’t even swim.  Sinking in the waves, Peter was in trouble and he knew it.  He knew only one place to look: “Lord, save me.”  And he did.  Jesus reached out his hand and lifted Peter up and brought him to the boat.  When Peter called, Jesus answered.   When Peter called, it was faith that was at work.  It wasn’t thought out.  It wasn’t calculated.  It wasn’t planned or crafted.  It was immediate and real and visceral.  He was drowning.  He needed help.  He called.  Jesus answered.  Call day.  Pride died, faith flourished.

So, what’s the difference between the desperate cry of a helpless, on-the-verge-of-death apostle, and the desperate cry of a helpless, on-the-verge-of-death wide receiver?  Is there a difference?  Actually, there is a remarkable degree of correspondence between the two, isn’t there?  Perhaps Isaac Bruce was a better theologian than I had thought.  Maybe, perhaps even unwittingly, Bruce actually stumbled onto a profound truth; and, maybe the thing that bothers me about his story is not what appears to be superstition or shallow theology.  Maybe the thing I don’t like is the unnerving simplicity and glaring clarity that Bruce’s story brings to the issue at hand.  Hands off the wheel, tumbling out of control at 70 mph, disaster looming, death rushing in to claim life, no options left, no hope, nowhere to turn, nothing left to do but cry out: “Jesus!  Lord save me.”  That is exactly what it means to call on the Lord.

And, I do not like it.  Well, at least there is a very significant part of me that does not like it.  If I’m honest, I have to admit that I don’t like the thought that the heart of faith demands being so utterly out of control, so hopelessly at the mercy of someone else—even if that someone else is God.  I can’t deal with a theology reduced to such gut-wrenching, mind-numbing, crude forces.  I want my theology to be balanced, refined, nuanced, calmly articulated and nurtured in a classroom—not torn out of me by primitive, human terror and the crisis of the moment.  I would rather not be reduced to such simplistic, humiliating pleading; I want to be better than that.  But, the sinful creature’s anguished plea to a holy God is never calculated or clean—not when it is the cry of faith.  It is desperate, pathetic and offensive.  Ask Peter about that, or ask Job, or ask Isaac Bruce.  When it gets right down to it, calling on the Lord always looks pretty much the same: helpless, hopeless, doomed humans despairing of all attempts to fix the mess they are in, and plaintively and passionately pleading to God for help.  It is the same for every one of us.  Flat on your face, begging for God’s mercy: it always comes down to that.  Always.  Job knew it.  Peter knew it.  Paul knew it.  And clean, cool, controlled, capable, and confident Christians, today, need to know it, too.  Nothing can be allowed to get in the way of call day…not propriety, not pride, and not one’s cherished notions about God and religion.

It’s call day, today.  It’s time now to take your hands off of the wheel, look to Christ, and pray, “Jesus, save me.  Lord God help me!”  That’s what it means to call on the Lord.  And, that’s the point of Paul’s powerful text.  That’s what call day is all about.  And, when all is said and done, when life is worn out and over, when everything that once was lined up and in order is scattered in chaos, then, this is the only call day that will matter—the one where you give up on yourself and your ability, and call on the Lord, the one where pride dies and faith flourishes.  Don’t lose track of what this Christian faith is all about.  Yes, we want to care for those around us, and yes, we want to serve people, and build bridges to the community; we would love to watch people come in droves to fill our sanctuary, and to sing the praises of this exceptional congregation, but none of that is what Christianity is all about.  What it’s all about is people turning to Jesus in faith, and calling for his help.  Do not ever forget where this all starts.  It starts with call day—your call day.  Don’t ever get so occupied with being God’s gift to others that you forget about your fundamental need simply to receive God’s gift to you.  You need what Christ gives.  He gives it here and now.  It’s call day.  Call on him and you will be saved.  Amen.

Believer's Banquet

Rev. Dr. Joel D. Biermann

Isaiah 55:1-2

August 6, 2017  9th Sunday after Pentecost

You gotta eat.  And the people who do the marketing for Rally’s want you to do your eating at one of their establishments.  They’ve been using the “you gotta eat” tag line for a lot of years now.  But, to be honest, I had to Google it to remember which fast food place says it—perhaps the marketing is not quite as successful as it might be.  It’s true, of course: you’ve got to eat.  Food is required.  And, it’s required with a fair amount of regularity.  Miss a meal and your stomach lets you know it.  Miss two in a row and your whole body starts to let you know it.  Food is obviously important.  Everyone has to have it and the need to eat is consistent and recurring.  No one survives without food.  It’s not at all surprising, then, that it is an old and rather common move to turn the reality of hunger and eating into a metaphor for all sorts of other desires and needs—including spiritual ones.  A person’s ongoing need for something to fill his stomach is paralleled by that same person’s need for something to fill the spiritual hollow at the center of his life, or what we might call his soul.  Stomachs and souls both need to be fed.

People do suffer spiritual hunger pains—all people do.  Certainly, they may not be as obvious, urgent, or easily identified as the pangs of physical hunger, but they are every bit as real and every bit as common.  The pangs of spiritual hunger may be called, conscience, or a deep yearning, or just a sense of wonder and awe about the world around.  But, for those who stop and consider the “big question” issues of life, the spiritual hunger seems most like a void, a gaping empty vacuum, that needs to be filled.  Everyone has this.  Though some people have gotten very good at ignoring their spiritual hunger and need, still, they can’t ever entirely escape that empty spot.  Every person recognizes that her very existence needs some sort of justification, some explanation, some purpose or meaning.  Every person needs a reason for the things he does.   Every person wants a sign or a voice to point her in the right direction.  Everyone longs to feel a certain, satisfied, fulfilled way.  It is a driving, crying force that is quite as real as the gnawing force of physical hunger.

People need some way to fill the internal hollow at the core of their lives, and the world is happy to oblige that need with an array of choices.  We are all surrounded by an enormous number of possible solutions to the problem of spiritual hunger.  You have more options available to feed your soul than you have ways available to feed your stomach.  There are, of course, the old, traditional soul solutions, and they remain popular.  People still turn to religion or plow through books on philosophy or even psychology with the hope of filling the hollow place in their lives and supplying the meaning, the hope, and the answers they crave.  But, organized religion, and the world’s great philosophers or psychologists don’t account for all the possible ways to address the problem of spiritual hunger, not even close.  There are also all the quick-fix solutions available, things that bring an immediate and potent rush of pleasure that for a while can dull the internal ache of the spiritual void.  Frankly these options take less thought and less work, so they tend to be rather popular.  Sports, music, art, sex, alcohol, cars, vacations, children, computers, clothing, movies, buying, bullying, befriending—all of these have a place on the menu of soul-food options.  People try these and countless other ways to fill the holes at the center of their souls.

The world is the ultimate soul or internal-hunger-food-court.  Some of what is offered is fast and common, some of it is slow and exclusive.  Some options are quite tasty, some are tasteless.  But while there may be an enormous number of ways people have available to satisfy their spiritual hunger, there are a few factors common to them all.  The most important being that nothing that any place or person in the world can offer will ever completely satisfy anyone.  No doubt, what is offered may be quite pleasurable at the moment when it is consumed; but sooner or later, usually very soon indeed, the satisfaction fades and the irrepressible hunger takes over again.  Nothing offered in the world’s soul-food-court can ever give a person’s soul what it needs. Nothing.  Not ever.  It’s also quite true that every single thing that the world suggests as a means to satisfy spiritual hunger is frightfully expensive.  Every offering comes with a price.  Some things, of course take money.  Others require the payment of time or effort or personal investment.  Some demand sacrifices of emotional and relational resources.  Whatever the price, there is always a price.  Finding fulfillment and internal peace in the world soul-food court always demands much.

In spite of the many problems with eating from the menu of the world, it seems to most people that they have no choice—it’s the only menu available.  So, they continue to browse the offerings, sample the items, and pay the exorbitant prices for spiritual food that will never, ever satisfy the hunger in their soul.  So it goes. People work hard for things that will not feed their souls.  They throw away their money for experiences that will never satisfy their need.  They invest their time in pursuits that cannot fill the void.  They give up resources and relationships for what has no answer for life’s big questions.  They pay for what is worthless.  They buy death.  But, then, into the bleak, hopelessness and futility of the bankrupt and rotting human condition a clear voice rings out: “Come, come every one of you of who is thirsty.  Come, every one of you who is hungry.  Come, every one of you who is longing to be fed in the depths of your soul.  Come, here and eat and drink and be fully satisfied once and for all.”  The voice calls out.  God calls out.  He sends his invitation—it is extended to everyone.  He invites you to his banquet of grace.  The world’s soul-food court is not the only place for a soul to eat.

What God offers is utterly unlike the world’s miserable offerings.  When you sit down at your place at God’s banquet, the hollow spot in your soul is filled fully.  The aching hunger of your heart is quelled.  The big questions are answered.  The abiding internal peace and contentment that nothing in the world can ever supply is delivered by God.  He gives the human soul everything for which it yearns.  He erases the past, transforms the present, and guarantees the future.  And the price for what God gives?  What does it cost to take a seat at God’s table?  Nothing.  Those who answer the call and come to the banquet pay nothing.  How could they?  What could anyone ever give for such an incredible feast?  God simply gives what man most needs.  It costs no money.  It demands none of your time, and none of your resources, or energy, or relationships.  It is given.  Free.

So, the banquet is spread.  The price has been paid entirely by the host—Christ took care of that completely at Calvary.  All fees are waived.  Now, God issues the earnest invitation: “Come, come to the banquet.  Come and feed your soul with the only food it needs.  Come, eat, and live forever.”  You have heard the invitation.  Led by the Spirit, you have responded to the invitation and taken your spot at God’s table reserved just for you; your name is on it.  You have tasted God’s food for your soul.  You’ve heard his answers to your greatest questions; he has filled the void at the center of your life.  He’s given you his forgiveness, his grace, his meaning, his purpose, his future, his eternity.  You’ve eaten what he gives, and you’re here this morning to enjoy again the great fare that God spreads before you, here to enjoy the delicacies of his table.  You’re here to share the food that brings eternal peace, and fulfillment to the center of your being.  Everything is as it should be.  Let’s eat.

But, what if you’re not hungry?  What if before you got here this morning, you already ate a big meal and stuffed yourself on something from the world’s food court?  This is perhaps one of the greatest mysteries about Christian people.  Believers don’t have to order off of the world’s menu anymore.  Christians have tasted God’s truth, and don’t need to keep searching in the world for something that will satisfy their greatest need.  They know where they can eat and no longer be hungry, where they can drink and never thirst again.  You have eaten this food, you have enjoyed this drink.  So, why continue to belly-up to the bar of the world?  Why leave God’s table to go find a table in the world’s food court?  How can you come to the banquet of God after you have already indulged in what the world offers in its place?  In truth, the sorts of problems people have with physical food are the same problems they have with spiritual food.  They know what is good for them and what they should eat, but all those other things are so tempting and so interesting—and frankly so tasty.  It’s hard to resist.

God is offering his very best food for your soul this morning.  From the first word of forgiveness declared, to the Word read, and now proclaimed, and soon culminating, here, at the altar’s feast, you receive God’s very best.  So why keep on ordering from the world’s menu?  Why continue to pay outrageous, painful prices for what can never satisfy?  Why fill your soul with what only leaves you more empty than before when you know where to feast on God’s food?  Are you hungry this morning?  Are you eager to receive what God is eager to give?  Or, are you still feeling bloated from eating what the world has to offer?  Are you famished and ready to dine with your Lord, or not really that interested because you’ve spent the week filling up on the junk food offered in the world?  You gotta eat.  So, where are you eating?

Maybe it’s some habit that trips you up.  Maybe it’s a taste you’ve acquired for some particular offering on the world’s menu.  Perhaps there are social or financial reasons at work.  Maybe you worry that if you’re sitting quietly at God’s table you might be missing something interesting at the world’s bar.  Whatever the reasons, you find yourself too often eating what the world offers, eating what will never fulfill you.  Don’t feast with the world and then come to God’s table.  Do that, and you forsake what God provides.

In the Word of the Gospel and in the grace of the Sacrament, God is giving you his very best.  He’s giving it right here and right now this morning.  Here, at God’s banquet you are fed and nourished for eternity.  Here, God gives you all that you need.  Here he feeds you with his grace and truth, satisfies the longing of your soul, and answers the big questions of your life.  Here, God gives you everything.  There is nothing better, anywhere.  Leave the world and its worthless food behind.  Be done with it, forever.  Pull up your seat at God’s table and eat.  Listen and be fed.  Eat and drink and be nourished.  Sit long and linger at his table.  He’s got the very best for you again this morning.  You gotta eat.  Eat what God gives.  Amen.