Monthly Archives: September 2010

Question Box: “He descended into hell.”

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Introduction

Holy Cross Lutheran Church offers individuals the chance to ask questions about the Church, faith, theology, and the Bible by putting their queries into a Question Box. A question and answer appears in each month’s newsletter. This is the October 2010 installment.

Question

When we confess our faith using the Apostles’ Creed, I’m not sure what we mean by saying that Jesus Christ “descended into hell.” What does this part of the Creed mean?

Answer

It helps to begin by remembering that the three Creeds—Apostles’, Nicene, and Athanasian—serve the Church and individual Christians by offering summaries of the Christian faith. The Creeds work together with the Canon—the Church’s collection of writings in the Old and News Testament. The Creeds summarize God’s history with his people, recorded in the Bible. The Creeds also help us to understand and interpret the biblical history of God with his people.

In AD 390, an early, formal statement of the faith appeared in a letter from the Council of Milan to Pope Siricius. By the beginning of the eighth century, such statements had evolved into the Apostles’ Creed. This Creed gained nearly universal acceptance across the Church. From its beginnings, the Church has tied this Creed closely to the celebration of Holy Baptism, just as we do today.

The passage, “He descended into hell,” comes from the second article, or part, of Apostles’ Creed—the one that proclaims our faith in Jesus Christ. We say this Creed in English, but it was first written in Latin. The phrase in Latin goes like this: descendit ad inferna. Translations of the Creed have rendered this in a variety of ways: He descended into hell; He descended to the dead.

Both translations help us to confess that Jesus Christ truly died and then faced and overcame the power of death. This points us to the words of St. Paul, who wrote,

When it says, ‘He ascended,’ what does it mean but that he had also descended into the lower parts of the earth? He who descended is the same one who ascended far above all the heavens, so that he might fill all things (Ephesians 4:9–10, NRSV)

In the time of Jesus and Paul, terms for hell included Sheol (Hebrew) and Hades (Greek). They pointed to the dwelling place of people who had died and were not in the presence of God. Not all who resided there would be separated from God forever. The just ones who had died were waiting for a redeemer. We can see this belief at work in the parable of the rich man, Abraham, and Lazarus in Luke 16:19–31, the Gospel for the last Sunday in September.

In the Apostles’ Creed, when we confess that Jesus Christ “descended into hell,” we confess that he truly died, and in the time between his death and resurrection, redeemed the just ones who had died before him. This points us to the words of St. Peter:

For this reason the gospel was proclaimed even to the dead, so that, though they had been judged in the flesh as everyone is judged, they might live in the spirit as God does (1 Peter 4:6, NRSV).

Because Jesus Christ is both true man and true God, he shared fully in the experience of knowing separation from God the Father, but at the same time, he alone had the power, through the Holy Spirit he shares with his Father,

…to destroy death, to break the bonds of the evil one, to crush hell underfoot… (Eucharistic Prayer IV, Lutheran Book of Worship, Ministers Desk Edition, p. 226).

In the Meantime: Walk in His Ways

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Introduction

This article is the October 2010 installment of my monthly message in the parish newsletter for Holy Cross Lutheran Church, Beatrice, Neb.

Message

Walk in His Ways

If you take your dog for a walk along the same route each morning, you can grow blind, after a while, to the details along the way. Soon you do not see the really unusual way that a tree has grown up through a fence, the spot where birds like to gather after a rain to splash themselves clean in a puddle, and the dappling of the sun filtered through breeze-shaken leaves. Familiarity makes our vision grow fuzzy.

Our liturgy is our part of our walk through the Christian life. And after a time, we can begin to miss the wealth of wonder and wisdom hidden in plain sight in the words we exchange with our Lord in worship. For example, once we have asked God’s forgiveness, renewal, and leading, we pray to him that these gifts may come to us, so that we may walk in [his] ways. (Lutheran Book of Worship, p. 56)

That’s one of those little, familiar phrases we can come to ignore. But if you’ve ever taken the same old walk in your neighborhood with a little child who explores everything, you know that you can regain your vision and see what you were in the habit of missing. It’s the same with walking in God’s ways.

This month, we will be blessed on our walk of faith by the youth who will make their public affirmation of Holy Baptism, their Confirmation. They will help us all to see with fresh vision how God calls and empowers us to walk in his ways.

Continue in His Covenant

As we make our way through our service of Confirmation on Sunday, Oct. 31, Reformation Sunday, we will come to a place where we hear the following words:
You have made public profession of your faith. Do you intend to continue in the covenant God made with you in Holy Baptism:
+ to live among God’s faithful people,
+ to hear his Word and share in his supper,

+ to proclaim the good news of God in Christ through word and deed,
+ to serve all people, following the example of our Lord Jesus,
+ and to strive for justice and peace in all the earth? (Lutheran Book of Worship, p. 201)

Three youth—Dillon Rinne, Kyler Robertson, and Cutter Singleton—will stand in the midst of our gathering, responding to God by saying, “I do, and I ask God to help and guide me.” What they are really saying they will endeavor to do, with God’s help, is to walk in God’s ways.

This is truly what it means for each of us to make an affirmation of his or her Holy Baptism. We respond to God’s gift of adoption, where he made us his sons and daughters through the washing with water and his Word. We say we are ready, with his help, to claim the responsibilities he lays upon us as members of his family, the Church. We commit ourselves to these tasks, these ministries, not on our own, but guided by his Holy Spirit and performed together with others in the Church.

While our three confirmands will make their first public affirmation of Holy Baptism, we all renew weekly the commitments we made at our confirmations when we pray for the strength to walk in God’s ways, when we ask him to help and guide us to continue in his covenant. In truth, any of us could say, “I would like to make a public, formal affirmation of Holy Baptism.” Then we could come before God in the presence of our congregation and renew our commitment to the same vows the confirmands will make.

In our prayers, let us ask God our Father to bless with his Holy Spirit Dillon, Kyler, and Cutter, along with all who make and renew their commitments, to walk with Christ in his ways.

A Good Four-Letter Word

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Introduction

This is a funeral homily I preached at Holy Cross Lutheran Church, Beatrice, Neb., on Monday, Sept. 27, 2010, for the husband of the woman whose funeral I conducted a little over a year ago. Her funeral homily was entitled Second Birth.

Readings

Ezekiel 37:1–14
Psalm 23
2 Corinthians 5:1–10
John 14:18–24

Message

One of the good four-letter words is “home.”
This word was often on the lips of Harry Gartner.
Towards the end of his life,
he spoke many times of wanting to go home, to be at home.

And in one sense, because of his hospice care,
he realized that desire,
as he was able to spend his final days
in the comfort of his own home,
receiving Janet’s care and support,
surrounded by the love of family and friends,
amid his familiar belongings,
under the same roof as his beloved Studebaker.

But in the deeper, more profound, spiritual sense,
Harry was already and always at home,
not because of where he was,
but simply because of whose he was.

Harry was a Christian,
a man baptized into the body of Christ, the Church.
And so it was for him as it is for you and me:
We are at home because our Lord makes his home with us.
As Jesus told his disciple, the other Judas,
“Those who love me will keep my word,
and my Father will love them,
and we will come to them and make our home with them.”
(John 14:23, NRSV)
This gives us great freedom, because we are not tied down.
Whether, like Harry, we live in town,
or serve our country in distant lands,
or travel for work,
or vacation in the land of winter sunshine,
we are always at home, even when we are on the road,
because our Lord is with us, no matter where we are.

And when the journeys of our lives run long,
and confront us with their bumps and detours,
including illness and disease,
then the Lord who makes his home with us
reminds us of our ultimate home security,
his loving and protecting arms.

That’s why St. Paul can tell the Corinthians and us,
“For we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed,
we have a building from God,
a house not made with hands,
eternal in the heavens.” (2 Corinthians 5:1, NRSV)

This is our sure and certain hope,
the promise God our Father has made with us,
sealed by the resurrection of his Son, Jesus Christ,
poured out upon us through their Holy Spirit.

There are days when our trust in this promise
may seem vain and fragile,
our faith troubled and tenuous.
But truly, because our Lord makes his home with us,
we know the answer to the question
the Lord GOD posed to Elijah in the valley of the bones.
He asked, “Mortal, can these bones live?” (Ezekiel 37:3, NRSV)

His own answer calls forth from the empty tomb of his Son,
from the promise of a homecoming he has given to Harry,
and from the assurance his servant, St. Paul, shares with us:
“He who has prepared us for this very thing is God,
who has given us the Spirit as a guarantee.” Amen. (2 Corinthians 5:5, NRSV)

Ruin and Righteousness

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This is the sermon I prepared for Holy Cross Lutheran Church, Beatrice, Neb., for the Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Sept. 26, 2010.

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Readings

Amos 6:1a, 4–7
Psalm 146 (antiphon v. 7)
1 Timothy 6:6–19
Luke 16:19–31

+ + +

Prayer

Gracious Father, by your Holy Spirit open our ears to hear your calling to faithful service and empower us to respond to that calling, following your Son, Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

+ + +

Message

Most little children just love it
when parents toss them
up into the air and then catch them
gently in their arms.

If they can talk,
they’ll exclaim, “Again! Do it again!”
When you’ve played this way with a child,
you know that your arms will tire out
long before your child’s enthusiasm wanes.

Eventually, though, we hope,
they grow too big, too heavy,
to be tossed into the air.

But fortunately, that comes about the age
when they have grown big enough
to sit safely on a swing.

And then the fun begins anew.
We discover, to our relief,
that pushing a swing is easier
than tossing a boy or a girl into the air.
Little, gentle pushes made at the just right time
will launch them much higher
and let them swing much faster
than we could ever accomplish
by tossing them straight up.

Today’s four readings are like a swing,
and we are the children riding upon it,
and God our Father is the one
standing patiently behind us,
pushing gently, again and again,
at just the right time,
to launch us, seated upon these readings
higher and further and faster
than might happen if he used brute force.

+ + +

Amos pronounces God’s judgment
on all who are not troubled
by the calamities facing his people.
He announces that God will judge them
because they place their faith in their wealth,
depending upon themselves and their possessions
rather than relying upon the God
who in fact gave them everything they have:

“Alas for those who lie on beds of ivory…
but are not grieved over the ruin of Joseph.
Therefore they shall now be the first
to go into exile….” (Amos 6:4a,6b,7a, NRSV)

Do you feel the first push on the swing?
God judges those who tend to their own comfort
rather than grieving over the ruin facing his people.

+ + +

In Psalm 146, we sing together with Israel,
reminding ourselves not to place our ultimate trust
in people who come and go in our lives,
but to seek help from God.
He is the LORD who gives his all for those who are weak,
but who executes his judgment upon the wicked:

“Do not put your trust…in mortals,
in whom there is no help.
Happy are those whose help is the God of Jacob….
The LORD loves the righteous…
but the way of the wicked he brings to ruin.” (Psalm 146:3,5a,8c,9c, NRSV)

And our Father in heaven pushes on the swing once again.
He judges the wicked—those who ignore the weak—
but showers his love upon the weak and those who aid them.

+ + +

St. Paul offers wise spiritual guidance
to his companion, Timothy,
advising him on how to live a good and godly life.
At the root, the question for Timothy
is whether he will live under and witness to and serve fully
the God of Israel and the Church
or bow down to some other god, some false god, some idol.
The choice is clear and the outcome is eternal:

“For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil,
and in their eagerness to be rich
some have wandered away from the faith
and pierced themselves with many pains. …
As for those who in the present age are rich,
command them not to be haughty,
or to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches,
but rather on God who richly provides us
with everything for our enjoyment.” (1 Timothy 6:10,17, NRSV)

And with another push, God sends us higher and faster.
When we love money more than him,
then we have forsaken him and have placed our faith in an idol.
He gives us everything, not only for need, but also for enjoyment.
But in return, we often commit idolatry, breaking the first commandment.

+ + +

And finally, in the Gospel from Luke,
Jesus tells the parable
of Father Abraham, the rich man, and poor Lazarus.
We learn that the rich enjoy their fleeting reward,
but that the poor may hope for eternal comfort.
Jesus reminds us through the words of Father Abraham
that this judgment from God ought not catch us by surprise:

“They have Moses and the prophets;
they should listen to them. …
If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets,
neither will they be convinced
even if someone rises from the dead.” (Luke 16:29,31, NRSV)

And with a last push, we swing high and fast,
knowing that God our Father stands behind us,
pushing, reminding, pushing, rebuking, pushing, reassuring.

He doesn’t throw us up into the air abruptly,
sending us flying aloft by brute force.
Instead, with patience and gentleness,
he firmly, insistently, repeatedly, inexorably
tells us again and again,
first this way and then that way,
through the prophets, by the psalmist,
in the gospel, by the apostles,
what is his will and his way and his word.

He judges and he saves.
He unmasks our idols and he invites our worship.
He rebukes all who trust in wealth
and reassures all who tolerate want.

Perhaps now we are squirming in our swing,
a little uncomfortable with the height and the speed,
a little unsure about whether we want God pushing us.

Maybe his warnings about wealth are not for us.
Maybe.
But then the facts confront us.

Americans make up five percent of the world’s population,
but we consume twenty-four percent of its energy,
where access to energy is the clearest measure of affluence.
The average American uses as much energy
as 307 Tanzanians or 370 Ethiopians,
just to pick out the citizens of two countries
where our fellow Lutherans outnumber the membership of the ELCA.

We could pick other measures,
other ways to assess wealth and poverty.
But in the end, the truth remains.
Despite the differences among us in this nation,
the discrepancies between the wealth of Warren Buffet
and the poverty of our permanent underclass,
we Americans are among the world’s wealthy.

And so, today’s Word of judgment is for us,
just as surely as God extends his promise of salvation
to all who turn to him.
As Father Abraham reminds us,
we have heard Moses and the prophets.
But then, God be praised,
we also have witnessed one who has risen from the dead.
We have felt him splash upon us,
we have heard him in teaching and preaching,
and we have tasted him in the bread and the wine.

We have received the grace of God in many and various ways,
so that we can take to heart
St. Paul’s admonition to Timothy, his friend and companion:

“But as for you, man of God,
shun all this;
pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love,
endurance, gentleness.
Fight the good fight of the faith;
take hold of the eternal life to which you were called
and for which you made the good confession
in the presence of many witnesses.” (1 Timothy 6:11–12, NRSV)

+ + +

Get back on the swing.
Grab the chains with both hands.
Call out over your shoulder to God our Father,
“Again! Higher! Faster! Do it again!” Amen.

One Mediator, One People

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This is the sermon I prepared for Holy Cross Lutheran Church, Beatrice, Neb., for the Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost, Sept. 19, 2010.

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Readings

Amos 8:4–7
Psalm 113 (antiphon v. 7)
1 Timothy 2:1–7
Luke 16:1–13

+ + +

Prayer

Gracious Father, we thank you for sending your only Son, Jesus Christ, to reveal yourself to us and to gather us into your family. Bless us, by your Holy Spirit, so that we may live faithfully in your Church. Amen.

+ + +

Message

Jacob sat at his all-in-one chair and desk
and nervously fingered his yellow number-2 pencil.
The point was worn down, blunted,
the eraser worked over into a rounded hemisphere,
because he had just finished writing
the most difficult note of his young life.

His best friend, Joshua,
had agreed to be his courier, his messenger.
He’d given Josh the folded-into-a-wad note
during recess that morning,
along with explicit instructions.

Take the note to Elizabeth.
Wait while she reads it.
Then bring me her answer.

Jacob knew these things took time.
The ways of girls were a great unknown.
Their timing was a mystery.
But still, the waiting was agony.

He wanted to know what she thought of him,
whether they might become friends,
if she would talk to him after school.

And so, Jacob waited for a reply
to come to him through his mediator, Joshua.
Soon, he thought, soon I will know.

+ + +

We grow up with the idea
that sometimes we need a go-between,
a negotiator, a mediator, a messenger,
someone who can speak to both parties
at the delicate beginnings of a relationship,
or in the midst of careful and formal talks—
someone who can be trusted to be honest,
to speak the truth to both people in the relationship.

And so, since we know how this works
in our daily lives and relationships,
it is no surprise to discover
that our normal, mundane images of mediators
find their source, their inspiration,
as well as their fulfillment, their completion
in the life of our God.

In our reading from 1 Timothy,
St. Paul shares a fragment of an ancient hymn:
“There is one God;
there is also one mediator between God and humankind,
Christ Jesus, himself human,
who gave himself a ransom for all.” (1 Timothy 2:5, NRSV)

Our Lord is our go-between, our mediator,
he is like Jacob and Elizabeth’s friend, Joshua:
trustworthy, honest, a man of integrity.
He’s like Joshua, but he is also much more.

Jesus Christ is the one mediator
between his Father and us
because he is both God and man.
He is the Son of the Father,
sharing for all eternity in the community of their Spirit.
And he is the son of Mary, the mother of our Lord,
born a Jew in Palestine two millennia ago.

He does not carry a message between God and people,
or between people and God,
written on a wadded up scrap of tablet paper.
Instead, he is the message,
he is the Word made flesh,
he is God incarnate,
he is the One who is both God and man.

And that is what makes him the One
who can serve his Father and us as mediator.
Only he can give himself up,
only he can die on our behalf,
only he can be the ransom for all.

He is the greatest gift the Father could ever give,
the most generous gift we could ever receive,
because he is the Triune God’s gift of himself
to us, to all, and to the whole world.

We don’t need to wait and to worry
like Jacob did at his desk,
wondering whether we will get word,
agonizing over whether there is a future for us.

Jesus Christ is the One who comes to us,
the One who speaks the Word he is,
the One who makes us to be God’s people.

There is another well-known passage
from St. Paul that offers us the assurance
that Jesus Christ, our mediator, is the One for us.
In Ephesians 4, the apostle writes,
“There is one body and one Spirit,
just as you were called to the one hope of your calling,
one Lord, one faith, one baptism,
one God and Father of all,
who is above and through all and in all.” (Ephesians 4:4–6, NRSV).

[Tomorrow morning/Today] we will gather
around our baptismal font
to witness the birth of a new Christian.
When November is washed
in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,
the water and Word together
become the presence of our Lord
in her life and in our midst,
just as surely as he comes to us
in the Meal we share at his Holy Table.

He comes in Holy Baptism
as the one mediator
between God and humankind,
because he himself is both human and divine.
And so he is the only one
who can give himself as a ransom for all,
and in our midst, as a ransom for November.

For her, this is the first day of her new life.
For us, it serves to remind us,
no matter how long ago we rose dripping from the font,
we were born on that day to a new life,
we had that moment of grace that made us a people
ransomed, redeemed, restored, reconciled, and renewed.

So, no matter how divided we now find ourselves,
no matter how deep the splits and fissures of dissension
over politics and religion,
social issues and public policy,
church administration and direction,
congregational priorities and goals,
no matter what may leave us
sitting nervously at our desks,
fingers twiddling our pencils,
our minds spinning madly with worry
about whether our plans will succeed—
no matter what—
there is One who is our Mediator.

He comes into our midst,
just as he promises.
He shares his message that he embodies as both God and man,
that he is God with us, among us, for us,
and that he has given himself a ransom for all. Amen.

Christ Crucified—Both Foolishness and Wisdom

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This is the sermon I prepared for Holy Cross Lutheran Church, Beatrice, Neb., for Holy Cross Day Vespers, September 14, 2010.

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Readings

Isaiah 45:21–25
1 Corinthians 1:18–25
John 12:20–33

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Prayer

Gracious Father, bless us with your Spirit, so that we may keep our gaze fixed upon your Son’s victory on the cross and may find that cross a reminder of your gift of life eternal. Amen.

+ + +

Message

We can easily imagine ourselves
slipping into the crowd of Greeks
who come to Philip and say to him,
“We wish to see Jesus.”

After all, he is famous, renowned,
known for his profound teachings,
his working of wonders.
We’ve heard great things about this man.

And then we hear what he says,
and we realize that he is much different than we thought.
He talks about glory,
but not glory like we are accustomed to celebrating.
What is it that he says?
“Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies,
it remains just a single grain;
but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” (John 12:24, NRSV)

Who is the grain of wheat?
Does he mean himself?
Does he mean us?
This talk of dying does not speak of the glory
we thought he would bring to us.

And then he really takes a turn to the serious.
“Those who love their life will lose it,
and those who hate their life in this world
will keep it for eternal life.” (John 12:25, NRSV)

We thought he was going to make us happy, keep us safe.
We hoped he would throw a party with fat loaves and full cups.
But listen to what he says;
he’s talking about losing the life we love,
about hating our lives, so that we keep them…
somewhere, somehow, maybe.

It all sounds so strange,
so bizarre, so turned inside-out and upside-down.
It doesn’t make any sense.

It’s true.
Jesus Christ, the man, the message, and the mission,
do not make sense at all,
the way the world reckons wisdom.

But God’s great gift in your life and mine
is that we are no longer a part of that Greek crowd.
We don’t find ourselves milling about,
wondering whether we can get past
some burly disciples and gain access
to Jesus’ inner circle
to catch a glimpse of him, to hear a few sound bites.

Instead, the truth of our lives is vastly different.
We are adopted children of the Father.
We are members of the Church, the body of Jesus Christ his Son.
We are filled with their Holy Spirit.

We may have days when the power of the Spirit seems weak,
when we don’t sense the unity we share in the body,
when we find ourselves feeling orphaned.

But we really can cling to the assurance
St. Paul offers up on our behalf:
“For the message about the cross is foolishness
to those who are perishing,
but to us who are being saved
it is the power of God.” (1 Corinthians 1:18, NRSV)

Listen to what he says.
The message about the cross is the power of God
to us who are being saved.

I hadn’t caught the gist of that phrase until just yesterday.
In this passage, St. Paul doesn’t say that we were saved—past tense.
He says that we are being saved.
We are God’s work in progress.

It’s like Jesus Christ has thrown his cross
into the churning waters of our lives
so that we can cling to it as a kind of life raft
and float and paddle our way to safety.

We are being saved by him.
We are being saved from death by his death.
We are being saved for living through his dying.

He saves us with strength that looks like weakness,
with an ultimate victory that appears so much to be a final defeat,
with wisdom that sounds to worldly ears like foolishness.

But, as St. Paul tells us,
“For God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom,
and God’s weakness is stronger than human strength.” (1 Corinthians 1:25, NRSV)

So when we look at this cross—this holy cross—
the Holy Spirit reminds us that Jesus Christ,
the Son of God our Father,
suffered so that we might know release from our pain.
He died in our place; he died to give us life.

The cross is an instrument of cruel torture and a horrible death.
But at the same time God has made it the supreme symbol of life.
It is a reminder we can see whenever we look at this cross,
or any cross we have in our homes,
any cross we wear around our necks or upon our lapels.

And whenever we see lines crossing,
whether they are jet trails in the sky,
or joints in the sidewalks,
or muntins in a window,
we can remember that Christ has been crucified,
and that we are being saved.

We can be reminded by touch as well as by sight.
This is why many Christians
make the sign of the cross,
touching head and heart and shoulders
in a cruciform, a cross-shaped pattern,
in the name of the God who gives us life through death.

And whether we see a cross, simple or ornate,
when we see a shape that recalls a cross,
or if we make a cross as a reminder,
we can take these occasions to say a prayer to God.

A little hymn suggests a prayer for us,
a prayer that reminds us of our Lord’s death and life:

On my heart imprint your image,
Blessed Jesus, king of grace,
That life’s troubles nor its pleasures
Ever may your work erase;
Let the clear inscription be:
Jesus, crucified for me,
Is my life, my hope’s foundation,
All my glory and salvation. (Lutheran Book of Worship 102).

Amen.

A Merciful Change of Mind

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This is the sermon I prepared for Holy Cross Lutheran Church, Beatrice, Neb., for the Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost, September 12, 2010.

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Readings

Exodus 32:7–14
Psalm 51:1–10 (antiphon v. 1) [Psalm 51:3–12, NAB]
1 Timothy 1:12–17
Luke 15:1–10

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Prayer

Father in heaven, with the Psalmist and your Son, we pray in your Holy Spirit, “Have mercy on us, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy, blot out our transgressions.” Amen.

+ + +

Message

“Have mercy on me, God, in your goodness;
in your abundant compassion blot out my offense.” (Psalm 51:3, NAB)

Have mercy on us, O LORD.
We know we have offended you.
We have turned our backs on you.
We have ignored your commands.
We have picked other gods for ourselves.
We worship money and leisure, status and praise.
We charm ourselves with the sound of our own voices,
rather than listening to your Word.
We amuse ourselves to forget our troubles,
and when we do, we neglect your presence in the midst of our sorrow.

Be gentle when you discipline us.
Do not treat us harshly,
but see your Son’s obedience blanketing our disobedience.
Like a sponge soaks us a spill,
wipe away the mess we have made of our lives.

“Wash away all my guilt;
from my sin cleanse me.” (Psalm 51:4, NAB)

Ready yourself with washcloth and soap and water, LORD God.
Draw a bath for us, deep and fresh,
with just the right mix of water and Word.
Make it fragrant with salts and scents
of your Son’s sacrifice for our sins.
With his blood, rinse away our guilt
and cleanse us from our sin.

Hold us gently in your arms as you plunge us
into your cleansing waters.
Take us down deep,
immerse us, submerge us, scrub us all over,
wash us until we are clean,
forgiven, refreshed, renewed.

“For I know my offense;
my sin is always before me.” (Psalm 51:5, NAB)

Your Law is a mirror, holy Father.
We can see ourselves in it—
clearly, with no illusions, no deceits.
We wander from your ways.
We neglect to keep your day holy.
We disrespect our parents and others in authority.
We hurt the people you have brought into our lives.
We break the bonds of trust.
We take what does not belong to us.
We speak ill of others.
We fail to help others keep what is theirs.

This is what we see in your mirror, O LORD.
The picture is grim and grimy.
But you do not let us ignore our reflection.
Your Law shows us the truth of our offenses.

“Against you alone have I sinned;
I have done such evil in your sight
that you are just in your sentence,
blameless when you condemn.” (Psalm 51:6, NAB)

It is true, LORD.
All that we have done
that breaks your Law,
we have done against you, you alone.
It is all evil and disobedience,
sin and destruction.
You are clear, you tell us what you desire,
and yet we do not listen.
We turn from you and your ways,
we ignore your prophets and apostles.

That is the truth of our sad lives.
In the light of your truth,
we see that you are just.
We hear the sentence of death,
and we know that you are not to blame
for condemning us to die for our sins,
for wanting your wrath to burn hot against us,
for planning to consume us with fire and to begin again.

“True, I was born guilty,
a sinner even as my mother conceived me.” (Psalm 51:7, NAB)

As far back as we can remember, O God,
we have been this way,
guilty, sinful, broken, depraved.
So far back, and further still,
back to the beginning,
to the moment of our conception.
We are the sons and daughters
of Adam and Eve.
We inherit the human condition.
You create us in your image,
but we develop twists and wrinkles,
cracks and deformities.
We are born with original sin.

“Still, you insist on sincerity of heart;
in my inmost being teach me wisdom.” (Psalm 51:8, NAB)

We hear the voice of your Son, Father in heaven.
We hear him speak of the joy
that comes to you and your angels
when even one of us repents,
when just one, by grace,
shows sincerity of heart,
and turns from sin,
turns to you, turns from death to life.

Make us to be sincere in our devotion.
Lead us to pray to you each day.
Pour out your Spirit of truth.
Make us wise with your foolish wisdom
and fools according to the world’s ways.
Teach us the math of the kingdom,
where one out of a hundred
is a sum for celebration.

“Cleanse me with hyssop, that I may be pure;
wash me, make me whiter than snow.” (Psalm 51:9, NAB)

We come to you, O God,
so that you may cleanse us from our sin
with the grace of your Son
that overflows upon us
with the faith and love
that are in Christ Jesus.

Sprinkle us with the waters of baptism
into his death and resurrection.
Make us pure through his sacrifice.
By his blood, wash us, make us whiter than snow.

We trust that you will make us clean,
that only you can forgive us our sins.

“Let me hear sounds of joy and gladness;
let the bones you have crushed rejoice.” (Psalm 51:10, NAB)

We lift our voices in praise, O God.
We sing to you a song of thanksgiving.
You make us whole,
make us one with your Son in your Spirit.
We cannot keep silent.
We must praise you for your gifts.

We had been broken by sin.
Through it, you broke us down, that you might raise us up.
We have been crushed, but now we are restored.
Because you raised your Son from the dead,
we know that you will lift the bone-crushing weight of death
once and for all in your kingdom.

With Ezekiel, your servant,
we witness you keeping your promise
that the bones of our broken lives
will rejoin, bone to bone,
and will come to life
only because your Son lives.
And so we dance and sing.

“Turn away your face from my sins;
blot out all my guilt.” (Psalm 51:11, NAB)

Do not look at us, LORD God.
We are sinners and we have sinned against you.
“We are, by nature, in bondage to sin
and we cannot free ourselves.
We have sinned against you
in thought, word, and deed,
by what we have done and by what we have left undone.” (“Brief Order for Confession and Forgiveness,” Lutheran Book of Worship, p. 56)

Do not look at us in our filth.
Gaze instead upon the purity of your Son.
Look at our Lord, Jesus Christ.
See his righteousness and not our faithlessness.
See his obedient heart and not our wandering desires.

“A clean heart create for me, God;
renew in me a steadfast spirit.” (Psalm 51:12, NAB)

You are our maker, Father in heaven.
We are the creatures you have made to speak with you.
You molded us from the earth.
We are clay in your potter’s hands.
You fashioned us in your image.
We reflect your likeness.
You breathed into us the breath of life.
We live and move only by the gift of your Spirit.

Come to us now and feed us with your Meal.
Satisfy us with the body of your Son in the bread,
his life-giving blood in the wine.
By these gifts, create clean hearts in us,
hearts that love you above all,
hearts that follow your Son to the end,
hearts that beat steadfastly by your Spirit.

Glory to the Father, and to the Son,
and to the Holy Spirit:
as it was in the beginning, is now,
and will be forever. Amen.

Making an Honest Confession

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Introduction

The Congregation Council at Holy Cross Lutheran Church, Beatrice, Neb., where I am serving as interim pastor, opens its monthly meetings with devotions. These are the thoughts for the September 2010 meeting. The Psalm is the one appointed for the sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost. The council read it antiphonally in choirs.

Invocation

In the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.
Amen.

Reading

Psalm 51:1–10

1Have mercy on me, O God,
according to your steadfast love;
according to your abundant mercy
blot out my transgressions.
2Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity,
and cleanse me from my sin.
3For I know my transgressions,
and my sin is ever before me.
4Against you, you alone, have I sinned,
and done what is evil in your sight,
so that you are justified in your sentence
and blameless when you pass judgment.
5Indeed, I was born guilty,
a sinner when my mother conceived me.
6You desire truth in the inward being;
therefore teach me wisdom in my secret heart.
7Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean;
wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.
8Let me hear joy and gladness;
let the bones that you have crushed rejoice.
9Hide your face from my sins,
and blot out all my iniquities.
10Create in me a clean heart, O God,
and put a new and right spirit within me.

Devotion

This weekend’s psalm might sound a little out-of-place. We are used to hearing it as part of our Ash Wednesday service and again on one Sunday in Lent. These are times when we expect to focus on confessing our sins and making time for penitence.
But here we are in the middle of the long season after Pentecost, and up pops this first part of Psalm 51. What does that tell us? What truths does it remind us to remember?

First of all, when we listen carefully to the psalmist’s words, his frank honesty is a little disarming. He admits his sins both to the Lord and to himself. He confesses that he has done evil in God’s eyes. He recognizes not only that he was born guilty, but also that he was conceived a sinner.

But then he is just as upfront with God about his pleas for mercy. He asks for mercy, the blotting out of transgressions, for God to teach him wisdom, to purge him, to wash him, and to create a clean heart in him.
Somehow, by God’s grace, the psalmist combines honesty about his own sin with deep trust in the love and mercy of God. We are blessed, in turn, to make this confession our own, not only during Lent, but throughout the year.

Discussion

+ If we, as a congregation, would be as honest with God as the psalmist is, what would we tell him are the sins that we have committed against him?

+ Have you ever felt truly forgiven, washed and cleansed? What kind of confession had you made just before that?

+ What could we do as leaders to help make life in our parish a time when people can speak honestly with God and experience the joy of clean hearts and new and right spirits?

Prayer

Lord God and Father, we trust that you will hear us when we make an honest confession to you of our sins. Grant us the faith to trust you to hear what we have done, to receive our sorrow for our wrongdoing, to purge and to cleanse us, and to bless us with clean hearts and right spirits. With this grace, move us to follow your Son, Jesus Christ, and share with you in the glory of your Holy Spirit. Amen.

The Two Ways

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This is the sermon I prepared for Holy Cross Lutheran Church, Beatrice, Neb., for the Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost, September 5, 2010.

+ + +

Readings

Deuteronomy 30:15–20
Psalm 1
Philemon 1–21
Luke 14:25–33

+ + +

Prayer

Each day, gracious Father, we face the choice between life and death. Stir up in us the gift of your Holy Spirit, so that we may choose the way Your Son bids us to follow. Amen.

+ + +

Message

A great American philosopher
and retired catcher for the New York Yankees
receives credit for advising us,
“When you come to the fork in the road, take it.”

Yogi Berra may know baseball—
he owns ten World Series rings as a player
and three as a coach—
but his pithy and humorous comment
underestimates the profound consequences
that flow from the choices we face and must make
as we wind our way through life.

Another famous American, poet laureate Robert Frost,
wrote a well-known and beloved poem
called The Road Not Taken.
He gets much closer to the truth
beneath the consequences of our choosing
between two paths for our lives.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference. (from Mountain Interval, 1920)

Frost’s choice is real.
He chooses the road less traveled
and his decision makes all the difference,
not just a little difference or some noticeable difference.

The choices we face in our lives as people of God confront us
with decisions that do make all the difference.
Left on our own, we could be paralyzed by this reality.

But we are not on our own.
We live as members of a community of faith,
both this congregation and the whole Church.
We are heirs of a great Tradition
stretching back to the apostles
and even further, to the prophet and the patriarchs,
to the very beginnings of God’s people.

And so, it helps us to listen to the wisdom of our ancestors,
to ponder their history,
and to reflect on their choices as guides for making our own.

Our first reading lets us listen in
as Moses exhorts the people of Israel
to consider the fork in their road,
the choice they face as they stand
upon the borders of the promised land.

Will they throw in their lot
with the God of their ancestors, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob,
the LORD who brought them out of exile in Egypt?
Or, will they turn away from him?
The hard truth is that it really doesn’t matter what they might choose
if they choose anything other than obedience to God.

That’s why Moses speaks of a stark choice—
two ways, two paths, two destinies:

See, I have set before you today life and prosperity,
death and adversity.
If you obey the commandments of the LORD your God
that I am commanding you today,
by loving the LORD your God,
[and] walking in his ways…
then … the LORD your God will bless you….
But if your heart turns away and you do not hear,
but are led astray to bow down to other gods and serve them,
I declare to you today that you shall perish…. (Deuteronomy 30:15–18a, NRSV)

Nothing is more clear than the distinction between life and death.
And it is just as clear that serving the LORD our God is the way of life,
and choosing to serve any other god, any other master, leads to death.

Our Psalm echoes the same truth:

Happy are those who do not follow the advice of the wicked,
or take the path that sinners tread,
or sit in the seat of scoffers;
but their delight is in the law of the LORD…,
for the LORD watches over the way of the righteous,
but the way of the wicked will perish. (Psalm 1:1–2,6, NRSV)

So, this is the wisdom of our ancestors,
this is the testimony of God’s people,
this is what our LORD has spoken through the prophets.
How do we embrace this message in our lives each day?

The first helpful insight is to spend time with the LORD our God.
He has promised to meet us in worship,
to come to us in Word and Sacrament.
He promises to inspire and to guide us
when we read and reflect upon the Scriptures,
when we come into his presence in prayer.

He reminds us of his grace and mercy
through the acts of charity that others in the Church
carry out in his name.

So, when we want him to know we call him our LORD and God,
we want to be sure we meet him where he promises to meet us
and we want to immerse ourselves in the community
he creates and calls together.

Through all of these influences and sources and people,
our Father works through his Holy Spirit
to mold us and to shape us—more and more—
to live obediently to his will,
to serve faithfully in his name,
to glorify his Son, Jesus Christ, in all we do.

And so, when face the forks in the road,
the choices between the two ways,
we can ask, “Does this path lead me to the God of Israel and the Church?
Does this choice bring him glory?
Does it free me from serving other gods?
Does it set me along the path blazed by our Lord Jesus Christ?”

This means that our lives fill up with questions,
and so we can ask ourselves:

Do the entries in my checkbook testify that God is my LORD?
Are the activities filling my calendar a witness to Jesus Christ?
Do my words let others know of the love of our LORD?
Do my decisions contribute to the coming of his kingdom?
Does my life show others that I serve the LORD God alone?
Is it clear to people who spend time with me
that I worship and serve God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit?

These are the questions we ask ourselves.
They remind us of the choices we face between the ways set out before us.
And when we choose to follow the God who has come to us
and given us life, blessed us with hope, and loved us beyond death,
then we can rest in the assurance of his promises.
We can trust that what the psalmist sang of those who delight in the law of the LORD
will be true of us as well:

They are like trees
planted by streams of water,
which yield their fruit in its season,
and their leaves do not wither.
In all that they do, they prosper. Amen (Psalm 1:3, NRSV)