Posts filed under ‘Word for Today’
“Word for Today” – John 18 – www.concordialutheranchurch.com
One of my favorite reflections of all time comes from the seventeenth century English poet John Donne. In his Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions, he pens these now famous words: “Never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee.” These words, although they are sadly sobering, are also profoundly poignant. They come out of a context in which it was common to hear church bells tolling in order to announce a funeral to the surrounding community. Donne’s point is simply this: No matter how energetic, how vigorous, and how vivacious a person may seem, they are still a mere mortal. Death can come for them at any moment. And so, when a funeral bell rings, it does not just proclaim the death of some other person. No. For this bell has a strange way of drawing us into its peal and calling forth our own earthly transience. When the funeral bell tolls, it tolls not only for the deceased, it tolls for thee.
In our reading for today from John 18, the funeral bell is most certainly tolling. Jesus has now been arrested by a “detachment of soldiers” (verse 12). A “detachment,” by the way, consisted of 1,000 troops. 1,000 troops to arrest one man. These days, we would call that “excessive force.” Jesus is then bound and brought to the court of Annas, where he undergoes a sham of a trial, after which he is questioned by Caiaphas, the high priest at that time, and then is finally brought to Pontius Pilate, the prefect of Judah. His fate is sealed. He will be crucified. And the bell tolls.
Interspersed into this account of Jesus’ sentencing and immanent death, John shares another story: that of Peter and his denial of Christ. And it’s interesting how John tells Peter’s tale. The synoptic gospels all tell of Peter’s denials in single units (cf. Matthew 26:69-75, Mark 14:66-72, Luke 22:55-62). But John shares Peter’s sordid chronicle in two parts: verses 15-18 and verses 25-27. In between these two parts, we read of Jesus’ trial. And, as John notes with the temporal marker “meanwhile” (verse 19), Jesus’ trial is happening simultaneous to Peter’s denials. And the juxtaposition of these two scenes could not be more striking. While Peter is clandestinely concealing his connection to Christ (verses 17, 25-26), Jesus says, “I have spoke openly to the world” (verse 20). While Peter shrinks back in the face of questions from a lowly and powerless servant girl (verse 17), Jesus forthrightly and fearlessly testifies to the truth, even in the face of some of the most powerful and dangerous men of his day (verse 23). Peter, in the face of his trial, performs pathetically. Jesus, in the face of his trial, performs perfectly.
At Peter’s third denial, John makes this note: “At that moment a rooster began to crow” (verse 27). I like the ingressive translation of the NIV. The rooster not only crowed, he “began to crow.” And, in a sense, he’s still crowing. He’s crowing for us. Because, you see, Peter is not the only one who denied Jesus. We deny Jesus too. We deny him in our thoughts, words, and deeds, by what we do, and by what we leave undone. We deny him every time we do not love God with our whole hearts. We deny him every time we do not love our neighbors as ourselves. We deny Jesus every time we do not forthrightly and fearlessly testify to the truth as Jesus did in his trial. We deny Jesus every time we sin. “Never send to know for whom the rooster crows; it crows for thee.”
John Donne ends his famous poem on death’s tolling bell with this invitation: “If by this consideration of another’s danger I take mine own into contemplation, I so secure myself, by making my recourse to my God, who is our only security.” Donne ends his poem with an invitation to hope. Even in the face of death’s bell, all is not lost. There is a place to which we can flee: God, who is our only security. For he has conquered death by his Son’s death. And the same is true when we are faced with our own sinful denials. Even when the rooster crows, and even when it crows for thee, all is not lost. There is a place to which we can flee: God, who is our only security. For he has conquered our sin by his Son’s perfection. He has conquered our denials by his Son’s suffering and death on a cross. At the same time the rooster crows to announce our sinfulness, Jesus dies to secure our forgiveness. And so, we rejoice at this promise from the cross: “Never send to know for whom Jesus died; he died for thee.”
“Word for Today” – John 17 – www.concordialutheranchurch.com
Ever since college, I have driven a pickup truck. And I love my truck. After all, it comes in handy for so many things. Time for a fishing excursion? Throw the gear in the back of the truck and head out. Need to tow a boat? That’s what a trailer hitch is for! Need to haul a leaky cooler full of fish back home after a successful trip? Just throw it in the back. That way, there’s no mess in the cab. Yes, trucks are terrific.
Owning a truck, however, comes with a certain level of responsibility. For example, I have never owned, managed, or worked for a moving company. Nor do I intend to ever do so. And yet, I’m always getting requests for my moving services. Why? Because I own a truck.
A couple of weeks back, I was at my mother-in-law’s house helping her move some of her things into storage. Why? Because I own a truck, of course. And not only was I there, so were many members of my mother-in-law’s family. And they were sorting through kitchen items and pictures and keepsakes, deliberately and gently wrapping and packing each item into their respective boxes. And after several minutes of being a mere spectator to all of this, I began to try to help. I would throw this item into this box and that item into that box. But I never seemed to throw the right item into the right box. “This doesn’t go here, it goes there,” came the gentle reprimand. “And you need to wrap this. You can’t just throw it in there. It’ll break. In fact, why don’t you just let us sort and pack everything, and then you can do the heavy lifting once we get everything packed. That’s why you’re here. So that you and your truck can do the heavy lifting.”
Heavy lifting with me and my truck. That’s what I’m good for. And, oddly enough, this is what takes us to our reading for today from John 17. In theological parlance, this chapter is known as Jesus’ “High Priestly Prayer.” In it, Jesus, immediately before he is arrested and condemned to death, prays for his disciples, already well aware of the trials and persecutions they will endure for the sake of his name. And in the face of such suffering, one of the things that Jesus prays is, “For my disciples I sanctify myself, that they too may be truly sanctified” (verse 19). The Greek word for “sanctified” here is hagiazo, meaning “holy,” or “saintly.” Tellingly, a cognate of this word is used elsewhere when Scripture describes people, not as sanctified and holy, but as “lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy” (2 Timothy 3:2). The people of the world are unholy. That is Scripture’s stinging indictment. The disciples, then, are being called to holiness in an unholy world.
But make sure you don’t miss the subtle shift that Jesus makes in his words in verse 19! He begins by saying, “For my disciples I sanctify myself…” Jesus actively sanctifies himself. That is, he actively lives a holy life. He never sins. He never breaks his Father’s commandments. He never has an evil thought, word, or deed. Jesus is actively holy.
Sadly, the same cannot be said for his disciples. For his disciples do not actively sanctify themselves. They do not actively live in holiness. Judas betrays Jesus (cf. John 18:2-3). Peter denies Jesus (cf. John 18:15-18, 25-27). And the rest of the disciples desert Jesus (cf. Matthew 26:56). The disciples sin against Jesus. That’s why, as Jesus continues his prayer, he says, “For my disciples, I sanctify myself, that they too may be truly sanctified” (verse 19). Jesus actively sanctifies himself. But when he talks about his disciples, he switches from an active sanctification to a passive sanctification. For Jesus knows that the disciples cannot sanctify themselves. They are far too sinful for that. And so, rather than commanding his disciples to make themselves holy, Jesus gives them a promise: “By my holiness, I make you holy. I sanctify myself so that I can share my sanctification with you.” In other words, Jesus does the “heavy lifting” of holiness so that we don’t have to. He carries the heavy burden of perfection for us so that we don’t have to break our backs under the weight of God’s commands. As the Psalmist says, “Praise be to the Lord, to God our Savior, who daily bears our burdens” (Psalm 68:19). Jesus bears the heavy burden of holiness so that we can rejoice in the light load of God’s grace. Jesus does the heavy lifting for us. Even when that heavy lifting is a cross. No pickup truck needed.
So, as we continue our journey through Holy Week, remember to give thanks to God for the heavy burden of holiness that Jesus bore. After all, he bore it for you.
“Word for Today” – John 16 – www.concordialutheranchurch.com
It was my senior year in high school. And every day, for the better part of four years by this point, at the moment the closing bell rang, I would always dart out the door and start running down the street. Because, you see, the closing bell rang at 2:32 pm. And I had a bus to catch at 2:36 pm. Four minutes to run four blocks to the bus stop. Not a lot of time. But I was quick. And, most of the time, I made it. That is, until one January afternoon.
It was a beautiful January afternoon. After a couple of days of snow in the Pacific Northwest, which is where I grew up, the sun had finally emerged from behind the clouds and was now slowly and persistently melting away the snow that was now thawing into a muddy slush on the front lawn of my high school campus. And as I went running along on that muddy slush, I took a nose dive into that muddy slush. Ouch.
As I emerged from my fall, a sharp pain shot up my right leg. After taking a good 30 minutes to hobble the four blocks to my bus stop, I began to realize that something was terribly wrong. When you coupled that with the fact that my leg was beginning to swell and turn purple, I knew that a visit to the doctor was inevitable.
Sitting in the doctor’s office, I received the bad news. “Your leg is broken,” the doctor said. “You’re going to have to wear a cast. But don’t worry, you’ll only have to wear it for a little while and then you’ll be as good as ever.” “A little while!” I shot back. “How long is a little while?” “About three months,” came the reply. That didn’t sound like a little while to me.
“In a little while you will see me no more, and then after a little while you will see me” (John 16:16). These are Jesus’ words to his disciples in our reading for today. And, like me with my broken leg, the disciples wanted to know, “What does he mean by ‘a little while’” (verse 18)? Interestingly, this is a question that puzzled not only the twelve disciples, but countless numbers of theologians throughout the centuries as well. Most scholars agree that the first part of Jesus’ sentence, “In a little while you will see me no more,” is a reference to his impending execution via crucifixion. But then, the second half of Jesus’ statement, “And then after a little while you will see me,” has caused much more confusion and conflict. Some theologians take this as a reference to Jesus’ resurrection three days later. Not exactly a brief flash of time, but still a relatively short time period by normal standards. Others, citing the context of this passage and Jesus’ promise that he will send “the Spirit of truth” (verse 12) after he “goes away” (verse 7), take this as a reference to Jesus’ Second Coming at the end of time. And that time period lasts…well, we’re still waiting. Three days. 2,000 years. Both are “a little while.”
It’s fascinating how relative “a little while” can be, isn’t it? For a doctor it’s three months. For a resurrection it’s three days. For a Second Coming it’s…I’m not quite sure. And yet, for God, all of these are only “a little while.” As Psalmist reminds us, “A thousand years in God’s sight are like a day that has just gone by” (Psalm 90:4). From God’s eternal perspective, it’s all just “a little while.”
This perspective on time can be of great comfort to us, especially when we face trials, troubles, and persecutions of every kind. Indeed, this is exactly how Jesus means to use his promise of “a little while.” He says, “Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice” (verse 22). “Not to worry,” Jesus says. “You may have trouble, but it will only last for ‘a little while.’ I’ll see you again soon enough.”
So, what trial, trouble, or persecution are you facing today? Is it an organizational problem at work that you’ll have reconfigured by the end of the day? Is it a financial difficulty at home that you’ll have resolved by your next paycheck? Is it a sickness that has landed you in the hospital and may only be relieved by eternity? Whatever your predicament, remember, from God’s perspective, all of our problems, even if to us they seem to drag on forever, are only a flash in the pan. They only last for “a little while.” For there will come a day, the Last Day, when God will overcome all of our trials, troubles, and persecutions and give us a perfect eternity with him. As Jesus says at the end of this chapter, “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (verse 33). So, whatever trouble you face, be it today or tomorrow, take heart! It’ll only be for a little while.
“Word for Today” – John 15 – www.concordialutheranchurch.com
Maybe you’ve had a similar experience. One afternoon as I’m lounging in our bedroom reading a book, Melody comes bouncing in to me and asks, “Zach, do you love me?” “Of course I love you, darling,” I shoot back immediately, my eyes still glued to my book. “But why do you love me?” she presses.
Why do you love me? This question was going to require a little more thought. So, I put down my book, locked eyes with Melody, and then, thoughtfully, carefully, I shared with her a mere sampling of the many reasons I love her. “I love you because you bring a smile to my face when I’m sad. I love you because your eyes light up my eyes. I love you because of your effervescent personality. I love you because I can trust you to love me till death do us part.”
Why do you love me? This is a question that wives ask of husbands, children ask of parents, and nephews ask of uncles. But frankly, when Melody asked me the question, “Why do you love me?” although I had to give her question a little thought, I didn’t have to give it a lot. Because Melody gives me so many reasons to love her. She is so gracious, so kind, so willing to be my faithful partner and companion. Melody is lovable.
But then, there are those other people. You know the kind. The kind who aren’t so lovable. The kind who are loud and obnoxious; insecure and attention seeking; socially awkward and not well spoken; always in crisis and always wanting to tell you all about it. These are the kinds of people that, if we had our way, we would just assume avoid. These are the kinds of people that, if they happen to strike up a conversation with us, lead us almost immediately to begin looking at our watches as we try to give them non-verbal cues that they, and we, need to move on.
In our reading for today from John 15, Jesus speaks about love. And Jesus calls on us to love not only the lovable, but all people: “My command is this,” Jesus says, “Love each other as I have loved you” (verse 12). The Greek word for “love” here is agapao, denoting a love that loves not according to someone’s lovability, but actually in spite of their unlovability. And this is the love, Jesus says, to which we are called – to love others, even when they are utterly unlovable.
Agapao love – this is the way for those who follow Christ. But then Jesus continues with a warning. For even though we are to love others, that does not mean that our love will be reciprocated. Indeed, love can sometimes be returned with hate: “If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first. If you belonged to the world, it would love you as its own” (verse 18-19). The people of this world will sometimes hate us even when we love them. It is important to note that the verb for the world’s love is different from the verb for a Christian’s love: phileo. This word is used to describe not perfect, unmerited love, but love that is based on lovability of another. In other words, phileo loves only if it deems another person worthy of its affection. And the world, Jesus says, often does not deem Christians worthy of their affections. And so, they withhold phileo and instead offer hatred.
Interestingly, Jesus pairs up these two words, agapao and phileo, in verse 13 when he says, “Greater love (agapao) has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends (phileo).” And it’s here that the unconditional love of God and his people meets the conditional love of the world. For Jesus speaks of bringing the agapao love of God into the lives of those who only know the phileo love of the world. Jesus speaks of loving others, even when they are unlovable; having an agape love for others, even when they have only a phileo love for you.
So, who do you love? But more importantly, why do you love them? If you have plenty of answers to this second question, praise be to God. It’s always a joy when others give us “reasons” to love them. But if you stutter and stammer in the face of this second question, praise be to God as well. For God has given you a chance to show agapao love to another person even when that other person seems utterly unlovable. After all, this is exactly the kind of love that God showed to us. For when we were utterly unlovable, God loved us anyway. As he has said, “I’ll call the unloved and make them beloved” (Romans 9:25). When we were unlovable, God loved us anyway. Now love others in that same way. Love others in God’s way.
“Word for Today” – John 14 – www.concordialutheranchurch.com
One of my favorite desserts is brownies. I love pretty much any kind of brownie, but as a general rule, the gooier and the chocolatier, the better. That’s why, growing up, I had a special affinity for my mother’s brownies. They were always so rich and moist. And that’s why, right before she would pop them in the oven to bake, I would always position myself right next to my mother’s mixing bowl and spoon so that I could barter with her for a child’s most precious delight: licking the spoon dripping with leftover brownie batter.
Now, most of the time, even if I put on my best forlorn face and most pitiful puppy dog eyes, my mother would refuse my request to lick the brownie batter off her wooden baking spoon. But every once in a while, if she was feeling especially gracious, would say to me, “Go ahead, Zach. But don’t be a pig! After all, I don’t want you spoiling your supper. You can have a brownie after the pan comes out of the oven.”
A couple of weeks ago in Adult Bible Class, I spoke on God’s strength in the midst of our weakness and how, although God does not promise to take away all of our weakness, pain, and suffering, he does promise to be with us, strengthen us, and comfort us through our trials. Following the class, a member approached me and said, “I’m confused. You say that God does not promise to take away all of our weakness and pain, but Jesus says, ‘I will do whatever you ask in my name.’” So, if I ask Jesus to take away my suffering, doesn’t he have an obligation to?
The verse to which this person was referring is actually part of our text for today from John 14. And Jesus, just to make sure we don’t miss the significance of what he’s saying, actually repeats himself. He begins, “I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the son may bring glory to the Father.” And then, in the very next verse, he continues, “You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it” (verses 13-14). Jesus is unequivocally clear: “You want something? Just ask. And I will do it.”
This sounds like a pretty astounding claim from Jesus, doesn’t it? Whatever we ask in Jesus’ name will be given to us? What kind of pie-in-the-sky promise is this? After all, there are clearly some things for which we ask God that we do not receive. So what is Jesus talking about here?
It is important to note the tense of Jesus’ promise. It is future tense. Hence, the verb “will.” And, at least in a limited way, I would argue that this is still a future tense promise, even for us 2,000 years later. In other words, Jesus makes no pledge to instantaneously gratify all of the desires that we might offer up to him in prayer. Indeed, if our desires are bad, twisted, or maligned, the Lord even forthrightly states that he will refuse our requests. As James warns, “When you ask, you do not receive, because you ask with wrong motives, that you may get what you spend on your pleasures” (James 4:3). In other words, Jesus never promises to fill our request for a Ferrari, no matter how many times we may beg him. For such a request is usually rooted in our own pleasure rather than in God’s glory. But how can asking for the healing of a loved one or for the restoration of a marriage or for the removal of a trial possibly be a bad or selfish request? And here’s where Jesus’ future tense “will” becomes all-important.
In a sense, Jesus’ promise to give us whatever we ask is a bit like my mother’s brownie batter. There are many times when Jesus, out of his goodness and grace, gives us little “tastes” of his healing and restoration. And these are indeed glorious tastes. They are not to be belittled or minimized. But we can’t forget that we’re still waiting for the whole pan of brownies. We’re still waiting for the Last Day, when Jesus will finally fulfill all of his future tense promises to heal diseases, restore relationships, and wipe away all pain, suffering, and even death (cf. Revelation 21:1-4). We’re still waiting for the whole pan of brownies – Jesus’ sweet redemption. In fact, Jesus even warns us of the suffering that we will have to endure in the mean time when he says, “The prince of this world is coming” (verse 30). Satan is here and, until he is finally cast into hell by God, throws his bitter arrows of sin and destruction into the sweetness of God’s goodness. We’re still waiting for the whole pan of brownies.
And so, if you are praying for something and it has not yet happened, remember Jesus’ future tense “will.” For his “will” is his promise. It’s his guarantee. The whole pan of brownies is on its way. And if you are praying for things that are righteous – things such as healing, restoration, and comfort – they will come to pass, even if only in eternity. Satan will fail and we will finally get the whole pan of brownies. And to that I say, “Come, Lord Jesus!”
“Word for Today” – John 13 – www.concordialutheranchurch.com
I am a man who loves spicy foods. In college, one of my favorite restaurants was a chicken wing joint named “Pluckers.” Although they had over a dozen varieties of different wings, I’ve ordered only one: “Fire in the Hole.” The name says it all. And really, the name’s an understatement. At first, it’s actually painful to eat these wings. But eventually, your tongue and lips go numb and it becomes easier to scarf them down. And scarf them down I did. 25 of them in a single sitting, once upon a time. None of my buddies even came close to my incredible ability to ingest enormous quantities of really hot wings. But the next day, I paid for it. My innards were inflamed with incessant heat that felt like it was steadily burning a hole through my stomach lining. And as I sat there, doubled over in pain on my dorm room sofa, I thought to myself, “Gee, Zach. Was that really worth it? Was a night of hot wing indulgence really worth this excruciating gastrointestinal pain?” My answer was, “No.”
As I’ve gotten older, my stomach has gotten weaker. I can’t even eat so much as a jalapeno without getting heartburn that makes my skin crawl and face wince. Thus, even though I still love the taste of spicy foods, they don’t like me. And so I just stay away from them. After all, I learned my lesson in college. It just isn’t worth it.
In our reading for today from John 13, the drama of the gospel increases several-fold as Jesus gets closer to the cross. Indeed, this chapter reaches a fever pitch when Jesus speaks these shocking words to his disciples: “I tell you the truth, one of you is going to betray me” (verse 21). In Jesus’ darkest hour, a betrayer lurks in their midst. Not surprisingly, the disciples, gasping with hushed voices of disbelief, ask, “Lord, who is it?” Jesus’ answer is unambiguous and all-together devastating: “It is the one to whom I will give this piece of bread when I have dipped in the dish” (verses 25-26). Jesus then dips the bread and hands it to…Judas.
What a scene it must have been. What a dramatic and terrifying moment it must have been for the disciples to watch Jesus pick up a piece of bread, dip it into a dish of fruit sauce, and reach out his hand to one of them. They all had to be wondering, “It isn’t me, is it? Jesus wouldn’t dare hand that piece of bread to me, would he?”
I find it especially fascinating that Jesus uses a piece of bread to mark his betrayer. In Greek, the word for “piece of bread” is psomion. What’s important to note is that this is a diminutive form of psocho, simply meaning “piece.” In other words, when Jesus hands Judas a piece of bread, it isn’t just a piece, it’s a tiny piece. It’s nothing but a crumb.
So, was it worth it? To betray the Son of God for a miniscule morsel? Hardly. For in the process of gaining a scrap of sustenance, Judas had forfeited his very soul. But before we stand too aghast at such an inequitable trade, perhaps it’s worth asking ourselves if we don’t do the same thing – if we don’t trade our integrity, our character, and those things which are truly significant for the psomions of this world. We trade our marriage for an affair. We trade our generosity for greed. We trade eternity with God for the temporary trappings of this life. We trade all which counts for the diminutive crumbs that this world throws at us. As the author of Proverbs laments, “A man will do wrong for a piece of bread” (Proverbs 28:21). The question is, “Is it worth it?”
Jesus would answer, “No. It’s not worth it.” “What good is it for a man to gain the whole world, yet forfeit his soul?” he asks (Mark 8:36). The morsels of this world can never match or even approach the kingdom of God.
Perhaps the saddest and most shocking moment in John 13 comes with these words: “Judas took the bread” (verse 27). Jesus had to be hoping that he would refuse. Jesus had to be hoping that he wouldn’t exchange his soul for a mere pittance of provision. But Judas did. Finally, it was Judas who made the exchange. This was Judas’ desire, not Jesus’. But Judas’ story need not be your story. For, by faith, you can keep what really counts: Jesus’ gifts of forgiveness, life and salvation.
So today, ask yourself, “What psomions tempt me to exchange God’s gifts for their allures?” And then pray for God for strength to stand up against such tiny trifles. After all, no matter how big the psomions of this world may look, they’re never as big as the cross. In the end, the cross is all that’s really “worth it.” That’s why Jesus died on it. And that’s why we cling to it.
“Word for Today” – John 12 – www.concordialutheranchurch.com
In seminary, I drove a 1995 Ford Ranger. I am most definitely a Chevy man when it comes to trucks, but, as a student, I drove what I could afford. Sure, my little Ranger wasn’t the fastest or most powerful truck with its little four cylinder engine, but it got me where I needed me to go…most of the time.
One afternoon as I was driving through town, a little light suddenly illumined on my dashboard. The light’s message? “Check Engine.” “Oh, oh,” I thought. “I better get this checked out.” So, I went to my authorized Ford dealer who checked it out and told me not to worry. It was only a faulty monitoring system that would in no way affect the performance of my engine. He turned off the light and sent me on my way. Everything was fine until the light came on again and the engine started stuttering. Apparently, it wasn’t just a monitoring system problem after all. And so back to the dealer I went. This time, the prognosis was more serious. “You need a tune up,” the mechanic told me. “Otherwise, this truck ain’t going to make it much longer.” And so, after a couple of hours and $350, I had a tune up, no check engine light, and a much smoother ride.
In our reading for today from John 12, we meet some people whose faith is running with its “Check Engine” light on: “Many among the leaders believed in Jesus,” verse 42 begins, “but because of the Pharisees they would not confess their faith for fear they would be put out of the synagogue.” These people had faith, but it was not a “tuned up” faith. For they were unwilling to give words to it. They were unwilling to share that which was most precious to them: Jesus. Why? Because “they loved praise from men more than praise from God” (verse 43). In other words, these silent faithful were concerned that they might offend someone or be looked down upon by someone if they shared their faith. So they simply decided to say nothing. And, sadly, they did this over and over again. In Greek, the word for “not confess” in verse 42 is in the imperfect tense, denoting a continuous, or repeated, action. Thus, these people had opportunity after opportunity to confess their faith in Jesus, but, time after time, they chose to remain silent. This, of course, is not the way that faith is supposed to be. This is faith with its “Check Engine” light on. This is faith that needs a tune up from Christ so that it will not falter and fail.
Thankfully, even in the midst of such a folly filled faith, Jesus offers this promise: “As for the person who hears my words but does not keep them, I do not judge him. For I did not come to judge the world, but to save it” (verse 47). Jesus says, “Even when you do not keep my commands and share your faith, I do not condemn you, even though I could. Rather, I still offer you my grace, mercy, and salvation.” Our faith, no matter how broken and inadequate it may seem, is still adequate for salvation.
With this in mind, then, we receive both a challenge and a promise from Jesus. The challenge is this: Have you done a ruthless inventory of your faith? And have you heeded its dangerous “Check Engine” light areas? For there are all sorts of these kinds of danger areas in faith: an unwillingness to share your faith with others; an arrogant spirit toward those who are not Christian; a pet sin that drags you away from Christ rather than leading you toward him. All of these, and many others, can damage faith. So heed Jesus’ warning and repent of such dangerous sin. But don’t forget Christ’s promise: that even imperfect faith can receive the perfect promises of God. For Christ came to save even those who falter and fall in their faith. And thank God he did. Because I falter and fall in my faith. How about you?
“Word for Today” – John 11 – www.concordialutheranchurch.com
“And they lived happily ever after.” I cannot tell you how many stories I have read that find their terminus in this line, especially in the children’s books I share with my two nephews, Noah and Nicholas. And then, just in case we’re confused as to whether or not the story is really over, many of these stories include a postscript: “The End.” And usually, as I close the book, smiles break out on the faces of Noah and Nicholas and we all walk away with warm hearts. After all, who doesn’t like a happy ending?
Unfortunately, endings in real life are not nearly as cheery as endings in children’s books. In fact, come to think of it, I cannot recall a single real life ending that went completely “happily ever after.” Sure, I’ve known many people who have generally happy marriages and families and households, but, inevitably, there are always bumps along the way. Nobody lives happily ever after, free from all worries and cares. Real life endings just don’t work that way.
In our reading for today from John 11, we see what, at first glance, seems to be a possibility for an unheard of “happy ending.” As the chapter opens, Jesus receives news that one of his closest and dearest friends, a man named Lazarus, is sick. And the prognosis is not good. The disease is terminal. But even after learning of Lazarus’ desperate plight, Jesus assures his followers, “This sickness will not end in death” (verse 4). Now, after hearing this kind of astounding promise from Jesus, we may be tempted to write for ourselves what is sure to be a truly happy ending. A terminally ill patient. A miraculous healing. And everyone lives happily after.
But not so fast. Because shortly after Jesus makes his pronouncement that Lazarus will cheat his fatal infirmity, we receive the devastating headline: “Lazarus is dead” (verse 14). And the ending of this story quickly melts from happy to miserable. Indeed, even the verbs of this story key us into its anguished nature: “weeping,” “deeply moved,” “troubled” (verse 33). Clearly, this is no happy ending.
But perhaps even more unsettling than this story’s sad state is Jesus’ seemingly failed promise to offer a very happy ending. “This sickness will not end in death,” Jesus promises. But it did end in death! Lazarus died! Has Jesus made a false promise? Has Jesus given false hope? No! Because even though Lazarus has died, the story has not yet ended. Lazarus’ sickness has not ended in death because Lazarus’ story is not over yet. For Jesus makes his way to Lazarus’ tomb, now rancid with odor from his decaying corpse, and commands, “Lazarus, come out” (verse 43)! And Lazarus does. Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead. And they all live…happily ever after?
As much as I would like to think that Lazarus and his family lived happily ever after, I know better. I’m sure there were family fights and quarrels and challenges after this momentous miracle. Indeed, by the very next chapter, people are plotting to take Lazarus’ life (cf. John 12:9-11). And finally, whether it be by the hands of assasins or by means of more “natural causes,” Lazarus did eventually die…again. And so, as happy as this story may seem for the moment, it still does not give us our allusive “happily ever after ending.”
Where, then, is a “happy ending” to be found? In a world where nobody lives “happily ever after,” is there any hope for a lasting joy? Yes. For, in the midst of Lazarus’ death, Jesus reminds one of Lazarus’ sisters named Martha, “I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die” (verses 25-26). Jesus says, “There is a happy ending to be had. But it’s not to be had on this earth. You will die. But when you believe in me, you will live, even though you die. Indeed, you will never die. Here is your happy ending. You will never die.”
In these verses, Jesus reminds us that life on this earth never ends happily. Because life on this earth always ends with a funeral. But even though a casket and tears mark the end of life on this earth, Jesus promises that the end of life on this earth is not the end of life itself. For a new life awaits us: a life eternal with Jesus. A life that will never end. For Jesus is our resurrection and our eternal life. Now, the question becomes, “Do you believe this” (verse 26)? Do you believe that Jesus can and will give you a life that never ends? Because if you do, then this promise is for you: Even though you die, you will live. And you will live happily ever after. The (but the whole point is your life won’t) End.
“Word for Today” – John 10 – www.concordialutheranchurch.com
Using metaphors is an art. Some metaphors are so well crafted that they work their way into the collective consciousness of our culture and even change our patterns of speech and thought. Others don’t fare quite so well. Forrest Gump says, “Life is like a box of chocolates,” and people cling to his words like a pearl that has unexpectedly, yet welcomely, been released from an oyster’s clutches. Did I just use a metaphor there? Other metaphors, however, don’t have quite the profundity of a Forrest Gump proverb. Enter the world of high school English courses.
I came across a list of metaphors the other day used by high schoolers in their English papers. Their assignment was relatively simple: In order to enhance its imagery, write a paper using appropriate metaphors. The metaphor part these high schoolers have down. The appropriate part? I’ll let you decide:
- “She grew on him like she was a colony of E. coli, and he was room-temperature Canadian beef.”
- “She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.”
- “Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.”
- “Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.”
- “The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.” (I’m kind of curious. How did this student know how maggots leap when you fry them in grease?)
- “He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.”
Just for the record, I would like to venture a guess that the student using this last metaphor does not have a girlfriend.
All metaphors? Yes. An elegant use of this figure of speech? No comment.
In our reading for today from John 10, the crowds must have felt, to use a metaphor, like Jesus was a high school student awkwardly trying to craft metaphors for an assignment, no matter how quirky and coarse they might have been. Jesus begins, “I tell you the truth, the man who does not enter the sheep pen by the gate, but climbs in by some other way, is a thief and a robber. The man who enters by the gate is the shepherd of his sheep…I am the good shepherd” (verses 1-2, 11). The metaphor here seems to be clear enough. Jesus is comparing himself to a good and kind shepherd who, rather than trying to sneak into a sheep pen to steel sheep, enters by the appointed means of a gate so that he can lovingly attend to them. But then Jesus begins to mix his metaphors: “I tell you the truth, I am the gate for the sheep” (verse 7). At first, Jesus was the shepherd who entered the gate. Now, he is the gate itself. But if you read John’s whole gospel, things get even more confusing. For John calls Jesus the very “Lamb of God” (1:36). So here are the metaphors given us for Jesus: Jesus enters a gate to tend to his sheep, but he also is the gate itself. Jesus is a shepherd who keeps his lambs in safe pasture, but Jesus himself is also a lamb, being led to the slaughter. Is anyone getting confused yet?
What is Jesus trying to accomplish with all of these mixed metaphors? The apostle Paul answers thusly: “Christ is all, and is in all” (Colossians 3:11). Christ is all. That’s a lot. And that means that Christ’s work is so monumental, so consequential, and so comprehensive that no one metaphor can cover everything. So get ready for a lot of mixed metaphors to try to describe all the Christ has done. Christ enters the sheep pen by the gate. This means that we can trust Christ in our lives and in our hearts. For he does not come to rob or hurt us, but to help us. That is why he comes the way a welcome guest would come, through the front door. Christ is the gate for us sheep. This means that there is only way to salvation. And it is through the gate that is Christ. Christ is our good shepherd. This means that Christ leads us daily. He is never far from us. Christ is the Lamb of God. This means that, like the lambs used in the sacrifices of the Old Testament, Christ is a sacrifice for our sin. Indeed, he even takes away our sin.
These are only a smattering of Scripture’s metaphors concerning Christ. There are many more. Many more metaphors that describe Jesus’ love, grace, and compassion for you and for me. So today, take some time to consider your favorite metaphors for Jesus. Take them to heart and allow them to speak to you. For the metaphors describing Jesus are indeed beautiful, comforting, and even joy-inducing. So joy-inducing, in fact, that when you take the time to ponder them, you’ll be as happy as a kid in a candy store. And that’s a metaphor that, although it may not be terrific for your teeth, is guaranteed to be super for your soul.
“Word for Today” – John 9 – www.concordialutheranchurch.com
In our bedroom, my wife Melody has a jewelry cabinet. She received it as a Christmas present from her mother a couple of years back, and she absolutely loves it. No more jewelry boxes with rings, necklaces, and earrings overflowing. Her jewelry never fit in those. That’s why, instead of a box, she has a whole cabinet.
Now, Melody does not wear particularly valuable jewelry. That’s why, when she found out that her new jewelry cabinet came with a lock and a key, she simply decided to leave the key in the lock. That way, she would never have any problem getting into her cabinet. So you can imagine Melody’s frustration when one day, she walks to her jewelry cabinet to find its key missing and its door locked. Who could have done such a sinister thing? Well, a couple of hours earlier, our nephews, Noah and Nicholas, had visited. Melody now had two suspects.
When she saw Noah and Nicholas next, the interrogation was brutal. The white room. The hard wooden chair. The bright light. Actually, it wasn’t quite that bad, but Melody was still relentless in her search for the truth. After all, she wanted her key back and, after some intense questioning, she believed the culprit to be Nicholas. She could see the guilt in his eyes. But Nicholas wouldn’t crack with a confession. For he knew that he had committed a crime. And with crime always comes punishment. And punishment is something that Nicholas could not bear to endure.
With crime always comes punishment. This is the way things work with parents and children, aunts and nephews, and, in the first century, this is the way that people believed things to work with God and humans. The ancient rabbis were unanimous in their teaching that punishment, or suffering, was the result of crime, or sin. Rabbi Ammi wrote, “There is no death without sin, and there is no suffering without iniquity.” If you were suffering, the rabbis taught, it was because you had committed a crime. And now had come the inexorable punishment. But the rabbis took it even further than this. For many of them taught that not only could a person be punished for their own sin, but also that a child could be punished for their parents’ sin. Some rabbis believed, for instance, that the untimely death of a child was the direct result of his mother’s dalliance in idolatry while he was still in the womb! This was the close connection that rabbis perceived between crime and punishment. And in the face of such crime, God’s justice could not and would not be commuted.
Thus, it is no surprise that, one day, as Jesus and his disciples are walking around and see a man born blind, they ask: “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind” (John 9:2)? Jesus’ disciples knew the teaching of their rabbis well. There is no punishment without crime. But, in John 9, they weren’t following all these other rabbis, they were following a Rabbi named Jesus. And Rabbi Jesus had a different take on crime and punishment: “Neither this man nor his parents sinned, but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life” (John 9:3). This suffering was not the result of this sin or that sin. Rather, God was up to something in this suffering: he was using it to display his work.
The Greek word for “display” is phaneroo, from the word phos, meaning “light.” God, it seems, desired to bring this man darkened by blindness into the light of seeing. But God’s desire centered on not only the light of physical seeing, but the light of spiritual seeing as well. In other words, Jesus, through his eventual healing of this man born blind, desired to bring this man into the light of faith. And this is exactly what happens in the end: “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” Jesus asks. “Lord, I believe,” the man responds (John 9:35, 38). And the man is brought into the light not only physically, but spiritually as well.
Perhaps you are in a time of suffering right now. If you do indeed know that your suffering is the result of some sin in your life, I would invite you to repent. But if the source of your suffering is somewhat more ambiguous, maybe you should ask God to shed some phos on your pain. Ask him, “Where are you seeking to display your work in my life?” And then wait. And trust. And yes, even rejoice. For God is using you and your pain to display his work. And, if you ask me, that’s a pretty special privilege.
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