Good Friday Tenebrae (7 pm)
St. Peter Lutheran Church
Psalm 88:8-14 (John 19:38-42)
April 14, 2017
“Died and was Buried”
You have caused my companions to shun me; you have made me a horror to them.
I am shut in so that I cannot escape; my eye grows dim through sorrow.
Every day I call upon you, O Lord; I spread out my hands to you.
Do you work wonders for the dead? Do the departed rise up to praise you?
Is your steadfast love declared in the grave, or your faithfulness in Abaddon?
Are your wonders known in the darkness, or your righteousness in the land of
But I, O Lord, cry to you; in the morning my prayer comes before you.
O Lord, why do you cast my soul away? Why do you hide your face from me?
Around this time on that Friday almost two thousand years ago, Jesus was buried. Imagine. Someone had to climb up on the ladder and remove the nails from Jesus’ hands or wrists. As that man did so, He would have had to look into Jesus’ face. It would have been covered with blood from His wounds, covered with bruises.
After the nails were removed, Nicodemus and Joseph would have carried Jesus. Maybe they washed His body before they wrapped it in the linen sheet with the seventy-five pounds spices, myrrh and aloes.
They buried Jesus quickly and rolled a large stone in front of the door to the tomb.
And just like at our funerals, it seemed like it was all over. All that was left was loss.
We know that death is the way of this world. That doesn’t help it become easier when your mother dies, when your child dies. It doesn’t help that everyone dies when you are lying in the ICU in pain, dying, or sitting in the nursing home, wondering when death will come. If you have been sick and in pain for a long time, you may accept death simply because life has been too painful. But otherwise, we don’t want to die. We think of what else we wanted to do in this world.
When death comes we feel attacked, blindsided. We are right about being attacked, at least partly. Death doesn’t just happen, the way rust happens. Death comes from God. It is—judgment.
Many of the readings and Psalms tonight express this thought of being attacked by God. King Hezekiah, suddenly dying, says of God, Like a lion He breaks all my bones; from day to night you bring me to an end (Is. 38:13). Jeremiah mourns over the destruction of Jerusalem, which has happened because God is punishing them for rejecting Him as their God. God is using the foreign enemies as His rod. Our pursuers are at our necks, says Jeremiah; we are weary and given no rest (v. 5). And the Psalm I quoted, Psalm 88, which we will sing in a moment, says, O Lord, why do you cast my soul away? Why do you hide your face from me? (Ps. 88:14)
Those words remind us that the subject of the Scriptures, both old and New, is Jesus Christ. In them we can hear the echo of Jesus’ fourth word from the cross: My God, my God, why have you forsaken Me?
Jeremiah’s people were forsaken by God because of their unfaithfulness; they were cast away because they cast God away. And the same thing could be said of everyone whom God casts away, everyone He attacks, everyone He slays. Hezekiah was one of the good kings, and there weren’t many. The writer of Psalm 88 was Heman the Ezrahite, who was a grandson of Samuel the prophet, and was a prophet himself. Yet Hezekiah was a sinner; so was Heman the prophet, and so was Samuel, his father. Enter not into judgment with your servant, for no one living is righteous before you, says another Psalmist to God (143:2).
Yet God does enter into judgment with us, or so it seems. He casts us down and puts our mouths in the dust. We are struck with illness and the sentence of death. Our congregation becomes like Jeremiah’s Jerusalem: How the gold has grown dim, how the pure gold is changed! The holy stones lie scattered at the head of every street…the tongue of the nursing infant sticks to the roof of its mouth for thirst (Lam. 4:1, 4)…Remember, O Lord, what has befallen us; look, and see our disgrace! Our inheritance has been turned over to strangers, our homes to foreigners (Lam. 5:1-2). The families that once were members of this congregation are now the parishioners of congregations where the body and blood of Christ is not confessed, churches where infants are not baptized, or members of no churches at all. And those that are left no longer grow up in the house of God or are taught the Word. The day is drawing near, it appears, when there will no longer be Good Friday services here in this Church.
When we think about this, how do we not feel that God is striking us, attacking us because He is displeased with us? And like Hezekiah, Heman, or Jerusalem, are we righteous before Him that He should not judge us?
Let God be true and every man a liar, as St. Paul says. Or with the thief on the cross, let us say: We are getting the due reward of our deeds.
Then let us look away from our suffering, like the thief did, to Jesus. This man has done nothing wrong. There was no deceit in His mouth. He never displeased His Father. He never spoke lies. He is the man Psalm 24 speaks about:
Who shall ascend the hill of the Lord? And who shall stand in His holy place?
He who has clean hands and a pure heart, who does not lift up His soul to what is false, and does not swear deceitfully. He will receive blessing from the Lord, and righteousness from the God of His salvation. (Ps 24:3-5)
Jesus’ hands are clean and so are His lips. His heart is pure. Even crucified, in great agony, as He is attacked by the Father and His soul is cast away, He says, “My God!” He trusts God not to forsake Him. He commits His soul, dying, into His Father’s hands.
Jesus is forsaken by God, attacked in His wrath, humiliated before His foes, brought about before bloodied, spit upon, dressed like a king. The Father gives Him into their hands, and allows them to have their way with Him, to crucify Him, to make Him die on a tree, of which the Law says, Cursed is everyone who is hung on a tree. He does not intervene to save His Son from receiving a portion with all sinners in death.
We come around again to Joseph and Nicodemus burying Jesus, and sealing the tomb.
You know why Jesus is ambushed and attacked by God. It is for you, to win God’s favor and grace for you. Even while God casts Him away like an unclean thing, Jesus goes on trusting His Father. He breathes out His soul in death and His last words are “Into your hands I commit my Spirit.” How thoroughly He trusts His Father with all that He is, even when His Father seems to hate Him, seems to not know Him! Makes Him suffer!
How pleased the Father is with His Son’s trust and obedience! How much He loves it!
He loves it so much that He is pleased with you and all who believe in His Son, believes that through His Son’s obedience He will be gracious to them!
We deserve suffering and death because of our sins. But God doesn’t give it to us because He hates us in His wrath and we are getting what we deserve. The Father no longer recognizes the sins of anyone who believes in Jesus Christ. The Father is not stupid or kidding Himself. He knows our sins, but He also knows the ransom His Son paid to release us from God’s wrath against our sins. He will not lie or go back on His Word. It is, as the readings from Hebrews will soon say, Jesus’ last will and testament. It can’t be altered, and God is not a liar. He will not impute sin, count sin, to anyone who believes that Jesus has made payment for his sins. That means you, even with your weak faith.
Instead, He imputes His Son’s pure heart, His perfect, unfaltering trust, His holy obedience even to death, to all who believe in Jesus. That is His unfailing promise in your baptism, and in the Holy supper of His body and blood.
When we die and are attacked by God (so it seems), we are not being brought into judgment, dealing with a God who is going to destroy us in His wrath and never build us up again.
We are dealing with a God who counts us to have clean hands and a pure heart, who says of us, He will receive blessing from the Lord, and righteousness from the God of our salvation.
We are dealing with the God who desires to build us up, to raise us again; that is why Hezekiah sang O Lord, by these things men live, and in all these is the life of my spirit…behold, it was for my welfare that I had great bitterness, but in love you have delivered my life from the pit of destruction, for you have cast all my sins behind your back.
Today He cast our sins behind our back. Jesus said, It is finished.
Psalm 88 asks: Do you work wonders for the dead? Do the departed rise up to praise you? Is Your steadfast love declared in the grave, or Your faithfulness in Abaddon (that is, destruction?)
The answer is: yes. For today God’s beloved Son joins us in the tomb, among the dead, making it holy, a place of rest. When we lie down as Christians, we go with Jesus, who remains the eternal God, whose battle has ended, whose righteousness and victory will be revealed in us.
Good Friday—Chief Service (1 PM)
St. Peter Lutheran Church
St. John 19:28-30, 34 (John 18-19, Is. 52:13-53:12, 2 Cor. 5:14-21)
April 14, 2017
Why is this Friday “Good”?
My son asked me—last Sunday, I think it was: “Why is it called ‘Good Friday’? It doesn’t seem good.” We sit here in a church stripped bare, in darkness, hearing the agony of our Lord Jesus read out loud, hearing the reproaches of God against us a little on from now, praying prayers asking God for mercy. It indeed does not seem good. When we look at the mockery of Jesus, think of the shame and wounds He endured, and consider also that God looked with anger and wrath on His Son as well, because He was carrying the sin of the world, like the scapegoat in the Levitical Law—it is not good. The sin we were born in, the sins we have committed knowingly and unknowingly, the sin we often excuse, tolerate, continue in and think we can repent later—not good. Here we see it unmasked for what it is: sin brings death. Sin brings God’s anger and punishment. God will not leave sin unpunished.
The word “good” in Good Friday probably originally meant something different than we think when we hear it. It probably meant something like “holy” or “godly.”
Yet it is right to think of Good Friday as being “good” in the way we normally use the word. Good Friday is good because on Good Friday (together with Easter) Jesus fulfilled or “finished” the Gospel, the “Good News.” He finished the message that His apostles would later proclaim, and that the Reformation began to proclaim again after it was lost. He finished the good news of our justification before God, our being accounted righteous, as Isaiah the prophet put it, our being “released from sin.”
On this day Jesus “finished” the content of the Gospel.
- It is recognized as good news only by helpless, condemned sinners, terrified by God’s Law;
- But to them it is very good, because it proclaims that Jesus finished our sin and God’s wrath on the cross, and that through His Work alone, received by faith, we are accounted righteous, or justified.
The world doesn’t receive the preaching of Jesus’ suffering and death as good news. There are plenty of people who understand intellectually what we preach, that Jesus suffered for our sins so that we might not be condemned—as St. Paul writes: For our sake [God] made Him to be sin who knew know sin, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God (2 Cor. 5:17). There are plenty of people who understand this with their minds. Some—many even—profess to believe this. Yet their faith goes no deeper than their mind and intellect; it is not a faith worked by the Holy Spirit, giving salvation, on which a person stakes his life and eternity.
Such a person doesn’t really regard the death of Jesus as good news. The suffering and death of Jesus, after all, doesn’t seem like anything to rejoice in. A man dying in shame and mockery a horrible death seems weak and useless to the world, not joyful, happy news.
The agony of Jesus, the death of Jesus, is good news, whether a person realizes it or not. But most people do not. There are many people who come to church occasionally who hear the death of Jesus proclaimed, but it appears to make no impression on them. It does not lead them to renounce their sins, hear God’s Word more frequently, be baptized, live a life that is by faith in the One who died for them. Even on those who regularly come to hear the Word of Christ preached and receive His body and blood, there are many for whom it does not appear to be particularly good news.
That’s because although it is good news for all people, although it is the best news there is—it is only recognized as good news by the people the Bible refers to as “the poor”. It is recognized as good news by people who have been brought to a knowledge of sin, who as a result are terrified and afflicted.
A person comes to this knowledge through the Law of God. The more we look into God’s Law, or hear it, the more we become conscious of our guilt before God, and the seriousness of His anger against those who disobey His Law. This is one of the reasons why you are so often encouraged and exhorted to learn the Small Catechism by heart and to read the Bible. When you do, the Holy Spirit will often convict you of your sin before God. You don’t get very far in the Bible before God starts commanding things and you realize you haven’t done them. You can’t read the Bible very long before you are confronted with an example of God threatening or punishing sinners, and realizing that you are guilty of the same sins that caused Him to send the flood, or drown Pharaoh, or reject Saul. The words of Psalm 5 are an example: For you are not a God who delights in wickedness; evil may not sojourn with You. The boastful may not stand before Your eyes; You hate all evildoers. You destroy those who speak lies; the Lord abhors bloodthirsty and deceitful men. (v. 4-6) Is there anyone here today who has never spoken lies?
Those who are brought to a knowledge of their sin become frightened by words like these; we become conscious of the guilt we bear before God and His anger against us as sinners, and we look for how we can become free from sin. Because we are Lutherans, we learn that we are to take the guilt of our sin to Jesus, who atoned for the sins of the world.
But even as Christians, we find that sin remains with us. Even if we don’t know it from experience, we can look at the example of St. Peter and see just how much evil and weakness remains even in Christ’s disciples. Peter said, “I will die with you,” and couldn’t keep his pledge for a few hours. We are not able to do “our part” to be faithful Christians. We can’t keep ourselves from falling into sin.
In fact, we are not even able to produce the faith that takes hold of Jesus and saves us. The more you see your sin, the more your heart trembles in fear of God, or in anger against Him at putting you in this impossible situation of trying to please Him when you can’t. The more you see yourself fall, the more difficult it becomes in the flesh to believe that God has really forgiven you.
This is a terrible feeling to those who have experienced it. Such a person feels forsaken by God.
But even if a person has not experienced this so intensely, only those who have come to the knowledge of their sin through God’s Law hear the death of Jesus as good news. A person may not have felt God’s wrath in their hearts so intensely, or felt forsaken by God. But all Christians believe testimony of the Word of God, that there is nothing good in them, that born in the sin transmitted by Adam to his descendants, they are by nature spiritually dead, enemies of God. And all Christians know that God is angry at sin and will certainly punish it with suffering in this life, with death, and with eternal torment in hell.
And in the cross and death of Jesus we see this. Jesus was born without sin and never committed sin. The result was that He was immortal. He was not subject to death, and certainly not to God’s anger, certainly not to His condemnation.
Yet today, on Good Friday, we see Jesus die. We hear Him cry that He is forsaken by God. We see how angry God is with our sins, that He would not spare His Son, when His Son was carrying all the sins of the world, but punished Him, turned His face from Him, allowed His Son to die and, while dying, to experience His condemnation and curse.
We also see in the Passion of Jesus that it is not just a human being who is suffering and dying on the cross. Jesus is the eternal Son of the Father, God of God, light of light. He tells Pilate “my Kingdom is from another place.” And when Pilate hears that Jesus has declared that He is the Son of God, Pilate is afraid. It is fearful to think that not just a man suffers the mockery, the agony, and death of the cross. It shows not only how wicked human beings are, that His own people would reject Him and demand Him to be put to death. It shows how serious our sins are in God’s sight, that He would require nothing less than the suffering of God in the flesh to atone for them.
When the rebellious people of Israel were thirsty in the desert, God caused water to flow out of a rock and quenched their thirst. He refreshed them, even though they were rebellious and unfaithful. But His faithful Son, there is no refreshment. Jesus is given sour wine to drink and no water, which is a picture of how the Father did not turn away His wrath from His Son. He did not relent, but gave Jesus the cup of His wrath, which belonged to us. It had to be drained to the bottom.
All that is very bad news. If you take it to heart you will be troubled and distressed, because you realize that Jesus’ agony is a picture of the agony you will endure in hell unless your sin and guilt is removed.
But how can that happen, when we continue to be sinners?
This is the good news that Jesus finished on Good Friday, the good news of the pure Gospel:
We cannot purge away our sins, not even with the help of the Holy Spirit, so that God will no longer be angry with us.
Our sins must be “put away”. We must be “released” from them. Our sin must be covered, as the 32nd psalm says.
This is why Good Friday is rightly called good, because this is what Jesus does today. He covers our sins and makes us to be accounted righteous, as Isaiah 53 said.
When the stripes are laid open on Jesus’ back by the whip, we are healed, and peace with God is being made for us.
When He is mocked and scorned as a King with a crown of thorns, and a jeering crowd calls for Him to be crucified, God is leading Him like a lamb to be slaughtered for our sins; and Jesus does not open His mouth to protest.
He is being oppressed and afflicted by God; God the Father’s will is to crush Jesus, so that we may not be crushed, but be accounted righteous, be declared not wicked but righteous and without sin.
Jesus is “reconciling the Father to us” as He is nailed to the cross and lifted up to hang there under His curse. He thirsts and is forsaken by God, so that we will not be forsaken, or thirst for God and not have our thirst be quenched. God does not let us thirst because His anger is removed from us. He is reconciled to us and at peace. “The chastisement that brought us peace was upon Him.”
That is why Isaiah says, “Out of the anguish of his soul he shall see and be satisfied, by his knowledge shall the righteous one, my servant, make many to be accounted righteous, and he shall bear their iniquities.” (Is. 53:11)
Jesus made us to be accounted righteous by God. Not as a fiction, a lie. But really making payment sufficient for God to count our sins to us no longer, so that we are really righteous and just and without sin through faith in Jesus alone.
“It is finished,” says Jesus. What is finished? The atonement for our sins; God’s reconciliation with sinners, the forgiveness of our sins. It is finished. Nothing is to be done but to receive this Word of Jesus and believe that, as great as your sins are, Jesus has paid the sufficient ransom to set you free from them.
Paul says, God committed to us the ministry of reconciliation. He means the ministry of preaching this Gospel. This is why God invented the pastoral office and why He still sends men out to preach His pure Gospel.
It is to bring you good news, so that you may not thirst and get sour wine, so that you may not thirst like the rich man in hell, longing for a drop of water in the flames but never receiving one. Instead you are to receive the water of the Gospel for your thirst. That water does not come from nowhere. It comes from Jesus’ death.
Just as His body was pierced and water and blood poured, so God pours on You His grace. Announces your justification and His reconciliation with you, that He has put all your sins on His Son. Releases you from sin in the absolution. Purifies you in His sight, burying and resurrecting you with Jesus in Baptism.
Giving you His flesh to eat and blood to drink.
This streams to you from Jesus’ death, here and now.
So we call it “Good Friday,” because Jesus finished the good news on this day. Good like God said His creation was very good before the fall. Now God says all who believe in Christ are good like that; spotless, pure, holy, through faith in Jesus alone—a new creation.
St. Peter Lutheran Church
1 Corinthians 11:23-32
April 13, 2017
“The Blood of the Covenant”
He has caused his wondrous works to be remembered; the Lord is gracious and merciful. 5 He provides food for those who fear him; he remembers his covenant forever.
(Gradual/ Tract for Maundy Thursday: Psalm 111:4-5)
“Karl, wilt thou have Angela, here present, to be thy wedded wife? Wilt thou love, honor, and cherish her, and keep with her this bond of wedlock holy and unbroken till death you do part? If so, declare it before God and these witnesses by saying, I will.”
Angela, wilt thou have Karl, here present, to be thy wedded husband? Wilt thou love, honor, cherish, and obey him, and keep with him this bond of wedlock holy and unbroken till death you do part? If so, declare it before God and these witnesses by saying, I will.
I Karl, in the presence of God and this assembly, take thee, Angela, to be my wedded wife, and plight thee my troth in every duty, not to part from thee, till death us do part.
I Angela, in the presence of God and this assembly, take thee, Karl, to be my wedded husband, and plight thee my troth in every duty, not to part from thee, till death us do part.
Those words are not the exact words that we said when we were married. They are from the old version of the hymnal. You may have said them when you were married.
What do we call those words? Vows. They are oaths taken before God by which we enter into marriage, into a relationship with this other person. We ask God to witness our solemn promises, whether we keep them or not. On other occasions we make different kinds of vows.
The people of old had a term for this kind of promise before God and the new relationship established by that promise. They called it “a covenant.” (How covenants were entered: witnesses, solemn pledges before God (maybe with a visible or written monument to the pledge). An animal’s blood would be shed to seal the covenant, often. And there was often a meal between the two parties, signifying fellowship, peace. The two would become like brothers, bound by blood.
People entered covenants out of need for assurance. People cannot be trusted simply to keep their word. We know that too well. In fact, people cannot even be trusted, many times, to keep the pledges they make before God. Marriage vows are broken. So are the vows we make at Baptism and confirmation. Pastors take vows before God when they are ordained. None of these vows can be lived up to perfectly by any sinful human being. Yet often people disregard them entirely; and then these institutions of God are no longer held in high regard.
In the Bible, however, the true God does a remarkable thing—He enters into covenant. He makes a covenant with Noah after the flood; He covenants with Abraham, promising that He will be Abraham’s God and the God of Abraham’s descendants, and that He will bring blessing—that is, salvation—to the whole earth through one of Abraham’s seed, or offspring.
He also enters into a covenant with the children of Israel. He causes Pharaoh to let them go that they may worship the Lord by slaying the firstborn of every household in Egypt, but passing over the houses of the Israelites. He brings them through the Red Sea, utterly destroying their enemies, and brings them to a divine service at Mt. Sinai, where He appears in fire on top of the mountain and speaks the ten commandments to them. Then Moses told them the rest of God’s commandments—the terms of His covenant. The people agreed to obey God as His covenant people. Then, it tells us in Exodus 24, Moses slaughtered and offered oxen as offerings to God. He took the blood in bowls, threw half of it against the altar. Then he read the book of the covenant to the people, and once again they said, All that the Lord has spoken we will do, and we will be obedient (Ex. 24:7). And Moses took the remaining half of the blood and threw it on the people—about a million of them—and said, “Behold, the blood of the covenant that the Lord has made with you in accordance with all these words.” (Ex. 24: 8)
Then, the book of Exodus tells us, that Moses and Aaron and Aaron’s sons went up on Mt. Sinai, where God was, along with 70 elders of Israel, the leaders of the people. And they saw the God of Israel. There was under His feet as it were a pavement of sapphire stone, like the very heaven for clearness. And He did not lay His hand on the chief men of the people of Israel; they beheld God, and ate and drank (Ex. 24:10-11).
Do you see how this works?
God takes the people out of slavery with great power. He proposes to enter a relationship with them where He will be their God, and they will obey Him and keep His commandments. Then blood is shed and first splashed on the altar, which signifies that God is in. Then, when the people agree to the covenant, the blood is splashed on them. They are in.
The blood means God and the people of Israel are bound together. They are one blood. But if one party breaks the covenant, the blood signifies that they should die like the oxen whose blood was shed.
Think of how amazing it is that God would enter this kind of relationship with His creatures! To make Himself a party in an agreement like this, as though it were possible for Him to lie and be punished for breaking His covenant!
Inside of this covenant there is peace between God and sinful human beings. The leaders of Israel see God and eat and drink in His presence, like you eat at the table of a relative or a friend.
However, this peace didn’t last long, because what Israel vowed to do, it did not do. When Moses went up on the mountain for 40 days to speak with God and then return and tell the people of Israel what God said, the Israelites became anxious and lost patience. Since the prophet of God didn’t return, they decided they needed new gods to lead them to a land where they could settle down.
That was the problem with the Old Covenant made at Sinai. There was really nothing wrong with the covenant. There was something wrong with the people of Israel. At the heart of the covenant God made was the ten commandments, and at the heart of the ten commandments is the first commandment: You shall have no other gods. The people of Israel couldn’t even keep this covenanant in an external way for a month. As soon as they became afraid, or desired other things, they started setting up festivals to other gods. They did not “fear, love, and trust in God above all things.”
Israel wasn’t unique. All the pagan nations of the earth—our ancestors—worshipped false gods.
What they did in a formal way, we do in our hearts. We are anxious and afraid of other people and what they will say and do more than we fear God; we desire other things, we love other things more than we love God. And we trust what we can see, what we can feel, not the Lord and His Word.
Because Israel was like this, God promised a “new covenant.”
31 “Behold, the days are coming, declares the Lord, when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and the house of Judah, 32 not like the covenant that I made with their fathers on the day when I took them by the hand to bring them out of the land of Egypt, my covenant that they broke, though I was their husband, declares the Lord. 33 For this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, declares the Lord: I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts. And I will be their God, and they shall be my people. 34 And no longer shall each one teach his neighbor and each his brother, saying, ‘Know the Lord,’ for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, declares the Lord. For I will forgive their iniquity, and I will remember their sin no more.”
In the same way also He took the cup after supper, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in My blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of Me.” 1 Cor. 11: 25
God is faithful to His covenant, even when Israel is unfaithful. He goes beyond the covenant in faithfulness.
Remember how Moses threw half of the blood on the altar and half on the people, and how it meant that whoever broke the covenant would die? That is the way it works with God’s Law. “The soul that sins shall die”—Ez. 18. But God is never unfaithful—we are.
Yet Jesus here makes a new covenant. Lutherans prefer to use the term testament. That is because the greek word used here usually refers to a “last will and testament”. But also because a testament simply gives—it does not ask the person it gives to do something in return.
Jesus says, This cup is the New Testament in My Blood. My blood. Not your blood. In the covenant between Israel and YHWH, all the transgressions were on the part of unfaithful Israel. They were the ones who should have had their blood shed.
Yet Jesus says His blood—God’s blood—was being shed. Yes, because God was taking on the transgressions of His covenant committed by His people. So that they might be in His presence and eat and drink eternally, and the Lord would be at peace with them and be their God.
That is what follows tonight. When we see the altar stripped bare and naked and the chancel become desolate, we see a picture of what should happen to us sinners. Instead, it happened to Jesus for you, for the forgiveness of your sins. That is why He is stripped, beaten, mocked, nailed to the cross, forsaken by God. To “forgive your iniquity”, so that your “sin will be remembered no more.”
That is why it is a New Testament. It is not like the old, which we broke and could not keep in the flesh. It is new. The requirements of this testament are all met by Jesus. You simply receive it.
But how do I receive it? How do I know it applies to me? How do I know God forgives me? He declares it to you in preaching; He throws the blood of the covenant on You, making You one blood with Him. He douses you in it in Baptism.
But how do I know it still applies to me, when I have sinned and turned away from Jesus after I was baptized? He absolves you at the altar tonight, by name.
Then He gives you this bread to eat, and this cup to drink; His body, which is for you, given to agony, pain, and death on the cross.
His blood, the blood of the New Testament, that seals this new relationship with God. Jesus doesn’t say, This cup symbolizes the New Testament in my blood; He says, This cup is the new Testament in my blood.
It is the blood that brings about this new relationship with God where He forgives our sins and remembers our iniquity no more. No more! Never! He never remembers it. He remembers instead the suffering of His Son for you, who bore your guilt.
He writes His law on your heart from within instead of banging it on you from without, so that you keep it willingly. He makes you know Him. The Israelites ran away from Him at Sinai, but through the blood of Jesus’ testament you know Him and want to know Him.
As often as we eat and drink this body and blood of Jesus, we proclaim His death for us.
It is a serious thing to receive it unworthily—results in death and condemnation.
What is worthiness? Not to do…since we are not capable of doing what merits communion with God. To receive. That is, to eat and drink, believing Christ’s Words: “My body, given for you. My blood shed for you.” This is what Jesus left us in the night He was betrayed– a remembrance of His own death for the ungodly. The very blood of the testament, that makes peace with God for us, given with the wine to drink.
Reformation: not a partial sacrifice to God. Not our act of remembering—how piously we receive it. It is Jesus’ testament, His pledge before dying. It is the assurance that His sufferings are for us, and they avail before God to bring us peace with Him; He “remembers our sins no more.”
Instead: “He remembers His covenant forever”—the forgiveness of sins won by the suffering of His Son.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.
Soli Deo Gloria
Good Friday—Chief Service (1 PM)
St. Peter Lutheran Church
St. John 18-19 (in particular: John 19:13-16)
March 25, 2016
“The Preparation of God’s Sons”
It is amazing, in a way, that you came to church today.
It was bold. We show boldness in being here. Hopefully it isn’t a boldness born of arrogance or foolishness.
Look around. The church is bare and naked of decoration. The only thing we see is the cross. It is because Jesus, the Son of God, was stripped of glory and dignity on Good Friday that the church looks like a desert, all its ornaments taken away. Yes, God’s Son was stripped naked and nailed hand and foot to the tree; raised up to hang as a spectacle before the world for a few hours, and then to die.
Yet we are bold enough to come and commemorate what happened to Jesus. But don’t we know? Don’t we understand? Jesus suffered because of us. He was put to death because of us.
“When Pilate heard these words, he brought Jesus out and sat down on the judgment seat at a place called The Stone Pavement, and in Aramaic, Gabbatha. Now it was the day of the Preparation of the Passover. It was about the sixth hour. He said to the Jews, ‘Behold your King!’ They cried out, ‘Away with Him, away with Him, crucify Him!’ Pilate said to them, ‘Shall I crucify your King?’ The chief priests answered, ‘We have no king but Caesar.’ So he delivered Him over to them to be crucified.” (St. John 19:13-16)
Pontius sits down in the judgment seat to give a verdict concerning Jesus. And John makes sure to tell us right after Pilate assuming his role as judge that it was “the day of Preparation of the Passover.” People disagree about what this means. Jesus had already celebrated the Passover the night before. But one thing is sure—Jesus was being prepared to die as the true Passover lamb. Pilate was moments away from issuing the sentence that Jesus should be crucified. But who was preparing Jesus, setting Him apart, for sacrifice? It appears to be the crowd of the Jews, acting through Pilate as their instrument. But it couldn’t have been them. They weren’t strong enough to tie Jesus up and set Him apart as a sacrificial victim, nor to slaughter God’s Son like a lamb. It is God the Father who is preparing Jesus for sacrifice; God the Father is preparing to slaughter His Son.
Long before, God put a picture of this day in front of the Israelites. It is written in Genesis 22: “After these things God tested Abraham and said to him, ‘Abraham!’ And he said, ‘Here am I.’ He said, ‘Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains of which I shall tell you.’” (Gen. 22:1-2)
Then we are told in the rest of the story how Abraham set about to obey this commandment from God to slay his only son. Abraham doesn’t delay. He gets up early in the morning, cuts the wood on which he will burn the body of his son as a sacrifice. Then he journeys for three days to get to the place of the sacrifice, allowing plenty of time to reconsider whether he really wants to go through with this, whether he really thinks God is worthy of such a sacrifice. But Abraham, amazingly, doesn’t waver. He gets to the land of Moriah and loads the wood on Isaac his son, and leads the young man up the mountain. Finally, Abraham builds the altar. He arranges the wood on it. He binds Isaac and stretches him out on top of the wood. Finally, he takes the knife in his hand to kill his son. Only at the last moment the angel of the Lord interrupts the sacrifice.
Many people who have heard this story and taken it seriously have been revolted by it, said it paints an ugly picture of the God of the Bible. Even though God stopped Abraham from killing his son, what kind of God, they say, would ask that of a person, and then allow the person almost to go through with it? Abraham didn’t bring the knife down on Isaac. But in order to get as far as he did, Abraham would have had to have already made up his mind to spill the blood of his only son.
Thinking of killing your son—whether for God or for anyone else—is too much for us. Most people would be angry and spit at God if He demanded such a thing. Others, who might admit that God, as God, has a right to demand such a thing, would still find themselves too weak to do it, too weak even to go about the preparations for it, as Abraham did. They would find themselves unable to cut the wood, to journey to the mountain, to build the altar, prepare the wood, certainly to bind their son. Even talking about it or spending any time thinking about it makes you realize that God is nothing like the sentimental picture most people paint of Him. How many people who say they love God would vigorously hate Him if He spoke to them and commanded this? Even if we wanted to, most of us would not get through the preparations. Before our eyes the whole time would be our son’s pain and cries. We would visualize his bright red blood streaming at our hands and we would be undone.
But what God did not allow Abraham to do—to slay his son out of love and obedience to God—God did out of love and compassion for the world. For an unworthy world that hated Him. He foresaw His Son’s anguish, He foresaw His Son’s pouring blood, His cries and His tears.
And still He prepared His Son to be sacrificed. He tied Him up by the hands of the Jews. He condemned Him to die on a tree under His curse and wrath, through Pontius Pilate. He drove the nails into Jesus’ hands and feet and stretched Him out over the rough wood of the tree through the hands of the soldiers. And He lifted Him up to be cursed; to receive not merely bodily torment and physical death, but also the spiritual anguish that sinners deserve to suffer throughout eternity.
[We will sing the words of Paul Gerhardt in a few minutes, words which we have sung many times before, and yet likely not taken to heart—words that Gerhardt puts into the mouth of the Father:
“Go forth, My Son,” the Father said,
“And free my children from their dread
Of guilt and condemnation.
The wrath and stripes are hard to bear
But by Your Passion they will share
The fruit of Your salvation.” LSB 438, st. 2
Yes, imagine telling your son, “Go forth and be flogged and crucified to help people who despise and hate us”! ]
This is what God the Father was doing on Good Friday. And why? Not because Jesus ever displeased Him. No, the Father loves His Son far more than we evil men love our sons. And Jesus loved His Father and never did anything against Him. The Father was preparing His Son to die for your sins.
That’s why it is bold for us to show up here today. The Father offers up His Son; and we, for whom the Son of God was offered come to commemorate His dying. Do we dare?
Aren’t we the same people who have repeatedly chosen to do evil, to “turn, every one, to his own way”? (Is. 53) Haven’t we often freely chosen to do what called God’s anger down upon us? But God poured this anger on His Son. And we come, with little sense of what it cost the Father to do this, with little awareness of what Jesus endured, and quite often, with little desire to know. We come for an hour or so today to pay our respects, and then return to live as if we were rightful masters of our own lives?
And aren’t we the same people who, when backed into a corner, repeatedly excuse our sins and the sins of other people?
Perhaps we are those who think, “Why should God be so angry about sin? What kind of cruel God is this, to demand an eternal repayment for sin in hell?
Or perhaps we believe that God will punish sins in hell, but certainly not the sins we commit in weakness—our evil thoughts, impurity, our anger, our difficulty forgiving people. Why should God demand an eternal accounting for things like this, which no one can avoid?
And aren’t we also the same people who have often denied that our sin—or those of people we love—was actually sin? Aren’t we the same people who have called evil good?
So God says, “You shall not misuse the Name of the Lord your God.” But we say, surely it’s not such a big deal when a church teaches errors in God’s name, when they do it because they don’t know better. Surely God doesn’t take it so seriously if the church down the street doesn’t believe and doesn’t teach that the Lord’s Supper is really Jesus’ body and blood.
Or God says, “Remember the Sabbath day, by keeping it holy.” But we say, surely God doesn’t care that much about the fact that I get busy and don’t come to church.
Or we say, “Surely God doesn’t really get so angry about who I sleep with, or who my kids sleep with—not so angry that He would punish them for it forever.”
We say these things, and then we want to come and remember Jesus’ death, and the Father preparing His Son to be sacrificed? When we try to excuse the very things for which the Father allowed His Son’s blood to pour?
That is the same as the Jews choosing Barabbas over Jesus. They chose a lawless man, a violent man who had participated in a rebellion and shed blood, over Jesus. They asked for Barabbas to be freed, and for Jesus to be crucified.
Why did they do this? Because they were more comfortable with a lawless man, even if he was violent and dangerous, than with Jesus, the righteous and just One.
We have done the same as the crowd. In excusing our sins, and minimizing them, we are trying to shout Jesus down. We demand that the Righteous One be silent; we demand Him to be taken away from our sight so that His innocence no longer stands before us as a rebuke to our lawlessness. [And the more Jesus suffers unjustly, the louder the mob screams for Him to die, so that they may no longer have His witness to the truth and see Him reflecting back, in His body, the image of our sin.]
But even if we don’t excuse our sins, and our mouths are silent, it remains the case that we are the reason the Father set apart His innocent Son to die.
So how can we be so bold as to come near to the Father on the day in which His Son was slain?
We come because God the Father has given us the right to approach Him with boldness and confidence.
He slew His obedient Son for our disobedience because He wanted to give us the right to become children of God (John 1:12).
When the Father prepared Jesus as a sacrifice for our sins, He was carrying out what His wisdom and love toward us had planned before the creation of the world. Before the world began God saw Adam’s sin and also yours. None of it was hidden from Him. But instead of never creating You, or planning your death in His anger, He planned an unthinkable thing—to have His beloved Son take your place as an enemy of God, and to give you Jesus’ place as a well-beloved Son in eternity.
Why would God do such a thing? It is incomprehensible that He should show such love to us.
But that is, beyond any doubt, what God has done. In the death of Jesus, His Son, the Father has given you the right to approach Him without fear, without any stain of sin, as a pure, holy, well-pleasing, beloved child. As a lawful heir of God and all His eternal glory.
And not only did the Father will this grace for you, but also the Son. The Son and the Father are one (John 10); they will one will. The Father and the Son together willed our justification.
Because the Son willed this, He willingly came and put on our image.
He is mocked for us, who deserve mockery for our pretensions to be God, to be equal to God, the eternal King.
He is beaten and flogged; chastised, as Isaiah said, for our disobedience to God. Upon Him was the chastisement (or punishment) that brought us peace, and by His stripes we are healed. (Is. 53)
He puts on Adam’s curse as His crown. Blood streams from His sacred head down His face, drawn by the thorns that began to come out of the earth because Adam turned aside from God. Now Adam’s curse sits on the head of the Son of God.
He is condemned to die among wicked men. The innocent Christ is crucified between two robbers, men whom even an evil world rejects as too evil for it.
He is stripped naked to bear the shame we have been trying to hide since Adam and Eve clothed themselves with leaves and hid among the trees. Jesus is stripped of all coverings and lifted up before the whole world.
He is nailed to a cross, which the Romans view as so shameful that it is forbidden to apply it to citizens. And He is lifted up on a tree to die, which according to the Law means that Jesus is cursed by God, because it says “Cursed is everyone who is hung on a tree” (Leviticus ?, Galatians 3). Dying under God’s curse, Jesus removes His curse and damnation from us.
Though He is God, He comes in the appearance of a man like us, like one who is subject to death and enslaved by sin. He comes in our fashion to free us from slavery. He removes sin’s bondage from us by suffering for it and cancelling it out with His blood. Thus we are freed from slavery to sin and its condemnation. We are liberated from the devil, who held us in thrall through His blackmail and accusation. We are sprung from our chains into the glorious liberty of the children of God, to live before God forever free from condemnation.
Today the altar is bare; no paraments, no lights, no banners. That barrenness is really our image; we are barren of the glory God created us to have—His image. We lost it through sin. When we see Jesus crucified, covered with wounds, His face streaked with blood, forsaken by God we see Him bearing our image, so that we might bear the image of His glory in eternity.
And when Jesus has accomplished this and been emptied—when He has become sin for us, become a slave for us, received God’s wrath for us, He says “It is finished,” and dies.
It is finished. It is done. Everything is accomplished for us to be received as sons of God. Nothing remains outstanding. Every sin is punished and blotted out of God’s book. In its place Jesus gives us the seamless, undivided robe of His righteousness.
No one takes away Jesus’ life. He freely gives it up. When His life ends, ours begins—our new life as God’s Sons.
By His death, Jesus gives us the right to approach God with confidence as if we were Him, as dear, innocent, beloved sons of God. “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit” (John 12:24)—so said our Lord to His disciples before He suffered. By His death Jesus bore the fruit of many sons of God. Before He died our sins blocked the way to God; when He died, those sins were removed.
So we dare to come before God with boldness on the day of His Son’s death, without fear. For Jesus who died for us has baptized us into His body, so that we are members of Him, of His flesh and of His bone. Trusting in Jesus and in the Father who prepared Him as the sacrifice for us, we come to the Father as His true sons. And in thanksgiving for all He has done we offer to Him our bodies as “living sacrifices, holy and acceptable to God” (Romans 12).
In the Name of the Father, and of the +Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Soli Deo Gloria
Good Friday—Tenebrae (7 pm)
St. Peter Lutheran Church
St. John 19:28-30 (Lamentations 2:13-15; Hebrews 10:1-2. 10-18)
March 25, 2016
No one ever thinks destruction is going to come until it does. Till the end people keep believing that the good times will go on forever; at least the days of terror will pass them by. We all secretly believe we’re special.
Nevertheless, God warns us with clear and certain words that destruction is coming to the world because of sin. He tells us clearly and unmistakably—He never, never, never will overlook sin or let sinners go unpunished.
“He will render to each one according to his works…for those who are self-seeking and do not obey the truth, but obey unrighteousness, there will be wrath and fury. There will be tribulation and distress for every human being who does evil…” God says in Romans chapter 2 (v. 6-9).
And as the children have learned from the catechism, God says regarding the ten commandments: I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God, punishing the children for the sins of the fathers to the 3rd and 4th generation of those who hate Me…”
Which means if you want to disobey God’s commandments, if you want to excuse your disobedience to God—not matter what that disobedience is, no matter how minor you think it is—you can’t tell yourself that God will forgive you anyway. You’re only kidding yourself.
The two sets of readings we heard are examples of this. In the first we saw Jesus, the Son of God, stretched out on the cross, giving up His spirit. Destruction comes upon Him as God visits our iniquities upon Him.
The first set, from Lamentations, are the prophet Jeremiah’s words as he weeps over the destruction of the city of Jerusalem, about 500 years before Christ. God told the people of Israel before they entered the promised land that if they did not keep His commandments, God would not only not be their God and abandon them to their enemies. He would actively turn against them Himself and set Himself against them. As He had once looked on them to bless them and do them good, He would set His eyes on them to punish them. And after the Israelites came into the good land that God promised them, they forgot His warning. They turned aside to worship idols. God sent them many prophets to warn them of the destruction that was coming, and to cease from their rebellion against Him.
But they didn’t listen. And so in Lamentations, Jeremiah wanders through the ruined city that had once exulted in God’s favor and bragged of His presence. He mourns over the city’s destruction. “The Lord determined to lay in ruins the wall of the daughter of Zion; He stretched out the measuring line…” (Lamentations 2:9). God was calculating and measuring with precision not to build Jerusalem up but to destroy it. Jeremiah watches children die in the arms of their mothers, because after the invading armies have ransacked the city, there is no food.
Destruction came upon Jerusalem because of the sin of the people. They should have known that this was the inevitable result of their sin. But they chose to believe false prophets who told them that the day of destruction would not come. “Your prophets have seen for you false and deceptive visions; they have not exposed your iniquity to restore your fortunes, but have seen for you oracles that are false and misleading.” (Lamentations 2:14)
What happened in Jerusalem is coming for everyone who transgresses the commandments of God. Destruction is coming on the world because of sin.
And not only because of the sins we know and willingly do, but also because of those we don’t know, and those which we can’t help. The sin we were born in, that we inherited from Adam, is going to be rewarded with destruction. The sins of our hearts that we try to suppress—unbelieving thoughts, evil desires, hatred and desire for vengeance, pleasure in our neighbor’s downfall—are going to be visited with eternal punishment.
In other words, things cannot go on like this! Our sins must be removed, otherwise all we have in front of us is the fearful and certain destruction that God will bring on all the ungodly. The emptiness of the altar and chancel tonight—its desolation—is a faint reflection of the eternal desolation that is to come on the world and all who commit iniquity.
But let us turn our attention again to the second set of readings, from St. John. There Jesus, as we said before, is experiencing desolation. He is experiencing the judgment of God on sin.
As He hangs on the cursed tree of the cross, He cries out, “I thirst.”
Of course, Jesus is thirsty. Dying people often experience great thirst. And besides the fact that He is dying, Jesus has other reasons for His thirst. He has been up all night and all morning laboring for our salvation. He prayed and wept in Gethsemane, and sweat like great drops of blood fell from His body. He was arrested and marched to the house of the high priest, some miles away, enduring blows and curses. Then all night He was accused by false witnesses, by the assembled elders of His people, and by the chief priests, until at last they declared Him to be worthy of death. He then was handed over to Pilate and accused and interrogated before Him. He stood in front of a crowd that screamed for Him to be crucified. He was mocked by the entire troop of Roman soldiers. He was torn open with whips and crowned with thorns. Finally they forced Him to carry the heavy cross to the Place of a Skull. There His hands and feet were nailed to the wood and they lifted Him up to hang from those nails. It is no surprise that Jesus is thirsty after that ordeal, no surprise that as His blood pours out He is seized with thirst.
But of course Jesus’ thirst is not merely a physical thirst. It is a spiritual thirst, the thirst of one being consumed in the heat of the wrath of God. In Luke 16 we are told the story of the rich man and Lazarus; Lazarus lived covered with sores and racked with hunger, but when he died, the angels carried him to the bosom of Abraham. But the rich man in Jesus’ parable died and went to hell. And there in the flames, he cried out for Lazarus to come to him and touch his tongue with a drop of water, so severe was his thirst and agony in the flames of hell.
Jesus, God’s Son, also experiences this thirst on the cross. Though He was innocent and had done nothing to deserve God’s wrath, He was experiencing the torments of the damned. God’s eternal destruction was upon Him.
Destruction had come upon Jesus because He was offering Himself there for our transgressions.
Jesus has another thirst parching Him on the cross. It is the thirst caused by His love for us. He loves us, and because He loves us He thirsts for our salvation. He thirsts that we might be saved from the destruction coming on the world because of sin.
In Jesus’ heart burns an unquenchable fire that causes this thirst. It is the fire of divine love; the fire that burned the bush on Sinai but did not consume it; the fire that later set the mountain ablaze. That fire does not burn against us but for us; it burns in Jesus’ heart, and it causes Him to thirst for our salvation. And this thirst will not be quenched until He has rescued us from destruction.
This fire that is burning in Jesus’ heart is described in the Song of Solomon: “Love is as strong as death, jealousy is fierce as the grave. Its flashes are flashes of fire, the very flame of the LORD. Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it. If a man offered for love all the wealth of his house, it would be utterly despised.” (Song of Solomon 8:6-7) Solomon is not talking about the love of a man for his wife. He is talking about the love of the heavenly bridegroom, Jesus Christ, for His bride, the Church. The very flame of God burns in Jesus’ heart and drives His thirst for our salvation.
“You have captivated my heart, my sister, my bride,” says the Bridegroom in the Song of Solomon to His beloved. Jesus, the bridegroom of the Church, has had His heart wounded and stolen by those who have deserved destruction. He will not be satisfied until He has freed His beloved bride from destruction. It is for this that He thirsts.
And so it is not the drink of sour wine that Jesus receives that quenches this thirst. His thirst is quenched when destruction is removed from His bride, the elect. And that happens when, after receiving the drink from the sponge, He says “It is finished,” and gives up His spirit in death.
There His thirst is quenched. What He thirsted for—our salvation—is finished, completed.
But how can that be true? Just as Jesus experienced the fire of divine love burning in His heart, we experience the fire of evil desire still strongly glowing in ours. How can our salvation be accomplished and our destruction be averted when sin seems so often to still hold us captive?
In the readings still ahead of us, from the tenth chapter of Hebrews, the author tells us about the futility and weakness of the sacrifices offered in the temple in the Old Testament. “The Law…can never, by the same sacrifices that are continually offered every year, make perfect those who draw near. Otherwise, would they not have ceased to be offered, since the worshipers, having once been cleansed, would no longer have any consciousness of sins?” (Hebrews 10:1-2)
Each year on the day of atonement, the high priest would bring blood behind the veil, into the most holy place, and put it on the atonement cover, or mercy seat, of the ark of the covenant. That mercy seat was the place of God’s dwelling on earth. And yet the sacrifice was repeated yearly. The blood continued to be put on the mercy seat because each year the people of Israel had new sins to atone for. And the writer of Hebrews tells us, there was no way for these sacrifices to make the people perfect or complete or “finished.” They were never completely through with their sins. Their sins were never finally gone.
In the end, this was because it is impossible for the blood of bulls and goats to take away sins (Hebrews 10:4). An animal’s life, an animal’s soul, is not sufficient to remove the sins of a human being and save him from destruction.
And so the yearly sacrifice of atonement didn’t give people a clean conscience.
But on the cross Jesus is offering a better sacrifice, one that really is sufficient to cancel our sins. When Jesus suffers and dies on the cross, it is not merely a human being suffering agony and then dying. God is hanging on the cross; God suffers anguish; God dies. When Jesus’ blood is poured out and His life is given, a greater price has been paid than all the debt of your sins—a greater price than the cost of the sins of the whole world. The wages of sin is death (Romans 6:23); the due reward for your sin is eternal death. But Jesus has paid more than enough to ransom and release you from eternal death; more than enough to ransom the whole world. His death and the shedding of His blood have removed sin.
Not as though sin no longer lives and works in you. But it is no longer counted before God, because it has been paid for by the death of Jesus.
That is the reason why those who believe in Jesus are no longer burdened with the consciousness of sin so that we need new sacrifices to be offered for us. It’s not that we don’t experience our sinful desires or see how we stumble and fall into sin. It’s that we believe that the blood Jesus shed and the death He died cancels and covers all our sin—the sin of our past, the sin that lives in us now, and the all the sin that we will commit before we, too, give up our spirits in death.
On Sunday morning, in Bible class, I have often asked the class whether they have experienced what it is to have a disturbed conscience, a conscience that is uncertain because it is aware of sin and God’s wrath against it. It seems that almost everyone there not only has experienced it, but many continue to experience it often.
Through the death of Jesus God wants to give us a restful, peaceful conscience; not a conscience that thinks that it no longer sins, but a conscience that is at rest because it believes and is confident that by His one offering Jesus has put our sins away from God’s sight forever.
That is what Jesus said before He died: It is finished. There is no more price to be paid for sins. There is nothing left to be done to save us from destruction. All is accomplished when Jesus gives up His spirit.
And the tenth chapter of Hebrews echoes these words of Jesus. It says that although God commanded the sacrifices of the Old Testament, they were never really His will, His lasting will. Jesus came to accomplish God’s will; not to sacrifice many animals, but to make one sacrifice—to offer up His own body and blood to God. And by that will we have been sanctified through the offering of the body of Jesus Christ once for all (Hebrews 10:10)—we have been made holy and set apart for God by the one sacrifice of Jesus.
And again: For by a single offering Jesus has perfected for all time those who are being sanctified (Heb. 10:14). Jesus has perfected us, completed us. He has finished us by a single offering, the offering of Himself. No, we think, how are we perfected? How are we finished? It is finished, Jesus said, and then died. The turning away of the Father’s wrath, the reconciliation of God with us, the covering of our sin, our being counted righteous, or justified—all finished, completed, perfected, when Jesus is delivered over to death.
Finally: “The Holy Spirit also bears witness to us, for after saying, ‘This is the covenant that I will make with them after those days, declares the Lord: I will put my laws on their hearts, and write them on their minds,’ then He adds, ‘I will remember their sins and their lawless deeds no more.’ Where there is forgiveness of these, there is no longer any offering for sin.” (Hebrews 10: 15-18)
The reason there is no longer any offering for sin is not because Christians no longer sin. It is because, as the LORD promised through the prophet Jeremiah, He “remembers our sins and lawless deeds no more.” The Lord is not forgetful. He does not remember them because they have been paid for by Jesus. The Lord indeed puts His laws on our hearts and writes them in our minds, and yet, nonetheless, that doesn’t enable us to keep His laws without sin. But as the writer of Hebrews points out, the inscription of the Law on our hearts is not the whole of the New Testament. He writes His laws in our hearts and minds and begins to sanctify us in this life. But our justification, the blotting out of our sins from before God’s eyes, is not simply begun now. It is completed. It is finished. And as a result, there is no longer any offering for sin.
Destruction is still coming on the world because of sin. The day is far spent and evening is at hand. The world has grown old, and as it ages it is not becoming better but more wicked. Judgment looms. It appears to glower over us too. The end of our lives is before us. And when it comes, it will look and feel the same as it does for the rest of the world—not like a happy day, but a day of mourning. It will not look like the day of our salvation, but the day of our destruction. It will not appear to be light but darkness.
In the Tenebrae service tonight the candles are halfway out. When we have sung the Benedictus they will all be extinguished except the one in the center. Then that one too will be taken from its stand. The Church will become totally dark, just as everything became dark for Jesus’ disciples when His body was taken down from the cross, wrapped in the cloth with spices, placed in the tomb, and sealed in with a heavy stone.
Likely when we die that is what our eyes will see and our senses will experience at the ending of our lives—darkness.
But as the lights go out and the darkness descends, Jesus’ words from the cross will sustain us: It is finished. With those words, like Moses, we will enter the thick darkness where God is (Exodus 20: 21), and in the darkness the light will dawn on us (Luke 1: 79), because by one sacrifice Christ has perfected us before His Father.
In the Name of the Father and of the +Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Soli Deo Gloria
St. Peter Lutheran Church
St. John 12:12-19
March 20, 2016
“Don’t Fear: Your King is Coming”
A large crowd that has come to Jerusalem for the Passover feast goes out to meet Jesus. The crowd chants for Jesus. Maybe it’s like the chants we hear in this year’s political rallies. But they aren’t chanting for a president with a four-year term. They are chanting for a king. Kings have a lifetime term. And they are chanting for this king to “save” them. “Hosanna,” the crowd chants, meaning, “Save us, we pray.” They chant, “Blessed is He who comes in the Name of the Lord, even the King of Israel.” Which means that they see in Jesus not just a qualified man; they see Him as the one God has sent to be their King and to save them.
The chanting crowd, for once, is right. Jesus is the King sent by God. He doesn’t stop them from cheering Him and begging Him for salvation. He accepts their praises and rides the donkey’s colt to the gates of Jerusalem.
Jesus is King. He is King of Israel, King of the Jews. He is also the King of the Church, which is why we sing to Him, each week, the same words as the crowd, as He comes to us in His Body and Blood: “Hosanna in the highest! Blessed is He that cometh in the Name of the Lord!”
And Jesus is not only King of the Jews and King of the Church. He is King and Lord over the whole earth, as we heard in the epistle to the Philippians: “That at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” (Phil. 2:10-11)
Only there is a problem, a great and grievous problem. Jesus is the King sent by God over the whole world. Yet the world rejects God’s King. There is a worldwide rebellion against Him.
The Jews and the world rejected Jesus as King because He did not seem like a King to them at all. In our world kings are known by their majesty and power. They inspire submission by their majesty, and they have power and might to suppress and destroy rebels.
But Jesus seemed to have neither. He had no splendor except the splendor of righteousness and innocence. And Jesus never used force. Where people rejected and resisted His Word He did not force them to accept Him, nor did He take vengeance on those who rebelled against His reign.
Since He was without majesty and did not use the sword, first the Jews rejected Him and crucified Him. The world followed, and so did much of what is called the Christian Church, in despising Jesus and rebelling against Him.
The same contempt and rejection of Jesus as King dwells in our flesh. Christians mourn over it, but it is there still, daily looking for opportunities to deny that Jesus is King, saying, “What will Jesus do anyway? He won’t punish me if I reject Him and serve myself. He never does.”
Of course, what it whispers to us is completely wrong. As King, Jesus will one day take vengeance on those who despise and reject Him. “…If that wicked servant says to Himself, ‘My master is delayed,’ and begins to beat his fellow servants and to eat and drink with drunkards, the master of that servant will come on a day when he does not expect him…and will cut him in pieces and put him with the hypocrites,’” Jesus warned His disciples not long before His death. “’In that place there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’” (Matthew 24:48-50)
Remember who Jesus is. He is the highborn, only Son of the Father. He is the firstborn of all creation (Colossians 1:15). He is from eternity. Yet He was willing to live among us as a brother, in flesh and blood, to teach us the way of salvation, and to do miracles in our presence, testifying that He was the King who came in the name of the Lord. But He was rejected by the Jews, scorned by the world, mocked by much of what is called His Church. Even our flesh remains rebellious against this King whom God has anointed.
They can only happen because Jesus doesn’t take up His power and punish the rebellious. Isn’t it past time for Him to do so, to silence their lying mouths and bow their haughty necks? Shouldn’t He come to Jerusalem and destroy them rather than go meekly to the cross? Isn’t it time for Him to put a stop to the world’s mocking of Him, and silence the lies that are spoken in His name in the churches?
One day, Jesus the King will do these things. He will judge the rebellious. And if He did it today He would not be cruel, but just.
And yet, He doesn’t come to Jerusalem that way, in righteous anger and vengeance. “Fear not, daughter of Zion,” says the prophecy, “Behold, your King is coming, sitting on a donkey’s colt!” Instead of saying, “Your King is coming to give you what you deserve for your rebellion,” it says, “Fear not, Daughter of Zion.”
Jesus the King isn’t coming to make war on the people who have rebelled against Him. If He did, who would stand? Even His disciples were days away from abandoning Him; Peter was going to deny Him as his Lord and King.
Instead Jesus the King comes in peace. That is the significance of His riding on a donkey instead of a warhorse. He is coming in peace toward the chief priests and Pharisees, toward the crowds that chose Barabbas; in peace toward His disciples, in peace toward this crowd chanting “Hosanna”. He also comes in peace toward you and me, though we have also rebelled against Him.
He doesn’t come so that we can continue to rebel, make no mistake. But He comes to forgive our rebellion by shedding His blood.
That’s why He doesn’t reject the praises of this crowd. When they call Him their King He accepts it with joy. He doesn’t cast away His people.
They have all rebelled and failed Him in the past and all of them will prove disloyal again in a few days. Yet He lets them praise Him as their King, just as He accepts it when we call Him King and Lord and praise Him. He doesn’t hold against us our past rejection and treachery. When we turn in repentance, wanting to sin no more, believing that this King will be gracious to us, He receives us as His people. He forgives our rebellion and remembers it no more.
He does this because He is what the crowd calls Him. He is the blessed, salvation-bringing King who comes in the Name of the Lord. Jesus comes in His Father’s name to do His Father’s will. He has not come to make a name for Himself, but to do the will of God. And the Father’s will is not that Jesus destroy us rebels, but that He bear our sins.
Matthew’s Passion story makes this clear. In Gethsemane, Jesus prays, “My Father, if this cannot pass from Me unless I drink it, Your will be done.” (Matt. 26:42) The cup Jesus had to drink is the cup of God’s wrath against our sin. And when He was later arrested, and one of the disciples tried to save Him, Jesus told him that the Scriptures required that His suffering on the cross “must be so” (Matt. 26:54).
Jesus is the King who comes in the Name of the Lord, the King who comes to do God’s will. And the will of God is that His Son bear His wrath against us.
Jesus accomplishes this will of the Lord. Hanging on a cross under the inscription, “The King of the Jews”, Jesus cries out with a loud voice, “My God, my God, why have You forsaken Me?” That is the kind of King Jesus is. He doesn’t come to administer God’s damnation, to wreak vengeance on us, as we deserve. He is coming so that the Father’s vengeance may fall upon Him for our sakes.
That’s why the crowd waves palm branches before Him and He does not reject it. Palm branches mean joy and victory. Jesus comes to bring His people joy through His grief and agony. He comes to bring the people of His Kingdom victory through His loss. The joy He brings is the joy of being justified before God. He gives this joy when, after being cursed for our sins, He rises for our justification (Rom. 4:25). And the victory He wins is over death and Satan. He strips them of their power by once and for all paying the ransom and debt that releases us from their ownership.
This is why John cries out: “Fear not, Your King is coming.” Our King is not someone that terrified sinners should dread. We should go out to meet Him shouting “Save us,” and rejoicing that He is the King who comes in the Lord’s Name. He comes to do the will of God, and God’s will is to save us from our sins. That is why He came to Jerusalem.
He comes for the same reason now: to absolve us of rebellion and treachery; to speak to us the words of Spirit and life; to give us His holy Body and Blood, which cleanses us from sin and delivers us from death.
And when our King comes again in His glory and majesty to judge, we will also not be afraid of Him then. He is the King who loved us and gave Himself for us, even to the death of the cross!
Lord, when Your glory I shall see,
And taste Your kingdom’s pleasure,
Your blood my royal robe shall be,
My joy beyond all measure.
When I appear before your throne,
Your righteousness shall be my crown
With these I need not hide me.
And there in garments richly wrought,
As your own bride shall we be brought
To stand in joy beside You.
LSB 438 st. 4
Soli Deo Gloria
St. Peter Lutheran Church
April 3, 2015
“When it all falls apart.”
How lonely sits the city
That was full of people!
How like a widow she has become
She who was great among the nations!
She who was a princess among the provinces
Has become a slave.
The city is a charred ruin, smoking, full of ashes. The walls have been broken down. Dead bodies lie scattered on the streets, cut open by swords, burned with fire, emaciated by hunger. Here and there someone passes by wailing over lost loved ones, covering their nose to escape the stench. And at the top of the hill overlooking the city one fire still burns. The pride and joy of Jerusalem, the temple of the Lord, is on fire. The enemy soldiers have stripped it of all its precious things—its gold and silver, its furnishings. They have marched into the holy place, into the very presence of the Lord, and desecrated the sanctuary. Now they are gone, leaving behind the fire and smoke as the temple of the Lord burns to its foundations.
This is what Jeremiah is writing about in Lamentations. It is hard for us to grasp how terrible a fall the city of Jerusalem endured in the days around 500 B.C. It was one of those things that no one believes will happen until it does, one of those things that we imagine God won’t allow.
Jerusalem was a princess, a queen among cities. She had been honored by the God of the whole earth when He put His temple there. This is my resting place forever; here I will dwell, for I have desired it (Psalm 132:14).
What happened? The princess has become a slave, a mourning widow. Her streets are deserted and her glory has departed. Her young men have been massacred and taken away as slaves. The women have been carted off. The city is a smoldering ruin. How did this happen to God’s most-favored city?
The princess among the provinces became a harlot. The queen became a whore. Jerusalem multiplied sin and rebellion against God. She turned aside to false gods and walked in the ways that seemed right in her sight instead of obeying the law of the Lord.
Jerusalem sinned grievously
Therefore she became filthy.
All who honored her despise her
For they have seen her nakedness.
She herself groans
And turns her face away.
Her uncleanness was in her skirts
She took no thought of her future,
Therefore her fall is terrible
She has no comforter.
“O Lord, behold my affliction
For the enemy has triumphed.”
This is what happens when we receive the wages for our sins. “The wages of sin is death” (Romans 6). Dear Christians, we never get away with our sins. We always reap their bitter harvest. The Lord our God is a jealous God, punishing the children for the sins of the fathers to the third and fourth generation of those who hate Him. The Lord in the midst of Jerusalem, in our midst, is a just and righteous God. He does not play favorites. When His own people sin and are unfaithful to Him, He judges them, even if they are called by His name and have His holy things in the midst of them.
The destruction of Jerusalem is a picture of our own personal calamities that come upon us because of our sins. Our lives fall apart. Our plans fail. Our spouse leaves. We are laid at the gates of death. How often do these things happen because we have rebelled against the Lord? Even when they happen with no apparent sin of ours, there are always sins in us which God must chasten.
And what happens in individual lives because of sin often happens among groups of people; churches come under God’s judgment too. Didn’t it strike a little close to home to hear
The roads to Zion mourn
For none come to the festival
All her gates are desolate
Her priests groan…
Doesn’t that sound more than a little familiar? Why are the pews vacant on the festival days of the church year? Why do we not hear the sounds of children in this once burgeoning congregation? Why do we bury so many and baptize so few? Can it be that God’s judgment is not in these things at all?
And when God’s judgment comes, the false gods which we turned to for comfort become useless. They provide no relief from the punishment of God. The friends and helpers we looked to desert us or turn out to be our enemies.
But the visitations of God’s judgment that come upon us in this life are not the greatest things to fear. When we experience judgment from God in this life He is calling us to repentance. Though our fall may be grievous there is still hope, because our God is merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love (Psalm 103).
What is to be feared is the final judgment of God that will come upon unbelievers and hypocrites, that is, false believers. Then there will be no more comfort, only weeping and gnashing of teeth. Then the fall is irreversible. God will no longer comfort or restore but cast away forever those who did not repent and believe in Christ.
That indeed is the due, proper, and just reward for our sins—not only for our conscious rebellion against God but for the sin in which we were born and which dwells within us. Not simply to have our plans and pleasures taken away for a time, but to be forever cast away and rejected from God’s face. That is truly what we deserve for having served other gods like a harlot. And that is most certainly what we will receive for our sins unless we repent—an eternity of desolation, terror, grief, and pain with no hope of relief.
When the lights are put out at this Tenebrae service, it is a picture of the extinguishing of hope that is the due reward for our sins.
Is it nothing, all you who pass by?
Look and see
If there is any sorrow like my sorrow
Which was brought upon me,
Which the Lord inflicted
On the day of His fierce anger.
What can we say to this?
The Lord is in the right
For I have rebelled against His Word.
But our God does not forsake us in the day of our calamity, in the day of desolation, in the day of judgment, the way that false gods do. When we are soiled and unclean like a harlot, the Lord does not abandon us.
Instead He becomes like we are. Our misery and sorrow becomes His misery and sorrow. He proposes marriage to us in the depths of our destruction, at the bottom of our fall.
Look and see
If there is any sorrow like my sorrow
Which was brought upon me,
Which the Lord inflicted
On the day of His fierce anger.
Jesus has taken those words out of our mouths and put them in His own. The terrible sorrow of being forsaken by God, of being swallowed up by the darkness, is His. He redeems us from the pit of despair and hell by going down into it Himself. He loves us when we are ruined. He takes our ruin upon Himself.
As the lights are put out during the Tenebrae service, we are reminded that it is not we who are brought to nothing and destroyed by our sins. It is our Lord Jesus. We are not forsaken to the darkness of hell. He is, when He cries out, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”
He is brought to nothing and destroyed for our sins. He is ruined for us, and then raised from the dead for us.
When it all falls apart, this is what holds us together, or better, what brings us back from the dead.
We are all falling apart. We are dying. The ugliness of sin can’t be hidden forever. Sooner or later it shows itself in all of us—in the lines in our faces, in the aching of our bones. We can’t escape the judgment of God. It catches up to us, and shows us to be what we are—sinners doomed to death.
But in the midst of chastisement for our sins, in the midst of our lives falling apart, in the midst of our dying, the broken, ruined form of Jesus on the cross gives us hope. A living hope that does not perish, spoil, or fade.
The Lord has taken our destruction as His own. His light was put out. Then His invincible life overcame the darkness. His righteousness overcame our sin. He rose from the dead.
Everything is not going to get better in this world. This world is judged, condemned, and this judgment comes over us too.
But life is ours in the midst of this judgment. When everything is falling apart, we belong to the one who has already gone to the lowest depths, the deepest darkness, and risen into eternal brightness and joy.
Soli Deo Gloria