Category: Catechesis

Chad Bird

He suspected it was an ambush. The sweet-sounding invitation to come over and join her on Tuesday afternoon. The smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies wafting through the air. The glass of cold milk sweating on the table. “Have a seat,” she smiled. He did. Polite small talk. He thanked her and ate a cookie. Drank half the glass of milk. Wiped his mouth with the perfectly folded napkin.

“So, you wanted to talk?”

She did. Not about the unseasonably warm weather or her grandchildren’s new puppy. Other things weighed heavy on her mind. She was concerned, she said. There were things he needed to know. Things about someone in the church.

“Oh,” he said.

“Yes,” she said.

Because he just needed to be aware of a bit of this person’s history. You know, since he was the new pastor and everything.

“Oh,” he said.

“Yes,” she said.

He took another bite of cookie. She cleared her throat and began, “Well, Pastor, there’s a person in this congregation who…”

“These are good cookies,” he said.

She was good at what she did. She concealed her frustration. Just an ever so slight tightening of the lips. “Well, thank you,” she said. “So, as I was saying, there’s a person who…”

But again he spoke. “Before you begin, can I ask you something?”

There was that tightening of the lips again. “I suppose, if you must.”

“Are you about to tell me about someone else’s sin? Because if you are, I need you to do something for me first.”

“And what exactly might that be?”

“First, tell me three of your deepest, darkest sins-you know, the ones you’ve been hiding from the world for years, the ones you don’t want anyone to find out about.”

“I can’t do that! Anyway, that’s no one’s business but my own.”

He picked up another cookie. Met her eyes. Chewed and swallowed. Finished off the milk. “So, what I hear you saying is that you are perfectly willing to confess someone else’s sins, but not your own?”

A long silence followed. Finally, she said, “Have I told you about my grandchildren’s new puppy?”

Everyone would rather hear evil than good about his neighbor, says Luther in the Large Catechism. And not only hear, but like the lady in this story, they’d rather speak evil than good about their neighbor as well.

It’s like this: When people hear that God has cast all our sins into the depths of the sea (Micah 7:19), there are always some who put on scuba gear. They dive deep and scour the ocean bottom to bring back up those sins for all the world to see. Their treasure will be someone else’s scandalous behavior. And they won’t be stingy with the treasure. They’ll share it. Invite others to break off little pieces of it and carry it in their pockets to show to others.

If you’ve been one of those whose sins have been paraded around for everyone to see, you know what this does to you. You feel branded, like a hot iron has forever burned the words of accusation upon your skin. And it becomes like a phobia. You see a group of people talking, and if one of them so much as glances in your direction, you assume they’re talking about what you did. It swallows up your identity. It becomes how you think of yourself and how others think of you. You are “that person,” the one who did _______.

Even if you’ve confessed your sin and have been forgiven, every time someone brings it up again, you relive the same hurt, feel the same shame-hot on your face. At such times you start to doubt the sincerity of your repentance. Maybe you doubt whether God has truly forgiven you. Perhaps you even question whether you’re a believer. I know. This is my life and it has been for years. This is my daily struggle as well. And here’s what I’ve learned.

I’ve learned that those sins that people want to throw in our face are signs of grace. They are signs of grace because every one of them is painted red with the blood of God. The crucified Christ has transformed them from emblems of shame into icons of love. They no longer define us; the blood of Jesus that covers them defines us. That blood says that you are a child of God. It says that your Father has forgiven you and His word is the only word that matters. Everything else that speaks contrary to this forgiving word is a lie.

Your sins are not branded upon your skin because Christ was branded in your place. That deepest, darkest stain that still bothers you-Jesus became that for you. He took that sin away and will not give it back. And in its place He gives you adoption into the family of God, a clean slate, and all the riches of His mercy.

Your sins have been cast into the depths of the baptismal font. And that saving sea is fathomless. No diver can plumb its depths. No one can bring them up again. God has forgiven and forgotten them. But He will not forget you. Every day, every hour, He says to heaven and earth, “This is my beloved son. This is my beloved daughter. And nothing, certainly no one, will ever separate them from my love in Jesus Christ.”

You are baptized. Your sins are no more. This is the truth that drowns every lie. The truth trumpeted from the cross of love. The truth of a God who will stop at nothing to make you and keep you as His beloved child.

Chad Bird is a member of Crown of Life Lutheran Church in San Antonio, Texas. His email address is birdchadlouis@yahoo.com

Rev. Jacob Ehrhard

The world loves a good hypocrite. Nothing makes the Twitterverse explode like a Christian who is revealed to be caught up in the very sin he preaches against. “Be true to yourself!” is the world’s sermon-and even better if your true self involves some sort of alternative sexual appetite. Even Christians get downright giddy when a Christian falls into public and shameful sin, and seem to delight in heaping up the shame. Hypocrite!

The reason why the world delights in Christian hypocrites is not because it hates the person, but because it hates the message. When a person cries hypocrisy, he wants to discredit the hypocrite’s message. Which means he wants to discredit Jesus. He wants to say that Jesus’ Word is powerless, His promise empty. He wants to show that Baptism is as much of a farce as the sinner’s crumbling public image. He thinks he has definitive proof that the Church is nothing more than a theater and her fellowship is nothing more than playacting.

Our church speaks to this: “Strictly speaking, the Church is the congregation of saints and true believers. However, because many hypocrites and evil persons are mingled within them in this life [Matthew 13:24-30], it is lawful to use Sacraments administered by evil men, according to the saying of Christ, “The scribes and the Pharisees sit on Moses’ seat” (Matthew 23:2). Both the Sacraments and Word are effective because of Christ’s institution and command, even if they are administered by evil men” (Augsburg Confession, Article VIII).

The Sacraments and the Word of God are effective because of Christ’s institution and command. This is a twofold comfort for Christians. First, even pastors and preachers sin. Sometimes shockingly so. But their sin does not negate God’s Word. It is true because of Him who is the Truth. Second, the Sacraments and Word are effective for evil men. They are effective when the outward mask is ripped away to expose the sinful monstrosity underneath. Love covers a multitude of sins, and greater love has no one than this: that someone lay down His life for His friends. The blood shed on Calvary covers you and buries your sin under Christ’s crucifixion.

And more than that (our Lord loves to give gifts!), these means of grace create an inverted hypocrisy. The world sees us as congregations of sinners. And they’re right. But that’s only an outward appearance. Inwardly, hidden beneath the wreck of sin, is a new creation. “For you have died,” St. Paul writes, “and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is your life appears, then you also will appear with him in glory” (Colossians 3:3-4). So let the world mock our hypocrisy. Christ has born that shame. Turn to His Word, His body and blood, and find hope in that day when Christ returns to reveal the work He has hidden in you.

Rev. Jacob Ehrhard is pastor at Trinity Lutheran Church, New Haven MO.

Rev. Michael Keith

“So, you’re a pastor, eh? What do you do anyway?”

I remember being asked this question by a guy I met only a few weeks after I was ordained. Obviously, you can tell I live in Canada. I remember trying to answer the question by listing a bunch of things that are regularly on any pastor’s “to-do” list each week. After I gave the list the guy said somewhat bored “Oh, yeah. Okay.”

What do you think a pastor does? Some think we only work on Sundays. Some think we sit and pray all day. Some think we go around telling people what they are doing wrong. A pastor is not what a lot of people think he is. A lot of people will go to a pastor seeking advice or counseling for their lives. It can be flattering that people think you have some answers to life that they don’t have. It can be a bit of an ego trip if people come to you seeking wisdom. But let me let you in on a little secret: Pastors have enough trouble trying to get through life in their own life – let alone knowing what is best for yours. Most pastors are not trained as counsellors. Most pastors don’t have any more insight into which career might be best for you than anyone else who might know you. Most pastors don’t know how to fix your relationship with your parents. That’s not really what we do.

The best we can offer is to sit and listen to you. We might help you wrestle with whatever you are struggling with. If the bible has a clear Word on the subject we can point you in that direction. However, a lot of times the Bible does not have a clear Word on some of the things we struggle with deciding in life. We can pray with you and be by your side as you go through life. But we don’t generally have any more insight into how to live life than anyone else.

Now when I get asked the question “What do you do anyway?” I have an entirely different way of answering it. When I am asked what I do as a pastor I answer: “I am a delivery man.”

Pastors are delivery men. More than anything this si our primary responsibility. Everything else is secondary. We are delivery men. It is our job to deliver to you God’s gifts. We do that in different ways – but that is really what a pastor is to do. We preach God’s Word and deliver the Law and the Gospel to you. We teach the Word in Bible study. We baptize people. We deliver Holy Communion to God’s people. We pronounce Holy Absolution. God’s gifts of forgiveness, life, and salvation earned by Jesus are given out in the Word and the Sacraments in the Church. The pastor is the delivery man.

It is important that God’s people know where to go so that they can receive God’s gifts. That’s why Jesus instituted the Church and the Holy Ministry. You go to 7-11 for a slurpee. You go to the Church for God’s gifts. And just so there is no confusion God set up the Holy Ministry so you could be certain that you are receiving the real goods. So you can be absolutely certain that when you go to the Church and go to a called and ordained servant you will receive the gifts Jesus has for you because that is what He has promised. That is why there is this man who is given one job. He is ordained, he is ordered, to do this one job. He is to give the gifts of God to God’s people.

So when you are struggling with guilt and shame, when you are wrestling with doubt and uncertainty, when you feel like God is a million miles away, when you have questions about God’s Word and what it means – go see your pastor. This is what he does. That is why God has given you a pastor. So that He can speak God’s sure and certain Word of love and forgiveness to you. So that he can discuss your questions with you. So that you can hear Jesus speak His words of forgiveness to you in the Holy Absolution. So that He can put Christ’s body in your mouth and pour His blood down your throat so that you would be comforted that Jesus is not far away – but right here with you. This is what pastors are uniquely qualified to do.

So, what do pastors do anyway? They deliver God’s gifts to God’s people through Word and Sacrament in the Church.

It’s a pretty cool job.

Rev. Michael Keith serves as pastor at St. Matthew Lutheran Church and SML Christian Academy in Stony Plain, AB Canada. He can be reached at keith@st-matthew.com.

Josh Radke

What are we celebrating when we commemorate this day of the presentation of the Augsburg Confession by the reformers to Emperor Charles V?

St. Paul tells us that division is a part of this life since the Fall. We should not be ashamed when there is division over the Truth of the Word, but neither do we seek it out. The opening paragraphs of the Augsburg Confession demonstrate this.

Lutherans acknowledge that there are Christians in other denominations, which is why we often speak of the church on earth as being an “invisible church”. We affirm they are Christians despite that many folks do not have the blessing to hear the pure doctrines of the Word taught to them; that they have not heard the Law & Gospel preached rightly. Walther said both in lectures and sermons that where the Word and Sacraments are present — even if not in their purity — God still works salvation out of His kindness and mercy. Our Lutheran fathers said this also in the introduction to our Lutheran Confessions (The Book of Concord, Preface: 20).

Even so, it still matters to be a Lutheran of the Augsburg Confession because that Confession and its Apology profess the fullness of the Truth. Before His passion, Jesus prayed that the church on earth would be sanctified by this Truth, and so we have been through the means of grace — that is the Word and the Sacraments.

The Truth matters, and this is what we reflect upon this day. Jesus Himself said that He came not to bring peace, but a sword; this imagery is repeated in the Revelation given to St. John the Evangelist (Rev. 2:12,16), and when St. Paul exhorts Christians to put on “the *full* armour of God” which includes the belt of Truth around our waist (Eph. 2:14).

The Truth of His Word is how God our Father preserves us when we must contend with the devil, the world, and our flesh in cosmic, spiritual warfare beneath the shadow of the cross. And it is our fervent prayer that God would continue to work in us through his Holy Spirit, to reveal the Truth to us and to our neighbors and family: that we might see clearly our desperate need for redemption and remain steadfast upon the Rock of Truth and our salvation, Christ Jesus, during trials and the evil hour. This is our hope for eternal life, for which we wait patiently, and to which we are anchored (Rom. 8:24-25, Heb. 6:13-20).

Josh Radke is deacon at Hope Lutheran Church in Bangor ME. He can be reached at jradke@hopebangor.org.

Rev. Donavon Riley

I didn’t grow up a Christian. I couldn’t have told you the difference between a Roman Catholic and a Baptist. None of the kids in Mr. Pelstring’s class who attended religion classes at their churches every Wednesday looked like Christians I’d seen portrayed on television or in movies. But growing up in Minnesota, our family knew more than a few Lutherans. Our neighbors, when we lived in Grove City, were Lutherans. One time, they invited us to Christmas Eve service. I didn’t understand why she’d accepted, but after supper my mother drove the two of us across town, past the gun club and snow-blanketed baseball fields, up the little hill to the church.

For a ten year old boy who’d never been to a Christmas Eve service before it was a lot to take in. I remember everyone looking at us when we walked into the church. During the service I didn’t know what was happening. There was singing. The pastor said something. There were decorations. After service, a few people said “Hello,” and “Merry Christmas,” and “Good to see you” to my mom. Then we went home. It would be more than fifteen years until we attended church together again.

In college I dated Lutherans. My roommate was a Lutheran. His friends were Lutherans. That meant whenever I’d go home with them I’d end up in a church. My girlfriends would say, “If I’m going out to have fun with you Saturday night, then you’re getting up to go to church with me Sunday morning.” My roommate’s parents treated me as one of their own, which meant if I was going to come home for the weekend I was going to church. And even though I was an outspoken atheist that was alright with them. “We love you no matter what you are,” they said.

That’s how Martin Luther’s Small Catechism ended up in my hands. I was twenty six years old. I’d just returned from Mexico where I’d volunteered for more than seven months at an orphanage. I’d taught band and choir. I was living on my friend’s love seat – my college roommate’s brother – and had no job, nowhere to be. So everyday after he went to work I’d wash up, dress, and walk down twenty-third avenue in Portland to a coffee shop. I’d read my Bible and play chess for money. Enough to pay for a bottomless cup of coffee and lunch.

That was my daily routine for six months. Get up. Dress. Walk downtown to read, drink coffee, and hustle people at chess. Sometimes I’d grab a book off his shelf to take with me. At other times I’d carry around a book the pastor down the street from our apartment would hand me after church Sunday morning. One book he handed to me was a small, navy blue book with the words “LUTHER’S SMALL Catechism” inscribed on the cover in faded yellow letters.

Hanging around all those Lutherans in college I’d seen the book before, but I’d not read it. So one day when I’d finished reading my Bible and there was no one to hustle I opened up the Catechism. I read quickly through the first part on the Ten Commandments. Then I moved on to the Creed, and that’s when it happened. I read Luther’s explanation for the Third Article of the Apostles’ Creed.

I’d been a Christian of sorts for three years. At first, I’d believed there was a god. I could even work myself up to admitting that the god I believed was there, was a “he,” and “he” was personally involved in my life. That Jesus was my Savior and God took some time though. Also, my first exposure to Christianity had been living with born-again Christians. I lived for almost a year with Charismatics, Pentecostals, and non-denominational types at a mission base in Mexico. And although they’d instilled in me the importance of reading my bible every day. Praying every day. Going to church at least twice a week. There was always an “if…then” waiting to pummel me with a jab and left hook. If you don’t read your Bible, or pray, or don’t go to church, or make changes to your life, or if you get drunk, or smoke, or do drugs, or fool around with women… then you’re not a Christian. For someone like me who hadn’t been searching for God and wasn’t looking to convert to Christianity the “dos and don’ts” of Christian living appeared to be open doors that called me out and away from Christianity. And I took every open door as an opportunity to run and say to God, “I dare you to bring me back in this time!”

That’s why when I read Luther’s explanation that, “I believe that I cannot by my own reason or strength believe in Jesus Christ, my Lord, or come to Him; but the Holy Spirit has called me by the Gospel”, for the first time I felt another Christian was writing to me. This was written for me! I believe I can’t believe… Finally, someone else gets it! I don’t want to believe, but I believe. Now what?

That night after he’d gotten home from work I said to my roommate, “I read the catechism today, and if this is what Lutherans believe I want to be one!” Since then I’ve learned there are plenty of Lutherans who don’t think Luther or his catechisms are too exciting. Not enough to get them excited about being a Lutheran anyway. Not enough to hold them back from chasing after other, what they imagine are better, teachings.

But for me that’s why I’m Lutheran. Martin Luther’s Small Catechism – and the Large Catechism is in many ways even more outstanding. That’s why I remain a Lutheran and why as a Lutheran pastor I’m still excited to put Luther, put his catechism, in other peoples’ hands. I want them to read it so I can read with them, talk with them, teach them, and maybe get excited with them when they get excited by the astounding, life-changing words Martin Luther wrote, that:

“I believe that I cannot by my own reason or strength believe in Jesus Christ, my Lord, or come to Him; but the Holy Spirit has called me by the Gospel, enlightened me with His gifts, sanctified and kept me in the true faith. In the same way He calls, gathers, enlightens, and sanctifies the whole Christian church on earth, and keeps it with Jesus Christ in the one true faith. In this Christian church He daily and richly forgives all my sins and the sins of all believers. On the Last Day He will raise me and all the dead, and give eternal life to me and all believers in Christ.”

More than that, I’m a Lutheran because Luther lead me to the Word of God. He pointed to Jesus. He pointed me to Jesus Christ, to His cross, to His blood and death, to all that God the Father has done for me and all his creatures since the beginning of creation. I’m Lutheran for the same reason Luther was excommunicated from the Roman Catholic church. We believe terrible sinners like us can’t be saved by checking off a daily list of dos and don’ts for Christian living.

Instead, we confess that we can’t believe, even if we’re feeling optimistic and want to. But it’s not about us. It’s not about our feeling optimistic about what we can accomplish today. It’s all about the work of God, the grace of God, that comes to us through the preaching of His Spirit. The Gospel delivered to sinners that says, “Don’t worry, sinner. I call you, enlighten you, make you holy, and keep you in the true faith. I do all that for you. You’re in, not out, and there’s nothing anyone, not even the devil and all his angels, can do to change what I’ve done for you. Now go, be at peace, live, and in the living and the doing and the telling, I am with you always.”

That’s why I’m Lutheran… because I’m a Christian.

Rev. Donavon Riley is pastor at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church, Webster MN. He can be reached at elleon713@gmail.com.

Timothy Sheridan

We Christians are well-meaning people, at least some of the time. Perhaps you’ve been in the situation in which your non-Christian neighbor (family member, friend, or coworker) asks you the question, “Why are you a Christian?” This is the moment that the Apostle Peter wrote about in his First Epistle: “In your hearts honor Christ the Lord as holy, always being prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks for a reason for the hope that is in you” (3:15)! You’ve been through confirmation, and have diligently attended retreats, worship, and Sunday School. It’s as if you’ve been preparing for just these sort of interchanges for years now.

And you do your best, you really do. You wrack your brains to remember all those potentially hostile historical witnesses contemporary with Jesus who attest that He really did live in first century Judea, that He was crucified under Pontius Pilate, and that His disciples proclaimed that they saw Him alive again after His resurrection. You explain that the early Christians would not have faced martyrdom if Christ had not really been raised from the dead.

You said all the right things, you think. But then your non-Christian friend says, “Yeah, but I just don’t agree with what the Church thinks about [in-vogue social issue],” or they parrot the popular caricature of postmodern sentiment which says that what’s true for you isn’t necessarily true for them.

Don’t be too hard on yourself. Apologetics is a useful tool which can help remove excuses for unbelief. But the answer to the question, “Why are you a Christian?” isn’t because the historical facts are on the side of Christianity, even though that’s true.

Christians are made, not through intellectual argumentation, but through death and resurrection. Luther famously wrote in his explanation to the third article of the Apostles’ Creed that “I believe I cannot by my own reason or strength believe in Jesus Christ, my Lord, or come to Him; but the Holy Spirit has called me by the Gospel, enlightened me with His gifts, sanctified and kept me in the true faith.” All who are dead in sin do not have the mind, will, or ability to choose the Savior whose Spirit kills the old sinful Adam in them by washing them in the saving tide of Jesus’ blood and Holy Baptism. No one can be reasoned out of their nature or talked into trusting that the Creator behind the carnage and chaos that by all appearances is the only order in this world is slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.

We shouldn’t be afraid to give a Christian answer to a question about our Christianity. Besides, the logic of faith will never be impressive to a world for which Christ crucified is foolishness and the things of the Spirit of God are folly (I Cor. 1:25, 2:14).

So, why am I a Christian? Sure, it’s true that our Scriptures are inspired and Christ truly rose from the dead. But who would ever choose to believe that? I’m a Christian because the Holy Spirit gave me the gift of faith through His gifts of the Gospel. I’m a Christian because I was baptized into the death of Jesus Christ and was raised to walk in newness of life, and because God nourishes my weak faith with the true body and blood of His Son. I’m a Christian because Jesus of Nazareth is the only one who has ever done anything to save humanity. I’m a Christian out of desperation. I’m a Christian because Jesus says so.

And if Jesus can still make Christians by the simple proclamation of His redemption and by attaching His promises to water, bread, and wine, you can trust that His tried and true means will also work on those who don’t yet confess Him. If He can redeem you, your neighbor won’t be a problem for Him.

Timothy Sheridan is a member of Our Savior Lutheran in Raleigh, NC

Josh Radke

The importance of Pentecost is demonstrated profoundly in the original medieval tales of King Arthur: For on the Feast of Pentecost, the Round Table was begun. Also on this Feast, the Knights would tell stories to the court of their adventures and service, in the name of Christ, in order to edify and inspire. To be made a Knight was a sober duty, full of danger against great evils in service to their neighbors; this vocation required humility, vigilance, wisdom, regular attendance of the Divine Service, and penitent faith. Through Jesus, you have been elected before the creation of the world and given the quest of the cross: the Christian faith. At your Baptism, you received, by the Holy Spirit in the Word, the Name of the Triune God upon you, justification by faith, forgiveness of your sins, and the ability to discern Scripture and rely upon it alone: these are your holy Armor and Shield and blessed Sword for the perilous adventure to the Celestial City.

In St. Luke’s Gospel account, Jesus says to strive to enter by the narrow gate, which is Himself. St. Paul is clear that none can do this because we are by nature blind, enemies of God and children of wrath, dead in our sins. Only by the Holy Spirit, through the hearing of the Gospel, are we given knowledge of our sins, brought to trust in Christ for mercy, made alive as new creations, and able to confess, “Jesus is LORD.” The Greek word used for ‘strive’ is agonizomai. Notice the word “agonize”? The Christian faith is one of contention and struggling-with the devil, with our sin-corrupted flesh, with the world. Our endurance, by faith, against these enemies to serve our neighbor and finish the quest, is from the Holy Spirit too through His work of sanctification.

The devil desires to take Christ from us every day, to devour us like a terrible beast – and not just you but also your family and friends and neighbors. Thus we are drawn by the Holy Spirit to be trained in the Word and the catechism by our pastor and parents; we are filled with the Holy Spirit in order to build up believers and non-believers in our lives with prayers and hymns and works of faith that benefit them.

In the face of suffering, we do not often feel brave. But the Holy Spirit gives us the strength to endure all things, even persecution and death, rather than fall away from the Word, or our Confessions of the Word. Moreover, God gives us that sacred Provision – the Lord’s Supper in the Divine Service – by which He sustains us in His love and mercy as we travel the difficult, narrow road of our faith. While we remain in this world, we hold dear the Holy Spirit by whom we are brought to Christ, and thus able to approach the Father with our prayers. The Holy Spirit intercedes for us also in this, bringing our deepest longings and petitions for which we cannot find the words to the throne of God (Rom. 8:26-27).

During this season of the Church after Pentecost, which reflects on the work of the Trinity as you walk through the valley of the shadow of death in the light of the Word, take comfort: by the grace of God, He who began a good work in you at the Baptismal waters of your salvation, and daily contends for your soul, shall bring His work to completion on the Day of our LORD (Php. 1:6). On that Day, assured by the resurrection and ascension of Jesus, you shall be given all the treasures of the heavenly kingdom upon which we are heirs right now through faith (John 6:47, Rom. 8:12-25): the crown of eternal life (Rev. 2:10-11), glorified bodies like Christ’s (Rom. 6:5), and the inheritance that remains undefiled that shall be revealed with the new creation (I Ptr. 1:3-5). Upon that eternal Day, you and all the saints shall dwell in perfect fellowship, righteousness, and blessedness, with the Triune God in His glory forever (II Ptr. 3:12, Rev. 21).

Josh Radke is deacon at Hope Lutheran Church in Bangor ME. He can be reached at jradke@hopebangor.org.

Timothy Sheridan

If you’ve grown up in church, you probably know that it’s hard to be surprised by the story of Jesus’ life and ministry. We have 2,000 years’ worth of teaching and reflection on the Gospel in addition to our own personal familiarity with it. But here’s what never fails to surprise me: after Jesus ascends into heaven to sit at God’s right hand, His disciples are…happy? St. Luke writes, “And they worshiped him and returned to Jerusalem with great joy, and were continually in the temple blessing God” (24:52-53).

Many times we’re surprised that our Lord’s Ascension should elicit such joy, either in us or in the Apostles. Most likely our puzzlement stems from the popular picture of what Jesus is doing now that He has been hidden from our sight. Scripture tells us that “Now…we have…a high priest, one who is seated at the right hand of the throne of Majesty in heaven, a minister in the holy places, in the true tent that the Lord set up, not man” (Heb. 8:1-2). St. Paul says, “Christ Jesus is the one who died-more than that, who was raised-who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us” (Rom. 8:34).

When we confess that Jesus is making intercession for us, we often envision Him muttering at the arm of a golden throne in unapproachable ethereal light, very far away from us. The Church needs the prayers of our High Priest and Advocate and we rejoice in the gift of the Holy Spirit, given on Pentecost, but wouldn’t things be better if Jesus were still visibly with us? Picturing our Savior as far above and beyond the rest of us seems to say that Jesus can’t be bothered to be with us always, as He promised (Matt. 28:20).

But the problem is really with how we misunderstand Jesus’ intercession. Jesus acts as our Mediator only because He was-and is-among us. In the days of His earthly ministry, He “offered up prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears, to him who was able to save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverence” (Heb. 5:7). From His birth and circumcision to His agony in Gethsemane and His excruciating death on Golgotha, Jesus’ life was one blood-drenched, God-pleasing prayer.

The blood of Jesus speaks a better word than the blood of righteous Abel, whose sacrifice offered in faith to God was pleasing, but in no way as pleasing as the once and for all sacrifice made by our High Priest on a hill outside Jerusalem (Heb. 11:4). Jesus’ blood speaks the word, “It is finished” to us sinners who at present can only see our Advocate with the eyes of faith. Jesus is still with us, interceding with His own blood. He makes good His word by giving it to us to drink on bended knee around the altar. That blood, shed by the One who is both Victim and Priest, still speaks: “Given and shed for you, for the forgiveness of all your sins.”

Timothy Sheridan is a member of Our Savior Lutheran in Raleigh, NC.

Bethany Woelmer

Technology in its very nature is restless. It consists of many techniques, methods, and developments. Its services are always running and running, traveling from machine to the next in an array of impulses that never seem to end. All we have to do is flip a switch, push a button, or pull the handle down, and — BAM — technology reveals to us its splendor of incessant power and glory.

We live in a technological society filled with restlessness. This technological mindset governs our life at times in many ways, whether we realize it or not. We spend too much time fixing things to satisfy us in our accomplishments and to secure a sense of pride in ourselves for having gained another skill. We are geared toward monetary gain, personal success, and popularity. We look toward the world to define us based on the presentation of our own achievements. We try to make a name for ourselves, an identity given only by the standards that the world presents to us as satisfactory. We flee from our real name, “sinner,” only in an attempt to “fix sin” by ourselves while covering it up with distractions and other realms of pride.

We are restless, yet we also find rest in the many gratifications that this world offers. We find rest in the many pleasures of this life that draw us away from the truth and present an array of happiness that only lasts for a short amount of time.

Jesus once said, “Come to me, all you who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” If we dig deeper into the core of our human nature, we find a heart blackened with sin and weary from its terrible effects. If we stop for a moment from the restless running of our life we look behind us to find trails of sin that are etched forever in our history. When we finally rest, we face the Law, which is why we always try to keep on running, yet when we rest we have a wonderful opportunity to taste the sweetness of the Gospel for us, our eternal rest that is found only in Christ.

In this technological mindset of fixing things, we battle against the many forces that lure us into thinking that we can find rest on our own and create our own identity from the world. Christ comes to us instead, giving us the name of Himself in our Baptism and creating faith in us by which we can look to God for rest from sin and suffering. In this world we will have many trials and sorrows, but Jesus calls to us, “Take heart! I have overcome the world.” He accomplished this rest for us on the cross, when He took upon our sin and died the death that we deserve. The resurrection teaches us that in Christ we are immortal beings, created by God and redeemed by Him in the work of His Son who took upon our human flesh. There is no need to “fix” our sinful nature by ourselves, because Christ has already accomplished it. Rather we must learn everyday about what it means to be a Christian, condemned by the Law, yet, at the same time, finding rest in the Gospel by which we are saved.

Before the Cross of Comfort
By Bethany Woelmer

Before the cross of comfort I find rest,
This peace to still my fears with each embrace
Of love divine sent to my weary soul,
Restored by life eternal by God’s grace.

The shame that drags me further to my grave
And teaches me to run and flee from God
Is weariness too burdensome to save
By my own might or by a sinner’s blood.

Christ calls to us, “Come unto Me and rest.
Your cross of suff’ring I for you will take.
Your burdens I will bear and so resist
The devil’s tempting pow’r for your own sake.”

Before the cross of Jesus I find joy
Of vict’ry over weakness, sin, and strife.
Love came to earth, this love that does employ
The means of grace to give us mortals life.

Bethany Woelmer is a member at Faith Lutheran Church in Plano, TX.

Timothy Sheridan

Since Adam passed off the blame to Eve for eating the forbidden fruit in the Garden, self-justification has thoroughly infected us. It rears its head in every aspect of our lives, especially when it comes to accomplishing that which Jesus taught us to do when we pray, “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

You can eventually squeeze an apology out of most people. But notice how often what seems to be a humble petition for forgiveness is qualified with something like, “I’m sorry, but…” It’s just as likely that when you’re supposedly the one doing the forgiving, you’ll manage to slip in a remark like, “I would never do what you just did to me.” In no time at all, you, the initially wronged, will commit a sin of your own, which you justify with something like, “I just call ’em like I see ’em,” as if the scathing remark you just delivered-rather than forgiveness- is the real solution to the problem.

We can’t escape self-justification. It’s embedded itself not only in our choice of words in our daily bickering, but also in the thoughts behind them, which we usually fool ourselves into masking with seemingly respectable intentions. When you ask somebody else’s forgiveness, the reason you qualify your apology with “but the reason I said/did that was because I feel strongly about…” or “I did that because I’m having a bad day…” you want the other person to know that you’re no monster. Your sin is not really as bad as they’re making it out to be. To be honest, they’re not completely innocent themselves, in this or in any of the other thousand situations that have played out like this before. You want to patch things up, but not before the other person comes to appreciate the fact that you haven’t struck out as magnificently as they’re letting on. Actually, they’re blowing things out of proportion. Ultimately, the fault is really theirs.

So goes our day-to-day thinking. That’s why withholding forgiveness is so pernicious. Our Lord warns, “If you do not forgive others their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses” (Matt. 6:15). At first, this saying sends up a red flag for us Lutherans. I thought the forgiveness of our sins was unconditional? If we have to forgive others in order to be forgiven, then doesn’t that mean there are strings attached to this whole salvation thing? So much for faith alone!

Well, consider what we’re saying when we refuse to forgive others. When you refuse to forgive someone who’s wronged you, you have set yourself up as lord over your offender. In your mind, you have the right to withhold forgiveness, as if that person will go unforgiven without your gracious pardon. But the reality is that “in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them” (II Cor. 5:19). Essentially, you’re appointing yourself the judge who distributes grace as though it belongs to you by right. When you hold court in this way, you-rather than God-are the justifier of the ungodly. This is nothing more than self-justification. At the heart of self-justification is unbelief, the original sin, our mortal affliction, the breaking of every commandment.

Which brings us to what Jesus really cares about when it comes to forgiving others. In one sense, He doesn’t really care about other people’s sins. You don’t have to confess other people’s sins for them. No scapegoats need apply when Christ is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. He knows the truth about your sins; He knows your thoughts and motives-the inner workings of your deceitful heart-better than you yourself, despite your outward protestations of innocence. Jesus doesn’t care about the sins of others. He cares about yours.

If you can’t find it in yourself to forgive others, don’t be surprised. In those instances, Luther says to pray for the grace to forgive. That grace, incarnate in the Lamb of God, given and shed for the forgiveness of all your sins, is God’s gracious gift to and for you. That grace is for those who debtors Jesus refers to in the Lord’s Prayer. We’re all debtors, so indebted to the God and His creatures we have violated that we are really worse than debtors-we’re beggars. The most desperate beggar isn’t the one who’s wronged you-it’s just you. But in Christ, God in His grace has paid all our debts. His grace is for beggars like you, and it will never fail.

Timothy Sheridan is a member of Our Savior Lutheran in Raleigh, NC.