Judica - The Fifth Sunday in Lent / Passion Sunday

(Audio)

John 8:42-59; Hebrews 9:11-15; Genesis 22:1-14

 

In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit.

It has become difficult to communicate today, hasn’t it? No matter what you say, someone misunderstands. Words are taken out of context. Tone is misread. Clear words are stretched beyond recognition, while broad words are narrowed to mean almost nothing. And when you try to clarify, you are told, “That’s just your interpretation.” As if meaning itself were optional.

Foolishness. Words mean things. Language exists so that we may speak truth, know truth, and share truth. But in our age, many have been taught that words can mean anything, or nothing at all. And if words mean anything, then they mean nothing. And if words mean nothing, then truth itself dissolves.

Is it any wonder, then, that so many struggle to believe in God? For the God confessed by the Church is a God who speaks. He reveals Himself by His Word. And if words are uncertain, then God Himself is treated as uncertain.

But make no mistake, dear Christian: you worship a God of Word. You may look at creation and perceive that God is powerful. But that He is good, that He is love, that He is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, this you know only because He has spoken. And His Word is no empty sound. It is living and active. It does what it says.

“Let there be light,” and there was light.
“Little girl, arise,” and she arose.
“I forgive you all your sins,” and they are forgiven.
“This is My body… this is My blood,” and so it is.

God’s Word is powerful, not merely because of what is said, but because of who speaks. When Moses asked God His Name, God answered, “I AM.” He is not becoming. He is not changing. He simply is. And because He is, His Word is sure, certain, and effective. Before Abraham was, God is. Before a word was ever spoken, God is. And when He speaks, what He says comes to be.

This is what St. John confesses: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” All things were made through Him. And that Word became flesh in Jesus Christ. To reject Jesus, then, is to reject the Word of God Himself. And this is nothing new. Ever since Adam listened to the serpent rather than to God, mankind has been rejecting the Word and believing the lie.

That is exactly what we see in today’s Gospel. Jesus had said, “If you abide in My Word, you are truly My disciples… and the truth will set you free.” But the people responded with offense. “We are offspring of Abraham,” they said. “We have never been enslaved.” How quickly they forgot Egypt. Assyria. Babylon. Even now, Rome. But their deeper blindness was this: they did not see their slavery to sin.

So Jesus spoke plainly. Too plainly for their liking. “You are of your father the devil,” He said. “He is a liar and the father of lies… Whoever is of God hears the words of God. The reason you do not hear them is that you are not of God.” These are hard words. But they are true. There is no middle ground here. Either you hear the Word of God and believe it, or you reject it and believe the lie.

The crowd did not repent. Instead, they lashed out. They accused Jesus of having a demon. Still, Jesus persisted: “If anyone keeps My Word, he will never see death.” That only made them angrier. “Abraham died! The prophets died! Who do you make yourself out to be?” And then Jesus said it: “Before Abraham was, I AM.” With those words, He claimed the divine Name. He declared Himself to be the eternal God in the flesh. And for that, they picked up stones. They rejected the Word made flesh standing before them.

And yet, Abraham, the one in whom they boasted, did not reject that Word. Abraham believed. There was nothing outwardly remarkable about him. He was an idolater when God called him. His life was marked by both faith and failure. And yet, he believed the Word of the Lord. And God counted his faith as righteousness.

That faith was put to the test in a way almost unimaginable. God commanded Abraham to sacrifice his son, Isaac, the son of promise. And yet Abraham went. He obeyed. And he spoke in faith: “I and the boy will go over there and worship and come again to you.” He believed that God would keep His Word, somehow, even if it meant raising Isaac from the dead.

And on that mountain, the Lord provided. A ram was given in place of the son. Isaac lived because another died. There, Abraham saw the day of Christ and rejoiced. For that ram was a sign. A promise. A shadow of what was to come. God would provide the Lamb. Not a substitute to spare His Son, but His own Son given as the substitute for you.

On another mountain, the Son of God carried the wood of His own sacrifice. But this time, there was no ram caught in the thicket. No last-minute reprieve. Jesus, the Word made flesh, was bound, lifted up, and slain. For you. For your sins. For the sins of the whole world. And when He cried out, “It is finished,” it was not an interpretation. It was not a suggestion. It was a declaration. A performative Word. A divine Word that does what it says. Your sin, finished. Your guilt, atoned for. Death, defeated. This is the truth.

And now that same Word speaks to you: “If anyone keeps My Word, he will never see death.” To keep His Word is not first to do, but to believe. To trust what He says. To receive what He gives. You keep His Word when you hear the absolution and believe that your sins are truly forgiven. You keep His Word when you receive His body and blood, trusting that it is given and shed for you. You keep His Word when you cling to His promises in the face of doubt, fear, and death. And as you live from that Word, it bears fruit in your life, in mercy, in love, in faith toward God and fervent love toward one another.

The world may say that words are uncertain. That truth is flexible. That meaning is up for debate. But not here. Not with Christ. His Word is sure. His Word is true. His Word gives life.

Cling to it. Abide in it. Believe it. For in that Word, crucified and risen, you have life that does not end.

In the + Name of Jesus. Amen.

Wednesday in Laetare - The Fourth Week of Lent

(Audio)

Luke 15:11-32; 2 Corinthians 5:18-21; Jeremiah 17:5-10; Psalm 19

 

Washed in the Blood of the Lamb: The Ten Commandments and Confession & Absolution

Confession & Absolution: What sins should I confess?

 

In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit.

“I, a poor, miserable sinner….” You and I confess this about ourselves each and every Sunday at the beginning of the Divine Service. Those words are not comfortable, and they are not meant to be. In fact, if they never unsettle you, if they never press in on your conscience, then something has gone wrong. Sin should be uncomfortable. That is precisely why we should not soften this language or update it to fit the spirit of the age. If anything, the more out of step it sounds with the world, the more clearly it speaks the truth.

We are, as our Lord teaches us, prodigal sons and daughters. We have taken our Father’s gifts for granted. We have squandered His good creation, His Word, His mercy, in careless and reckless living. And when we say, “I, a poor, miserable sinner…,” we are not exaggerating. We are confessing reality. We are confessing that we have come to the end of ourselves, that we cannot fix this, cannot climb our way back, cannot make things right. And that, dear Christians, is not a curse. It is a gift.

For when the prodigal son “came to himself,” he did not return home with a clever plan to earn his father’s favor. He came empty-handed. His speech, “make me like one of your hired servants,” never even gets finished. His father runs to him, embraces him, restores him. So also with you. When you come to your senses, do not waste time trying to bargain with God or prove yourself. Throw yourself upon His mercy. Trust His goodness. Trust His love.

But then the question arises: what sins should we confess? Before God, we should plead guilty of all sins, even those we are not aware of, as we do in the Lord’s Prayer. The Lord who made us knows us better than we know ourselves. He sees not only what we do, but what we are. He sees the heart, its thoughts, its desires, its inclinations. And that is what makes confession so searching, and so necessary.

As the prophet declares, the heart is deceitful above all things. And our Lord Himself teaches that from within, out of the heart, come evil thoughts, and all manner of sin. This is why Luther’s Small Catechism, in the “Christian Questions and Answers,” begins not with a list of outward actions, but with a deeper question:

Do you believe that you are a sinner? Yes, I believe that I am a sinner.

How do you know this? From the Ten Commandments, which I have not kept.

Are you sorry for your sins? Yes, I am sorry that I have sinned against God.

What have you deserved? His wrath and displeasure, temporal death, and eternal damnation.

That is not comfortable language. But it is honest language. It is the language of truth.

Luther says in the Large Catechism that before God, all must “tuck their tails” and be glad simply to receive forgiveness. That is what confession is. It is not an exercise in spiritual bookkeeping. It is not about compiling a perfect list. It is about repentance, about acknowledging what we are apart from Christ.

And yet, there is also a place, an important and neglected place, for speaking our sins out loud, to another, in private confession. Why is this so difficult for us? Because shame gets in the way. Satan is a master at this. First, he dulls your conscience so that sin seems small, manageable, even justifiable. Then, once it has taken root, he turns and accuses you. He magnifies it. He whispers: “If anyone knew this about you… If the pastor heard this… If God really saw this…” And so you hide. You keep it buried. But unconfessed sin does not die in the darkness. It grows.

You may try to deal with it. You may try to excuse it, justify it, forget it. And perhaps for a time, it seems to fade. But then it returns, unbidden, accusing you, troubling you, weighing on your conscience. St. Jerome once compared unconfessed sin to a hidden wound: if a sick man is ashamed to show his injury to the physician, how can the medicine heal what is not revealed? So it is with sin. A wound that is hidden cannot be treated. Private confession brings that wound into the light. Not to shame you, but to heal you.

And here is something you must hear clearly: there is no sin so ugly, so shocking, so unbelievable that it has not been confessed before. You are not the exception. You are not beyond the reach of Christ’s mercy. What feels monstrous and isolating to you is, in truth, part of the common brokenness of mankind.

In private confession, the pastor listens, not as a judge, but as one called to speak for Christ. He applies the Law honestly, so that sin is not excused or minimized. But then, once sin is confessed, he does what he has been sent to do: he absolves. And that absolution is not a vague hope. It is not a general statement floating somewhere out there. It is concrete. It is personal. It is spoken directly to you: “I forgive you all your sins…” This is the Gospel applied. What Christ won on the cross is delivered into your ears, into your conscience, into your very life.

And you need not fear. The pastor is bound by the seal of the confessional. What is confessed remains there. More than that, it is not merely the pastor who hears you. It is Christ Himself. And it is Christ Himself who forgives you.

Consider how Scripture speaks of that forgiveness. It does not speak in half-measures. It does not say your sins are merely overlooked or set aside for a time. No, your sins are removed from you as far as the east is from the west. Though they were scarlet, they are made white as snow. The Lord blots them out and remembers them no more. He casts them into the depths of the sea. This is what absolution gives you: certainty. Not “I hope I am forgiven.” Not “maybe God will overlook this.” But “I am forgiven.” Here. Now. For this.

And that is why private confession is such a gift. Yes, we have the general confession and absolution in the Divine Service, and thanks be to God for it. But you know how easily the old whispers creep in: “That can’t really apply to this sin… not this one… not me.” And so the burden remains. Private confession answers those whispers. It brings the sin into the light, and then it sends it away. Buried. Drowned. Gone for Jesus’ sake.

So do not let shame keep you away. Do not let fear or pride or habit rob you of this gift. Better to be humbled now, before one man, than to carry that burden until the Last Day. Christ has given His Church this gift for your comfort, for your peace, for your assurance. Use it.

Come. Confess what weighs on you. Hear the words of absolution spoken to you. And go in peace, knowing that your sins are forgiven, not because of who you are, but because of who Christ is and what He has done for you. “I, a poor, miserable sinner…” – yes. That is true. But so is this: “I forgive you all your sins. Go in peace.”

In the + Name of Jesus. Amen.

Laetare - The Fourth Sunday in Lent (Lent 4)

(Audio)

John 6:1-15; Galatians 4:21-31; Exodus 16:2-21

 

In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit.

“The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.” We recite Psalm 23 often, sometimes so routinely that the words lose their wonder. But pause and really consider what they promise: to lack nothing. To be fully satisfied, fulfilled, and complete in body and soul. No nagging emptiness. No restless craving. No aching void that nothing in this world can fill. Most of us can scarcely imagine such a life. We live on the other side of that promise, in a world, and in hearts, marked by deep, persistent hunger.

We are a hungry people. Physically, yes, we grow anxious when the pantry runs low or the paycheck is delayed. But our hunger runs far deeper. We are hungry for meaning and purpose when days feel aimless. Hungry for love when relationships fracture or loneliness creeps in. Hungry for justice when evil seems to triumph unchecked. Hungry for forgiveness when guilt weighs heavy and our failures replay in the quiet hours. We chase these things relentlessly: new jobs, new relationships, new causes, new distractions. Sometimes we find temporary relief, but often in the wrong places, the wrong people, the wrong pursuits. As Bruce Springsteen sang, “Everybody’s got a hungry heart.” Like Bono, we “still haven’t found what [we’re] looking for.” And like Mick Jagger, we confess we “can’t get no satisfaction.”

Jesus knows this hunger intimately. He sees the crowds trailing Him across the Galilean hillside, weary and wanting, and His heart is moved with compassion. He does not scold them for their need. He does not turn away. Instead, He says to you today, “You shall not want.” He provides all that you need, and far more, for this life and the life to come. His grace is sufficient for you. Yet how often we resist that sufficiency. We think we need excess to feel secure. We convince ourselves that God’s provision is never quite enough, that we must grasp for more to be truly content. But in Christ, sufficiency is abundance. What He gives is not merely adequate; it overflows.

Jesus gives daily bread. Luther reminds us in the Small Catechism that daily bread is far more than a loaf on the table. It encompasses everything belonging to the support and needs of the body: food and drink, clothing and shoes, house and home, fields and livestock, money and goods, a devout husband or wife, pious children, faithful employees and employers, honest and godly rulers, good government, temperate weather, peace and health, self-control, a good name, trustworthy friends, faithful neighbors, and the like. God bestows all these gifts out of pure, fatherly, divine goodness and mercy, without any merit or worthiness in us, even to the ungrateful, even to those who hate Him. In the Fourth Petition of the Lord’s Prayer, we ask that He would lead us to recognize these gifts and receive them with thanksgiving.

And yet, how often we grumble! Like the Israelites fresh from Egypt’s bondage, we look God’s gift horse in the mouth. In Exodus 16, the whole congregation quarreled with Moses and Aaron: “Would that we had died by the hand of the Lord in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the meat pots and ate bread to the full!” They romanticized their slavery, grumbled that the wilderness bread from heaven was not the bread they craved. We do the same. We complain that our daily bread lacks flavor, that our home is not grand enough, our family not perfect enough, our circumstances not ideal. We labor and strive as though life depended on our own hands, as though we must earn God’s favor before He will feed us. What poor, pitiable creatures we are. What a poor, pitiable Church we become when we forget that, apart from Christ, we are nothing but beggars standing empty-handed before a gracious King.

On our own, our offerings are laughably small: five barley loaves and two small fish, barely enough for a single family, let alone five thousand men plus women and children. Not even a crumb apiece if divided evenly. By our own strength and ingenuity, we are hopeless and lost.

But praise God, we are never on our own. Jesus takes our meager provisions, gives thanks, and distributes them through His disciples. All eat and are satisfied. Twelve baskets of leftovers remain, twelve full baskets, one for each tribe of Israel, one for each apostle, proof that the Bread of Life always gives more than we need or could ask. There is no want in His presence. No need to hoard out of fear. No reason to eye our neighbor with envy. “I am the bread of life,” He declares. “Whoever comes to Me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in Me shall never thirst.” He is our daily bread, our Bread of Life, our true bread king. He provides for every need of body and soul. His mercies are new every morning, fresh as the manna that fell each dawn.

That is the first great lesson from today’s readings: Jesus satisfies our deepest hungers with Himself.

The second lesson concerns those leftovers: give them away. Even when you feel pinched, even when you worry there won’t be enough for tomorrow, give. You deceive yourself if you believe scarcity has the final word. In giving, you lighten your load and make room to receive more. Jesus Himself said, “Give, and it will be given to you. Good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap. For with the measure you use it will be measured back to you.” When the Israelites hoarded the manna, it bred worms and stank. But consider the widow of Zarephath: her jar of flour and jug of oil never ran dry all the days Elijah stayed with her. Use what God gives you today, for your household, for your daily needs, as a gift of His grace in Christ. It is sufficient for this day. Give the rest away generously. Do not be anxious about tomorrow; God will provide tomorrow’s bread tomorrow.

And the third lesson brings us to the very heart of the matter: The Bread of Life is present here and now to feed you. In that Galilean field, Jesus took far less than five loaves and two fish and satisfied thousands. Each Lord’s Day in this congregation, He does something greater still. With simple bread and wine, His true body and true blood given and shed for you, He feeds His people with forgiveness of sins, everlasting life, and salvation. These gifts are immeasurable, far beyond what our weak faith could ever demand or deserve. Take and eat: you shall not want. Take and drink: your cup runs over.

In the Epistle from Galatians, Paul draws a sharp contrast between two mothers: Hagar, who represents the old covenant of slavery under the law, and Sarah, the free woman, who represents the promise fulfilled in Christ. We are not children of the slave woman, bound to earn God’s favor through our works. We are children of the promise, born according to the Spirit, heirs with Christ. Our hunger is satisfied not by our striving but by His lavish giving.

So come, you hungry ones, hungry in body, hungry in soul. The Good Shepherd has spread His table before you in the wilderness of this world. In Him alone, you shall not want.

In the + Name of Jesus. Amen.

Wednesday in Oculi - The Third Week of Lent

(Audio)

John 20:19-23; 1 John 1:5-10; 2 Samuel 12:1-15; Psalm 32

 

Washed in the Blood of the Lamb: The Ten Commandments and Confession & Absolution

Confession & Absolution: What is it? Why do I need it?

 

In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit.

The word “confess” is simple and profound. It means “to say the same thing.” When you confess your faith, you say the same thing God has said about Himself in Holy Scripture. When you confess your sins, you say the same thing God has said about your thoughts, words, and deeds, that you have fallen short and have not kept His Commandments.

Jesus said, “Everyone who confesses Me before men, I will also confess him before My Father who is in heaven.” That is confessing your faith. Saint John wrote in tonight’s first lesson, “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” That is confessing your sins. Both are necessary for the Christian life.

So, what exactly is Confession? The Small Catechism answers clearly: “Confession has two parts. First, that we confess our sins, and second, that we receive absolution, that is, forgiveness, from the pastor as from God Himself, not doubting, but firmly believing that by it our sins are forgiven before God in heaven.”

Notice that confession of sins and absolution are two sides of the same coin. You cannot have one without the other. In fact, you confess because the absolution is already there, guaranteed in the blood of Christ. That is why Luther could say that “to confess is simply to be a Christian,” and that every true Christian “would run a hundred miles to hear the words, ‘You are forgiven.’”

We see this lived out in the life of King David. The prophet Nathan was sent by God to confront David with his adultery with Bathsheba and the murder of her husband Uriah. The Word of the Lord cut David to the heart. In Psalm 32 David later testified: “When I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night Your hand was heavy upon me; my strength was dried up as by the heat of summer. I acknowledged my sin to You, and I did not cover my iniquity; I said, ‘I will confess my transgressions to the LORD,’ and You forgave the iniquity of my sin.”

David did not confess in the dark, hoping maybe God would be merciful. He confessed in the full confidence that mercy was already waiting for him. You and I need that same confidence, because Satan never stops accusing. He delights to fill us with dread, guilt, and shame so that we will either run from God in despair or puff ourselves up in proud self-righteousness. That is why the Lord has given His Church pastors. He has not left you alone with your sin.

After you confess, the pastor asks, “Do you believe that my forgiveness is God’s forgiveness?” You answer, “Yes.” Then, laying his hands on your head, he declares: “In the stead and by the command of my Lord Jesus Christ I forgive you all your sins in the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit.” That is not the pastor’s opinion. That is the voice of Christ Himself.

Where does this authority come from? From the Office of the Keys, which our Lord instituted on Easter evening. Saint John records it in chapter 20: “Jesus breathed on His disciples and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you withhold forgiveness from any, it is withheld’.” Christ gave this authority first to the apostles and then, through the Church, to those rightly called and ordained as pastors, for your sake, so that you may be certain that what is spoken on earth is spoken in heaven.

“What sins should we confess?” the Catechism asks. Before God we plead guilty of all sins, even those we are not aware of, just as we do every time we pray the Lord’s Prayer and the General Confession. But before the pastor we confess only those sins which we know and feel in our hearts. The Catechism then directs us to examine our lives according to the Ten Commandments in light of our various callings: father, mother, son, daughter, husband, wife, worker. Have we been disobedient, unfaithful, lazy, hot-tempered, rude, or harmful in word or deed? Have we stolen, wasted, or neglected what God has entrusted to us?

For the past two weeks we have been meditating on those very Commandments. They are God’s holy Law. They do not save us; they only expose our sin. Their purpose is to terrify the old Adam in us and drive us to despair of saving ourselves. That is exactly what happened to David when Nathan said, “You are the man!” David replied, “I have sinned against the LORD.” The Law crushed him. Then the Gospel flowed in: “The LORD also has put away your sin; you shall not die.”

The prodigal son ran home only because he knew there was a home and a father waiting. You and I confess our sins only because we know the Absolution is already prepared for us in Jesus Christ.

Some of you may have been taught that private confession and absolution is only for the really big sins, the ones that keep you awake at night. It is certainly for those sins, and thank God it is! But it is not only or even primarily for those. From the time of the Reformation until well into the twentieth century, individual confession was the normal way Lutherans prepared to receive the Lord’s Supper. People came after Vespers on Saturday or early Sunday morning. They did not try to list every sin; they simply confessed what troubled their conscience, and the pastor absolved them. This practice continued in our churches for centuries.

While private confession has become less common in the last several generations, it has never been abolished. Faithful pastors and congregations still offer it because it is one of the Lord’s most personal and comforting means of grace. When you speak your sins out loud in the presence of another Christian called by God to hear them, those sins are dragged out of the darkness into the light of Christ. When the pastor lays his hands on your head and speaks the words of absolution, you hear the living voice of the Gospel applied directly to you. The burden lifts. The devil is silenced. And you are strengthened for the daily battle against temptation.

This Lent, do not miss out on what your Lord has provided for you. If you have never used private confession, begin. If you have grown rusty in the practice, return. Schedule a time with your pastor. Come with the sins that weigh on you, great or small. Come confident, like David, that the Absolution is already yours in Christ. Come and hear the words you were baptized to hear: “I forgive you all your sins in the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit.”

A Christian would run a hundred miles to hear those words. You don’t have to run a hundred miles. You only have to walk through the church door. Your pastor will be waiting. Your Savior has already paid the price. And the forgiveness is certain, because it is not the pastor’s forgiveness; it is God’s.

In the + Name of Jesus. Amen.

Oculi - The Third Sunday in Lent (Lent 3)

(Audio)

Luke 11:14-28; Ephesians 5:1-9; Exodus 8:16-24

 

In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit.

Jesus describes Satan as a strong man, fully armed, guarding his palace and goods. Jesus acknowledges that Satan exists and that he is strong, even that he is a prince and has a kingdom and a palace. Jesus knows His enemy. He has faced him before, and He will face him again.

But Satan’s kingdom is stolen, and his princedom is a lie. God created the world and everything in it good. Yet within God’s good creation there has been a rebellion. It happened already before humans were even created. Satan and evil were already there when our first parents were made. This was Satan’s greatest triumph: he successfully entered into God’s creation, deceived man into following him, and firmly established himself as the prince of this world, the god of this age.

Satan is a strong man, but Jesus is a stronger man. The Son of God entered into God’s creation and became a man. In perfect obedience Jesus began reclaiming the stolen kingdom for His Father, casting out demons, healing the sick, proclaiming forgiveness, raising the dead, and finally taking all mankind’s sin and guilt upon Himself to suffering and death upon the cross. In His own death He defeated Satan and destroyed the power of death. Then He began the work of plundering Satan’s kingdom, taking back for God all that Satan had stolen.

Every time a child is baptized, every time a sinner is absolved, every time a soul is converted, every time Christ’s body and blood are received in faith, every time the Gospel is proclaimed, Satan is driven back, a piece of his stolen kingdom is reclaimed, and the gates of hell fall a little farther.

But Satan does not easily give up what he believes belongs to him. Scripture describes him as a roaring lion seeking someone to devour. He will pursue the baptized, the exorcised, and the forgiven. He will tempt, accuse, deceive, and entice. And unless the one set free from Satan is occupied by the Holy Spirit, he will return with a vengeance and fury, and the fate of that soul will be worse than at the first. This is the warning that Jesus gives in today’s Gospel.

Jesus compares the exorcised soul to a house that has been emptied and cleaned, but left vacant. The demon goes out, wandering through waterless places seeking rest, and finding none, it says, “I will return to my house from which I came.” And when it comes back, it finds the house swept and put in order. But it is empty. Vacant. Unoccupied. And so it goes and brings seven other spirits more evil than itself, and they enter and dwell there, and the last state of that person is worse than the first.

The point is clear. The exorcised soul cannot be left vacant. It must be occupied by the Holy Spirit. There is no neutral ground in the spiritual battle. There is no fence to sit upon. You either belong to Satan, or you belong to God.

The Pharisees in the Gospel tried to deny this. When they saw Jesus cast out the demon from the mute man, they accused Him of doing it by the power of Satan himself. But their accusation collapses under the simplest logic. Satan does not plunder his own house. He does not cast out his own demons. As Jesus says, “Every kingdom divided against itself is laid waste.” If Satan is divided against himself, how will his kingdom stand?

No, Jesus says, if demons are being cast out, it is not the work of Satan. It is the finger of God. And if it is the finger of God, then something enormous is happening: the kingdom of God has come among you.

That is what they were witnessing. The stronger man had arrived. Christ had come to bind the strong man and plunder his goods. And dear brothers and sisters, that same battle continues even now. The kingdom of God has come among you as well. It came to you when you were baptized into Christ. In Holy Baptism the stronger man entered the strong man’s house and claimed you for Himself. You were washed, sanctified, and justified. You were transferred from the kingdom of darkness into the kingdom of God’s beloved Son.

You are no longer Satan’s possession. You are God’s reclaimed territory. But because you belong to Christ, Satan hates you. The strong man who has been bound still rages. He prowls. He tempts. He whispers lies. He tries to lure you back into the old kingdom of darkness. And this is why Jesus warns us about the empty house.

The Christian life is not merely about being delivered once and then left alone. It is about remaining in Christ so that the house does not stand empty. The Holy Spirit must dwell there. Christ Himself must reign there.

And how does that happen? How does Christ occupy the house? Not by our strength. Not by our discipline. Not by our spiritual enthusiasm. Christ occupies the house through His Means of Grace. He fills the house through His Word. When the Scriptures are read and preached, the stronger man continues His work of plundering the devil’s kingdom and strengthening His people. He fills the house through Holy Baptism, where He first claimed you and continues to sustain you in that covenant. He fills the house through Holy Absolution, where the forgiveness of sins drives away the accusations of the evil one. And He fills the house through the Holy Supper of His body and blood, where Christ Himself enters the house again and again, strengthening faith and fortifying you against the assaults of the enemy.

These are not empty rituals. They are weapons in the war. They are the very tools by which the stronger man binds the strong man and keeps him at bay. Without them the house grows empty. The walls remain, but the life inside fades. And the enemy is always looking for an open door. But where Christ dwells, where His Word is heard, where sins are forgiven, where His body and blood are received, there the house is full. There the Holy Spirit is at work. There the devil cannot stand.

So cling to these gifts. Hear the preaching of the Gospel. Remember your Baptism. Come to confession and receive absolution. Come to the altar and receive the body and blood of Christ. For here the stronger man continues His work. Here Christ keeps Satan at bay. Here the kingdom of God continues to come among you. And blessed indeed are those who hear the Word of God and keep it.

In the + Name of Jesus. Amen.

Wednesday in Reminiscere (Lent 2) - The Second Week of Lent

(Audio)

Matthew 22:34-40; Romans 13:8-10; Deuteronomy 11:8-9, 13-21, 26-28; Psalm 119:97-104

 

Washed in the Blood of the Lamb: The Ten Commandments and Confession & Absolution

The Second Table: Commandments 4-10 – How Then Shall We Live?

 

In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit.

A lawyer asked Jesus, “Teacher, which is the great commandment in the Law?” Jesus said to him, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments depend all the Law and the Prophets.”

Love God; and love your neighbor. These are the Two Tables of the Law. We discussed the First Table last week: You shall have no other gods; You shall not misuse the Name of the Lord your God; Remember the Sabbath Day to keep it holy. Today we turn to the Second Table: Honor your father and your mother; You shall not murder; You shall not commit adultery; You shall not steal; You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor; You shall not covet anything that belongs to your neighbor.

The First Table is rooted in love for God. The Second Table is rooted in the First. If you rightly love God, then you will rightly love your neighbor. And if you do not rightly love your neighbor, that is a sure sign that you do not rightly love God. The two cannot be torn apart.

We can think of the First Table as showing us who God is and who we are before Him: creatures, dependent, redeemed only by His mercy. The Second Table shows us how we are to live before God in relation to those He has placed around us. St. Paul summarizes the Ten Commandments this way: “Owe no one anything, except to love each other, for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law… Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore love is the fulfilling of the law.”

But we must be clear: love is not a vague sentiment. It is not defined by our feelings, nor by the shifting winds of culture. Love is defined by God’s commandments. The Law does not oppose love; it gives love its shape.

As the First Commandment rules the First Table, so the Fourth Commandment rules the Second. “Honor your father and your mother.” Here God establishes the foundation of all authority and good order on earth. Your father and mother are as God to you, not because they are divine, but because God hides Himself behind them. Through them He gives you life. Through them He provides, protects, disciplines, and teaches. “We should fear and love God so that we do not despise or anger our parents and other authorities, but honor them, serve and obey them, love and cherish them.”

Notice: other authorities are included. Parents delegate their authority to others to assist them in their vocation, teachers, pastors, magistrates. Authority flows from God through the estate of marriage and family into church and state. It does not run the other direction. Satan knows this. And so he rages against marriage, against fatherhood and motherhood, against children. He seeks confusion where God has given clarity; rebellion where God has given order. For where the Fourth Commandment collapses, society soon follows. Yet here too the Law searches us. Have we honored as we ought? Have we obeyed gladly? Have we spoken with respect? Or have we harbored resentment, bitterness, pride?

The Fifth Commandment turns us to our neighbor’s life: “You shall not murder.” This forbids more than shedding blood. It forbids anger, hatred, grudges. It forbids the cold indifference that says, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” We are not to hurt or harm our neighbor in his body, but help and befriend him in every bodily need. Our Lord intensifies this commandment. To be angry without cause, to insult, to despise – these too fall under its judgment. The Law exposes how cheaply we value the lives of others when they inconvenience us, oppose us, or fail to serve our purposes.

The Sixth Commandment guards what is most precious in the estate of marriage. “You shall not commit adultery.” Here God protects husband and wife, and the one-flesh union He created from the beginning. We are to lead sexually pure and decent lives in what we say and do, and husband and wife are to love and honor each other in their bodies. This commandment confronts not only outward acts, but wandering eyes, lustful thoughts, crude speech, and the casual treatment of what God calls holy. In a world that treats sexuality as recreation, God declares it sacred.

The Seventh Commandment protects your neighbor’s possessions. “You shall not steal.” Not only burglary and fraud, but every scheme that seeks advantage at another’s expense. Even if the law of the land cannot prosecute it, the Law of God does. Rather than taking, we are to help our neighbor improve and protect what he has.

The Eighth Commandment guards your neighbor’s name. “You shall not bear false witness.” Lies, gossip, slander, half-truths –these destroy reputations and fracture communities. We are instead to defend our neighbor, speak well of him, and explain everything in the kindest way. How different our homes, our congregations, our communities would be if this commandment were taken to heart.

And finally, the Ninth and Tenth Commandments go deeper still. They address not merely actions, but desires. “You shall not covet.” Be content with what God has given you. Rejoice in your neighbor’s blessings. Do not scheme to obtain what is not yours, whether possessions, relationships, or status.

Here the Law leaves no refuge. Who among us can say he has loved like this? Who has perfectly honored, protected, remained pure, spoken kindly, been content? The Second Table silences us. It reveals that our failure to love neighbor is, at its root, a failure to love God. And so Moses sets before the people blessing and curse. “See, I am setting before you today a blessing and a curse.” The blessing for obedience; the curse for disobedience. Left to ourselves, we stand under the curse. For the Law demands, and we have not given.

But this Lenten season directs our eyes to the One who has. There is One who loved God with all His heart, soul, and mind. There is One who loved His neighbor perfectly. He honored His earthly parents and His heavenly Father. He did no violence, spoke no deceit. He was pure in heart. He stole nothing, though He owned all things. He bore false witness against no one, though false witness was borne against Him. He did not covet, but emptied Himself. And for loveless sinners, He went to the cross. There, the curse of the Law fell upon Him.

The condemnation we deserved for every failure of the Second Table was laid on Christ. As St. Paul says elsewhere, the commandments “are summed up in this word: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself’.” And where we have failed, Christ has fulfilled. Forgiven in Him, you are not left without direction. The Law that once accused you now instructs you. As the psalmist sings, “Oh how I love your law! It is my meditation all the day.” Not because it saves us, but because it shows us what love looks like.

“How then shall we live?” We live as those who have been shown mercy. We live in repentance, confessing where we have failed. We live in faith toward God and in fervent love toward one another. We live not to earn blessing, but because in Christ the blessing has already been given.

Love God. Love your neighbor. This is not a new program, not a new movement. It is the old path, the good way. And in Christ, by His Spirit, it is the way in which you now walk, until faith becomes sight, and love is perfected in the kingdom that has no end.

In the + Name of Jesus. Amen.

Reminiscere - The Second Sunday in Lent (Lent 2)

(Audio)

Matthew 15:21-28; 1 Thessalonians 4:1-7; Genesis 32:22-32

 

In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit.

If we are to get straight to the point of this day’s theme, we must learn about faith. Now, faith can be a difficult thing to pin down. Thankfully, Holy Scripture interprets itself and defines faith for us: “Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the certainty of things unseen,” proclaims the preacher to the Hebrews. Notice those words: assurance and certainty. In our common usage, few would include such words in their definition of faith. And yet that is precisely the point. Faith is neither blind nor irrational, as many suppose, even though it does not depend upon verification according to the senses. Neither is faith weak, for it is not a thing in itself. Faith is unconditional trust in that which is absolutely and unswervingly true, the incarnate Word of God, Jesus Christ, who is Truth.

Moreover, faith is not a choice that you make, nor is it a work that you do. You do not choose to believe, though you can refuse to believe. You do not manufacture faith within yourself, though you can certainly think, say, and do things contrary to faith that, over time, will harden your heart into unbelief. Faith is a gift of God’s grace. If you have faith, then thanks be to God for this precious gift. And if you find your faith weak, or even faltering, then repent. Turn from the path that leads to death. Cry out to the God who desires to give you His life.

Further, faith is not quantifiable. You cannot measure it. If you have faith, you have it; if you do not, you do not. And yet we do see faith in the words and deeds of others, in their confession. We often see what appears to be great faith precisely in those undergoing great affliction and distress. We marvel and say, “I don’t know how she does it.” “He just won’t give up.” But we are not given to measure or judge the faith of others. That belongs to God alone.

Faith is not about how much you have. Our Lord says that faith the size of a mustard seed is enough. The question is not quantity, but object. What does faith look like? And in whom does it trust?

It is for this reason that Jacob is set before us in Genesis 32. Jacob was fleeing from his brother Esau, who was coming with 400 men. Jacob sent his wives, his children, his servants, and all his possessions across the river. He remained alone. Stripped of comfort. Stripped of support. Waiting in the darkness for the brother he believed sought his life. And then, as if that were not enough, a Man wrestled with him through the night. Jacob later confesses that this Man was God Himself. Unable to overpower Jacob by ordinary means, the God-man touched Jacob’s hip and put it out of joint. Crippled. Exhausted. In pain. And still Jacob would not let Him go.

What do you do when God Himself seems to be your enemy? Jacob did not curse God. He did not accuse Him of injustice. He clung all the tighter. “I will not let You go unless You bless me.” And God did bless him. He gave him a new name: Israel, “he who strives with God and prevails.” Such is faith: to wrestle with God and yet prevail, not by overpowering Him, but by refusing to let go. To cling to Him in the dark. To trust His promises even when His hand seems heavy against you.

Jacob surely thought he might die, alone in the wilderness, crippled, with Esau approaching. And yet, when morning came, Esau did not kill him. He embraced him. The threat became reconciliation. The terror became mercy. Even Esau’s anger had been an instrument in God’s hand to test and refine Jacob’s faith, that it might produce perseverance and hope.

But the lesson does not end there. In the Gospel, we meet another wrestler, this time not a patriarch, but a Canaanite woman. An outsider. A Gentile. A mother with a demon-tormented daughter. She cries out to Jesus for mercy. And He is silent. She persists. The disciples urge Him to send her away. He speaks of being sent only to the lost sheep of Israel. Then He says words that sting: “It is not right to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs.”

What do you do when God seems silent? When your prayers appear to fall to the ground? When the cancer spreads, the miscarriage comes, the job is lost, the grave is filled? Do you curse God? Do you turn away? This woman does not. She agrees with Him. “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” She confesses her unworthiness. She does not demand. She does not accuse. She clings. She trusts His mercy more than His apparent rejection. And Jesus answers, “O woman, great is your faith! Be it done for you as you desire.”  And her daughter was healed instantly.

What does faith look like? It looks like Jacob limping at daybreak, still clinging to God. It looks like a Canaanite mother kneeling in the dust, pleading for crumbs. Faith is tenacious. Faith is resilient. Faith refuses to let go of Christ, even when Christ seems to push it away.

And here is the comfort: the One who wrestled Jacob and the One who tested the Canaanite woman is the same Lord who wrestles with you, not to destroy you, but to bless you. He wounds in order to heal. He tests in order to strengthen. He delays in order to deepen your trust.

Faith is a struggle. St. Paul exhorts us in 1 Thessalonians to walk in a manner pleasing to God, to live in holiness and honor. Such a life does not come without conflict. The flesh resists. The world entices. The devil accuses. And in the midst of it all, God disciplines those He loves, shaping them through trial into the image of His Son.

But He knows what you need, often quite different from what you think you need. And He supplies all that is necessary to support this body and life, and finally to bring you into eternal life. Even now, He feeds you. Like that Canaanite woman, you come as beggars. Like Jacob, you come wounded. And what does He give? Not mere crumbs, but the feast itself. The true body and blood of the God-man, given and shed for you for the forgiveness of sins.

Faith is the certainty that this is no symbol, no mere remembrance, but the very gift Christ promises. Faith is the assurance that, in eating and drinking, your sins are forgiven, your wrestling is not in vain, your clinging will not be disappointed. And so, when it seems that God has forgotten you, cry out with the psalmist: “Remember Your mercy, O Lord, and Your steadfast love… Let not my enemies exult over me. Redeem Israel, Your one who struggles, O God, out of all his troubles.”

Cling to Him. Wrestle if you must. Plead without ceasing. For He who wounds also heals. He who tests also blesses. And He will not let go of those who, by His grace, refuse to let go of Him.

In the + Name of Jesus. Amen.

Wednesday in Invocabit (Lent 1) - The First Week of Lent

(Audio)

Matthew 5:17-20; Galatians 3:15-29; Deuteronomy 6:4-9; Psalm 119:1-8

 

Washed in the Blood of the Lamb: The Ten Commandments and Confession & Absolution

The First Table: Commandments 1-3 – The Ten Commandments are God’s Holy Will

 

In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit.

God created our first parents in His own image, in righteousness and holiness. God’s will was their will. Though they were free to choose otherwise, they had neither knowledge of evil nor desire for it. The serpent’s question, “Did God actually say…?” introduced something humanity had never known: a will set against God’s will. In that moment, everything changed.

By their fateful choice, they lost the image of God. They became unrighteous, unholy, and unclean, and their children after them. As we confess, we are conceived and born sinful, under the power of the devil, and would be lost forever unless delivered by Christ. There are now only two possibilities: the will of God, which is holy and life-giving, and every other will, which ends in death.

Even after the fall, Adam and Eve still knew God’s will, for His Law was written on their hearts. But now they feared it. They despised it. What was once their joy became their accusation. They regarded God’s holiness as a threat rather than a gift. And so they hid. They attempted to cover their shame. Yet such efforts are always futile. God is holy, and His holiness demands holiness. The alternative is death, not an injustice, but the wage of sin.

Yet God is holy, and God is merciful. The Lord did not destroy our first parents. He called them to repentance. He sought confession. But in their fear, they blamed one another, blamed creation, and even blamed God Himself. Still, instead of judgment, God spoke promise. The seed of the woman would crush the serpent’s head.

This promise sustained the faithful through the generations until the Lord established His covenant with Abraham. From him would come the heir through whom all nations would be blessed. Abraham believed the Lord, and it was counted to him as righteousness. Yet Isaac was not the fulfillment, only a shadow. So too were Jacob, Moses, and David. Each pointed forward to the One who was to come. In the fullness of time, God kept His promise in Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.

Because the Law was given at Sinai centuries after Abraham, some are tempted to think of the Ten Commandments as secondary, perhaps even an afterthought. But this is not so. The Law did not begin at Sinai. It was written on human hearts from the beginning. The Commandments are not a later invention, but the eternal expression of God’s holy will. And that Law is perfect.

It is holy, righteous, and good. It defines goodness itself. When we keep it, we merely do what is required. When we fail, it condemns us. The Law cannot rescue us. It can only reveal our sin, showing us that we fall short in thought, word, and deed.

The Ten Commandments are God’s holy will. Before the fall, humanity lived in harmony with them. After the fall, they became both necessary and accusing. Humanity was divided between those who trusted the promise of a Savior and those who did not. Through Abraham, the promise was narrowed to a lineage. Through Israel, to a nation. Through prophecy, to a kingly line. And finally, to a humble household, Joseph and Mary.

St. Paul teaches that the Law served as a guardian until Christ came. It was given because of sin. It curbs outward evil. It reflects our corruption. It exposes the futility of self-justification. The Law silences every boast so that salvation may be received only by grace through faith in Christ.

The First Table of the Law, the first three Commandments, governs our relationship with God.

The First Commandment demands that we have no other gods. A god is anything we fear, love, or trust above all things, anything we rely upon for help or dread losing more than God Himself. The Commandment calls us to fear, love, and trust in God above all things.

The Second Commandment concerns God’s holy Name. If the First Commandment is kept, the Second naturally follows. But if the First is broken, the others collapse with it. God’s Name is not to be misused, but treated as holy — invoked in prayer, praise, and thanksgiving, and never used for deceit or falsehood.

The Third Commandment flows from the first two. To keep the Sabbath holy is not merely to rest, but to hold God’s Word sacred, and to gladly hear and learn it. To fear, love, and trust in God is to live from His Word, which sustains faith and gives life.

The Commandments are inseparable. The First Table governs our life before God. The Second governs our life with one another. But these cannot be divided. To fail in love for God produces failure in love for neighbor. Sin against neighbor reveals sin against God.

The Ten Commandments are God’s holy will. They answer the question: How then shall we live? Many imagine themselves to be “good people.” Yet goodness is not measured by comparison with others but by conformity to God’s will. To be truly good is to be godly. To be godly is to live in accord with God’s Commandments.

We do not keep them perfectly. But the Christian must desire to. Indeed, the new man created in Holy Baptism does desire this. Yet he is opposed by the flesh, the world, and the devil. Therefore, we must continually return to God’s Word, hearing it, learning it, meditating upon it. The Law accuses, but it also instructs. It teaches us what love looks like.

Let us, then, cling to God’s Word. Let us commit His Commandments to heart. Let us teach them diligently to our children. Let us speak of them in our homes, in our daily lives, in our rising and resting. For blessed are those whose way is blameless, who walk in the Law of the Lord, who seek Him with their whole heart.

And above all, let us cling to Christ, who alone has fulfilled God’s holy will for us.

In the + Name of Jesus. Amen.

Invocabit - The First Sunday in Lent

(Audio)

Matthew 4:1-11; 2 Corinthians 6:1-10; Genesis 3:1-21

 

In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit.

To be baptized is to be born again, or more precisely, to be born from above. This new birth is not symbolic, not optional, not an enhancement of what you already were. It is necessary. For your first birth was already corrupted by sin and death, inherited from your parents and from our First Parents long before you committed a single sin of your own. That which is born of the flesh is flesh, and the flesh must die.

But that which is born of the Spirit is spirit. In Holy Baptism your old sinful man has been drowned and died, and a new man has been raised within you, a man who desires holiness, righteousness, and obedience to God. Yet this new life does not erase the old struggle. Your spirit is willing, but your flesh remains weak, still subject to temptation, still drawn toward rebellion.

And so the Christian life unfolds in tension. Until the resurrection of the body, you live in contested territory. Though redeemed and justified, you still carry Adam’s corrupted flesh. You must resist temptation. You must remain faithful.

But you cannot do this on your own. For if Adam and Eve, created righteous and holy, were overcome in Paradise, what confidence can you place in your own strength? How often the good your spirit desires you fail to do. How often the evil you despise you find yourself committing. Who will save you from this body of death?

The answer, of course, is Jesus. Jesus did for you, and in your place, what you could never do for yourself. He perfectly feared, loved, and trusted in His Father. He fulfilled the Law without fault. He bore your guilt, suffered your punishment, died your death, and was raised for your justification. All of this He did according to His Father’s will, and the benefits of His obedience, death, and resurrection are given to you through Baptism and received by Spirit-created faith.

Yet Baptism does not bring peace with Satan. It marks you as his enemy. We confess this plainly in the baptismal liturgy: we are by nature under the power of the devil until Christ claims us as His own. That is why the Church speaks so directly, why the pastor commands, “Depart, you unclean spirit.” This is no mere metaphor. Scripture warns of the danger of an empty house. An exorcised dwelling left unoccupied invites greater ruin. The Christian is not delivered into neutrality. The Christian must be filled, filled with Christ, filled with His Word, filled with His gifts. And therefore Baptism is followed by conflict.

Jesus Himself reveals this pattern. No sooner had He been baptized than He was driven into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. The heavens opened, the Father declared His pleasure, and immediately the battle began. So it is for you. Temptation is not evidence of God’s absence. It is evidence that you belong to Christ.

Make no mistake: Jesus was not tempted merely to provide an example. Such a view is far too shallow, and dangerous. The devil knows the Scriptures. He twists them. He deceives with terrifying skill. He did so in the Garden. He does so still. No, Christ’s temptation was substitutionary. Where Adam failed, Christ prevailed. The wilderness stands where Eden collapsed. Jesus resists not for His own sake, but for yours.

Consider Satan’s attacks. First, he urges Jesus to use divine power for self-preservation. Bread for hunger. Relief without suffering. But yielding would have been a denial of trust in the Father’s provision. Christ answers with the Word: Man lives not by bread alone, but by every word from God. Second, Satan urges Him to demand proof of God’s protection. Throw Yourself down. Force the miracle. But faith does not manipulate God. Christ answers again: You shall not put the Lord your God to the test. Third, Satan offers glory without the cross. Authority without obedience. A kingdom without suffering. But Christ’s reign is not of this world. “Be gone, Satan.” For this is always Satan’s aim.

In the Garden he began not with defiance, but with doubt: “Did God really say…?” He has not changed his strategy. He still calls God’s Word into question. He still distorts truth. He still flatters the flesh. To Eve he suggested God was withholding good. To Jesus he suggested the cross was unnecessary. To you he suggests sin is trivial, repentance can wait, obedience is negotiable. The shape of temptation has not changed. Your flesh still craves comfort without sacrifice. Your reason still seeks certainty without trust. Your heart still desires glory without the cross.

Genesis 3 is not distant history. It is your daily experience. Like Adam, you listen. Like Eve, you rationalize. Like them both, you hide. Yet the Lord still comes walking. He still calls. He still seeks. He still speaks. And here is your comfort: where Adam fell, Christ stood firm. Where Adam grasped, Christ refused. Where Adam brought death, Christ brought life. Not for Himself, but for you.

Christ is not merely your example. He is your victory. His obedience is yours. His righteousness is yours. His triumph is yours. Which means your confidence in temptation rests not in your resolve, but in Him. When Satan accuses, Christ answers. When Satan condemns, Christ absolves. When Satan tempts, Christ intercedes.

And where does this living Christ meet you now? Not in your own strength. Not in your feelings. But in His appointed means. In His Word, which silences the liar. In Absolution, which destroys accusation. In His Body and Blood, which strengthen faith. The Christian life cannot be sustained apart from these gifts. The devil rejoices when believers neglect them. But where Christ’s Word is heard, Satan is driven back. Where Christ’s Sacrament is received, faith is fortified.

Dear baptized believers, do not despair over your weakness. Your salvation rests not upon your victory, but Christ’s. Return, then, to what is certain. Return to the Word. Return to Absolution. Return to the Supper. For there your Lord still declares: “I forgive you.” “I strengthen you.” “I am with you.” The wilderness has been conquered. The serpent’s head has been crushed. Your Savior has prevailed.

In the + Name of Jesus. Amen.