Holy (Maundy) Thursday

(Audio)

John 13:1-15, 34-35; 1 Corinthians 11:23-32; Exodus 12:1-14

 

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

What is the focus of Holy Thursday? Is it Jesus’ example of washing His disciples’ feet? Is it His institution of the Lord’s Supper? Is it His New Commandment, that we should love one another? Or is it His betrayal and arrest in Gethsemane?

Yes. All of these belong to this holy night. All of them matter. And yet, beneath them all, running through them all, holding them all together, is one thing: the love of Jesus. Not a vague or sentimental love, but a love that acts, a love that serves, a love that gives itself away.

It may surprise you to remember that in John’s Gospel there is no account of the institution of the Lord’s Supper. Instead, John gives us something else: he shows us Jesus kneeling on the floor, taking a towel, and washing His disciples’ feet. And he gives us these words: “Having loved His own who were in the world, He loved them to the end.” That is the focus of this night. Jesus loved them to the end.

The humility of Jesus washing His disciples’ feet is the humility of One willing to go as low as necessary. This is not merely an example of politeness or ceremony. It is not about establishing a ritual that we must imitate outwardly, as though the act itself were the point. The point is the love that stoops, the love that serves, the love that does not count the cost. For what good is the washing of feet, or hands, or head, if the heart remains unclean? Jesus does not come merely to remove the dust of the road. He comes to cleanse sinners. He comes to wash away sin. And He will do so not with water alone, but with His own blood. And so the One who kneels before His disciples this night is the same One who will hang upon the cross tomorrow. The washing of feet is not separate from His sacrifice; it is a glimpse of it. It is love in action, pointing forward to love poured out unto death.

This is why the New Commandment that Jesus gives is truly new, even though it sounds so familiar: “Love one another.” That command had been given long before. “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” But now something has changed. Now love has taken on flesh. Now love has a face. Now love has been fulfilled in Jesus Christ.

The Old Commandment demanded perfect love, complete, total, unwavering love for God and neighbor in every thought, word, and deed. And because of our sin, that commandment exposed us. It showed us our failure. It held us in bondage, because it demanded what we could not give. But Jesus has given it. He has fulfilled it. He has loved the Father perfectly. He has loved His neighbor perfectly. He has loved you perfectly, unto death, even death on a cross. “Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends.” And Jesus does not stop there. He lays down His life not only for His friends, but for His enemies. For sinners. For you.

And so now the commandment is new, not because the words have changed, but because the source has changed. “Love one another, as I have loved you.” The love with which you are commanded to love is not your own. It is His. This is what makes the commandment no longer a burden that crushes you, but a gift that fills you. Jesus does not simply tell you to love; He gives you His love. He pours it into you. He makes you partakers of it. If you receive Jesus’ love, then you are like one standing at an ever-flowing spring. You do not have to manufacture love from within yourself. You are given it, constantly, abundantly. And what that love does is what it has always done: it gives, it serves, it pours itself out for others.

That is what we see tonight. The eternal Son of God rises from supper, lays aside His garments, takes a towel, and kneels before His creatures. The King of the universe stoops to wash dirty feet. He thinks nothing of Himself, but only of those whom He loves. This is what His kingship looks like. On Palm Sunday, He entered Jerusalem as King, to shouts of praise. But tonight, He shows us the true nature of His kingdom. It is not a kingdom of power and glory as the world understands it. It is a kingdom of self-giving love. A kingdom where the King serves His subjects. A kingdom where the Lord becomes the servant.

And this same love is given to you in His Supper. Here, Jesus takes the bread and wine of the Passover and fulfills them. The lamb whose blood once marked the doorposts, so that death would pass over, now gives way to the true Lamb. “This is my body, which is for you. This cup is the new covenant in my blood, shed for you for the forgiveness of sins.”

Do you hear it? For you. The same Jesus who kneels with a towel now gives Himself as food and drink. The same Jesus who will hang upon the cross now places into your mouth the very body given and the very blood shed for you. This is not an abstract love. This is not a distant love. This is a love that comes to you, touches you, feeds you, forgives you. A King with a towel. A King with a cross. A King with a supper. All for you.

And so tonight, we receive Him. We receive His service. We receive His cleansing. We receive His love. And in receiving His love, we are drawn into it. “By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” Not a love that originates in you, but a love that flows through you. A love shaped by the cross. A love that serves, forgives, bears burdens, and endures. This is the love of Jesus for all people. A love that stoops. A love that suffers. A love that gives everything. And He loves you to the end.

Tomorrow, we will behold that love lifted up on the cross. And soon, we will rejoice in that love victorious over the grave. But tonight, we see it here, in the basin and the towel, in the bread and the cup, in the command to love as we have been loved.

Who could ever have imagined such love? Who could have conceived of a King like this? Glory be to You, O Christ, our Lord, our Servant, our King. Glory be to You, our Lamb, who was slain, and whose love never ends.

In the + Name of Jesus. Amen.

Palmarum - The Second Sunday in Passiontide (Palm Sunday)

(Audio)

Matthew 26:1 – 27:66; Philippians 2:5-11; Zechariah 9:9-12; Matthew 21:1-9

 

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

Palmarum is both the Second Sunday of Passiontide and the beginning of the holiest week of the Church’s Year of Grace. The liturgy and the Propers for this day are filled with drama, joy and sorrow, praise and rejection, triumph and suffering woven tightly together. Even the most stoic among us may find our eyes drifting downward, our hearts uneasy, perhaps even stirred to tears. For on this day, we are not given a single moment to contemplate, but the whole sweeping account of our Lord’s Passion set before us at once.

We begin with joy. Our Lord Jesus enters Jerusalem, the City of Peace, as the Passover approaches. The crowds greet Him with shouts of praise: “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is He who comes in the Name of the Lord!” Garments are spread on the road, palm branches laid before Him. Here is their King, their long-awaited Messiah. Surely now He will deliver them, overthrow their enemies, restore the throne of David, and establish a kingdom of power and glory.

But this is not the first time the crowds have sought to make Jesus their king. After He fed the five thousand with five loaves and two fish, they rushed to seize Him, to force Him into kingship. And when Jesus later confronted them, He exposed their hearts: they sought Him not because they believed, but because they had eaten their fill. They wanted a king who would satisfy their desires, meet their expectations, and serve their purposes.

And so it is on this day. Some voices that cry “Hosanna!” will soon cry “Crucify Him!” Some of the crowds that welcome Him will reject Him. The praise of Palm Sunday gives way quickly, shockingly, to the hatred of Good Friday. For Jesus is indeed a King, but not the kind of king they want.

He comes not on a war horse, but on a donkey, lowly, humble, gentle. He does not wear royal robes of splendor, but is stripped, scourged, and covered in His own blood. He does not receive a crown of gold, but a crown of thorns pressed cruelly into His head. To the eyes of the world, Jews and Gentiles alike, the Sanhedrin, the Romans, even His own disciples, this King appears weak, pitiful, defeated. And yet, the inscription above His head speaks the truth: “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews.” The chief priests protest, but the governor answers firmly, “What I have written, I have written.” The world may mock Him, but His kingship stands.

Dearly beloved people of God, having eyes, we often do not see. Having ears, we do not hear. There is only one Law of God: love. Love that seeks not its own, but the good of another. To love God is to place Him above ourselves. To love our neighbor is to place them before ourselves. This is the Law fulfilled. And this is precisely what we fail to do.

We want a king who serves us on our terms. We want blessings that fit our desires, solutions that match our expectations. We grumble when God’s gifts come to us in ways we do not understand or appreciate. Like children standing before a full pantry and crying, “There is nothing to eat,” we overlook the abundance set before us because it is not what we crave. So we chase after other kings, comfort, success, pleasure, control. Yet none of these satisfy. They promise much, but deliver little. Like empty calories that leave the body weak and weary, the things of this world leave us drained, burdened, and still in bondage.

But you, O people of God, have a true King. King Jesus rules by serving. He reigns not by taking, but by giving. He has taken on your flesh, humbled Himself, and become obedient, even to death on a cross. This is not weakness. This is divine love in its fullest expression. This is your King, who lays down His life for you, to free you from sin, death, and the power of the devil.

And this King still serves you. He comes to you even now, not in outward splendor, but in humble means. He stoops down to you in His absolution, speaking forgiveness into your ears and restoring you to the purity of your Baptism. He comes in His Word, living and active, proclaiming His victory over sin and death. And He comes to feed you. Today, as two children receive the Lord’s Supper for the first time, we are given a beautiful picture of this truth. For what is Holy Communion but the coming of your King to serve His people?

Do we not sing the very words of Palm Sunday each time we gather at this altar? “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is He who comes in the Name of the Lord!” And does He not come, truly come, humbly, hidden under bread and wine? Here is your King, not distant or removed, but present for you. Here He gives you not earthly bread alone, but His own body and blood, the very price of your redemption.

This is how Palm Sunday and Good Friday are bound together. The One who is welcomed with palms is the same One who goes to the cross. The One who is praised is the One who is sacrificed. And the One who is sacrificed is the One who now gives Himself to you as food and drink for eternal life.

“Behold, your King is coming to you; righteous and having salvation is He, humble…” And so He comes, still humble, still hidden, still giving Himself for you. And where the King is, there is His Kingdom. Here, at this altar, heaven touches earth. With angels and archangels and all the company of heaven, we join in the eternal song. At the Name of Jesus, every knee bows, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confesses that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

So rejoice, O people of God. Your King has come. Your King has died. Your King is risen. And your King comes to you still, here, now, for you, to forgive, to renew, to strengthen, and to save. Oh, what a King our Jesus is.

In the + Name of Jesus. Amen.

Wednesday in Judica - The Fifth Week of Lent

(Audio)

John 3:13-21; Hebrews 10:1-18; Exodus 34:1-10; Psalm 130

 

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

Confession & Absolution: Corporate or Individual?

 

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

Should sins be confessed and absolved corporately or individually? The answer, of course, is “Yes.” In fact, Luther actually speaks of the confession of sins in three distinct settings: 1) private confession to a pastor; 2) confession to God alone; and 3) confession made to a fellow Christian. Each of these settings can be found in Scripture, indeed even in the Mosaic and Levitical law of the Old Testament.

The Levitical law prescribed five types of sacrifices or offerings: 1) Burnt Offering – a whole burnt offering of a bull, sheep, goat, dove, or pigeon for the general atonement of sin and expression of devotion to God; 2) Grain Offering – a thank offering of seasoned bread; 3) Peace Offering – a thank offering of unblemished livestock taken from the cattle, sheep, or goats; 4) Sin Offering – a purification offering after having committed sin, intentional or unintentional, and repented, or after having become unclean, in order to purify oneself for re-entering the presence of God; 5) Guilt Offering – a reparation offering of either an animal sacrifice or money in order to make reparations for sin. These sacrifices had both corporate and individual ramifications.

In addition to those periodic sacrifices, once a year, on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, the High Priest would purify himself through ritual washings and sacrifice so that he might enter the Holy Place, and then the Holy of Holies and the presence of God, in order to make sacrifice for the sins of the people. This involved two goats, one of which would be offered as a whole burnt offering before the LORD. Its blood was sprinkled upon the mercy seat of the ark of the covenant. Then the High Priest would lay his hands upon the other goat, symbolically transferring the sins of the people to it and then release it into the wilderness. This scapegoat symbolically carried away the sins of the people to Azazel, which means, “to hell.”

Of course, all of these sacrifices pointed to the unblemished Lamb God would provide, whose holy and innocent blood has cleansed us from our sins and has marked the doorposts and lintels of our hearts that God’s wrath against sin may pass over us. Jesus was the ram caught in the thicket provided Abraham as a substitute for his promised son. We receive all that Jesus died to give us through holy baptism and faith. We are clean, holy, and righteous in His blood. And we return to our baptismal purity through confession and holy absolution, our scarlet sins as white as snow, our spiritual flesh like that of a newborn infant child.

In the Catechism Luther says: “Before God we should plead guilty of all sins, even those we are not aware of, as we do in the Lord’s Prayer; but before the pastor we should confess only those sins which we know and feel in our hearts.” Should sins be confessed and absolved corporately or individually? Yes!

Corporate confession and absolution serve us well as we plead guilty of all sins before God: “I, a poor, miserable sinner, confess unto You all my sins and iniquities with which I have ever offended You and justly deserved Your temporal and eternal punishment.” However, there are times, and likely more than we realize or are willing to admit that, despite corporate confession and absolution, our conscience remains troubled. The words have been spoken, the absolution pronounced, and yet the heart still whispers, “But what about this sin? What about that one?”

And there the devil goes to work. He accuses. He presses. He dredges up what God has already buried. He would either drive you to despair, “God could never forgive this,” or to self-justification, “It’s not really that bad.” Either way, he wins. Either way, Christ is pushed aside.

That is why we should make use of individual confession and absolution, not only when we feel the crushing weight of our sin, but even when we do not. For the Christian life is not lived by feelings, but by faith in the promises of God.

Listen again to the words of Psalm 130: “If You, O LORD, should mark iniquities, O Lord, who could stand? But with You there is forgiveness, that You may be feared.” Notice that: with You there is forgiveness. Not uncertainty. Not possibility. Not probability. Forgiveness.

And where does the Lord place that forgiveness for you? Not in the air. Not in your imagination. But into words, spoken, external, concrete words, so that you may hear it with your own ears and believe it.

This is what Hebrews proclaims: that the sacrifices of old were only a shadow, but Christ has offered Himself once for all. “By a single offering He has perfected for all time those who are being sanctified.” There is no more sacrifice for sin. It is finished.

And yet, the benefits of that once-for-all sacrifice must still be delivered to you. That is what absolution is. It is not a new sacrifice. It is not a work you perform. It is the delivery of Christ’s finished work to you, personally, individually, by name.

In corporate confession, you hear that forgiveness with the whole congregation. And thanks be to God for that! But in private confession, that same forgiveness is spoken directly to you, into your particular sin, into your particular struggle, into your particular conscience. There is a great comfort in being able to say out loud what burdens you, to stop hiding, to stop excusing, to stop pretending, and simply confess. No polishing. No spinning. Just the truth. And then to hear, just as plainly and clearly: “I forgive you all your sins in the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” Not “God might forgive you.” Not “God will forgive you if…” But “I forgive you.” As certain and sure as if Christ Himself were standing before you, which, in fact, He is, hidden under the voice of His called servant. This is not a burden. It is a gift. Luther even says that private confession should not be forced, but neither should it be despised. For what is it, after all, except the Gospel spoken to you individually?

And this brings us back to where we began. Should sins be confessed and absolved corporately or individually? Yes. Both are gifts. Both are necessary. Both flow from the same cross, the same blood, the same mercy of God in Christ.

So do not neglect the corporate confession of the Church. There, together, you stand as beggars before God and receive His rich mercy. But neither neglect the treasure of private confession and absolution. When your conscience is troubled…when a particular sin clings to you…when you need to hear, not just that sinners are forgiven, but that you are forgiven, then come. Come and speak. Come and confess. Come and receive. For Christ has already carried your sin into the wilderness. He has already borne it to the cross. He has already declared it finished. And here, now, He speaks that same forgiveness to you.

In the + Name of Jesus. Amen.

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.