“Why do you look for the living among the dead?”

Luke 24:1-12

Pastor Tom Johnson, March 31, 2013

The women followed Joseph of Arimathea to see where he laid the body of Jesus. After seeing the tomb where he lay, they prepared more spices and ointments to show their respect and express their grief for their Lord who died. It was early dawn—still dark when the women entered the tomb. It must have been frightening to enter a dark tomb in twilight. It must have frightening to discover that Jesus’ body was missing. And it must have been even more frightening for two angels to appear out of thin air. Their appearance was radiant. They illuminated the tomb where Jesus once lay. The angels see the irony and humor of the situation. They ask, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?”

Who says God does not have a sense of humor? How else do we explain this one-liner from the angels? And what sort of insight do angels bring to us in this well-timed joke? “Why do you look for the living among the dead?” Literally, “Why do you look for that which is living in the midst of those things that are dead?” Or, “Why do you look for the Living One among the dead ones?” With these words, they invite us to imagine how angels see history. They saw Satan and other angels fall from grace and cast out of heaven like lightning. They saw how death entered into the world through our first parents, Adam and Eve. They have witnessed how every generation in human history has had to contend with the plague of death. They know Paul’s words are true in Ephesians chapter two when he says we are all born in trespasses and sins.

For God’s perfect angels, who have never tasted death or will ever experience death, the world is in the truest sense a place that is dying. They look at us, and they see the tragic reality that we live in the midst of death. It is the closest thing to a true zombie apocalypse. The angels who have never sinned—the angels who never die look at our world as broken and disease-ridden with a race of creatures who are the living dead. They see the irony of creatures groping in the dark for that which is dead. They see how often we look for life in the midst of death. They see us looking for pleasure and escape from things that actually rob us of true living. They see us living our lives outside the reality of the resurrection.

Why do we seek the living among the dead? Why do we look to be enlivened by those things that possess no life-giving power? Why do we live our lives as if meaning, happiness, and life can be found in temporal things?

Of course, the angels’ question not only poke fun at the futility of human living and striving for things that will never truly benefit us. Their words also celebrate a  great turn of events that will forever change human history. “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here.” You are barking up the wrong tree. It is not the dead you seek? Jesus’ body can no longer be found in the tomb or among those who have been buried. He is not here, just as he said. Remember how he said he would be arrested, mocked, beaten, and crucified. Remember how he took upon himself the sin of the world—all the evil, temptation, and burden of broken humanity—even death itself. He lived, did good, healed, suffered, and died. But he is not dead. He is the Living One—the source of life and life itself. Death could never have victory over Jesus. Scripture says that “God raised him up, having freed him from death, because it was impossible for him to be held in its power” (Acts 2:24).

The angels’ question reveals God’s sense of humor and his angels who have the privilege and joy of being messengers of such good news. They are also a picture of our lives as children of light. Scripture says, we will shine even brighter than the midday sun (Matt 13:43). And so, we are looking into a mirror of future joy when we look at these angels. It is with radiant smiles and bright angelic eyes that the angels crack this Easter joke. It is with joy and a triumphant tone and energy in their voices that they ask, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?” And because he lives, our place is not with the dead either. Our destination is the great company of the living. We seek and trust in the Living One who is, who was, and who is to come—the one who gives us eternal life.

“He is not here, but has risen.” The Living One has been raised in power. He is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. We come to the Father through him. In him is life. And he is the Life of all humanity.

We don’t need to fear. We don’t need to grope around in the dark. We don’t need to search and journey in futility. He is risen. Jesus is the Living One.

"TETELESTAI"

John 19:30

“TETELESTAI” John 19:30

Pastor Tom Johnson, March 29, 2013

Tetelestai. This word has been found on ancient tax bills, business transactions, and sales receipts. Think of those rubber stamps you see that put the word "PAID" in red to bring closure to a bill or transaction. Tetelestai. “It is finished.” “Paid in full.” “All is accounted for.” “Case Closed.”

He came to give His life a ransom for many. The ransom has been paid. The debt of sin against our heavenly Father has been wiped away. We owe God nothing now except our thanks and praise. If there ever was a time that Satan cried out in anguish, it is now. His defeat is secured. All his accusations are proved false once for all. Tell the world the good news: “It is Good Friday!” Our Lord has cried Tetelestai—“It is finished!”—from the cross. It happened on that hill called “the place of a skull”—Golgotha—Calvary. The skull is a picture of death—unrecoverable life. And what died there is as important as Who died there: our Lord—God and Man—died there. But so did our guilt and condemnation. Just as skin and flesh cannot be put back on a skull to bring it back to life—so the devil, the world, and our sin cannot resurrect our condemnation and guilt.

When you want to return to an old, unhealthy behavior or way of thinking, preach Christ’s one word sermon to yourself: “It is finished”—Tetelestai. I will not go back to what is already dead. That one Word sums up St. Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians, “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come” (2 Cor. 5:17). “It is finished.” When you hear the devil accuse you and condemn you for your sins, preach Christ’s one Word sermon to him: “It is finished”—Tetelestai. That Word reveals the liar that he is. That one Word sums up St. Paul’s words in Romans, “There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (Romans 8:1). “It is finished, Devil. The Lord rebuke you.” God has given us a good Friday to better all our days.

Make all your days good by that same Word. Let us tell our husbands—let us tell our wives—“Tetelestai!” “I have forgiven you! I will not hold it against you any longer. You are free! Your wrong against me has died!” Parents, let us drive that Word into the heads of our children: “Tetelestai!” “We love and accept you just the way they are. The marker on the wall is permanent—but so is our love! You wrecked the family car but you have not wrecked our family. Children, let go of the resentment and bitterness. Grow up! Grow up in the Lord and accept the fact that our God in heaven is the only sinless Father. Let the weight of anger go—“it is finished!” First Saint Paul’s Lutheran Church of Chicago, Illinois. Let us be a place where the Word “Tetelestai” echos against all our walls and in all our hearts. For when we cannot forgive one another, we are finished.

Our faith is what has died when we are so full of anger and bitterness. We have forgotten the reason for which our Lord has died. Let all our anger and bitterness go. Away with the resentment and harboring of bitterness! Put it in the category of “Tetelestai”—that which is finished—dead and never to rise again.

We are the lifeline of forgiveness to a world drowning in sin and unforgiveness. We are the mouth of our Savior to this community and cry out to her, “It is finished! We will not hold your sin against you or one other. We want to partner together so that we all live in the reality that our sin has been put to death on the cross.” All that damns us has died. This Friday is good. It is not the day to sulk or grovel in our sins or to feel sorry for Jesus. It is the day our debt has been wiped clean—Friday is the Christian’s payday. All that is rotten and evil ends here—all that is good begins here. “It is finished!”

“A New Commandment”

John 13:34-35

Pastor Tom Johnson, March 28, 2013 (Maundy Thursday)

You’ve heard it called “The Golden Rule.” James calls it “The Royal Law” (James 2:8). “Love your neighbor as yourself.” This rule is first given to God’s people in the Old Testament in the book of Leviticus (19:18) in the words, “You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against any of your people, but you shall love your neighbor as yourself: I am the Lord.” Far from being a mere cliché, this Scriptural truth is a powerful reminder of how we ought to relate to one another. It is insightful instruction in how we should treat others. It encourages us ask ourselves, “How would you like it if someone did or said that to you?” It invites us to take the perspective of another person: the person who will either be the victim of our sin or the benefactor of our love. The commandment invites us to take the time “to walk a mile in someone else’s moccasins.” And to do so before we speak a discouraging word or act in an unloving manner. It is also profoundly convicting since we so often fail to love each other as we would want to be loved. What a different world this would be if we all did this!

As significant as this Royal Law is, Jesus brings it to a whole new level. And He does it, ironically enough, on the night He is betrayed. He teaches us what love is when He himself is not treated as a neighbor should be—the very night He is sold for 30 shekels of silver and then betrayed with a kiss.

Our Lord said, “A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another.” At first, it doesn’t seem like there is anything new at all. But He continues: “A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another.” The new aspect of this commandment is the Lord’s description of this love: “Just as I have loved you.” This is no ordinary commandment. This is a uniquely Christian commandment. One has to know the Gospel to understand this love. The old commandment, love your neighbor as yourself, was a commandment that only involved horizontal, human relationships. How would your fellow human being want to be treated? The new commandment, love as Christ loved us, is a commandment which also involves a vertical and divine relationship. How can I love this person in the same way Christ has loved me? How do my actions compare with and actually reflect the selfless, sacrificial acts of my Lord? The new commandment invites us to take the perspective of our Savior—He who loves an undeserving and sinful people.

Following this discussion of a New Commandment with His disciples Jesus takes bread, gives thanks, distributes it and says “Take, eat. This is my Body, given for you.” Similarly, he takes the cup of wine and says, “This cup is the New Testament in my blood which is shed for you for the forgiveness of sins.” This is not just an illustration of love or a picture of love. Christ’s passion—His suffering and death—is the very act of love itself.

It is a tragic error to sentimentalize this meal. Jesus is actually strengthening us in the love he is talking about. We are actually experiencing his love in our eating and drinking—which strengthen and preserve us body and soul unto eternal life.

And so Jesus loves us by Word, Bread, and Wine. He loves us by giving his Body and Blood in this meal. He loves us by giving his Body and Spirit up on the Cross. And having been loved by Jesus; we now can love like Jesus. Because his love does not just cover us from condemnation and death. It transforms us into forgiving, empathetic, self-sacrificing people. We leave the Lord’s Table and Communion together as recipients of his love. We leave as conduits and ambassadors of his love.

"He suffered under Pontius Pilate"

Luke 23



Pastor Tom Johnson, March 24, 2013 (Palm Sunday)

“Jesus suffered under Pontius Pilate.”

In the brief Apostles’ Creed, we include his first and last name. Every week, as we confess the faith, we remember our Lord’s mistreatment, injustice, and death with the name of this Roman official. Jesus also suffers under the religious authority at the Temple court. Jesus suffers under Herod Antipas. And Jesus suffers under the mockery and bloodthirstiness of the mobs. We often remember Jesus suffering on the Cross. We remember his faithfulness and powerful words at that dark hour. But how often do we think of his suffering under human authority as part of his redemptive work?

Jesus’ suffering is important to remember because when Jesus suffers under Pontius Pilate, we cannot dismiss it as some folktale some well-meaning person made up. This story is an account of history. In 1961, archeologists uncovered a limestone with a Roman inscription: “Pontius Pilate, Prefect of Judea.” We remember that Jesus suffered because he did not battle mere flesh and blood but spiritual powers and principalities at work through human authority. He confronts evil as it manifests itself in government, systems, and mobs. Jesus quotes Isaiah 53:12 right before he enters this suffering and says that the Scripture must be fulfilled: “And he was counted among the lawless” or “he was numbered with transgressors” (Luke 22:37). And so his treatment was not that of a rightful King and sinless Messiah but that of a treacherous criminal. And what follows is a grotesque miscarriage of justice under the Temple Court, uner Herod’s court, and under Pontius Pilate. They ridicule him. They bring false charges against him. They twist his words in order to incriminate him. They assault him. They demand that he perform miraculous signs. They belittle him. They humiliate him. They mock him. They dehumanize him.

And here is the sick punch line to an already repugnant joke: Herod and Pilate both believe and declare him to be innocent. “He has done nothing to deserve death,” Herod says. They examined him and found nothing to condemn. That is their official word: declaration of innocence. Pilate says, “I have found in him no ground for the sentence of death; I will therefore have him flogged and then release him.” Why did Pilate suggest having Jesus flogged—to have his body torn and bludgeoned by whips with fragments of pottery, metal, and bone? Because it might satisfy the hatred of the mob and religious authority. And so they release Barabbas who was an insurrectionist and murderer. The voices of the crowds crying “Crucify him” prevail over Pilate’s judgment and authority. And so, Jesus continues his suffering under Pontius Pilate as he carries the wood to the hill of Golgotha.

It is as Jesus warn his disciples all along. “It is necessary that he suffer,” he said. “Scripture must be fulfilled.” Suffering under Pontius Pilate is part of God’s plan. Suffering under Pontius Pilate is an indispensable component of his mission. When Jesus suffers under Pontius Pilate he is unmasking human authority for what it can sometimes be—acts, decision, and words that have only one purpose—to maintain power through the abuse of power. This is the truth that this story so dramatically uncovers, that Herod is insecure as King of Judea and sees Pilate as a Threat. Pilate is insecure in doing what is right because he feels threatened by the crowds and the vociferous opinion poll to condemn Jesus to an unspeakable form of capital punishment. The soldiers do their duty and crucify Jesus because they have no choice; that is their duty even though one of them says, “Certainly this man was innocent.” And the crowds are carried away by lies, misinformation, and disappointment that Jesus is not the earthly king they hoped for. The whole world—all humanity, it seems, participates in causing an innocent man to suffer and die. And that is exactly what this story reveals: “All we like sheep have gone astray; we have all turned to our own way, and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all” (Isa 53:6).

And so, we summarize this tragic course of human history with the words, “He suffered under Pontius Pilate.” And here the really interesting thing: the judged upon the Cross becomes Judge. He makes his own kingly pronouncements:

To those overcome by evil; he overcomes with compassion: “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.”

To the guilty and condemned: “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”

“He suffers under Pontius Pilate.” In the end, it is not his suffering but Jesus who overcomes. He overcomes even for those who cause him so much suffering. His love and compassion prevail. Through his suffering, he overcomes our sin, evil, and the power of death itself for you and for me.

“Making It My Own”

Philippians 3:4-14

Pastor Tom Johnson, March 17, 2013

Recently, the media was wowed and amazed by the new Pope, Francis. It wasn't his powerful message. It wasn't the beautiful vestments. It was the fact that he carried his own luggage, paid for his own room, and took the bus instead of the Papal limo. The story behind this story is our hopeful glimpse into a person with humility, humanity, and godliness—even for those who are not Catholic.

In our Epistle reading from Philippians chapter 3, Paul is writing a letter while under arrest, in chains, and in a Roman prison (1:7). He is pleading with us not to put confidence in the flesh—that is to say, not to put our trust in our pedigree, education, and religious piety. Don't put your faith in yourselves, Paul tells us. "If anyone has an impressive resume," Paul says, "I  above all people have a litany of bragging rights. My genealogy is untainted. My circumcision is to the letter of the Law. My training makes me a scholar. My zeal is unsurpassed. My piety is unparalleled." But whatever he thought of himself before, paled in comparison to his new relationship with his Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. In fact, the word he uses to describe his former life in comparison with his new one is the crass Greek word for excrement.

This same humility and vulnerability can be heard in the writings of St. Patrick four hundred years later. In his Confession, he says he was born in Britain and baptized in the Triune Name. He was the son of a Deacon in the Church. And they had all the material wealth they would ever need. But all of that was lost when Irish raiders came. They sailed from Ireland to the British island, killing, stealing, and trafficking in young boys and girls—taking them home to be their slaves. Patrick spent the rest of his teenage years as a shepherd slave. He was in isolation for weeks at a time. He spent the nights out in the exposed cold air. He had to learn the culture and language of his barbaric captors. It was in the loneliness of his life among sheep far away from his family and church that he realized that his religious upbringing did not cultivate genuine faith, but a nominal religious life. He runs away from his slave master and makes his way to Gaul. And there, he discovers a much richer and deeper faith in Christ. He no longer sees his life as being robbed of a wonderful life and his childhood. He now sees how his Heavenly Father disciplined him as a son and brought him into a closer, more meaningful relationship with God. What the Irish meant for evil, God meant for good. And so Patrick goes back to Ireland probably as the most effective missionary, church planter, school starter, and evangelist since the Apostle Paul. He goes beyond just serving those people; he makes them his own. By the end of his life, Patrick talks about the Irish as his own people. In an ironic turn of events, those who made Patrick their own by violence into slavery now makes them his own by the Holy Spirit. He spends the rest of his life building the Irish people up in faith and working hard to protect their freedom from becoming slaves as he himself once was.

As we see in our Scripture this morning, Paul no longer defines himself as a Jew, Benjamite, Pharisee, or religious zealot—he now defines himself and his reality as a Christian. And so he says, “I press on to make it my own.” And what is it that he is making his own? Jesus’ suffering, death power of resurrection. In the same way, Patrick opens up his autobiography with the words, "Ego Patricius Peccator," "I am Patrick the sinner." But he also calls himself a bishop and servant of Christ. He is both sinner and saint. He acknowledges that we are all born into a world full of uncertainty, sin, evil, and death. And now, we need to get used to our new reality—the reality of being a child of God. “I press on to make it my own because Christ Jesus has made me His own.” The Christian life is our getting used to what is already a reality for God. It may be not be overstated to say that the Christian life is a lifelong adjustment to how God already sees us—as his beloved daughters and sons.

“I press on to make it my own because Christ Jesus has made me His own.” The eternal Son of God became human to seek and save that which is lost—“to make us His own” In Christ, we are all baptized into the triune Name—in water, Word, Spirit, He adopts us and makes us his own. And in the years that follow, we get used to our new family status as daughters and sons of God. But it was always a reality from the beginning. Through Lord’s supper He gives us Body and Blood for the forgiveness of sins—He takes possession of us. He makes us his own. Through the Word and meal we get used to the reality of the Gospel.

We don’t create this reality—God has sought us out. “We love because He first loved us.” We make it our own because we have already been purchased by the blood of Jesus. “I press on to make it my own because Christ Jesus has made me His own.” We call God "Father" because he has adopted us as his children. We call Jesus "Savior" because he has delivered us from death, sin, and condemnation. We call the Holy Spirit "Helper" because he gives us strength for life's journey. Later in this morning service, we'll sing a hymn attributed to St. Patrick, "I Bind unto Myself Today." Patrick binds himself to the work of God. He clings to God's work in creation. He attaches himself to the death and resurrection of Jesus. And he unites himself to the Holy Spirit for his strength. He binds himself to God because he is already bound up in his love. So we make God our own because he has made us his own.

“The Lord is my strength and my song”

Isaiah 12:1-6

 

Pastor Tom Johnson, March 12, 2013
Concordia University Chicago Chapel

The Lord is our strength and our song.

In our text from Isaiah chapter twelve, Scripture gives us two songs to sing: The first song is about the believer’s assurance of grace—that salvation is secure in the Lord—that there is nothing to fear because the Lord God is our strength. The second song is about the believer’s response to grace—giving thanks to the Lord—not only to him in prayer and song but also shouting and proclaiming his saving Name to the whole world.

He ties to the songs together with a beautiful metaphor—“with joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation.” In other words, the water in our spiritual reservoir is a personal experience of reconciliation with God. The water in our cistern is the assurance of our forgiveness and eternal life. For us Christians, this water beneath the surface of these earthen vessels is pink with the Blood of our Savior Jesus that he shed on the Cross of Calvary. It is the water, the Word, and the Holy Spirit of Baptism that has washed and filled us in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. This watery reserve deep within our souls is what keeps our faith from evaporating in the wilderness of this world. It is the drink that strengthens us for our life’s journey and will well up to overflowing to eternal life.

“With joy,” our Scripture says, “you will draw water from the wells of salvation.” In other words, the water is not there to hoard but draw from. We are not to roll large boulders over the opening of this well but reach down deep and pull up to the surface of our daily living. We will draw water from this well of salvation. And we will do so without fear. For it will never run dry. Draw deep and heavy. Pour out your thanksgiving to the Lord from this well. Heaven and earth cannot contain all the good things God has done for us—for creating us and the universe—for his abiding presence day after day—for delivering us from death, the devil, and the guilt of our sin through his Son, Jesus Christ. Draw deep and heavy from this well of salvation and tell the whole world. Placard the name of Jesus. Sing, shout, and let your life become a spring and geyser of good news to all tribes, nations, languages, and peoples. Because he is our salvation and our proclamation. He has reconciled us so that he can reconcile the world. He is the Lord our strength and the Lord our song.

"The Prodigal"

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“Do you think they’re worse sinners?”

Luke 13:1-5

Pastor Tom Johnson, March 3, 2013

Jesus was teaching the crowds when someone breaks the news. Galileans who had traveled to Jerusalem to offer blood animal sacrifices were killed by Pontius Pilate. In a sick and tragic irony, human blood was spilled on the altar in the Temple. One could only imagine how the news was received by Jesus and his disciples, many of whom are also from Galilee. Pilate shows contempt for Galileans and their worship. And in a grotesque move of incalculable cruelty, he mingled the blood of humans with the blood of animals in the Temple in Jerusalem. Like many tragedies that we hear about—or experience ourselves—we often have more questions than answers. And the unanswered questions seem to grow along with the pain, doubt, and empathy for those who suffer.

But when Jesus hears the news, he hears someting else. Perhaps it was in the way they tell the news. Maybe it is their poor choice of words. It might be the result of Jesus knowing the thoughts and intentions of their hearts. “Do you think,” Jesus asks, “because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans?” In other words, do you think that this was an act of God’s judgment for their sin—and that they simply were getting what they had coming to them—and that God used Pilate carry out his dirty work? Do you think that the universe is governed by merciless karma—where human suffering can be easily explained by mere cause and effect? Do you think that we can so easily escape sharing the pain and grief of others by writing it off as their getting their just deserts? No, there is no justice in the news of their shedding their blood. There is only injustice. Their blood cries out to God just as loudly as Abel’s blood cried out—after his brother Cain cut him down in the field. And God hears their cry.

“Or those eighteen” Jesus continues, “who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them—do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem.” In other words, do you think that this was also an act of God’s judgment for their sin—that they had what was coming to them—and that God used poor engineering to kill his own people? Do you think that God painted targets on these 18 people and was just waiting for his opportunity to crush them with tens of thousands of pounds of stone? Do you think that God spends his time plotting people’s death? Do you think that we can likewise dismiss any human being as collateral damage? No, the people who died were not greater sinners. They weren’t worse offenders. They were ordinary sinners. They were unexceptional offenders. They are just like you and me—people who sin and cause offense—pilgrims who need forgiveness.

Jesus’ question reveals how we sometimes worship a false god—not the true and living God. God is not vengeful, angry, and a killer. God is not the author of evil. He is not the God of confusion. Scripture tells us that God takes no pleasure in the death of the wicked, Scripture so clearly says. “God is merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love.” “No,” Jesus says, “I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.” I’ll be honest with you. That statement—repeated twice by Jesus—really made this sermon much more difficult to prepare. Many commentators and study Bibles simply pretend that Jesus did not just say that. But the more I think about it, the more genius Jesus’ response seems to be.

Let me explain:

By the word “repent,” Jesus is calling them to change their thinking. He is telling them that by such thinking, they are going in the wrong direction. Perhaps this is similar to when Jesus says, “Do not judge, lest you be judged.” If we live our lives with such a distorted view of God and of the world around us, then we will live and die in our own twisted fantasy. Unless we repent—unless we hold every thought captive to the Word of God—we will see ourselves as pawns in some perverted game. And so we ought not to exegete events in our lives or other people’s lives. We ought to be careful at what we lay at the door of the Lord. We should not be so bold and presumptuous as to explain why things happen the way they do. Thanks be to God that we don’t need to interpret our own suffering as God’s judgment or punishment. We can be free from such hideous thoughts that only add insult to injury. No, God is with us. He heard the cry of Abel in the field. He heard the cry of the Israelites in slavery. And he hears our cries.

It is interesting that Jesus does not even attempt to answer why these terrible things happen. He offers no easy explanation for such human tragedy. Nor does he scold us for asking questions like why God allows violence to happen. Nor does he reprimand us for being disgusted by seemily random, deadly events. Nor does he offer answers to why God allows them to happen. Deuteronomy 29:29 says, “The secret things belong to the Lord our God, but the revealed things belong to us and to our children forever, to observe all the words of this law.”

Ironically, it will be Jesus, another Galilean whose blood will be spilled by that same Pontius Pilate. And it will be Jesus whose body will be enveloped—not in the rubble of the Tower of Siloam—but in a stone tomb. And it won’t be because he is a worse sinner. In fact, he is no sinner at all. It will be because he is our Savior. And through his selfless act, God reveals his love for us.

We are forgiven. We are his beloved children. “And precious in his sight is the death of his holy ones” (Psalm 116:15).