“The True Kingdom” (John 18:33-37)

John 18:33-37

 

Pastor Tom Johnson, November 22, 2015

The terrorist attacks in Paris, France happened just one day after a bombing in Beirut, Lebanon. A few weeks earlier, a Russian passenger plane was brought down by a home-made bomb. These deaths were claimed by ISIS. In the days following, Boko Haram surpassed those deaths by terrorist attacks in Nigeria.  And now Al Qaida has claimed responsibility for the deaths at the hotel in Mali just two days ago. The French flag—the red, white, and blue lights on downtown buildings—still can be seen everywhere.  “Why do so many people seem to care more about the French when people are dying even greater violent deaths in Africa and the Middle East?” My answer, “Because that is my tribe.” Many Americans have French ancestry or have been to France. I have friends who have visited, run the marathon, and studied in Paris. In other words, it hits home because Americans are more likely to be familiar with Western Europe than we are with Africa and the Middle East. Although that is changing.

How timely it is to be celebrating Christ the King today. And how fitting of a reminder we have in our Gospel reading. Jesus is there for us to help us navigate global politics.  Keep in mind that Jesus is the accused. He is threatened with the death penalty for treason against two kingdoms—Rome and Judea. He is summoned into the headquarters of Roman authority to be questioned by Pilate. Pilate is confused. How can Jesus call himself a king of Judea when his would-be subjects want him killed? How can Jesus call himself king when the religious authority will not claim him either? Where are Jesus’ soldiers? Pilate is a politician. He measures success by the support he has under the authority back in Rome and his popularity among the nation he is occupying. Pilate represents one kingdom’s dominion over another kingdom. In this case, Rome occupies Judea. How can Jesus declare himself King when both Judea and Rome reject him?

“My Kingdom is not from here.” “I am a king, as you say” Jesus says, “For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth.” Jesus came into the world—the cosmos. You hear people say that “the world has become small.” And by that, they mean that what happens on the other side of the planet does not seem so far away anymore.  The world seems smaller, perhaps, because it is so much easier to travel to those places. More people travel more than ever. We are able to send messages and pictures instantaneously from our phones from one continent to another.

More of us have had the joy and privilege of meeting people who speak different languages, dress differently, and look different from ourselves. We realize more and more than not everyone looks, thinks, and grows up the same way. Last week, a group of pastors and I went to a Lebanese restaurant. I asked the waiter if he had family or friends in Beirut. He said his family lives two blocks away from where the bombs went off. “We are praying,” he said. “So are we,” I replied. The world is even smaller for the eternal Son of God who became flesh. Maybe a better word than “small” would be “close to home,” “immediate,” or “near the heart of Jesus.” This is why he was born—to bring truth to the entire planet. To put it another way, Jesus tells Pilate that he has bigger fish to fry than the petty concerns of the Roman Empire and the Kingdom of Judea. Jesus has a higher call. He has a greater mission than to settle one of the countless human conflicts—between one tribe and another and one nation against another.

Jesus is King of the true Kingdom. The reign of Jesus has no end. The kingship of Jesus has no limit. The true Kingdom makes the world seem small. The true Kingdom makes our kingdoms seem petty. Jesus came into the world. He did not just come for one tribe, nation, or people. He did not merely come into Judea or a Roman province. He came into the world. For Jesus, the impact of sin, evil, and death is global. It hits home everywhere. “My Kingdom is not from here…For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth.” Jesus was not merely born a Judean; he was born human. He was born for all humanity to reconcile us to God and one another.  Jesus identifies our common enemy. Our imperfections, brokenness, and sinfulness make us our own worst enemy. Our fight is not against flesh and blood but “against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places” (Eph 6).

Jesus’ Kingdom is not defined by borders, walls, or territories. His Kingdom is not defended by soldiers going into battle to kill and impose authority. All humanity is his tribe. As St. Paul says so succinctly, “We are all God’s children” (Acts 17). Jesus does not need followers to fight for him and keep him from being delivered to the Cross. Because he is the One who holds the field in battle. He is the Captain of our souls. He is the Soldier who boldly confronts and overcomes death. And so, Jesus will not pick up a sword; he will pick up the cross. He will not wear a crown of gold, silver, and gems; he will wear a crown of thorns. Jesus’ Kingdom will not be won by the king killing but by the King dying. The King rises from the dead and makes all things new. His Kingdom come. His will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.

“The House of God” (Hebrews 10:19-25)

Hebrews 10:19-25

 

Pastor Tom Johnson, November 15, 2015

Welcome to the house of God. The entry way is wide open. There is only a torn curtain. The tatters and shreds are only what remains on the door posts. When death tore through the Body of Jesus on the Cross, the fabric tore in two. Death was torn in two. All who wish to enter no longer need to fear that impenetrable obstacle. The death of death removed all obstacles to our entering into the House of God. Jesus, by his blood, overcame that curtain and veil of tears. The door could not be any more open. The welcome could not be any more hospitable. This is a royal house. It is a priestly house. The Lord of the house has given his own self to make a way for all the world to enter in. He invites to enter his house. He calls us to come in. Come in with a pure heart. Come in with full trust in your host. He not only wants you to say “Yes” to his invitation, he assures you that it is his good pleasure and delight.

Do you have an evil conscience? Are you weighed down by guilt for what you have done? Are you paralyzed by shame for who you think you are? This is a priestly house. There is a font at the door.
The water, the Word, and the Spirit are there to sprinkle your hearts clean and to cleanse you—body and soul. Foul stench of sin, be gone! Dreaded feeling of unworthiness, wash away. This is not the time to stop speaking hope-filled words. This is not the time to waver. The Great Priest of the House of God has made his promise. He is faithful and true. “Enter his gates with thanksgiving and his courts with praise” (Ps 100:4). Make yourself at home. “My house is your house,” the Lord says.

Consider with me how we can spur each other on to do some good in this world that desperately needs it. Ponder with me how we can love one another and our neighbor. “Let’s provoke one another to love and good deeds”! Let’s turn each other’s worlds upside down for good. Let’s keep things dynamic by shaking each other out of complacency, dullness, and laziness. “Don’t neglect coming together as is the habit of some.” Don’t forget the value of hearing God’s Word. Don’t take public worship for granted. Avail yourself on the vast resources we have in God’s gifts and in one another as a family of faith. Don’t miss Supper around the Lord’s Table. Don’t deny yourself the benefits of the Bread and the Wine and the blessed fellowship we share.



We are here to encourage one another. The House of God is a house of encouragement. It is a place of positivity. Only constructive and edifying words should echo off these walls and reverberate through our halls. Encourage. The New Testament word means to call to one’s side—to partner, to invite a person to be on your team. It is based in the Hebrew idea to strengthen someone emotionally and spiritually. It is not unlike how we say, “Come with.” To encourage is embolden, strengthen, and comfort another person. It is to ground them in the truth of who they are as a member of the High Priest’s household. It is to call someone to remember they are royal and priestly children of God.

The House of God is a house of encouragement. And as we eagerly await the Lord’s return—we should be all the more committed and diligent to be encouraging to one another. That means we build each other up with our words. It means, by God’s strength and each other’s encouragement, we stop criticizing one another in order to stroke our own egos. It means we refrain from ridiculing one another and find value in every member of our family. It means that we do not participate in playground gossip, junior high politics, or turf wars. We are family. This is the Lord’s House. This is a place of acceptance and mutual edification. Everybody has a place at the table. We are on the same team and working toward the same goals. As one of my childhood TV show hosts Cowboy Bob used to say, “If you have nothing good to say, then don’t say anything at all.”

This is the House of God. It is a House of Encouragement. It is a safe place. It is a nurturing place. It is a blessed place to be as the Day of the Lord approaches. It is a foretaste of our eternal dwelling. The entry way is wide open. The curtain that separated us has been torn in two. Christ crucified has brought about the death of death. There is no obstacle keeping us from entering in. We enter by faith trusting in the High Priest who is faithful. We are cleansed by the water, the Word, and the Spirit in the Name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Sin, guilt, shame, and hopelessness are carried away by the flood of his mercy, grace, and love. The Lord of the house has given his life to secure your place and mine. Encouragement awaits you. A feast is already prepared at the Table. This is a royal house and you are royal children. This is a priestly house and you are a holy priesthood.
Welcome home.

“Two Small Copper Coins” (Mark 12:38-44)

Mark 12:38-44

Pastor Tom Johnson, November 8, 2015

Jesus thinks it’s absurd for religious leaders to parade around in their clerical garb while shopping for groceries. He’s disgusted by clergy who sit at expensive banquet tables which are paid for by poor widows. He has very little patience for repetitive, performance-oriented, public prayers. And then after he complains about those things, Jesus takes a seat where he can watch people putting their money into the offering box. How would you feel if Jesus peered over your shoulder in the pew behind you as you wrote your check out to First Saint Paul Lutheran Church? Or, while sitting next to you, took a hard look into the offering basket after you passed it to him?

Ancient accounts describe 13 offering boxes in the temple. These boxes as had funnel-shaped openings that would make a melody of music as gold, silver, bronze, and copper coins would pour in. If you could not see bags and handfuls of money, you could clearly hear them—the crashing, clinging, clanging, and ringing of coins. The day Jesus was watching people bring in their offerings, there was a lot of noise—the sort of racket those machines make at the grocery store when somebody puts a bucket of change. A wealthy person might employ the help of a donkey and servants to help carry large amounts of money—not just an individual but an entourage—the offering box crowded and noisy when the rich gave their offerings. There were no checks, paper money, or online donations to keep things quiet and discrete. After the spectacle, noise, and activity of the rich, a poor widow comes in. She is quiet, discrete, and alone. She doesn’t need a bag for her coins. She does not need a young, strong arm or a beast of burden to carry the weight. She carries two small, copper coins. She drops them into the offering box—tink, tink—and away she walks—unnoticed by most—but not unnoticed by Jesus. Two small, copper coins is irrelevant to the temple treasury—but not irrelevant to Jesus.

What we see does not tell the whole story—appearances can be deceiving. He says, “This poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the offering box.” What an outrageous claim! Not only are her two small copper coins more than one of those wealthy individuals, it is more than all those combined. This widow, Jesus says, gave “out of her poverty...[she] put in everything she had, all she had to live on.” And that’s all part of the absurdity and outrageousness of Jesus’ words—how could a person live off two pennies?
If I see a nickel or a dime, I may bend over and pick it up—but two small copper coins are barely worth me bending over. Even 35 years ago, two pennies would only buy two small, square pieces of gum out of a gum machine. My mom and dad talk about going to a movie in the 1930’s for a nickel—but nothing for two pennies. Even two thousand years ago, two small copper coins would not pay for her rent. It would not buy her a new coat. It would not even buy her a good meal. She had virtually nothing—but of what she did have, she gave 100%. It’s outrageous. It would be like one of our seniors receiving their social security check in the mail, turning it over, and writing, “Pay to the order of First Saint Paul Lutheran Church” and then putting in the offering plate. That is self-sacrifice in its truest sense and something I would not encourage our seniors to do.

Our hearts goes out to the poor widow—hoping that she had faithful children to care for her—or a community to provide for her needs. But Jesus does not seem worried. Jesus praises her. God receives from the woman what He wants. And what he wants is not her money—or our money for that matter. God doesn’t need our money. It is already his! “The earth is the Lord’s and all that is in it, the world, and those who live in it” (Ps. 24:1). We can conclude from this account that what God wants is proportional giving—to give our time, talents, and treasure to God in proportion to what He has given for us. But God what wants is much more valuable than our proportional giving.

God wants is the widow herself. God wants you and me—he wins our minds, hearts, and souls—just as he won the heart of that widow—who could cheerfully gives all that she has—two small copper coins—because she knew that she was of precious worth to God. She is rich in faith, love, and thanksgiving. Like the widow, none of us are anonymous, nameless, small, copper coins in the eyes of God—we are his treasured possession. Like the widow, Jesus watches over our coming and going with love. Like the widow, he knows our whole story. Like the widow’s life and small gift, Jesus life and gift may appear to be as worth little more than two small copper coins. But it is through Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection that He has purchased our forgiveness and our eternal home. Like the widow before him, he gives all that he is and all that he has to us and for us—not with copper, gold or silver, but with his precious Blood.

A widow came with copper coins    
And offered them in praise
They were the last she had to give    
Or save for darker days.

When Jesus saw her costly gift    
And knew she had no more,
He praised a love that spared not self    
And called her rich, though poor.

At last He brought His offering    
And laid it on a tree;
There gave Himself, His life, his love    
For all humanity                      (Hymn: "The Temple Rang with Golden Coins")

“Jesus wept” (John 11:35)

John 11:32-44

 

Pastor Tom Johnson,

November 11, 2015
“Jesus began to weep.” In the New Testament it is two words: “Jesus wept.” It is one of the shortest verses in the Bible. It is a small detail in the story of Jesus’ ministry with profound implications. “Jesus wept.” Literally “Jesus teared.” Or as we might say in English, “Jesus burst into tears.” Jesus wept. What might cause his eyes to well up with tears and spill out over his cheekbones into his beard? His good friend Lazarus is dead. And yet, it isn’t over Lazarus’ death that Jesus weeps but when he sees Mary and the others weeping for their loss. It is then that “he becomes greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved.” Jesus wept because he empathizes with Mary, Martha, their family, and their friends. Their father and friend had been taken away. Jesus wept because that is the human thing to do. No other creatures weep like we humans do. Jesus wept because of the incarnation—the eternal Son of God became flesh. Jesus of Nazareth’s humanity is fully intact. It makes him a great High Priest “who has passed through the heavens” and is able to sympathize with our infirmities (Heb 4). Jesus wept because Mary, Martha their friends’ tears will calling out for compassion and consolation. When we weep our tears send the message to those around us that we have reached the limit and our hearts have been broken.  Jesus wept for the living. His tears sent the message to Lazarus’ family and friends that he quite literally felt their pain. Some suggest that Jesus wept also for the toll death has on all humanity. He wept for the universal tragedy of loss of life. He wept for the particular loss of the individual Lazarus who was freshly buried. Jesus wept instead of giving platitudes and clichés like, “He’s in a better place.” Or, even more appropriately, “Look at what I’m about to do.” Jesus wept to identify with us. His tears wash away any doubt that our God is One who cares. Light reflects more brightly on a cheek that is drenched in salty tears.

Jesus wept for the same reason you and I shed tears. The body is trying to return to an equilibrium since it overwhelmed with emotional and spiritual pain. Scientists have even detected more stress hormones in tears of grief than normal eye-moistening and lubricating tears. Jesus wept because he bore the full weight of sin and death. Jesus wept to teach us to weep—that grown men and women indeed do cry. It is a call for us to share our burdens with one another. Our tears invite people around us into our invisible pain, loss, and grief. We weep to strengthen the bonds of family and friends and the Body of Christ.  Jesus wept to show us the path of compassion and mercy. Like Adam and Eve before the fall, he calls us to be naked and unashamed—to be transparent about our weakness, our humanity, and our common struggle in life and death.

Jesus wept. His tears are in contrast to our dry tear ducts. Our lack of weeping may reveal our apathy and calloused hearts. Unlike Jesus, we have not adequately mourned the ravaging effects of evil, death, and our own sinfulness. We sometimes deny ourselves the opportunity to share the human struggle with those around us and to love our neighbor as ourselves. Jesus wept to show the adequacy of praying in groans too deep for words. God grieves. The Holy Spirit grieves. The Son of God weeps. Scripture says that even creation itself groans for redemption. And so our Creator is able to receive our tears as prayer—pleas for mercy, grace, and healing without well-articulated words.

Jesus wept to baptize us into the path of life and immerse us into the death of death. He is the forerunner who leads us. He quietly and tearfully assures us that we can reach out with our tears and care even though we may be at a loss for words. Jesus wept. His tears were not for Lazarus but for those of us who are left behind to struggle with our losses. Jesus wept even though he was going to raise Lazarus from the dead. We can weep even though we know there is the resurrection of the dead and a company of the living that no one can number.

Jesus wept to raise the spirits and hopes of those around him. Jesus wept to remind us that he gives us victory through the baptism of his death. Jesus wept to foreshadow his anguish in the garden on the night he will be betrayed when “his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down on the ground.” Jesus wept. Jesus shed his tears because he would soon shed his blood. His tears remind us of his love for us and the joy set before him. Jesus wept to reassure us that our forgiveness flows out of his mercy and grace. Jesus wept because there is “a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.” Jesus weeps until he raises Lazarus from the dead. He gives us permission to burst into tears even though we know one day we will be raised to eternal joy—tears now—until our laughing and dancing are reborn.


Jesus wept
Not for Lazarus
But for us
His friends and family
And sin and death’s
Treachery.

Jesus wept
Not for the dead
But for the living
Whose hearts are broken
And the faithful
Who need mercy’s token.

Jesus wept
Not for the end
But the promise
Of our beginning Jesus kept
For our life and resurrection
Jesus wept.