Listen to Sermon
Pastor Tom Johnson, August 6, 2017
Jesus learns that his cousin John the Baptist has been beheaded. You’ll remember that his execution was not done judiciously. It was part of a sick joke and evening entertainment between Herod, his wife, daughter, and their dinner guests. It was devastating news. John is dead. And Jesus’ immediate response is to get away by himself. He goes to a deserted place—a secluded place—an uninhabited place—a place where people would not interrupt his time alone. And if he had one, Jesus would leave behind his smartphone. Even Jesus, in his perfect humanity, needed to take a break from people. And it’s not because he disliked people or despised them. His first priority was his relationship as the eternal Son of God to God his Father and to the Comforter, the Holy Spirit. And so he goes to a deserted place. This is a place with few distractions and no one to interrupt his time alone. And you’ll remember that Jesus goes off to be by himself frequently throughout his life. He especially liked places on or by the water and the mountains. In those sacred spaces, he would have the best chance to have time with God. Those deserted places became sacred because of Jesus’ purpose and presence.
In a deserted place, we clear our minds of clutter. We make a date with ourselves. We consider our lives and unfolding story. We go through the archives of our souls. The only person standing in my way of focusing on God is me. In a deserted place, we can unload our grief, cry out in emotional pain, and say exactly how we feel out loud to God—things that we would otherwise be too embarrassed for others to hear. Just as Jesus had his prayers to God about his Cousin John’s death. And so going to a deserted place gives us permission to be exactly who we are in our humanity without fear of judgment. And even more importantly, it gives us an opportunity to finally unload all our burdens on God. This is what the Apostle Peter encourages us to do, “Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you.” Don’t hold back. Unload the unbearable weight that is pressing you down. Free yourself and give it all to God—even the ugly stuff.
Unlike Jesus, we mortals discover one additional thing in a deserted place: our sin. Far from distraction, defensiveness, and those we have offended we soon realize that yes, God, I have sinned in thought, word, and deed by what I’ve done and left undone. I have not loved God with my whole heart or my neighbor as myself. It can be a scary place—to be alone. There we are in our naked humanity, vulnerable, and coming to terms with ourselves. But when we are away from the noise, clamor, and demands of other people, we find that it is not scary at all. We find—well—that we are not alone. God is with us. Just as God is for us. So off we go to a deserted place. Don’t be scared. Don’t worry. It’s safe. No one will hear our secret sins except God. We can confess our guilt and unload our shame upon God. Because he “is faithful and just, [and] will forgive our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”
The funny thing about this story is that what begins as a deserted place quickly becomes an inhabited one with noisy, sick, and hungry crowds. But Jesus does not despise their coming. He does what he came to do. He has compassion on them. He welcomes them. He heals them. He feeds them…just as we have come here today to meet this Jesus in Word and Sacrament. On my way here at about 5:30 this morning I passed by many noisy Lollapalooza revelers. After waiting in an unusually long line, the girl at the McDonald’s drive through handed me my breakfast sandwich and said, “Have a great night!” And then I came here. Dark, empty churches are creepy. But this is a sacred space. It is a great place to come alone to pray. And here we all are this morning. We have come for one thing—to encounter this Jesus. We come to invade and bombard Jesus with all our problems, regrets, ailments, hunger, and thirst. But he does not despise our coming. He welcomes us. We too come to hear the good news of sins forgiven. We too come to heal our bodies, minds, and souls. We too have come here for a Meal from Jesus himself—an even greater meal than multiplying bread and fish—the Body and Blood of Jesus. So here we are. What was once a deserted place just a few hours ago is now a sacred space, a grace place, an oasis for the sick, the weary, and the hungry.
My Lord, You here have led me
To this most holy place
And with Yourself have fed me
The treasures of Your grace;
For You have freely given
What earth could never buy,
The bread of life from heaven,
That now I shall not die.
(“O Living Bread from Heaven,” LSB 642 v. 2)
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