“Liberating Truth” (John 8:31-36)

John 8:31-36

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Pastor Tom Johnson, October 30, 2022

Those who continue in Jesus’ Word and teaching are true disciples. They will know the truth. And the truth will make them free. This is a positive message. But God’s people would not receive it. “We are descendants of Abraham. We have never been slaves to anyone.” “What does Jesus mean that we will be made free? We are free and have always been free,” they say. “The descendants of Abraham have never been slaves to anyone”? Even Abraham’s wife was taken as a concubine. Abraham’s great-grandson Joseph was sold into slavery in Egypt by his own brothers. 

For over 400 years, the descendants of Abraham—the Hebrew people—were slaves in Egypt. Generations later, the descendants of Abraham were slaves in Babylon—for seventy years. At the time Jesus said he will make us free, God’s people were under the brutal control and dictatorship of the Roman Emperor. It’s hilarious. “We have never been slaves to anyone,” they say. But Jesus doesn’t even go there. He does not give them a crash course on the history of human trafficking of the descendants of Abraham in the Bible.  No, he talks about slavery at a much deeper level—slavery of all people, in all places, and at all times—the universal slavery of all humanity—slavery to sin.

Jesus by the Holy Spirit opens up our minds to understand that sin is not just the things we do or say that bring harm to others and ourselves. It’s far worse. Sin is a tyrannical master. Sin wants us to its bidding. Sin wants to enslave you and me. The unsettling truth is that we are all born into this system of control and exploitation whether we are daughters and sons of Abraham or daughters and sons of Pharaoh, the King of Babylon, or the Emperor of Rome. We are all victims of spiritual slavery. Even the perpetrators of slavery are victims themselves. It is a disturbing thought—that we do harm to others and ourselves—that we withhold love and doing good to our neighbor—because we cannot help it. We are not the captains of our souls. We are carrying out the evil and sin our master. We don’t need coaching. We need liberation.

500 years ago, a German Monk named Martin Luther wrote a paper tract dedicated to the Pope called, “On the Freedom of the Christian.” This paper is about how vast and complete our freedom is in Christ. Luther says two radical things. First, “the Christian is subject to no one.” As believers, we are not slaves to anyone or anything. We have been set free indeed. Second, Luther says, “Christians are subject to all.” We have now been set free to serve God and our neighbor out of love, free from fear, and free from obligation. This idea that God’s truth sets us free ignited reformation of the church. The idea that no one is the property of another person changed the world. Knowing the truth of the Gospel liberates us.

We are spiritually free. In Christ, we are free from condemnation. He liberates us from sin’s death grip. He frees us from death itself. He purchased a place for us in heaven not with gold or silver but with his precious blood on the Cross of Calvary. The truth sets us free intellectually. We have been delivered from the false and misleading dream that we have to earn God’s love.  We are free from the idea that we have to get God’s attention by doing good works. We are saved by God’s grace alone through faith alone. We are free to give thanks that salvation itself is free. The truth sets us free socially. The truth is that we are free in the eyes of God. So why should a Christian accept living under systems of manipulation, control, and abuse? In God’s eyes, we are free. So the Reformation gave many princes and ordinary people in Germany boldness to respectfully put the authority of Scripture above the authority of King Charles. The truth set them free to envision a life where every human soul has value.

In 1934, a black Baptist preacher named Michael King went to Germany. It was one year into Adolph Hitler taking power. After visiting the church where Martin Luther nailed the 95 theses on the church door, he was inspired by Luther’s boldness and to imagine a world set free by the truth of the Gospel. Pastor Michael King came back to the United States and signed a statement which condemned “all racial animosity, and every form of oppression or unfair discrimination toward the Jews, toward coloured people, or toward subject races in any part of the world.” It was after that life-changing trip to Germany to learn about the Reformation that Michael changed his name to Martin Luther King. He also changed the name of his son Michael King, Jr. to Martin Luther King, Jr. 

A lie will not live forever. It is a lie that some people are inferior to another. It is a lie that we receive eternal life by purchasing indulgences or by our good behavior. It is a lie that we can save ourselves from our captivity to sin and death. You will know the truth. And the truth will set you free. Jesus sets us free from the inside out. He sets us free by the truth of how much God loves us and all people—the truth of how wide, how deep, and how high God’s grace and mercy are. He sets us free by how freely he loves us—by showing us that he gave his life freely and takes it up again freely and out of joy. He sets us free by the gift of our salvation. He liberates us from thinking in a way that leads to living as slaves to our own sinful appetites. He sets us free from masters that have no right to impose and abuse their power over us. He sets us free by the truth of the Gospel because he is the Way, the Truth, and Life. We come to the Father through Christ alone—by grace alone—through faith alone—to God alone be the glory.

“Self-righteousness” (Luke 18:9-14)

Luke 18:9-14

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Pastor Tom Johnson, October 23, 2022

Jesus tells a parable. He crafts a story to illustrate the truth—the truth about ourselves—the truth about how we view others. He wants us to soberly look in the mirror. He wants us to compassionately look at others around us. He tells a parable to address a most serious problem—the problem of pride. There are two sides to this ugly coin. On the one side is self-righteousness. On the other is regarding others with contempt. Two go up to the Temple to pray. One is a Pharisee. The other is a tax collector. They have the same purpose—to pray. But their words, their hearts, and their prayers are as different as day is from night.

The Pharisee has been raised in the holy faith. He has been trained in the Scriptures. He is a community leader. He is a guardian of the truth of God. He is a defender of all that is noble and good. He stands by himself in the Temple court. He prays, “God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector.” For the Pharisee, getting God’s attention is a competition—a game of comparison. He throws others under the bus so that he can stand tall. “God, I thank you,” he says, “thanks be to God that I am who I am. Look at how I measure against the others. I am not like the dregs of society. I am not a member of the rabble. I am not part of the riff-raff.” “God, if you look at the scars, wounds, and filth of other people, I look pretty darn good.”

Do we think that we can distract God from seeing our imperfections by drawing his attention to the faults and sins of others? Do we think that if God takes more notice the filth in others that it will make us squeaky clean? Is God so easily fooled? The Pharisee is only fooling himself. We are only distracting ourselves from our own faults, sins, and imperfections when we look down on those around us. We are living in denial of our own need for forgiveness, life and salvation when we only see that other people have missed the mark of perfection and godliness. That is the mirror of the Law—to take a hard look into the truth of God, his word, and ourselves and realize that “all we like sheep have gone astray” and “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” “No one is righteous. No, not one.” What is kind of funny is that it is not even a prayer. The Pharisee is sending his resume to heaven. He is trying to get God to read his LinkedIn profile. He is commending himself to God. God is not impressed. Apparently, the Pharisee thinks that he can eat and buy his way into God’s good graces—that by fasting and tithing he can earn and deserve God’s love, acceptance, and blessing. It only saddens God that the Pharisee is so self-deceived. We have already spoken this truth together: “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. But if we confess our sins, God, who is faithful and just, will forgive our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”

The tax collector won’t even stand close to the Holy of Holies. He stands at a distance because he knows he is unworthy. As a tax collector, he likely took money from his fellow Jews and gave it to Rome, their foreign occupier. He likely collected more than he was supposed to and kept it for himself. He won’t even look up to heaven because he knows that he does not deserve God’s attention. He beats his own breast; he is self-loathing because he does not just sin in thought, word, and deed. He is held captive by sin, shame, and guilt. Sin is not just the bad things we do; it is the good things we fail to do. And even worse than that. It is sin’s power that we cannot break free of by or own strength. All we can do is plead God’s mercy. “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” he prays. 

A right view of ourselves leads us to a right view of God. The Law that condemns us and our sin leads us exactly where God wants us to run—to the grace and mercy of God. He loves to extend mercy. That is what sets the tax collector apart. It is truly prayer. He speaks truth about himself and his sinful condition. He speaks truth about God who is “good and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love and mercy.” He tells God what God already knows—that he needs forgiveness, deliverance, and strength. And he asks God to do what God already likes to do—to extend his love to the undeserving and unworthy. That is why he goes home justified—righteous. Maybe the Psalm of the day at the temple that day was Psalm 51 (v. 17): “The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.” Or as we sing: “Nothing in my hand I bring, simply to thy cross I cling. Naked come to thee for dress; helpless, look to thee for grace; foul, I to the fountain fly; wash me, Savior, or I die.”

In 1725, John Newton was born. His father was a shipowner and slave trader. John sailed his first voyage to Africa at age eleven. He says that for him the name “Jesus Christ” were merely curse words sailors barked out. John became a captain of a slave ship himself and was responsible for the death and enslavement of more than 20,000 human beings. He witnessed and was the cause of unspeakable human atrocities. During a terrible storm that threatened to sink his ship, John prayed for the first time. He simply prayed for God’s mercy—like the tax collector in our text. The storm calmed and he made it safely home. But he got more mercy than he bargained for. He began to read the Bible and pray. He became a priest in the Church of England. He renounced slavery. He wrote candidly about how horrible his own behavior and the slave trade were. He fought hard to put an end to slavery. At the end of his life at age 82 he said, “My memory is nearly gone, but I remember two things: that I am a great sinner—and that Christ is a great Savior!” He also wrote,

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found;
Was blind, but now I see.

          (“Amazing Grace” LBW 448 v. 1)

“Wrestling with God” (Genesis 32:22-31; Luke 18:1-8)

Genesis 32:22-31
Luke 18:1-8

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Pastor Tom Johnson, October 16, 2022

This morning we are reminded again that prayer is a struggle. I don’t mean that it is a struggle to find time to pray, though it can be. I don’t mean that it is a struggle to have the strength to pray, though it can also be. I mean that prayer is a struggle. In our Scripture from Genesis, Jacob literally wrestles with God. It was such an intense match, that God ripped Jacob’s hip out of its socket. I wrestled in junior high and high school. This is not collegiate wrestling. It’s more like mixed martial arts. Jacob realizes that he just had a bare-fisted, limb-twisting, hip socket-snatching fight with the Lord Almighty. Side note: this is likely the pre-incarnate Christ—the eternal Son of God Jacob is wresting. Jacob is amazed that he lived to tell about it. In other words, it was no struggle for God. God’s sense of humor is that he says Jacob prevailed. He let Jacob live. Jacob’s trophy is that he gets to limp for the rest of his life. God also gives him a new name: Yīsra’el. It means “wrestles with God.” All of his children, great-grandchildren, his descendants, and the nation even to this day are known as Yīsra’el—those who wrestle with God. It is a constant reminder that our relationship with God through prayer can often be a struggle.

Sometimes I wonder if some of our hymns and well-crafted prayers don’t do us a disservice. Prayer is not always clean, poetic, beautiful, and heartwarming words. Prayer can be messy. Prayer can be us contending and challenging God. Prayer can be our pouring out our worst thoughts, fears, and cries to him. Like it was for Jacob, prayer can be an all-out altercation with the Creator of the universe.

I remember hearing the prayers of Tevye in the musical Fiddler on the Roof. Tevye is a poor Jewish farmer struggling through life. Tevye prays to God after his horse has an accident and can no longer work.

Dear God, was that necessary? Did you have to make him lame just before the Sabbath? That wasn’t nice. It’s enough you pick on me. Bless me with five daughters, a life of poverty, that’s all right. But what have you got against my horse? Really, sometimes I think, when things are too quiet up there, you say to yourself, ‘Let’s see, what kind of mischief can I play on my friend, Tevye?

I remember laughing while at the same time feeling a little uncomfortable with this prayer. That may be too honest with God! But God knows our prayers long before we utter them, Scripture says. He intimately knows the thoughts and intentions of every human heart. God is not surprised. He is not offended. God loves to hear Tevye’s prayers. God loves Tevye’s horse more than Tevye loves his horse. And Tevye is still talking to God as a friend.

This is the point of Jesus story of the unrighteous judge. He neither fears God or respects other human beings. He only gives her what she wants because he is sick and tired of hearing from her and just wants her to go away. The point of the parable is that God is not like the unrighteous judge. He does not get sick of hearing from the widow. Jesus is telling a ridiculous story of a narcissistic leader to make us laugh at ourselves and laugh at our ridiculous view of God. Our Scripture says that Jesus tells this parable so that we will understand our need to always pray and not to lose heart in doing so. This story is about being encouraged to pray—without ceasing. Jesus tells this story so that we would be assured that God is not the jerk we sometimes think he is. Do you want to pray to the jerk in Jesus’ parable or to the true, living, and loving God? 

If we view God as the great narcissist of the universe—if we see him as being disgusted with us and all humanity—if we see him as detached, uncaring, unloving—if we see him as not giving a rip about our struggles—we will lose heart. We will not pray. We will not be drawn to God in prayer. We will neglect him because we will think he first neglected us. The German Reformer Martin Luther said that Jesus taught us to begin our prayers with “Our father” because God wants us to come to him as a dearly loved child would come to their dearly loved parent.

When I was in seminary in Dallas, I used to visit teenagers at risk of gang involvement with other seminary student named Wilfred Sewodie. Wilfred was a fiery preacher from the Volta River region Ghana. He loved the Lord. He was passionate about other African students not trying to make a career in the United States but going back to their homelands to build up the church. One night while Wilfred was out learning to drive to get his license, a drunk driver fleeing the police crashed into Wilfred’s car and instantly killed him. We were all devastated at our loss. At his funeral, two students got up to speak. They explained why Wilfred died. They explained that God was going to open up a bigger door for the Gospel through this here in Dallas and there in West Africa. I was mad. I was angry at the students for trying to put a little bandaid on a devestating wound to my faith. I was already mad at God for allowing it to happen. I spent months struggling in my thoughts and prayers. 

I still have no answer as to why God is the Great Allower of things that are difficult to understand. It still makes no sense to me that God would call Wilfred home before he had time to give his life in years of ministry. After spending months of silence between me and God, I let God have it. I don’t remember the words but I do remember saying several well-placed colorful words—the kind of words my mother would have washed my mouth out. I told God what I really thought of him, of allowing Wilfred to die, and of allowing those students to get up at his funeral and sugar-coat my pain and grief. And that is when it happened. I felt a peace that transcends comprehension wash over me. I remembered how much Wilfred loved the Lord, his gigantic white smile with his long black finger pointing up to heaven. God loves Wilfred more than I do. Jesus wept at Lazarus’ funeral even though he knew he was to raise him. Jesus weeps for us and with us.

God wants us to throw down the gauntlet with him in prayer. And, I believe, he loves it. God loves it when we can be vulnerable and real with him. It means we trust him. We know we are safe with him—that he is a friend to sinners. As Scripture says, “Cast all your anxieties—all your burdens upon him because he cares for you” (1 Peter 5:7). He loves it when we take his promises in Scripture and make them into prayers. “Jesus, you said you give a peace that the world cannot give—a peace that surpasses understanding; give me that peace now.” “God you promise not to leave us as an orphans or forsake us; assure us of your presence, your love, and your tender care.” Give us the boldness to keep it real with you as you kept it real with your Heavenly Father; when you said, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?!” …when you laid down your life in prayer to give us the assurance of forgiveness, eternal life, and that you are the benevolent God we need and who truly cares.

What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear!
What a privilege to carry ev’rything to God in prayer!
Oh, what peace we often forfeit; oh, what needless pain we bear—
All because we do not carry ev’rything to God in prayer!
          (“What a Friend We Have in Jesus,” LBW 439 v. 1)

“Faith the Size of a Mustard Seed” (Luke 17:5-6; 2 Tim 1:1-14)

2 Timothy 1:1-14

Luke 17:5-6

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Pastor Tom Johnson, September 25, 2022

Jesus has just said a number of difficult things—about the love of money, how we can fall into ruin when we put anything in this world before the true and living God. Jesus gives dire warnings for those who cause the little ones to stumble, and how God calls us to forgive one another even if we sin against each other seven times a day. This may be the most difficult—requiring the most faith—to forgive one another seven times a day. “Increase our faith!” the apostles cry. “Make our faith grow!” If they only had more faith, they suppose, they would be able to love God more than money. If they only had more faith, they would be able to stop putting other people and things before their relationship with God. If they only had more faith, they would teach and protect the little ones with great zeal and conviction. If they only had more faith, they would be able to forgive others all day long without any resentment or forgiveness fatigue. “If I had more faith,” I’ve heard people say, “I’d go to church more often. I’d read my Bible more. I’d pray more. I’d share my faith more. If I had more faith, I’d  worry less about the future. I’d fear death less.”  There is nothing wrong with what the apostles say to Jesus: “Increase our faith.” In fact, it is a prayer. You’ll remember the man who brought his son to be healed by Jesus. Jesus says, “All things are possible to those who believe.” The man prays in a similar way. “Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief” (Mark 9:23-24).

One of the greatest mistakes we make about faith is to view it as a commodity. We see faith as transactional. If we have enough faith, we will be able to put that in God’s vending machine and get what we want.  Or we see faith as what we do to get God’s attention. God is just waiting and waiting and waiting for us to believe. He won’t move an inch. He will not open his treasure chest until you and I muster up enough faith to qualify for his blessings. Perhaps you have heard the prosperity preachers on the radio or on television. The reason you don’t have that vacation home, high-paying job, or fancy car—the reason your dreams have not come true—is that you do not have enough faith. Hearing preaching and teaching like that infuriates me. It is a diabolical lie. It puts us at the center of our spiritual journey: “What’s wrong with me that I don’t have enough faith?” “Why can’t I muster up more faith?” “Increase our faith, Lord!” 

Jesus’ response shows that we have the whole question of faith upside down. Our whole understanding of faith is backwards. We will never be able to generate faith. We are not the agents of faith.  Faith is not what gets God’s attention. He loved you since before the foundation of the world. Our Scripture says, “This grace was given to us in Christ Jesus before the ages began.” He sought us when we were lost and wandering in unbelief. He pursued us while we still lacked faith.  Our relationship with God is a gracious gift. He is the one who first loved us. Even our faith itself is a gift. He gives that gift thought the power of his Holy Spirit when we hear Scripture. He plants the seed of faith into our hearts in Baptism when we are washed with the water, the Word, and the Holy Spirit.

“If you have faith the size a mustard seed,” Jesus says, “You will be able to uproot a mature tree with a commanding word and plant it in the sea.” “If you have the faith of a mustard seed…”—even if you have the smallest of faith—even the teeny-tiniest belief and trust in God—it is enough for miracles to happen. God does great things through our small and weak faith. As Paul says about how our faith grows, “I planted, Apollos watered, but God causes the growth.” It is no surprise to God that our faith is small and weak. In fact, he expects our little faith. He knows that we lack faith. When the Apostle Paul was struggling with his faith, God spoke to him. He said to Paul, “My grace is sufficient for you. For my power is made perfect in weakness.” It is God’s speciality to do great things with our weak faith. Just as a tiny mustard seed is sown into the ground to produce a shrub that is thousands of times its size. So God sows a little seed of faith into our hearts. It is enough for him to do what seems impossible to us. For all things are possible through him.

Paul encourages Timothy in our Scripture reading by talking about the humble, small but glorious beginning of his faith. He says, “I am reminded of your sincere faith, a faith that lived first in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice and now, I am sure, lives in you.” Timothy’s mom and grandmother are further proof that Timothy did not create his faith or grow his faith. It was a seed planted in grandma Lois, then passed down to mama Eunice, and then planted into little Timothy. God not only works faith into the heart of Timothy—he works faith into generations of Timothy’s family. 

It was 1941. War between the United States and Germany and Japan broke out that year. A seven year-old little girl was listening to the radio with her family. It was the first time she saw absolute fear and terror on her parents’ faces. It was about the same time that little girl began a friendship with another little girl—a Presbyterian little girl. She invited the little girl to go to church with her. The little girl who went to church for the first time was my mom, Caryl. Little Caryl came home from church with newborn faith. She told her parents about God and about Jesus. Her parents—my grandparents—started taking their little daughter to church. Correction—the little girl started taking her parents to church.  Correction—God used the little faith of a little girl—God used the latent faith of my grandparents to bring them back into a relationship with God. It was not the little hands that held their hands—nor her parents hands that held hers.  It was the grip of Almighty God that held them. It was their Great Redeemer who led them with faith the size of a mustard seed.

Jesus love me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.
Little ones to him belong. They are weak. He is strong.