Casting our Nets on the Right Side of the Boat

I was innocently reading aloud the Gospel story the other day, when I noticed something I had never noticed before.

I've been a pastor for a long time, and occasionally I suffer from the occupational hazard of thinking that I know the scripture passages from which I preach.  Sometimes I even think I know them by heart.

But there I was on Wednesday, reading John 21, that addendum to the Gospel of John, that beach story of fishing and breakfast and restoration.  I was reading it to a group at an assisted living center, and I noticed something.  The disciples had fished all night and caught nothing.  (haven't we all had experiences like this?)  And then -- Jesus appeared to them on the beach, but they didn't know it was Jesus.

And Jesus told them (we all know it's Jesus, but the disciples don't) to cast their nets on the right side of the boat, and they will catch something.

And of course, they do it.

And they catch so many fish they can barely handle them all.

So far, so good.

But on Wednesday, I noticed for the first time:  the disciples do what Jesus tells them to do, without knowing that it is Jesus.  They obey him, they take his advice, even though they think they are talking to a complete stranger.

Why do they do it?  Why do they cast their nets on the other side?

They are the fishermen, after all.  They know what they are doing (even though their expertise did not yield anything this time).  The person on the beach has wisdom (because he's Jesus) but they don't know that yet.

And yet... they do what he says.

I am reminded of the time I went to preach at the City and County Jail.  My text was from Matthew 4:  the call of the disciples.  I thought it was odd that the disciples dropped everything immediately and followed Jesus.  But the inmates were not so surprised.  It was Jesus calling their names, after all.  If Jesus calls you, you have to do it.  You can trust Jesus, even if you can't trust anyone else.  Of course they followed immediately.

But this time -- the disciples don't know who is telling them to lower their nets on the other side, the right side of the boat.  They do it anyway.

For some reason.

And I can't think of any reason why they do what Jesus suggests, except for this:  they have been fishing all night, and have caught nothing.  What do they have to lose?  They have come to the end of their own expertise and are willing to try something, something that might even seem foolish.

When I think of us modern-day disciples, I think that the problem is that we rarely feel that we are in this position.  Instead, we usually believe that we have a lot to lose -- too much to lose to risk casting our nets anywhere than where we have always put them down before.

I know that is often what keeps me stuck:  worrying so much that anything I do, any change I make, will mean loss to me, will mean loss to my congregation.  I don't realize that, in truth, my nets are really empty.

How do we get to the place where we have nothing to lose?  In truth, I do not know, but I know that somewhere, the resurrected Christ stands on the shore, inviting us to put our lives in his hands, inviting us to a strange and unexpected abundance.

Finding Vida Nueva

It was last year at just about this time when we arrived in Lima, Peru.  There were just a few of us.  We were there to meet our mission partners, to find out more about the work the churches were doing, to meet some of the people and hear their stories.  There were just a few of us, and we had only been in Peru for about a day and a half when we set out to find a church called "Vida Nueva."  New Life.

We spent the morning in a nearby market, and then we were to set out.  We knew that the church was quite a distance away, out in the hills -- the outskirts of Lima.  The church boasted a landmark -- a large statue of of Jesus with arms outstretched.  The idea was to get to the church, meet some of the members who were waiting for us, and then climb the steps up to the Jesus with Outstretched Arms.

You can't miss him.  Jesus, that is.

And it was true.  When we neared the area, we could see the statue off in the distance.  We knew we were close, and we began to ascend into the hills, up narrow and winding gravel roads, past small businesses and houses.

And as we ascended we lost sight of Jesus.  The statue that is.  The one with outstretched arms.

We were sure we were close.  We had GPS, but it didn't seem to do any good.  We called the church, but the women there did not know exactly where we were, and did not know how to tell us what direction to go to get to the church.

We opened the windows on our van, and fearlessly questioned anyone walking by.  "Have you heard of Vida Nueva?" we asked.  Some had heard of the church, but they weren't sure exactly where it was.  Some pointed us in a certain direction.  Some had not heard of Vida Nueva.  It seemed like we were going in circles.  There were several dead ends.  It was getting later in the afternoon, and we knew if we didn't find the church soon, we would have to return home in defeat.

Then someone in the car shouted and pointed, "There it is!"  We spied the statue in the distance again.  At the same time we saw a young woman walking down the street.  "Do you know where to find Vida Nueva?" we asked again.  She used to go there, she said, so she knew exactly where it was.  She got in the van and took us there, and we were so close, but we had been driving around in circles.

Once we got to the church it was too late to make the pilgrimage up to the status of Jesus with Outstretched Arms.  But we got a tour of the small church, and learned a little bit about their ministry with children.  Then my husband pulled out his guitar and we sang a few songs together.  We sang in Spanish, a language I barely knew, and we sang songs I had been struggling to learn.  We sang "You have Come Down to the Lakeshore" in Spanish, and when the little group of women began the refrain, with the word, "Señor!", it was as if the Jesus with Outstretched Arms had come down to us.   I had sung this song many times before, and, truth be told, I was singing it for the first time that afternoon, with a lump in my throat and gratitude for the community.

We were so lost, and then we were found.

It has been a year since that journey, and suddenly the image of the Jesus with Outstretched Arms appeared again, and I remembered.  I remembered the winding dusty roads and the feeling of futility. I remembered our guide rolling down the windows and asking everyone she met for directions.  I remembered the ramshackle houses, and the vivid colors, and I remembered the glimpse of Jesus, and I remembered how our voices were raised together, theirs carrying mine.  I remembered the shaft of light in the small chapel.

We drive in circles most of the time.  At least I know I do.  The GPS that is supposed to tell me exactly where to go -- doesn't always work the way I would like.  Even when I know what I'm looking for (which isn't always the case).  "Vida Nueva."  New Life.   The Jesus with Outstretched Arms.

I know that is the case for my congregation as well.  Sometimes we drive around in circles.  The path to new life, it seems, should be clear, and I should be able to lead them there on a straight path.  But maybe part of the point is getting lost, rolling down the windows and asking for directions.  Maybe part of the point is the hard humility gained by going around and around in circles, until you really learn to see what is around you, what you have been missing:  the sound of the singing, the outstretched arms, the vivid colors, the hunger.

And then, and then -- Vida Nueva will find you.  The Jesus with Outstretched Arms.

Children in the Bible Sermon Series: "The Boy Who Was Wise"

Luke 2:41-52

                  

            I read this scripture passage with a small group of people earlier this week – the only story from Jesus’ childhood.  

            And perhaps you can imagine the conversation afterwards – all of a sudden we were all remembering stories about lost children, parents who lost their children, children who lost their parents

             – even someone remembered the movie “Home Alone” when the whole family went on vacation and left their son at home.  

            I remembered the time when I was with my mother in a Target store – and got fascinated by some toy or shiny thing – and I turned around – and my mother was GONE. 

            Another person remembered the time her son purposely hid in a department store.  She knew what was going on, and had one of the clerks make an announcement over the loudspeaker, “YOUR MOTHER IS LEAVING THE STORE RIGHT NOW” – when he suddenly darted out from a clothes rack and made a bee-line for the door.

            

            It’s not hard to imagine why we all started thinking about these stories.  

            Think about it – the whole extended family and friends of Mary and Joseph go to Jerusalem every year for the Passover. 

             It’s a yearly road trip.  And then they all return together.  Except for one thing.  

            Jesus stays behind – and no one notices for one whole day.  It’s hard to imagine.  

            Everyone thought someone else was watching out for Jesus.  And then – when they figure out he’s missing and go back to Jerusalem – it takes three whole days before they find him in the temple, learning and asking questions.  It’s the stuff of which sit-coms are made.  

            Including Jesus’ sort of cheeky response to his parents, “Come on mom and dad.  How come you didn’t know I’d be here – in my father’s house? – attending to my father’s business?”

            So it contains a lot of the elements of the stories we know and we think about lost children.

            Except for one thing: Jesus isn’t lost.  It’s true – his parents don’t know where he is – but he’s not lost.

            At the very end of the chapter, there is a line about how Jesus continues to grow in wisdom and in stature – and I’m thinking about what it means that Jesus – the boy – is wise. 

            We know why Jesus – the man – is wise.  We think about the wisdom of his teachings – his parables, which are like diamonds with all kinds of facets, and have the ability to get under our skin.  

            His teachings – which raise the bar on righteousness but also grant unbelievable mercy.  

            The way he answered controversial questions with a twist that confounded his critics and his enemies – and gave hope to those who followed him.

            But I wonder about what made him wise – as a boy.

            Of course, it had to do with how he sat in the temple with the teachers – listening and asking questions –because wisdom is not just about knowing the right answers – wisdom is about knowing the right questions, too.  

            And you will find that the adult Jesus also has a way of asking questions.  

            He asks questions of the religious leaders.  He asks questions of the disciples.  

            He asks questions of you and me, too.  “Who do you say that I am?”  “What does it profit a man to gain the whole world, and lose his life?”  “Do you love me?” 

            There’s a small phrase too – never the end of the story – when Jesus goes home and “is obedient to his parents” – almost acknowledging that this act of staying behind and going to the temple was an act of disobedience.  

            I mean – they ARE his parents – and he didn’t say anything to them about his plans not to return to Nazareth with them.  

            But after this time – he goes home and is obedient – and perhaps that’s a sign of wisdom too.  

            He is the Son of God – but he is also the child of Mary and Joseph, living under their roof.

            But most of all – Jesus was wise 

            Because he was never lost. 

            It just occurred to me recently – Mary and Joseph lost Jesus – but Jesus himself – was never lost. 

            He knew just where he was, and he knew what he was doing.         Even more – he knew WHO he was --  as he told his parents when they were anxious about him, “Didn’t they know he had to be in his father’s house?"

            And it seems to me that this is true wisdom – to know who you are, to know where you belong – to never be lost.

            We – we are often lost – aren’t we – both literally – and figuratively.  

            How many times have I made a wrong turn, and realized that I was in an unfamiliar neighborhood? 

            How many times have I been distracted by some shiny object and turned around and realized that I have lost track of my traveling companions?  

            Just last year – when we were in Peru – we searched and searched for a church on a hillside that had a large statue of Jesus with open arms – and even though we knew we were in the neighborhood, we were lost.  

            But also – this – how many times do we lose sight of who we are, who we belong to, our true purpose in life?  

            How many times do we get lost – and by lost I mean – lose sight of our true relationship with the Father – and by whose grace it is ours?  And Jesus is wise – in so many ways – he has depth of the wisdom and knowledge of scripture – he knows what is in the souls of humanity – but chiefly he is wise because he knows who he is, because he knows where he belongs, and he knows what he is here to do, and that makes everything else fall into place.

            He is never lost.  

            And when we cling to him – and to our true identity in him – everything else falls into place – and this is the beginning of wisdom for us, too.

            I heard a story once – long ago – about a man who was important in the world of business.  He was on his way to a meeting, and he decided to take a short-cut.  But, as it happened, he made a wrong turn, and he was lost.  As he traveled down the road he saw a young boy, walking along.  He stopped and shouted out, “Boy, which way to Dover?”  The boy answered, “I don’t know.”  Next the man asked, “Well, which way to Paynesvile?”  Again, the boy answered, “I don’t know.”  The man was getting angrier, and said, “Do you know where Granite is?”  “I don’t know.”  The boy answered.  Well, finally the man was so angry that he shouted out at the boy, “You don’t know much, do you?”  And then the little boy looked down the road, at a little house with a light shining in the window.  “No,” he replied, “But I ain’t LOST.”*

            Jesus was never lost – but he went in search of us.  

            And the beginning of wisdom is to know this – in his embrace, and in his mercy, we too are never lost.   

            When we knows his love – when we truly know what it means to be found – everything else falls into place.

            AMEN. 

*This story I found in a devotional by pastor and teacher Rev. Gerhard Frost.

The Perfect Gift

A friend told me recently that she had found the perfect gift for her husband, who is a wonderful cook.  It is a cookbook that has just come out.  All of the recipes are by chefs who are immigrants, and all of the proceeds help to advocate for immigrants and refugees to this country.  Her husband is passionate about the recipes and the cause.

It is, indeed, the perfect gift.

I think about this sometimes:  the perfect gift.  It's the one that I want to give.  The exact perfect gift:  the thing that you would never ask for, but want, nevertheless.  The perfect gift is not the one that is on the list of "things you want for Christmas" (although they are good too.)  The perfect gift isn't necessarily expensive.  Being pricey isn't what makes it perfect.  It might be small, or it might be large.  It just fits the person, perfectly.  It is something they want, without knowing it.

One year I gave everyone in the family scarves for Christmas.  They weren't terribly difficult to make, but it was more time-consuming than I thought it would be.  I'm not sure they were exactly the "perfect" gifts, but I wanted to give something that had a little bit of myself in it, so I knitted all these scarves.  One of them I just barely finished before the 4:00 service on Christmas Eve.  I'm actually not sure it was long enough, even now.

I want to give the perfect gift to everyone every year, but, to be truthful, I'm not sure I hit the mark that often.  I remember thinking I had something good for my mom one year, the year that my dad died.  Then my mom opened the Christmas present from my niece and nephew, pictures of them when they are small, put in a frame.  And she cried.  And I knew that they had given the perfect gift.

This is the season of gift-giving, and there are times that my heart just wants to give something to everyone.  Toys for children!  Books for everyone!  Something hand-made!  Then there are other times when it just seems overwhelming, and I wish I could be content with Grace.  Just the gift of life, of other people.  Just the gift of laughter, tears, someone who will not abandon you.  Just the gift of the herald angels singing, Glory to the newborn king, the gift of candles glowing, the gift of the silent night, the gift of the baby, joy to the world.

He was not what we asked for, not what we wanted, or at least, not what we think we wanted.  In the end we rejected him, in one way or another.  He is a baby who will create peace, and make a lot of trouble.  He will bring new life, in a world that mostly wants to stay the same.

How silently, how silently,
The wondrous gift is given
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of His Heaven.
No hear may hear his coming
But in this world of sin
Where meek souls will receive him still
The dear Christ enters in.

Listen to the Children

So, I do a children's message on Sundays, usually.  I know that, in some circles, this is a controversial statement.  I know that children's messages are not universally beloved, or esteemed, and that they are not always well-done.  I won't even claim that I am particularly good at them.  But I know that there is something I enjoy about being able to gather with the children for a few minutes, to interact with them, to listen to them.

So, even though there are risks, I have a children's message.  And on Sunday, after Hurricane Harvey, the gospel, and the children's message, told the story after Peter's confession.  So I began by trying to use a hula hoop (something I am spectacularly bad at) and then asking the children if I should give up because I am not good at the hula hoop.  They all thought that giving up was a bad idea, and most of them could not even envision that there would be something hard for them.  They could play all the sports.  They could play musical instruments!

I asked them if there was anything that had been hard for them in the storm last week.  At least one little boy thought that the hardest thing was to stay inside for a long time.  But a couple of the other children thought that other people did hard things during the hurricane.

Then I said.  In today's gospel reading, Jesus had to tell Peter a hard thing.  He told Peter that he was going to die.

And then something happened.

As soon as I said that, a little girl gasped.

Maybe more than one little girl, but one for sure, and so loudly that (I was told later) they could hear her all the way in the balcony.

Jesus tells his friends that he is going to die.  And even more than that, he tells them that he is going to be crucified, a particularly cruel and shameful means of death.  And we who have been coming to church all of our lives and hearing these words may not really hear them any more, may not really know what they mean.

We needed that gasp.  We needed that gasp to remind us that Jesus' death was not simply a religious reality -- it was a real thing.

We needed that gasp -- and you know what?  We need the children.

We don't need them because they are "the future of the church".  We don't need them because somehow their presence ensures our future.

We need them because they see and hear differently than we do, and we need all the ears and eyes and voices, to grow deeply in faith.  They have different failings and different strengths, and we learn to share our faith and trust God together.

Jesus will die on the cross -- and a little girl -- hearing the terrible news purely -- gasps.  And our hearts break into pieces.

This is the life of the church.  Sighs too deep for words.

Built On A Rock

Just earlier this week, when I was still unaware that there was an imminent Hurricane threat, I was walking through my new neighborhood and doing something I usually do:  looking around for things I could possibly use for a children's message on Sunday.  I had read a couple of sample children's message books and I was thinking about the Gospel reading, the one where Jesus asks his disciples "Who do people say that I am?" and the disciples give all sorts of answers, and then Jesus asks them, "But who do YOU say that I am?" and Peter jumps up and says, "I know the answer!  You are the MESSIAH!"  And then Jesus calls him the ROCK, just because he said that, and says he's going to build his church on that ROCK.

So, I'm thinking about ROCKS.  I'm thinking, what if I can get a great big ROCK to bring to church on Sunday morning, not just a little stone and not a medium-sized Rock, but a great big mighty ROCK?  (Would that be even practical?  Could I lift it?  Would I be able to pick it up?)

And while I am walking with my dog and thinking these thoughts, I see that there are some big rocks in people's yards.  Not every yard, but a few yards have big rocks in them.  And I think: YES!  That's just what I am thinking about!

Then I look more carefully, and I think:  That Rock isn't going anywhere.  That Rock is deeply embedded in the ground.  It's part of the property.

So, I don't have a huge rock to use as a visual aid for my children's message tomorrow.  In fact, in the way of things, I don't have a children's message and we won't be having worship tomorrow morning.   We are on the edges of Hurricane Harvey and we decided it would be better if everyone worshipped at home tomorrow morning.

And I think about that big immovable rock, and about Peter's confession, "You are the Messiah!" and about how Jesus called him a Rock, or at least his confession is rock-solid.  But I'm thinking about Harvey now, and about all that is uncertain in the world, and all the things that God doesn't guarantee, and the thing that Jesus does promise, in the midst of it:  He is not going anywhere.  He is embedded so firmly in our lives, in the pain and the joy and the suffering and the love, he cannot be moved.

There is so much we can't control in life.  But God will not be uprooted from us.   He will not be moved.  He's in this world.  He's in our lives.  He's in our communities, loving us, dying for us, living in us.

Close Encounters with Jesus: Lazarus (and his family)

Sermon for Lent 5, Year A

John 11:1-45

         

            “Do you believe this?”

            This is the heart of it, isn’t it?  Everything that comes before, and everything that comes after leads directly into this central question, the one Jesus asks Martha, “Do you believe this?”   

             Jesus has finally come to Bethany, finally, four days late for the funeral, even though Lazarus is his friend, and even though Mary and Martha beg him to come.

             Jesus has finally come to Bethany, has come to Mary  and Martha, and Martha comes to Jesus with this statement of faith, or doubt, or grief, or all three:  “If you had been here, my brother would not have died.” 

            And it is hard not to read many many things into this sentence.  Real things.  We can read her faith and her hope.  “You are so full of love, and you have so much compassion and power, I know that if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

             But also, can you possibly  hear some grief, and a question of her own.?  “If you had only been here… but you weren’t here, Jesus.  Why weren’t you here?  Why didn’t you come?” 

            There is so much reality wrapped in this simple statement, in the middle of a story that – let’s face it – has so much that is strange about it.             The late scene, the one on the other side, could be from a horror movie – with Lazarus coming out of the tomb, still bound in graveclothes. 

            How spooky is that? 

            But Martha’s words could be our words.  “If you had been here…..”  All of our whys are wrapped up in Martha’s words. 

            There is the why of the woman whose husband has died from cancer.  There is the why of the children who saw their mother fade away with Alzheimers. 

            There is the why of the husband whose wife died during heart surgery, leaving him alone with two small children. 

            You have so many more whys of your own.  And all of our whys start with faith:  we know you are loving and gracious and powerful, Jesus.  Why weren’t you here this time?

            And Jesus replies to Martha’s statement with these words, “I am the resurrection and the life.   

            Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.”

             This statement --- and a question, and I think the question is as important as the statement.  “Do you believe this?”

            Do you?

            It’s the question to Martha, and to the people gathered with her, and to you and me, too.

            I recently learned that this particular Gospel reading was one of those used when preparing new Christians for their baptism and confession of faith.

             In fact, all of the gospel readings we have heard during Lent – Jesus’ close encounters with Nicodemus – the woman at the well – with the man born blind – and with Lazarus and his sisters – all of them were part of the preparation of new Christians for baptism. 

            And so I was struck by this question – “Do you believe this?”  -- a question I suppose each and every candidate for baptism was asked. 

            Do you believe that Jesus is the resurrection and the life?

             Do you believe that those who believe in him, even though they die, will live?  Do you believe that he is the light of the World, the living water, the Word made flesh? 

            Do you believe, even though you see evil in the world, even though there is danger, even though there is grieving and pain, do you believe that God’s love is stronger, that Jesus is working among us and in us and in the world?

            Do you? 

            Martha said yes.

            And so they went to the tomb, where Jesus wept, and where the people marveled.  “See how he loved him!”  And then Jesus said, Roll away the stone.

            Wait a minute, Martha said (the one who said that she believed).  “Are you sure you know what you are doing?  He’s been dead four days, after all.”  

            It is so with us.

             We believe that Jesus will raise us to new life – but later.

             Not right now. 

            But Jesus says that resurrection life starts now, in the world, with us.  They roll away the stone and Lazarus comes out, still bound up, but walking and living.

            And here is where Jesus says something interesting.

             He tells the people gathered, “Unbind him, and let him go.”  He tells them that they have something to do with Lazarus’ new life, with his resurrection life.

             They can help him to live right now. 

            They can help him off with his graveclothes, and on with the new life he has been given.

            It’s still that way.

             It’s why we like to have baptisms in church, where we can promise to support the person baptized, whether they are 4 or 40 or 80.  We want to be there to say – we will help you to live this new life you have been given. 

            In fact, you can’t do it alone.  None of us can. 

            We are here to help each other stay faithful, to pick each other up when we fall, to set each other free when we are bound in sin, to remind each other who we are, and the great mission God has given us.  

            We are here to comfort each other when the world gets too heavy, and to show each other the truth when it is so hard to see.

            Jesus is the resurrection, and the life right now.  He is making all things new.  Those he believe in him, even though they die, yet they will live.  Do you believe this?

            I remember one Sunday morning when I had to announce the death of a young man from my congregation.

             He had battled cancer for many years.

             I remember where he and his wife sat, every week, at our traditional service. 

            They were quiet people, but she loved to sing, and they attended a couple’s group. 

            When I announced his death, I thought I heard sighs too deep for words.

            Afterwards, I saw people from the community surround his wife, bearing her up, encouraging her. 

            This is what a congregation is for, I thought.

             We gather to remind each other of the truth, because we can’t always see it.  We gather to remind each other of the love that never ends. 

            We gather together to release each other from the power of death in our lives.

            Do you believe this?

            Jesus’ power over death was and is real.

             He is the resurrection and the life.  The raising of Lazarus tells us that.

             Like those who came out to console Martha and Mary, we care for each other, and remind each other of the promise – that Jesus will bring us out of death into new life – not just at the end of time, but now, and every day.  

            We are the people who take  the graveclothes from the dead and offer them the baptismal garments of their new life. 

            That’s what we do for one another.  That’s what our congregation is for

            Do you believe this?

            AMEN

Close Encounters with Temptation

Matthew 4:1-11

            One thing you can say for sure about the devil:  he shows up. 

            He showed up in the wilderness to tempt Jesus. 

            And you can be sure he has showed up today to tempt the likes of you and me.  Maybe we aren’t tempted in the same way, or by the same thing as Jesus was.     

            Maybe you are not tempted to turn a stone into bread --  you’re not that hungry!

             And besides, you know you can’t. 

            But even so – there are temptations that the devil has, especially for you and me – and not just because it is Lent.  Some of them are big.  Some of them seem small. 

           

 

            How is God tempting you right now? 

            Because there is one thing you say for sure about the devil:  he always shows up.  He’s always whispering in our ears, like he whispered in Jesus’ ear….. appealing to your doubts, your uncertainties, your pride or your insecurity…

            But Jesus’ temptations are not ours. 

            The three temptations here are specific and unique to Jesus, because of who he is, because he is the Messiah.  

             They tell us something about Jesus, but they end up telling us something about us, too.  

            It’s worth noting that Jesus’ temptation takes place right after his baptism, where the voice from heaven declares him the Beloved Son. 

            God tells him that he is the chosen one, the Messiah, and then he goes into the wilderness where he fasts and prays and prepares for the ministry that God has given to him. 

            And after forty days and nights, the devil comes to him … and he starts with the obvious.  Jesus is hungry. 

            Forty days and forty nights he has fasted.  He is the son of God and he can do anything, right?  Why not make stones into bread?  Who will know? 

            What could it hurt?  But Jesus resists. 

            He will not do a miracle to relieve his own hunger.     

            And he points to the spiritual food that is most important for life – every word that proceeds from the mouth of God.   

            Next the devil tempts Jesus to do a spectacular thing – jump off the pinnacle of the temple, and call the angels. 

            The devil even quotes scripture!  If he is the Messiah, he can all the angels!  They will not let anything happen to Jesus.  And EVERYONE will be convinced that Jesus is the messiah. 

            Isn’t that the point, after all?  Put on a performance that will erase all doubt!  That is what the devil says.    But that’s not God’s plan for Jesus, and he knows it.  So he resists.

            Finally, the devil pulls out all the stops.  He may have been subtle before, appealing to Jesus’ hunger or quoting scripture.  But now he just says it.  Worship me, he says to Jesus, and I will give you everything. 

            The kingdoms of the world belong to me, the devil says. 

            If you want power, I am the one to give it to you.  Think of all of the good you can do.  Just worship me.

            Just as the serpent tempted our first parents, causing them to doubt and mistrust God, in the same way the devil comes to Jesus. 

            The temptations are just as real and just as hard as the ones that Adam and Eve heard.  But Jesus resisted.   

            He resisted  the impulse to take matters into his own hands, to think he knew better than God who the Messiah should be and what the Messiah should do. 

            Later on, of course, Jesus will do the miracles:  he will feed 5,000 people with five loaves and two fish, not because he is hungry, but because they are.  Later on, of course, there will be a spectacle, but it will be a much different one. 

            While he is hanging on the cross, he will still recite from God’s word, but this time it will be, My God, My God, why have you abandoned me?” 

            Later on, the people would pass by, and some of them would taunt him saying, “He saved others, he cannot save himself.  Let him come down from the cross, if he is the Messiah of God.” 

            But because he is the Messiah of God, he didn’t.    

            From the beginning to the end, Jesus trusted God. 

            He put his life in God’s hands.  He trusted the mission for which God had sent him:  to love, to heal, to bless the world, to turn us back to God. 

            He put his life in God’s hands, and that is where our lives belong too.  

            In God’s hands.  And to trust this – to trust God’s love for us – God’s life in us – is the most important, most essential thing.  Every.  Single. Day.

             That’s why Martin Luther said that we return to our baptism every day – to die and to trust that Jesus raises us again and again to new life.  It is the most important thing.  But it’s not so easy. 

             And it is so tempting – so tempting to trust ourselves more than we trust God, to doubt God’s goodness,  to think we are on our own in the world.

             It’s so tempting to believe that our salvation is in our hands, not God’s, that we can control the outcome.   

            All of our other temptations – all of our doubts and insecurities – go back to this one. 

            Some of us fall because we think too highly of ourselves.  Some of us fall because we don’t think enough of ourselves – we doubt that we too are created in the image of God.  

            Some of us fall because we think we don’t need God’s forgiveness.  Some of us fall because we don’t believe we are worthy of God’s forgiveness. 

            We doubt God’s word that he will pick us up and give us new life every single day. 

            I used to visit my dad in the nursing home.  When I was little, he used to sit on the edge of our beds and read us Bible stories, out of this book, ‘The Bible in Pictures for Little Eyes.” 

            We taught us simple prayers, and how to pray the Lord’s prayer too. 

            He used to sing songs like, “Living for Jesus a life that is true…” and “O Jesus I have promise to love thee to the end…”  He showed me how to find my place in the hymnal, and sang the Baritone part on the three-fold Amen. 

            And there I was, visiting him in the nursing home, singing with him and helping him remember the prayers he first taught me. 

            One day when I came I could tell he was worried. 

            We sang some songs – he liked old standards, not just hymns, and talked awhile and looked at photographs. 

            But after awhile he confessed to me that he was worried about whether he was good enough for God.  He was worried about eternal life.   I think maybe the devil was whispering in his ear….

            “Dad,” I said, “Do you trust Jesus?”  Yes.  He said.

            “Well, then you’re okay.”

            “You mean, that’s all there is to it?”

            “That’s all there is to it.”

            One thing you can say for sure about Jesus, he always shows up.   He shows up in the waters of baptism, and he shows up in the wilderness.  He shows up on the cross, and he shows up every single day of our lives.

            Do you trust Jesus? 

            That’s all there is to it.

            Your life is in his hands.  AMEN