Easter Mystery

The great truths of any faith are always a mystery. What do I mean by that? What is a mystery? I’m not thinking of Scooby Doo and the mystery machine, nor Sherlock Holmes or your favorite writer. Those are all mysteries that can be solved. A fact is hidden that the investigator can reveal by the end of the book or episode. No, the mystery of a faith is something that is already completely revealed. It has been revealed before the face of all people. The mystery of a faith is something that can be intuitively understood. It makes complete sense, and yet is non-sense. Our minds can’t really process it. Even though we might see it.

The sacraments are such mysteries. Water, bread and wine do amazing things. And we can see what they do in the lives of the faithful. But do we really understand how the Spirit hovers in those waters? Can we really grasp how we eat and drink the body and blood of Christ? We recognize the body of Christ. Comprehend is a different matter.

The greatest of these mysteries is the resurrection. We all have an intuitive grasp that death is a horror, an enemy, not natural. As much as the materialists of our generation want to say that death is a natural part of life, it isn’t. It’s part of the life of sinners. It is part of life in a cracked world. But death is not a rightful inhabitant. But how do sinners combat their just penalty? “For in Adam we all die.” (1 Corinthians 15:21). God in his great mercy has sent us a champion. “In Christ shall all be made alive.” (1 Corinthians 15:21).

Staring directly at the mystery is tough. Mysteries are singularity events. We can’t really penetrate them in themselves. How exactly God and man together is one Christ is the mystery of the incarnation. You can meditate on Christmas forever and not understand it. But it speaks to our souls. You can stare at the empty tomb and not understand. But it breathes hope.

Isaiah captures that hope so well. The promise of the new heavens and the new earth (Isaiah 65:17). For that is what the resurrection is, the first fruits of the new creation. And in the new creation, “the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind.” It’s a common question about heaven “what about those who aren’t there?” Or, “what about fill in the blank of something that meant so much here?” They shall not come to mind. Why?

Isaiah’s answer I think is simply the reality of the resurrection shall turn this broken creation into Paul’s light momentary affliction. “I will rejoice in Jerusalem and be glad in my people.” If God is glad, can we be anything but? “No more shall be heard in it the sound of weeping and the cry of distress.” And Isaiah goes on to list things that are sadly too common – not mysteries at all in this world – that shall not happen in the new. “They shall not labor in vain or bear children for calamity (Isaiah 65:23).” The teacher of Ecclesiastes – all is vanity – shall be out of work. And the wolf and the lamb shall graze together.

We see the effects of the mystery. Even now we can see the mystery at work. Name another place outside the church that gathers together such different people. But what we see today is nothing compared to that day. The day that the last enemy is destroyed forever. Have a blessed Easter.

7 Words

I made a mistake in service planning this year. I always prefer working from assigned readings, but the Wednesday midweeks don’t have a formal lectionary. There are multiple informal ones. Each LCMS Seminary provides some cheats. The Synod worship committee itself does so as well. Along with a couple other sources. So I usually just pick up one of those as the assigned reading and run with it. Why? It prevents me from overthinking these things. Something I am prone to do. But back in late January when I was forced to think about this – Ash Wednesday was March 4^th – I was not yet thinking about Holy Week. So when the midweeks suggested reading the Passion story over the 7 weeks I said to myself “sure, that sounds good. I’ve done catechism reading the past couple. Something different.” Not thinking, “oops, that will cause the same text to be read at least three times in 10 days.”

Why? Because Palm Sunday has become Palms and Passion. Why? Because attendance at Good Friday services had dipped significantly. And Going from the King riding into Jerusalem to shouts of Hosanna to Resurrection morning seems to skip something significant to the Gospel in between. So the Passion was added to the Palms. And the typical Good Friday service is the dousing of the lights while we read the Passion. If I was thinking, I would have changed that service to an alternate “Seven Last Words” service. Maybe next year. There are several wonderful choral arrangements around that theme. Might be an interesting challenge for the choir. Lutheran Service Book 447 – Jesus, in Your Dying Woes is our hymnbook placeholder for such a service. It is a wonderfully tight three stanza each meditation on the collection of Jesus’ words from the cross.

So, I’m sorry for the repetition. But, it is something important. And there is enough in there for more than three meditations. So I thought here I’d offer the thumbnail of an alternate mediation – the Seven Last Words.

“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” – Lk. 23:34

“Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise.” – Lk. 23:43

“Woman, behold, your son!” ²⁷ Then he said to the disciple, “Behold, your mother!” – Jn. 19:26

“Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” that is, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” – Matt. 27:46

“I thirst.” – Jn. 19:28

“It is finished” – Jn. 19:30

“Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!” – Lk. 23:46

That is the traditional ordering. The first three show Jesus’ continued care for others even while being crucified. From those farthest away who don’t know what they are doing, who he begs forgiveness for, to those closest. Making sure that his mother was cared for. In between comforting the repentant thief whose hours were almost as short as his own. There is something about the order of love in those sayings. We cannot neglect those far away, while at the same time we have a specific duty of love to those nearest.

The next two reveal something of the split of the Synoptics Jesus who is first human and revealed to be divine, and John where Jesus is always divine, but also shown to be the true man. The synoptic human Jesus suffers everything that we do, including the worries that God has forsaken us. Luke caps these human worries off with the last words, the great confession of Faith. “I trust you Father.” We all find ourselves there. Can God really be with us in suffering and death? Faith’s response is yes. “I commit my soul to the Father.”

John’s words are the words of the divine. The thirst of Jesus is not the thirst for the sour wine, it is the thirst for more to be at the table, when he will again drink of the fruit of the vine. His life, his incarnation, his passion, is for all mankind that we might come to the heavenly feast. And this divine Jesus’ last words for John are the judgement, “It is finished.” Salvation has been secured. The redemption price has been paid. The New Adam has withstood his temptation, and sin and death shall rule no more. The Righteous King has been crowned.

God cares for us – those close and those far away. He desires us all to be at the banquet. His salvation is done. The only question is the one of faith. Do we trust what God has done to commit our spirit to Him? Proofs I see sufficient of it, ‘tis the true and faithful Word.

A New Thing

I can’t remember when I first ran across this comic but it captures something deep, both about the sinful nature, but also about the deep magic of creation. The 2^nd and 3^rd panels are the sinful nature portions. It isn’t the first panel because new things are not necessarily sinful. It is when we refuse to love and cherish the relations we’ve been given (4^th commandment), when we refuse to support our neighbor (5^th), destroy our neighbor’s possessions and income (7^th), entice away our neighbor’s household (10^th) that we throw things up into the air just to see where they might land. We want things to be different, and the only way the sinful nature knows how to do that is by destroying our neighbor or even ourselves. And when we do, “oh no.” The punishment of sin is living with its effects.

But our Old Testament lesson for this Sunday (Isaiah 43:16-21) is a good meditation and captures that first panel. God has a habit of intervening in the lives of his people, of wanting things to be different. Before the flood “The LORD was sorrowful he had made them (Genesis 6:6).” So he pledged to do something new, saving eight souls in all. Getting off the Ark things continued as they were, culminating in the Tower of Babel. So God chose Abraham as his own giving over the nations. You can walk through other such changes. Judges ruled for 400 years until God has Samuel anoint Saul King. Saul’s Kingship didn’t last his lifespan when God decides on something new and anoints David. The monarchy reaches something of an end and God sends them to Babylon – something new. And with each something new from God you could say he is just doing it like the central panel. Throwing stuff up and seeing what sticks. But that is not God’s revelation of himself.

“Thus says the Lord, who makes a way in the sea, a path in the mighty waters (Isaiah 43:16).” The waters are always the chaos of the world. God is the one who separates waters from waters bringing order out of chaos. God is the one who makes a way. The mighty men – “the chariot and horse, army and warrior (Isaiah 43:17)” – are brought forth and extinguished by God. In the midst of sinful man throwing things up and going oh no, God makes a way. God makes good things happen out of our oh nos.

The great “new thing” that Isaiah is ultimately talking about is Christ. As a hymn puts it, “The Ancient Law departs/and all its fears remove/For Jesus makes with fearful hearts/A covenant of love..” “Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old (Isaiah 43:18).” When we are standing in the middle of our next “oh no”, God has already made a way in Christ. And the response of the people of God is “that they might declare my praise (Isaian 43:21).” God wants a new you. He wants a you that has been formed by himself and his word. He wants a you justified and sanctified by his indwelling Spirit.

But it is verse 19 of our lesson that has always intrigued me. “Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?” As much as we might want things to be different, the sinful nature wants to control the change. We don’t want the change if it is not in our control. But the way of God is the “new thing.” The will of God is done, but is it done amongst us? Do we see the way that God is making for his people? Are we willing to stop trying to force our ways that end up in “oh no” and attempt to perceive God’s way? That way doesn’t always look great. It’s in the wilderness, past wild beasts and jackals. But the way God makes brings rivers to the desert and extracts honor from the beasts. It gives drink to my chosen people. It’s the opposite of just throwing stuff up; it builds up and provides. Do we see it? Are we willing to let Christ make us different?

Meditation on Now and Not Yet

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. – 2 Corinthians 5:17

It’s a person theory, but all the trouble in Christendom stems from what this verse is talking about. Here the Apostle Paul is talking Old Creation and New Creation, but he has other ways of talking the same thing. The Kingdom which is passing away and the Kingdom Come. The Old Adam and the New Man. And there are many others. The way that it fixes in my mind is actually from John. “Beloved, we are God’s children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared (1 Jn. 3:2 ESV).” – the now and the not yet. Now we can already claim the resurrection. Now the promises are all fulfilled in Christ. But stubbornly some of them are not yet ours by sight. They are ours by faith.

If you are within the church we all wish that we were now perfect. There is an expectation that if we are not part of the Kingdom things should be smooth. So when minor disagreements crop up, not even mentioning gross sins, how is this place the Kingdom is a natural question. That fact that the church now is the gathering of sinners, forgiven by Christ, but still dealing with the Old Adam is often forgotten. Yes, the new has come, but the old is still passing away. Daily the old Adam must be drowned.

Externally the church now still deals with the old creation. And the Old Creation recognizes the church for what it is, the Omaha Beach of the New Creation, the place where now the Kingdom Comes, if not yet in full power. Now the church forgives sins. “All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation (2 Corinthians 5:18).” And that reconciliation comes through the proclamation. Now, your sins are forgiven. “As a called and ordain servant of the world, I pronounce the grace of God onto all of you.” Not yet have we been made perfect. Not yet does the truth of that proclamation shine forth to all who hear it. The Prince of this Old World knows it and now fights hard against. But the residents of it? Not yet have all seen the way, the truth and the life.

Living in the overlapping of the now and the not yet is constantly frustrating. Not only in dealing with others both inside and outside of the church. The most frustrating part is when that now and not yet are within ourselves. Now we know what we should do, but we do not yet do it. Not yet have we mortified the flesh, because now sin still lives in our members. We often find we are at war with our very selves. We are the new creation, but the old hangs around. And the fact of the old hanging around, if we are wise, prevents us from claiming and acting on the now, when what we are desiring is not yet. If we are foolish we plunge ahead only to find ourselves worse than the starting point. The law has not been put away, and not a jot or tittle will disappear until the fulness of the Kingdom.

The now and the not yet is the right division of the law and the gospel. Now the gospel comes to us in word and promise. The not yet becomes the now by faith. But the day comes when that Kingdom will come in power. But the power is not yet. Now it comes in poorer form. A message of reconciliation. A rumor of resurrection. “God making his appeal through us. (2 Corinthians 5:20).” And we implore you, be reconciled to Christ, now. Trust the Word.

What Story are You In?

I’ve never been one to re-read or re-watch things. Outside of the Scriptures, a few select books or poems, or a couple of movies, the 2^nd or 3^rd time through just never added anything. Someone told me once it is the Germanic besetting sin of novelty. Although anyone who knows how much I love my daily routine would never say that. Which is why the last few months have been strange for me. I’ve found myself re-watching some TV series.

Television has changed. It started before streaming with HBO. A season of say The Sopranos was 13 episodes. That’s about half a season of older TV. A third of a season of really old TV. And the stuff coming out today, say Stranger Things, are 8 to 9 episodes per season. The difference being between the older serial nature of television and the current story nature. Every episode of Gunsmoke was exactly the same story. You tuned in every week for 20 years because you liked the characters of Marshall Dillon, Doc and Miss Kitty. Every Episode of Star Trek was the same. But you liked the adventures of the characters of Kirk, Spock and McCoy or Picard, Riker and Data. If you wanted a story, you went to the movies. HBO and streaming changed that. But the shows I’ve found myself rewatching – because they are easily available on streaming – are something of a blend. They have a story that runs through usually a season, but also what I’ll label a meta-narrative story over the entire series. They also were producing 20-24 episodes a year, so each episode has roughly the same serial nature. They eventually fail as a show when the story is played out. House and Cuddy were never going to get married and raise a family. It took a season to play that one out. The Baker Street Irregulars of his team eventually had to stand on their own. The real story was always Sherlock and Watson, House and Wilson. It is the rare story of male friendship that was not sexualized. Will the genius ever recognize his own need? “He saved others, let him save himself.”

Being a Pastor’s Corner and not The Critical Drinker, this should eventually turn to Jesus. So here goes, maybe it works, maybe it doesn’t. We’ve all been cast in our own serial story. Shakespeare as always has the deep intuition. “All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances.” I know that it’s a joke – main character syndrome – the guy who thinks that nothing else happens in the world because the spotlight is always on him. But this world is more complex than any single stage. Another show that I’ve been rewatching has been Person of Interest. And the Machine is watching you, every minute of every day. Every one of you. You are all main characters. It is an interesting metaphor for God. Does the machine intend your story for ill, or for good. Will He intervene on your behalf? And the only way The Machine intervenes in the world is through Mr. Reese and Mr. Finch. Although occasionally The Machine is seen to break its own rules. Bad characters are redeemed, others wish to serve in inappropriate ways and good characters hate the machine.

The story – our story – eventually runs out. We reach the judgement; the show gets cancelled. And we want to say “The Way of the LORD is not just (Ezekiel 33:17).” We’ve been given this life – those serial episodes each day – to solidify our character. Are we the character, like Mr. Reese, who turns from his injustice? And even though he dies, lives. Do we decide in faith that we are living in a Comedy, even through we have our daily tragedies, we know the wedding feast is at the end. Or is this life a tragedy, and we should get our pound of flesh today? Whether your story is in Act 1 or Act 5 it is right to ponder the arc. As Paul says, “these things took place as examples for us (1 Corinthians 10:6).” What story are you in?

Power in the Blood

Just last week South Carolina carried out the first execution by firing squad since 2010. This is not a lament about the barbarity of the method. If I was ever to be put in the position of having to choose a method of my execution, I’d take firing squad. Neither is it a lament of over the death penalty itself. The State, Caesar, has the job of meeting out punishment. The executed in this case in 2001 murdered the parents of an ex-girlfriend and proceeded to kidnap her. He admitted to the murders. And still had 24 years of procedural delays before justice. No, this is a contemplation of blood.

Our Old Testament text is the confrontation of Jeremiah’s prophetic mission with those he was sent to. His mission was to proclaim the coming exile to the elite of Jerusalem. That is summarized in what the priests quoted back to him, “This house shall be like Shiloh, and this city shall be desolate, without inhabitant.” Shiloh was the location of the tabernacle before the temple. It was the center of Samuel’s prophetic work. But the Philistines would steal the Ark of the Covenant from Shiloh and it would not return. The capture was taken as God’s removal of himself from the place. And Shiloh would become barren. Jeremiah’s prophetic message was that God was going to remove his name from the Jerusalem temple. And the life that came from that name would depart with it.

The priests, and the temple prophets, and the people themselves demanded that Jeremiah deserved death for this message. “He has prophesied against the city (Jeremiah 26:11).” Jeremiah’s response has three parts: 1) “The LORD sent me to prophesy against this house and this city the words you have heard (Jeremiah 26:12).” 2) “Do with me as seems good and right to you. (Jeremiah 26:14).” 3) Know for certain that if you put me to death, you will bring innocent blood upon yourselves and upon this city and its inhabitants (Jeremiah 26:15).” And in that third point is the introduction of blood.

The temple of Jerusalem was in the blood business. Every sacrifice that took place was an offering of blood. And as the Torah held, “the life of the flesh is in the blood, and I have given it for you on the altar to make atonement for your souls, for it is the blood that makes atonement by the life. (Lev. 17:11 ESV).” The blood calls out. The blood is either life pleading for life – for atonement. Or the blood is life pleading for vengeance, as Abel’s blood called out in that primal murder.

If we are going to execute people, I’d say it is good to have blood. It is a reminder of what we do. It is everything that the various other methods, which we think are more humane, attempt to hide. If we are spilling blood, is this justified? Or are we bringing innocent blood upon ourselves?

Which brings us to the blood of Christ. Unlike Jeremiah which Jerusalem would never get around to killing, Jerusalem would kill Christ. The definition of innocent blood, which would lead to the temple’s absolute destruction within the lifetime of those present. And the name of God has not returned. But that innocent blood of Christ also presents with something new. The innocent blood pleads not for justice, but for mercy. “Father forgive them, they know not what they do (Luke 23:34).” This innocent life was sent to prophesy a new covenant. His words still call out our sins. “Now therefore mend your ways and your deeds, and obey the voice of the LORD (Jeremiah 26:13).” His word still allows us to do with Christ as seems good and right. His kingdom is not by the sword but by faith. But the plea of the Blood of Christ is not for justice, but for our pardon. Jerusalem may be desolate, but the New Jerusalem is full of life. Life made possible by the blood. As the old hymn has it, there is power in the blood.

In Step With the Spirit

The great enemies of the spiritual life are usually summarized as The Devil, The World and our Sinful Flesh. And I keep using flesh instead of the more modern sounding nature because that is the word the Apostle Paul uses. Paul’s sinful flesh is not limited to what our minds immediately jump to. The Apostle is more psychologically attuned to all the ways our gut desires to have and control things. Those things can be actual things. In more advanced forms they are people. The will to domination. In St. Augustine’s Confessions he steals the pears not because he is hungry, or because the pears were good pears, or even because they looked good. He steals the pears because he wants them. And the second he has them he discards them. And it is his meditation on his desire for the pear that defines his sinful flesh. There is nothing good that comes out of it. Any logic or self justification usually comes later to cover the venality. Augustine’s pears help to show how deep it goes in ourselves. Augustine was a wealthy man. He had better pears at home. Like Ahab desiring Naboth’s Vineyard (1 Kings 21), or the story Nathan tells to David about the rich man stealing the lone sheep of the poor man (2 Samuel 12), it is the pettiness that brings the pathos.

I’ve included a sketch out of an older catechism. It was pictorial, so these ideas were things taught to 3^rd graders, maybe younger. You can see the three great enemies referenced: the devil, the flesh and the world. You can also see what that catechism put forward as the spiritual weapons against these enemies.

If the temptation was the flesh, if the desires to have and dominate are overwhelming, the spiritual weapon proposed is fasting. In Christ, through the Spirit, we can mortify the flesh (Romans 8:13). Mortify is an old King James word. The modern translation has “put to death.” It’s the same root as mortician, or probably more familiar, Morticia of the Addams family. The Spiritual logic is that either we are going to control the desires of the flesh, or the desires of the flesh are going to control us. There is no third way. As all the apostles would say, “do not be deceived (1 Corinthians 6:9 and elsewhere).” If we do not learn to control ourselves, a fruit of the Spirit is self-control (Galatians 5:23), what hope do we have of larger things such as the world or the devil?

We have a few weeks in lent, so I’ll return in future weeks with some comments about the other two. Fasting, prayer and almsgiving are the traditional penitential acts of Lent. Each one deserves 500 words alone. But one last word now. Please notice that none of these practices are practices of the law. We do not do these things to deserve salvation. In Christ the victory has been given to us. And if we find ourselves lost in the flesh, the world or to Satan, Christ calls us back. Every sinner who repents is greeted as the Father did the prodigal son. These practices are Spiritual practices. They are done in the power of the Holy Spirit. And those who are mature in the faith do not leave such things up to chance, but instead, having crucified the flesh, keep in step with the Spirit (Galatians 5:25). Lent is a season to hear what rhythm your step is keeping.

Moses’ Sight

This Sunday is the culmination of the season of Epiphany. And that culmination is always on the Mount of Transfiguration. My general meditation on the seasons is this. God does some major act in his creation. The start of Epiphany is the end of the Christmas story, the three gentile kings show up with their gifts. Does anybody really know or understand what has taken place? The answer is clearly no. Even Mary “gathers up all these things and ponders them in her heart.” And then across the season of Epiphany we “see” various miracles – the signs and wonders – of the life of Jesus. It is a crawling toward understanding just what has come to us. Then on that mount of Transfiguration you get the full revelation. Of course that full revelation is too much in itself. Peter doesn’t know what he is saying. James and John remain silent telling nobody what they had seen. How do you explain the vision?

I think that is a common way of experiencing life for many of us. Something happens. We know it is something big because it changes things. But we don’t really understand it. We haven’t incorporated the new event into our personal narrative yet. You only understand it when you can tell the story. And the story changes. And by the time you can tell it, something else has come. In the very midst of life surrounded by shadows of ourselves. Sometimes we become crippled, weighed down by how much we don’t understand even of ourselves.

But there is another story that crosses that mount of transfiguration – that of Moses. For as big a role as Moses seems to play in the Old Testament story, the reality is that he is an oddball side character. The story is that of the promise. Father Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Joseph’s providence. Joshua’s conquest. David’s heart after God. The tabernacle and temple and throne often against the prophetic word. All of Israel struggling to see and never seeing. But Moses “was 120 years old when he died. His eye was undimmed, and his vigor unabated.” Being someone who has worn glasses since the third grade, that line has always stuck out.

Moses is the man through whom God performed his signs and wonders over Pharaoh and all Egypt. Moses is the transcriber of the law and the entire Torah, the first five books of the Scriptures. Moses is the man who talks with God, goes to the mountaintop, delivers the law in cloud and majesty and awe. Moses shepherds the people in the wilderness for 40 years feeding them with the manna and providing the water from the rock. Moses “was faithful in all God’s house as a servant, to testify to the things that were to be spoken later (Hebrews 3:5).” But Moses was not The Son. Moses knew. His eyes were undimmed. But Moses is the law. And the law does not save. Not even Moses. God would tell Moses to preach to the rock to produce water the 2^nd time, and Moses struck it again. And for this careless trespass would not enter the promised land. With his undimmed vision he was given a sight of it, but in this life would not enter it.

The law is a faithful servant. It gives us eyes to see, probably better than we want to see. But the servant does not inherit the house. The Son inherits the house. And we can only receive the Son by faith. We enter the promised land by faith not by sight. The spies saw the inhabitants of the land and deemed it impossible. Joshua by faith crossed the Jordan. In the very midst of life we may not know ourselves but we are known. We may not see with undimmed eye, but we hear the voice of the Son inviting us into the house. Moses takes you as far as he can go. We cross the Jordan by faith.

“Rides Upon the Storm”

For some reason I, along with the church of this age, keep getting drawn into the book of Revelation. That is a fine book. Unlike many who have gone rabid over the centuries wishing to deny its place in the canon, I find lots of comfort in the book. Christ wins. His victory is given to the saints. It is not without struggle, but nothing worthwhile ever is. And the sight of the New Jerusalem coming down from heaven is worth it. But the older I get, and the more readings I have done in the Scriptures, the more I agree with another friend. He’s a philosopher and was quipping off the old joke that all philosophy is a footnote to Plato. At the bottom of the cups one day he said, “the entire scriptures are footnotes to Genesis.” Now the Gospels would be pretty significant footnotes, but in the Joseph story in Genesis it is all there. Joseph’s brothers reject him. He descends into the pit. Is declared dead, but is alive. Suffers greatly at the hands of many. Longs for his father and to do his father’s will. And ultimately forgives his brothers while reigning.

Our Old Testament lesson for today (Genesis 45:3-15) captures a scene toward the end of that story where Joseph shares an amazing line. Joseph has revealed himself to his brothers and asked after Jacob his father. And understandably the brothers “were dismayed at his presence.” Having sold him into slavery and long considered him dead, here he stands before them as ruler and savior. Surely now they will get the judgement they deserve. Surely Joseph will turn the tables. At the very least deny them the food they need in the midst of famine. Maybe just kill them directly after toying with them a bit. And while some of that may have played on Joseph’s mind earlier. Read the full story. Joseph has come to a different decision. “Do not be distressed…because you sold me here, for God sent me before you to preserve life. Genesis 45:5).” He refines this a bit as the story of his entire life. “It was not you who sent me here, but God. (Genesis 45:8).”

Saying something like that about our lives is easy for the good stuff. Giving God credit for our victories is easy stuff. When we are winners feeling the love of God comes naturally. Reference every athlete after winning the big game thanking God. And this takes nothing away from that witness. For God certainly provides the victory. Joseph is “lord of all Egypt”, the only one anywhere who has any food, the one who holds his brother’s lives in the palm of his hands. But giving God credit when we are down in the pit is a test of faith. When we are battered and bruised, black and blued, can God be there? And can we extend the grace of God to those who placed us there?

This is the witness. “If I make my bed in sheol, you are there. (Psalm 139:8).” He descended into hell. And when he returned it was not to exact vengeance against all who had thrown him there. Which would be all of us. He descended into hell, into sheol, the pit, to start the triumph. “God sent me before you to preserve a remnant (Genesis 45:7).” The absolute worst that Satan, the World and even death can throw at us, it threw at Christ. And it wasn’t enough. He descended to the pit, and set the captives free.

God leads us into all types of places. This is so that we might come to know that anywhere we are, he’s already been there, and he remains with us. This is so that we might learn to trust him for the victory. This is so that we might learn to live by grace. Do not be dismayed at his presence, for his presence is for our good.

A Sudden and Evil Death…

We don’t use it all that often. Ash Wednesday. Maybe the odd Sunday in Lent or Advent. The Litany (LSB 288) is a highly stylized and formal call and response prayer. Technically our “Prayers of the Church” are a litany. They are petitionary in that they ask God for something. There is a call and response form to them. The difference is that the call, the petition, is usually changeable and specific week to week, while the congregational response is fixed in one of two forms: “Hear our prayer” or “In you mercy.” The formal litany is contemplative in both call and response. The petitions are general: “from all sin, error and evil…deliver us good Lord.” As a contemplative prayer, we individually supply our sin, error and evil. And collectively we offer them up to Christ seeking deliverance. A litany in English has just become a synonym for an overly long list. But if that word was still grounded in the world of contemplative prayer, it is a list of things important enough to bring to Almighty God. It is a list of things common enough that we all fear the things in it. We don’t like to contemplate them, but we need to. And turn them over to Christ who alone grants us peace.

The line that plays on my memory today is one that I don’t think we tend to share with most Christians of most times and places as a trouble. “From sudden and evil death…good Lord deliver us.” Every time I intone that line, my contemplation is that I think most of us would prefer that, a sudden if not evil death. Don’t let me suffer or linger or be a burden. Let my death be fast and if not fast then easy. Our entire end of life system these days is built towards giving that. Although I am not sure if that is for the comfort of those remaining or of those leaving. But that petition was important enough for most Christians to make it into the litany. Sudden death for most of history was all around. Sudden death could be an evil death for multiple reasons, but primarily two. A sudden death might “capture us unawares.” Like the 5 virgins who fell asleep without oil, the day came, and they were not ready. The second thing a sudden death precluded was reconciliation. We tend to keep grudges, and if not grudges, there are all kinds of minor things, each a brick in a wall that builds up between us and our family or neighbor. And if not a full wall, a stumbling stone that makes interaction in anything but gentle pleasantries uncomfortable. The time before death was the time to clear away any of those hindrances. In our sufferings, to fill up the sufferings of Christ, and be reconciled to all. A sudden death would rob that.

Of course, I’m reflecting just on the fact of the sudden death of Dale and Marge. None of us knows our day, hour or minute. And neither of those two concerns were a problem with Dale or Marge. They were not caught unaware by the day. They both had a solid and fervent faith in Jesus. And in living out that faith I saw no evidence of stumbling blocks placed or walls that needed to come down. Dale and Marge lived the faith day by day. And in that they are examples of the saints we are to hold up for our instruction. We can pray that God would grant us the time to be in earnest, that sudden and evil death would not catch us, so that we might be reconciled at the last. Or we can recognize that now is that time. Today is the day of grace. Today is the day to strengthen our faith toward God and our fervent love toward one another. Today is the day to check the oil for our lamps.