Then they cast him out of the city and stoned him. And the witnesses laid down their garments at the feet of a young man named Saul. Act 7:58
Acts was written by Luke, who says (Lk. 1:1-4) that he carefully set out to write a history of Jesus and the early Church. And Luke was there with St. Paul at the very end of St. Paul’s life (II Tim. 4:11). Much of the information we have about St. Paul comes from Luke. So why does Luke seemingly go out of his way to condemn Paul (Saul) with this little aside about who was watching the coats at the stoning of Stephen? You’d think Luke would want to downplay, or at least not want to highlight such an embarrassing detail. But keep reading. What Luke could have been teaching us it not to judge God’s ways, or lose heart prematurely. St. Stephen was beloved by the Church. His being unjustly stoned to death would have made many people wonder why God would allow such a thing. It made no sense. It was a huge loss to the Church. But we know that most of Acts ends up being about that very same Saul. He becomes a great Apostle. His story prior to his conversion laid the groundwork for his conversion and subsequent history. You just have to keep reading when it seems like everything has gone wrong. When we encounter things that make no sense to us, such as when innocent people suffer, when death seemingly picks people at random, when government are unjust, when the Church suffers setbacks, we can begin to question God. We should know from our own Scriptures and from the name of our congregation that the story isn’t over. God is always going somewhere with this, no matter what “this” is or how terrible it may be. History isn’t over; we need to keep reading. Since we know that time after time God had brought good out of evil, we should simply keep our eyes open for what the benefits of this strange, ongoing situation might be. Maybe it was necessary to shake you out of a spiritual lethargy. Maybe this will help our society re-prioritize. Maybe people are getting the training they need to fight some other virus in the future. Maybe all of those things and countless other good things are going on. What is certain is that this Easter season we need never fear any kind of endings. Whether that ending is death, or of a career, or stage of family life, or anything dear to us, we look forward. We keep reading. The Christ who came out of the tomb is with us. The disease, injustice, or ravages of time that bring the things we love to an end do not have the final word, and are likely just the seeds of amore glorious, unforeseeable future. St. Paul has been on both side of a martyrdom—first helping to kill St. Stephen, then being unjustly executed himself for his faith. But the story of Christ and His Church goes on. St. Paul’s, Munster is a part of it. You are a part of it. It is full of endings that erupt into new chapters. Don’t be afraid, and don’t be surprised when it turns out God has been going somewhere with this. Keep reading. In Christ, Pastor Speckhard
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But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her.” Lk. 10:41-42
Trying to halt the spread of contagion while still living our lives has forced governments to distinguish between essential and non-essential activities, jobs, and events. It has led to some almost comical misclassifications, at least in most people’s opinions. For example, we read reports that in Michigan you can buy lottery tickets but not garden seeds. In some places, apparently, you can be outside getting fresh air and exercising, but not if you’re doing it by landscaping your yard at the same time. In North Carolina, the government has declared that protesting the government’s classifications of what constitutes essential and non-essential activities is itself a non-essential activity, so you’re not allowed to be outside doing that. Which sort of begs the question, doesn’t it? It is easy to find seemingly ludicrous examples, but that is because reducing everything to simple categories of essential and non-essential depends on a set of criteria that has never been agreed upon. I’ll bet if any of us tried to classify everything and enforce it, in no time there would be social media memes everywhere mocking the ridiculous consequences of the choices we made. It isn’t as easy as it sounds. There is a famous scene in Schindler’s List in which Nazi officers have to classify all the Jewish workers in Warsaw as essential or non-essential. But at least they have a single criterion: is the job essential to the war effort or not. That makes things a tad easier. In one instance, an elderly man is declared nonessential and condemned because he is a teacher of history and literature. He is saved at the last minute when his friend convinces the officers that he is actually a metal polisher, required for the manufacture of armaments. What is essential? What isn’t? Who makes that call? Of what is a civilization made? Nobody likes to be declared non-essential. Today, people who might have looked down on others who worked certain jobs are receiving their comeuppance. People who stock shelves, make deliveries, mop floors—these people are being lauded as the backbone of society. Nobody is saying, “We need a ballerina and three modern dance majors over here! Stat!” It turns out the people who might have once turned up their noses at basic trades and menial jobs are now finding themselves the ones declared non-essential, at least by some definitions. In The Breakfast Club, a brainy A-student talks about taking shop class and failing to make a lamp properly, and how stupid the assignment was. Another student in shop class mocks him for being such a useless egghead in all the useless smart kid classes. The smart kid responds, “Well, did you know that without trigonometry there would be no engineering?” To which the critic replies, “Without lamps there would be no light.” What is essential? What is non-essential? Students, and sometimes even their parents, fall prey to this overly-simplistic way of thinking sometimes. In the height of frustration trying to do school and work at home, the question, “Why do I have know this stuff?” never seems more apt. The foolish approach is to say that if isn’t going to help you get a better job, you should only do it if it is fun. The purpose of education goes beyond maximizing employment potential or mental entertainment. Language, history, art—these are all non-essential in terms of sustaining life, but essential in terms of making civilization worth sustaining. What is essential? I hope one casualty of this shut-down is the tendency to look down on the jobs that require less formal education, but that prove essential in times of crisis. I also hope we don’t fall into the trap of looking down on jobs that do require a lot of education but don’t serve much immediate purpose in a crisis. Maybe one thing God is giving us is a renewed appreciation for all the various ways we depend on each other. For example, if you’ve been watching Netflix while stuck at home, thousands of people with “nonessential” areas of expertise, like creative writing, acting, history, modern dance, etc. have made that possible. So have countless people with “essential” expertise in the technology that makes streaming possible. So has the guy who delivered your tv to the store or your house, and the electrician that wired up the outlet. Everyone fits into the picture somehow. Be grateful for the many Marthas who did a million things for you that you couldn’t have done for yourself. We are interconnected. The familiar story of Mary and Martha takes the world’s views of what is essential and non-essential and turns it upside down. “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things—online classes, internet connections, delivery status updates, cleaning up breakfast—but one thing is necessary. There is it is. THE distinction. Christ is the one thing needful. Jesus makes the distinction for us. Whatever else is essential to survive a crisis, to build up a civilization, to make a living, there is only one thing that that is essential in any eternal sense. If nothing else, God might be using this crisis to make us examine what is important and what isn’t. It is easy to lose track of it. Every other distinction between essential and non-essential fails. Not this one. You have Christ. He will not be taken away from you. You have the one thing needful. That is essential forever. In Christ, Pastor Speckhard If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all. Rom. 12:18
One of the silver linings to any unexpected disaster is the way it brings people together. A power outage becomes a time of laughter and deep conversation. A blizzard is when bonding happens. Even a funeral tends to heal the scars in our family relationships. And this pandemic and the national shut-down can have some of the same effect. Knowing that we’re all in it together gives it a sense of adventure. It is easier to have an encouraging word for a stranger. On the other hand, being cooped up with the same people day after day, no outlets, no respite leads to cabin fever, especially with the unseasonably cold weather this week. When people go stir crazy, this verse from Romans becomes more important than ever. You can’t always get along with everyone, but it is important that you make self-sacrificial effort. Whatever the argument, don’t be the cause of it if you can help it. A few days ago I was (Of all things! Who could have guess that it would come to this?) standing on an x in a maze of taped off shopping carts out in the parking lot waiting my turn to enter the grocery store. An older man came out, which meant another person in line could go in, so I stepped up to the next x six feet closer to getting inside. The man who had come out stopped to chat. So I chatted a bit. He seemed lonely. Maybe this trip to the store was the only human interaction he would be getting that day. We talked about the crazy situation, the weather, the lack of sports seasons, and other people in line seemed to be nodding along and joining in the camaraderie and togetherness. Then the man blurted out, “I blame Trump for all this,” and right away the spell was broken. People in line began to make eye contact to see who would nod along and who would argue. Some may have thought the man was crank. Others may have thought him a sage. But it was certain that the sense of togetherness dissipated. Politics will do that, especially in an election year. I can think of almost nothing more important to fulfilling this verse in your life than that you avoid politicizing this pandemic. People are frayed and frazzled. Everyone has had it up to here with someone, but no one can agree on where to place the blame. As your pastor, I ask you not to worry about that right now. Vote in November however you please, but let the pandemic, for all the terrible things it is and does, also be something that unites. This verse is especially important when people are already looking for reasons to be cross, but also unusually open to experiencing togetherness. If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all. Democrats and Republicans. Well-off or struggling economically. Stranger or family member. Young or old. People who are scared and people who think the whole thing is overblown. Simply being a source of peace in a time of trouble can be a huge Christian witness. Avoid the temptation to score points, put people in their place, vent frustrations on someone, or anything like that. Your Lord has defeated death. You have nothing to prove to anyone. You have nothing to fear from anyone. You have all kinds of opportunities to live peaceably with everyone, because Christ is your peace, and He lives forever! He is risen indeed! Alleluia! In Christ, Pastor Speckhard Let every person be subject to the governing authorities. For there is no authority except from God, and those that exist have been instituted by God. Therefore, whoever resists the authorities resists what God has appointed, and those who resist will incur judgment. For rulers are not a terror to good conduct, but to bad. Would you have no fear of the one who is in authority? Then do what is good, and you will receive his approval, for he is God's servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain. For he is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God's wrath on the wrongdoer. Therefore one must be in subjection, not only to avoid God's wrath but also for the sake of conscience. Rom. 13:1-5
Of all people, Christians have good reason to know that the governing authorities can be good or bad, but remain the governing authorities either way. Jesus stood before Pilate and died unjustly. St. Paul appealed to Rome and died unjustly. Luther’s Catechism includes “…devout and faithful rules, good government…” in the list of things that constitute the daily bread for which we pray in the Lord’s Prayer. But, like other things in the list such as good weather and health, we pray for it, then take what God gives us gratefully whether it was what we were hoping for or not. When to obey or disobey secular authorities has always been a matter of some debate among Christians. In Acts 5:29, the Apostles explain that they disobeyed the order not to preach the Gospel (even after having been arrested for it) because “We must obey God rather than men.” But we also have the 4th Commandment telling us not to anger the authorities but to obey and honor them. Throughout Christian history it hasn’t always been clear when to disobey or submit to unjust authorities, or even when the authorities were really being unjust. From the book of Acts to the Reformation to modern times, the relationship between church (God’s eternal, right hand kingdom) and the secular authority (the temporal kingdom of the left) has been a matter of strong debate and disagreement. In these strange times, more and more controversy has surrounded state governors issuing edicts about the manner in which churches may or may not offer Holy Communion. This, to say the least, has sparked a fair amount of debate among clergy charged with administering the Sacrament. Who does the governor think he is to tell me how distribute spiritual, eternal things? That’s the kingdom of the right, and none of the governor’s business! On the other hand, who does that pastor think he is disobeying laws about physical, temporal things like eating and drinking? Public health and preventing the spread of contagion are clearly matters of the left hand kingdom and therefore the governor’s God-given task to oversee. If our spiritual practices put other citizens at physical risk, that clearly falls under the governor’s responsibility to the public. The Sacrament attaches the spiritual and eternal Word and promise of Christ’s body and blood to the physical, worldly elements of bread and wine. That connection between the spiritual and the biological means that the left and right hand kingdoms can’t help but collide when a spiritual practice causes a bodily danger. The Church must obey God rather than men when it comes to shepherding souls with God’s Word and Sacraments. But the secular authority is still the authority when it comes to public policy concerning temporal lives and the spread of contagion. So we’re trying to be good Christians and good citizens. But again, it isn’t always self-evident how to do that. In this case, the dual spiritual/biological nature of the Sacrament itself brings together the two kingdoms that govern spiritual/biological Christian people who are citizens of an eternal kingdom and various earthly realms. What can you do? First, be patient. I, frankly (and I know Pastor Stock shares this sentiment with me), have little patience for governors telling me how to administer Communion. I feel like telling them they better back off. But I also have to remember that they are trying to do their job of keeping people safe, that this pandemic is a new thing for them, too, and that they are doing their best. If anyone thinks being governor is an easy job or that they could do it better, I suspect such people are kidding themselves. We all need to put the best construction on things, endure difficulties, and not let disagreements spiral needlessly out of control. Second, pray. If nothing else, Governors Holcomb and Pritzger and President Trump and the other authorities under them need and deserve our prayers. There are so many people and situations to pray about, but please include the leaders of both Church and State in your prayers. All of us are making it up as we go along in this unforeseen situation, and we’re all bound to make a few mistakes. Third, make sure we keep our priorities in order. Presidents, governors, and health commissioners are legitimate but not ultimate authorities. We must, like every generation of Christians in the history of the Church, make clear that when it comes to pastoral practice and spiritual matters, we will gladly take into account but not be ruled by secular leaders. Spiritual matters are outside their authority and competence. We can accommodate much for the sake of good order, but what the congregation does is more essential, not less so, than any business or government. Lastly and most importantly, be not afraid, but rejoice and be glad in this joyous Eastertide! Don’t worry about things outside your control, because your Lord is risen and nothing is outside His control. No temporal, worldly situation can matter more than that. Be assured that you will be served, by hook or by crook, with God’s Word and Sacraments. Maybe not in the manner or frequency you’d like, but still adequately. We will figure it out. We are in good hands. Easter means there is nothing this world can do to you. You are a citizen of an eternal kingdom. Rejoice in hope, be patient in affliction, be constant in prayer (Rom. 12:12), because it is in doing those things that you most meaningfully shout to the world, “He is risen indeed!” In Christ, Pastor Speckhard And on the seventh day God finished His work that he had done, and he rested on the seventh day from all His work that He had done. Gen. 2:2-3
When Jesus had received the sour wine, he said, “It is finished,” and he bowed his head and gave up his spirit. John 19:30 What is the connection between the You that fell asleep last night and the You that woke up this morning? You’re the same person, of course, but in a sense, you’re a different person when you’re well rested than you are when you are exhausted. Your muscles rebuild, your emotions settle, your thoughts have a chance to process, even your skin and your eyes seem rejuvenated. There is a reason they call it beauty sleep. You are closer to being the person you’re supposed to be when you are rested. Of course it never fully works. There is too much connection between yesterday and today for us to wake up completely new. The day is new, but no matter how rested we are, it is our same old self facing it. The hurts and scars, and problems unsolved, the consequences of mistakes—they linger with us from night until morning, or we drag them with us from one day into another. In this life, a good night’s rest helps, but it is not a cure-all. We wake up better off, but still with the same sinfulness, problems, fears, and mortality. If every bedtime it is a rehearsal for dying, then every morning is a rehearsal of the resurrection. What we need is something that utterly cuts us off from the old world and our old selves, yet somehow allows us to remain who we are. And not just who we are, but who we ought to be, perfectly ourselves, perfectly rested, beautiful, strong, righteous, cut off from sin and suffering, but awake and alive to love and the glory of God all around us, never to grow tired and weak again. That is the night’s sleep we all need. Today is Holy Saturday. Normally at the Easter Vigil we read the story of the seven days of creation. It is a favorite reading because we do it in the dark, by candlelight, and ring hand bells in increasingly complex harmonies between each day of creation. But Genesis is only the first of many readings. We know that the Sabbath rest was destroyed by sin and rebellion, and that nothing we could do would set things right. Jesus, God and Man, did all the work or restoring us to our Creator. He took it all upon Himself. And when it was finished, He rested. He rested in the tomb on Holy Saturday, and arose on Sunday to inaugurate the New Creation. Jesus and St. Paul both refer to death as sleeping. Many times I’ve stood out at Concordia Cemetery or someplace like it for a committal service, and blessed a grave site with these words: “O Lord Jesus Christ, by Your three-day rest in the tomb You hallowed the graves of all who believe in You, promising resurrection to our mortal bodies. Bless this grave that the body of our brother (or sister) may sleep here in peace until you awaken him to glory, when he shall see You face to face and know the splendor of the eternal God…” Holy Saturday has its part. Good Friday is when everything was accomplished. The concluding prayer at the cemetery begins, “Almighty God, by the death of Your Son Jesus Christ You destroyed death…” Easter Sunday is when the New Creation began. The same prayer says, “and by His bodily resurrection You brought life and immortality to light…” But there is waiting involved. Holy Saturday, the Sabbath Day. In between the part about Good Friday and Easter Sunday, the prayer says, “…by His rest in the tomb You sanctified the graves of Your saints…” and goes on to say, “…so that all who die in Him abide in peace and hope.” Whether we speak of a bed, a grave, or Holy Saturday, rest in peace. Sleep long and well. Let the troubles of this whole life melt away like the troubles of a child’s day. God will watch over you, and wake you up when it is time. In that day you will be perfectly you, but all that is wrong, including your old sinful nature, will have melted away like a bad dream. Christ is your holy Sabbath. He makes you new. A soft pillow is a picture of it night after night. A hard headstone is a witness to it year after year. We will arise in glory to a new day. Today is a day of rest. He was wounded for our transgressions; He was crushed for our iniquities; upon Him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with His stripes we are healed. Is. 53:5
September, 2001. A hospital up the street from my church in Green Bay called to say they had a patient who had asked for an LCMS pastor to bring him Communion before he died. He was far from home, had made poor health choices, had ruined most of his relationships, and had only recently tried to reconnect with the church of his youth. But that church did not currently have a pastor, and at any rate was several hours away. He had come to Green Bay for treatment and had not received good news. Faced with the strong chance that he would be dying soon and never see anyone he knew again, nor ever be able to correct any of his mistakes in life, he asked the chaplain to call the nearest LCMS church on his behalf. So we talked, and I gave him communion. He died soon thereafter. Because it was such a crazy time, I’m not sure if died on 9/11 or the day after. I found out after the fact. Some distant relative had come to take the body back to his hometown. I’m not sure who did the funeral, or who would have shown up to it anyway. I always think of this man when I think of those who died on 9/11. There are many ways to be alone. To be cut off by bitterness and regret from family and friends is isolating indeed. To be in physical isolation is difficult enough, but knowing one has the love and support of people can only take the edge off being physically alone by so much. The victims of 9/11 died tragic deaths, to be sure, but their lives and stories were mourned by the whole nation along with their loved ones. Those who mourn a loved one resent the world for going on like nothing happened. There is an old tradition, based on a valid instinct of grief, which people stop all the clocks or drape something over them for a while in a house where someone has died. Time has no right to go on without this person, we seem to want to say because we feel it in our hearts. Those who die in national tragedies—soldiers in battle, civilians and first responders on 9/11, poor residents of New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina, or today in isolation as part of the pandemic, still die, and still must meet their Maker. But their names will always be associated with a recognizable event. Their community and country will always know and honor them merely by remembering the tragedy of the event. For mourners, the world cooperates a little bit, and everyone stops to acknowledge the loss. Cold comfort, but not no comfort at all. We take whatever connections we can get in death. Death, however it happens, is the supremely isolating event. You can hold people’s hands right up to the threshold, but then you have to let go. They take that last step alone. People in hospitals today face a monumental challenge of isolation. Funerals are a challenge. Remembering and acknowledging lives lived is a challenge. It is frustrating. I have no idea what the man in my opening story would have done had he died during a pandemic. Certainly nobody would have visited him, heard his last confession, spoken the Gospel to him and given him communion. But we know death never has the final word. God has His ways, and they seem foolish to us. We know that especially today, because today we commemorate the death that gives life. By the foolishness of the cross, we know Christians don’t take that last step alone. The man in the hospital in Green Bay who died on 9/11 was a prodigal son who came to himself too late to make it back from the far country of his foolish wandering. No doubt his life could have been better lived. But perhaps you will meet him someday without even knowing it, in the resurrection, a brother in Christ, covered in Christ’s righteousness and aglow with the glory of God’s grace. And maybe you and I will have learned something from his story. Maybe he can teach us the truth of the closing verse of the Good Friday hymn O Sacred Head, Now Wounded. Whether we die in pain or comfort, slowly or suddenly, surrounded by loved ones or in isolation, after a life well lived or foolishly squandered, today we prepare ourselves by singing to Jesus-- Be Thou my consolation, My shield when I must die; Remind me of Thy passion When my last hour draws nigh. Mine eyes shall then behold Thee, Upon Thy cross shall dwell, My heart by faith enfold Thee. Who dieth thus dies well. When [Jesus] had washed their feet and put on his outer garments and resumed His place, he said to them, “Do you understand what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord, and you are right, for so I am. If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have given you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. Truly, truly I say to you, a servant is not greater than his master, nor is the messenger greater than the one who sent him. . If you know these things, blessed are you if you do them.” John 13:12-17
Today as we celebrate Maundy Thursday we focus on how Holy Communion connects us to the death and resurrection of Christ. Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and the Saturday Easter Vigil are usually designed to be one long service focusing on the whole of Salvation History as fulfilled by Jesus and alive in us via the Word and Sacraments. As promised yesterday, today’s service focuses on preparation for Holy Communion as we wait for when we can receive it again. So this update will focus on a separate aspect of Maundy Thursday. You might want to read the Gospel of John, chapters 13-18 today. Amazingly, that’s 6 chapters, about a third of the whole Gospel of John, all recording the events of Maundy Thursday. Instituting Holy Communion was of primes importance, but certainly not the only amazing thing Jesus did on that night. It was Maundy Thursday when Jesus washed his disciples’ feet. As Teacher, He taught by example. He modeled for His disciples (same root as discipline—the disciple is supposed to mold himself to the master via imitation). As Lord, He demonstrated what it means to rule. It means to serve. Jesus’ followers, including us, cannot claim that any service to anyone is beneath us. Otherwise we’re saying that the servants are greater than the Master. What it means to learn from Jesus and to have Him as our Lord is easy to forget. We talk about being baptized into His death and resurrection. We preach Christ crucified and risen. We receive the fruit of His sacrifice in Holy Communion. But we ought always remember that we’re baptized into a foot-washing Christ. We preach a Christ who gave Himself up and lived and died for others. We are given life by Him in order follow Him. He promises blessings to those who serve others as He served—in humility, meekness, and self-sacrifice. We still have opportunities during this national time-out to think of ways of serving other. While such acts of service cannot replace the forgiveness and grace we receive in the Word and Sacraments, they can still be a source of tremendous blessing from the Lord this Maundy Thursday. In Christ, Pastor Speckhard I received from the Lord what I also delivered to you, that the Lord Jesus Christ, on the night He was betrayed, took bread, and when He had given thanks, He broke it, and said, “This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me. I Cor. 11:23-24 St. Paul was not in the upper room where the Last Supper took place. He wasn’t a Christian at all until much later. Yet he still received the gift and promise of Christ Himself, from Christ Himself, with a commission to pass it on. That gift and promise is Holy Communion. As a church named after St. Paul, it makes sense that we have been focusing lately on passing on what we received. The whole Rededicated Campaign to the next generation has been our effort to say to people forty years from now, “What we received from the Lord through St. Paul and across all these generations, we also delivered to you.” It also makes perfect sense that regular Communion is at the heart of what we’re all about. But it also makes sense that we might not always receive that gift in the normal way at the normal time. After all, St. Paul didn’t. The times we live in—call them odd, terrible, confusing, unique, frustrating, interesting, whatever they might be in your mind—have interrupted the normal flow of things here for all of us. The Board of Deacons met last night (via Zoom) to discuss how best to proceed as a congregation in terms of offering communion during Holy Week and Easter. Pastor Stock and I have looked at what other congregations and church bodies have done, and indeed, there is a wide array of approaches out there, with many pros and cons. We looked at all of them and at the specifics of our own context. Our goal is to keep everyone safe, keep Christ at the center of our personal and congregational life, keep our confidence in the efficacy of the Sacrament absolute, and keep everyone in the congregation connected to Christ. In order to balance all of those competing goals, we have decided to offer Services of the Word online until such time as we can come together again as a congregation for Word and Sacrament. (We will not deny the Sacrament to anyone who asks out of desperation due to a crisis or emergency situation, but that would be on a case by case basis.) Maundy Thursday without Communion? It seems like if there was ever a time to focus on the Sacrament, it would be then. And Communion will still be the focus, but as a matter of preparation. We have been doing a Lenten series about eyes and seeing, and Maundy Thursday’s theme is More Than Meets the Eye. The eyes of the world simply see a ritual with some bread and wine. Only the eyes of faith see the truth of the matter, that in, with, and under that little ritual with bread and wine is Christ giving Himself for the life of the world and His Church being nurtured in faith. Tomorrow’s service, therefore, will focus on the importance of those eyes of faith. We will not waste this unexpected pause in the normal flow of services. We will embrace it, using the “down time” to focus on preparation. Normally I do that on the Wednesday of Holy Week with all the confirmands and their families in preparation for their first Communion. We use Christian Questions and their Answers from Luther’s Catechism. Tomorrow’s sermon will take the confirmands and the whole congregation through that preparation as we focus on Communion while receiving the gift of Christ another way, building up the eyes of faith. Unless you call with an emergency, the next time you take Communion will be some weeks from now; hopefully not many, but we cannot know quite yet. If we use this time wisely, then the day we do come together again for worship will combine the best aspects of two things that otherwise are nearly impossible to combine-- first and familiar. It will be much anticipated and well prepared for, like a confirmand’s first Communion. But for most of us it will also comfort us with the familiarity that only years of faithful repetition brings. But most importantly of all, whatever it feels like, it will be Christ for you, the same Christ who is with you even now, and who invites you to pick up a cross and follow Him. That cross-bearing includes, for the time being, the cross of not receiving every blessing He has for you (at least not yet). But in spiritual yearning and with the gifts He does give us, we view the events of Holy Week, the Sacrament, St. Paul’s, your life, this day, and even the disruption of this pandemic through the eyes of faith. In Christ, Pastor Speckhard So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom. Ps. 90:12
Even in a normal year, Holy Week tends to be a time of increased reflection on death, for the obvious reason that the events of the week center on the crucifixion of Christ. In this pandemic year, we’re reminded of death even more. Every little thing we do—put on gloves, disinfect a doorknob, wear a mask, stand six feet apart—reminds us of death. People are dying. We might be spreading deadly disease. We can’t escape the topic. It dominates the news worldwide. But that is a good thing! Did you know that many great devotional writers and pastors have said daily reminders of our own mortality can benefit our spiritual lives tremendously? For example, perhaps the most famous devotional writer in the history of Lutheran churches, Johann Gerhard, wrote a reflection called “The Daily Consideration of Death.” In it, he addresses his own soul and tells how beneficial it is for us to remember that we are pilgrims and temporary sojourners in this world. We make wiser decisions, we keep our priorities in better order, we get less discouraged by worldly setbacks and experience more peace and joy when we remember that every day might be our last. “We deceive ourselves sadly if we think of death as only taking place with the last breath of life here; on the contrary, day by day, hour by hour, moment by moment, we are dying.” Those words by Gerhard simply state a fact. We are born with a finite number of heartbeats. Every beat reduces that number by one, like a countdown. He says there is huge spiritual value in waking up every day with the knowledge that this might be your last day, and going to bed at night as a sort of “practice death” knowing you might never wake up. But isn’t that morbid? Not at all. It is simply true, and no threat at all to those who know Christ and the victory over sin, death, and hell. “….If I should die before I wake, I pray, Thee, Lord my soul to take.” That little “Now I lay me…” prayer is one way children learn to number their days and gain a heart of wisdom. It is when we forget that we are mortal, when we disregard the reality of death or ignore, that we make foolish decisions, put our faith in nonsense, and stop relying on our Creator and Redeemer for every good thing. As you cannot celebrate Holy Week in the normal ways this year, I urge you today to be aware of every reminder of death you see—every death toll on the news, every rubber glove or mask, every mention of the stay-at-home order. Keep track. Let it help you examine your life, put your days and years in the context of eternity. And let the events we commemorate in Holy Week make that context a source of comfort and hope. In Christ, Pastor Speckhard The blood shall be a sign for you, on the houses where you are. And when I see the blood, I will pass over you, and no plague will befall you to destroy you, when I strike the land of Egypt. Ex. 12:13
As we enter Holy Week it is good to go back and read the account of the first Passover, when God announced He would kill of the firstborn son of every household in Egypt, except those households that sacrificed a lamb died in the place of the firstborn son. God told Moses, and through him all Israel, that blood of that lamb would take the place of the blood of the firstborn son. Thus, death passed over the households of those who trusted in God’s Word and promise. The blood on the doorposts and lintel was the effective sign. It comforted the people because it held God to His promise. Notice the verse above says it is a sign “for you,” but continues “when I [God] see the blood…” It is there for God to see and be bound to his gracious promises. Everything comes together, the meaning, the gift, and the effectiveness of the gift, in that blood. Salvation wasn’t just a matter of getting blood on the doorpost, though. The blood was the main, effective thing, of course, but it did not stand alone as some magically significant thing apart from the rest of the Passover ceremony. The whole Passover preparation played a crucial role in making that blood what it was. You couldn’t just skip all that other stuff and put some blood on your doorpost and call that a covenant from God. Sometimes in confirmation class we consider goofy questions, like “What if the dog licks the blood off one of the doorposts? Will I still be safe tonight? What if our lamb had a defect we didn’t see? What if our doorpost is already red and blood doesn’t show up?” There are a million such potential questions. But if the promise is to be a sign for the household, everything has to be done, to the degree it is possible, according to God’s institution, with trust that God is faithful. The selection of the lamb, the preparation of the house, the slaughter at twilight, etc. all matter to the purpose of the blood comforting the anxious heart. We know that Passover, along with all the OT rituals, was “a shadow of the things that were to come; the substance belongs to Christ.” (Col. 2:17) In the first Holy Week, Jesus came to Jerusalem to celebrate Passover, which had been going on annually since that first Exodus about 1,500 years prior. That what the “Last Supper” in the upper room was all about. The rich meaning of the firstborn son, the sacrifice, substitutionary atonement, salvation from death, and the final revelation how Jesus would fulfill his role as “Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world”-- it all comes together when Jesus, at the Passover meal, identifies Himself as the lamb of the new covenant, instituting Holy Communion. He gives Himself to His followers in His last will and testament before He dies to put that will into effect the next day. Every Communion service, therefore, is, among other things, the fulfillment of the Passover ceremony. The main thing, the effective thing, is the body and blood of Christ given to us in, with, and under the bread and wine. That is the crucial part, the focal point. But like the Passover, the focal point isn’t the entirety, it is part of a larger ceremony. God gives us this new covenant of Christ’s body and blood with physical elements (bread and wine), His Word of promise (the words of institution), someone to speak for Christ (the celebrant) and at least one other person (the congregation) to eat and drink. The whole ritual goes together as one thing. Normally, this is not a problem at all. Every Divine Service includes the proclamation of Christ in the Scriptures and preaching as fulfillment of the Law, and the distribution of the fruit of His sacrifice according to His institution of Communion. But what if, like now, we can’t get together? How can we have communion? If we start down the road of asking what “works” we end up in goofy places like our experimental classroom discussions of Passover. “What if the pastor just consecrated the elements and mailed them to the parishioners? What if he said the Words of Institution online while I have bread and wine in front of my computer screen at home? What if I just ask God privately in prayer to give me Christ’s body and blood via whatever food I have?” The short answer is that anything that separates the eating and drinking from the consecration undermines the purpose of the covenant. Instead of building up faith, it invites uncertainty. Even when we take communion to the homebound, we have the bread and wine, the consecration, the celebrant, and the congregation of one or two eating and drinking all together. We all desire to receive communion, especially in Holy Week. Not having our usual services is especially painful. I realize churches are doing all kinds of things, some a bit “out there” to try to offer communion during a shelter-in-place order. I have called a special meeting of the deacons for tomorrow evening (via Zoom) to discuss how we will be proceeding in the coming weeks concerning Holy Communion. Wednesday’s email update should fill you in. In the meantime, please know that your yearning for communion is a healthy spiritual sign, that your salvation does not depend upon receiving it at any particular time, and that God does not limit Himself to only that one way of nurturing your faith. Please also know that offering communion to those desiring it is of utmost importance to us. We will do our very best to find faithful ways to feed the flock with all of God’s gifts no matter the circumstance. As the Passover pointed to Christ, Holy Week reminds us we have a God who died that we might live. He isn’t going to forget about you or neglect you. He paid too much for you for that. That Good News permeates this holiest of weeks. In Christ, Pastor Speckhard ++++++ Thanks to those who participated in the Bible studies via Zoom. My apologies to those who tried to log in but were unable; the error was on my end, not yours. But I eventually got it squared away, and we had a good discussion. It should be much smoother going forward. The pandemic is making this rapidly aging dog learn new tricks when it comes to pastoral practice and use of technology. |
AuthorRev. Peter Speckhard, Senior Pastor at St. Paul's Ev. Lutheran Church, Munster, Indiana Archives
February 2021
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