Religious freedom is under attack in America and around the world. Saeed Abedini, an American citizen, was building an orphanage in Iran when he was imprisoned.
Here is Congressman Trent Franks, a champion of human rights and religious freedom, speaking about the case:
You can read more about the case here.
Tagged: Iran, Religious Freedom, Saeed Abedini, Trent Franks
The following quotation from Chrysostom is good for every Christian of every time and place. But it is especially fitting now in a time of controversy and division. Speaking the truth is not enough, for as the Apostle says, it must be spoken in love. Here is Chrysostom on the true meaning of “speaking boldly”:
If we do it in anger, we do it with passion and the boldness of those who are confident of their case. But if we speak with gentleness, this is boldness. Boldness is a success and anger is a failure. And success and failure can’t possibly go together. Therefore, if we want to have boldness, we must clear away our anger so that no once can attribute our words to it. No matter how sound your words may be, no matter how boldly you speak, how fairly you correct, or what not, you ruin everything when you speak with anger. Look at Stephen and how free his words to his persecutors were from passion. He didn’t abuse them but reminded them of the prophets’ words. In order to show you that it wasn’t done in anger, he prayed as he suffered evil from their hands, “Lay not to their charge this sin.” He was far from speaking those words in anger. No, he spoke out of grief and sorrow for their sakes.
(Day by Day with the Early Church Fathers, p46)
“If we speak with gentleness, this is boldness.” God grant me such boldness in these last days.
Tagged: Boldness, Chrysostom, Speaking
Luther on the words, “So the last shall be first, and the first last” (Mt. 20:16):
The essence of this Gospel message is as follows: no human being is so exalted nor is capable of reaching such heights that he no longer needs to fear that he could well drop to the lowest of the low. Or, in other words: there is no-one who has fallen so low or who is in danger of falling so drastically that there is no hope of reaching the heights because, in this area, all merit has been cancelled and it is God’s graciousness which is to be praised. This is why He can say these words: “So the last shall be first, and the first last.” He removes all your presumptuousness and forbids you from exalting yourself above any whore even if you are called Abraham, David, Peter or Paul.
-Luther Brevier, p61
Tagged: Luther
Lutheran Pastor Tapani Simojoki has some excellent thoughts on celebrating ad orientem (“to the east,” i.e., facing the altar for the consecration, standing in the same direction as the people). A key part of the argument:
The Sacrament is the Gospel: it is where the word ceases to be information for the ears and becomes a tangible reality. It is where the crucified and risen body of Jesus, which is the Temple of God on earth, meets with our mortal bodies as the medicine of immortality. And therefore the Words of Institution are the Gospel precisely when the congregation eavesdrops on them, hearing them pronounced over the elements for their good. As long as they are addressed to the people, they remain historical information without direct contemporary relevance or benefit.
And this, to my mind, is a key argument against the increasingly common, and historically pretty unheard-of, practice of versus populum celebration of the Sacrament in the modern style: with the celebrant positioned behind a free-standing altar, facing the people over the altar. It removes the priest from the people, and it turns the congregation into an audience being addressed, as if God were declaring the Words of Institution to the people as well as the elements.
You can read the entire thing here. It’s short, and worthwhile.
Tagged: Ad orientem, Lord's Supper, Tapani Simojoki
Jesus’ first temptation “is not just about consuming food; it is about consuming, period. It is about our…appetite for stuff.”
-Russell Moore, Tempted and Tried
Tagged: Russell Moore, Temptation
“Who knows?” said the king of Nineveh. Jonah had come preaching. He came against his will. There is a certain madness to preaching, at least the kind of preaching God demands. Jonah knew they wouldn’t like it, so he set out in the opposite direction. Chapters 1 and 2 of Jonah tell quite a tale, but it’s chapter 3 set before us tonight. Jonah announces, “Yet forty days, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!”
What must he have expected? “Some will laugh at me, and others will kill me.” For his instructions at the beginning were, “Arise, go to Nineveh, that great city, and call out against it, for their evil has come up before me.” This is no generic message of a far-off judgment day, nor a generic indictment of sin. To name sins as sins causes scorn, anger, rage. Take a side on moral questions, such as abortion or homosexuality, and you will find out quickly who your friends are – and who your enemies are.
Jonah was walking into the heart of the Assyrian empire and condemning them. He knew what would happen. It’s a suicide mission.
Except, he was wrong. What happens next is a greater miracle than Jonah’s previous rescue from the belly of the great fish. What happens next is a greater miracle than the parting of the Red Sea, the manna from heaven, or Jesus walking upon the water. The greatest miracle that God works is repentance, the transformation of a human heart, broken by the hammer of God’s Law.
So Jonah is bewildered by the response to his own sermon. The king of Nineveh repents. He proclaims a fast. Not just abstaining from chocolate or wine; they were to eat nothing. “By the decree of the king and his nobles: Let neither man nor beast, herd nor flock, taste anything. Let them not feed or drink water, but let man and beast be covered with sackcloth, and let them call out mightily to God. Let everyone turn from his evil way and from the violence that is in his hands.” Whatever you are planning on doing for Lent, whatever you are planning on giving up – it is nothing compared to this. A total fast of food, wearing of harsh garments, and then what is most important: turning away from sin. Fasting is foolish if it has not the goal of freedom: freedom from sin, freedom from lust, freedom from greed, freedom from gluttony.
“Ah,” you say, “but that was for the King of Nineveh and those awful people. I don’t know much about them, but they must have been bad if they needed to do all of that to get back on God’s good side.” But you – no need for anything extreme, right? No need for anything radical. Forego a few beers, do without a few pieces of cake, and you’re good to go. I mean, you have money to make and mouths to feed, classes to teach and troops to lead.
Your repentance is small because you think your sins are small. But the Gospel reading for Ash Wednesday isn’t addressed to some ancient bunch of hedonistic Assyrians. It’s to people who think that religious duties are fulfilled by avoiding the big stuff—flat out murder and adultery—while keeping a corner of your heart off limits to God. There, in your heart, you’ll gladly nurse grudges and ogle women in passing. There, in your heart, you’ll resent your boss and the president, and justify all the the things you’ve held back from others: your friendship, your forgiveness, your time and treasure.
Before Jesus talks about fasting, or praying, or giving alms, He tell us that your hastily murmured, “What a fool!” is you committing murder. Your lingering glance at the televised singer is you committing adultery.
So somebody did you wrong, right? Somebody hurt you and now you won’t talk to them. Somebody told lies about you and now you’re justified in rudeness, yes? Our Lord says something very, very different: “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same?” (Mt. 5:44-47). The question is not how bad was the King of Nineveh to lead him to declare a total fast; the question is, how bad are you? “You must be perfect,” Jesus says, “as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Mt. 5:48).
You are not perfect. You are the King of Nineveh. You are the king of sin. You are Jonah, running away from God’s will. You are David, caught in adultery with Bathsheba. You are Cain, murdering your brother. You are Ham, mocking your father. You are Peter, boastful but then running away. You are James and John, vying for supremacy over others. You are the King of Nineveh. You are the king of sin.
And the ashen crosses on our heads confess our solidarity with him. We are in the same boat. Our city is about to be overthrown, and we deserve it. Our life is forfeit, and we deserve it. Our marriage is ruined, and we deserve it. Our church is ruined, and we deserve it. Our prayers are weak, and we know it. Our kindness to others is calculated, and we know it.
We are the king of Nineveh. We are the king of sin.
It’s not the fasting that we should ultimately imitate. It’s not the sackcloth that we should ultimately imitate. It’s not the ashes that we should ultimately imitate. It’s repentance. The King of Nineveh turns from his sins, in hopes that God might turn from His wrath.
But he doesn’t know. “Who knows? God may turn and relent and turn from his fierce anger.” Who knows? We know, of course. We’ve heard enough preaching to know how this game ends. The preacher makes us feel bad, and then he tells us nice things about Jesus. Then back to the usual, and repeat.
But the certainty of God’s mercy is no license to sin. So let’s make this Lent different than every Lent we’ve been through before. Our goal should not be to endure some self-denial only to embrace whatever we gave up again. Your problem isn’t chocolate. It’s sin. Serious sin, insidiously meshed into your daily habits, thoughts, feelings, desires. Forty days till Nineveh is overthrown. Forty days till you are overthrown. Forty days to die.
And then, at the end of the forty days, we see what our sins get us. We see where it all ends, all of our greed and gluttony, fake smiles and false words, all of our light fasting and hastily mouthed prayers. It ends with a bloody Jesus, alone. He repents. He repents for us. He turns to God and says, “Father, forgive them,” and then turns to us, the miserable thief, and says, “Today, you will be with Me in Paradise.”
So the ashes answer the question, “Who knows?” I feel the ashes, and know I’m going to die. But I see the cross, and know I’m going to live.
Tagged: Ash Wednesday, Ashes, Fasting, Jonah, Nineveh, Repentance
Tagged: Lent, Matthew Harrison, Missouri Synod, Prayer
The ashes are not a Sacrament, nor are they a game.
A Sacrament is an earthly thing that God attaches to His Word of promise to give us His gifts. Baptism is a Sacrament, because there is an earthly thing—water—and there is His Word joined to it: “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the FAther and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” The promises are all over the place. Jesus says, “Whoever believes and is baptized shall be saved.” St. Peter says, “Repent and be baptized every one of you for the remission of sins, and you shall receive the gift of the Holy Spirit; for the promise is for you and your children, and to all who are afar off.” And later Peter says, “Baptism now saves you.” So Baptism is a Sacrament: it has God’s Word of promise attached to an earthly thing, water.
Also the Lord’s Supper is a Sacrament. There are earthly things—bread and wine—and Jesus’ Words, “This is My body,” “This is My blood, shed for you for the remission of sins.” So there’s a Sacrament, with earthly things—bread and wine—and God’s promises attached to it.
But the ashes are not a sacrament. They are an earthly thing, to be sure: burnt palm branches, mixed with a little olive oil. They won’t hurt you. They’re not hot or even yucky, just a little dirty. And there is a Word of God that we use with them: “Remember, O man, that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” That is based on Genesis 3, what God said to Adam after he turned away from God.
But there’s no promise there. Not in the ashes, and not in the words. The ashes are death, and the words are death. You might not want to receive them. And don’t worry: if you don’t want to come up, for whatever reason, then don’t. I won’t be mad, and neither will your teacher. Only do it if you want to.
Getty Images
The truth is, I don’t like giving out the ashes. I love baptizing people. I love giving out the bread and wine, the body and blood of Jesus at Holy Communion. That’s the happiest part of my week, every single time. But I don’t like giving out the ashes. You know why? Because it reminds me that you are going to die. The littler you are, the worse it is. It’s awful. Death is awful.
Death is not the way God made the world to be. Just the opposite! He made the world for life, and He made us to live!
No, there’s no promise in the ashes, and so they are not a Sacrament. But they’re not a game. It’s not fun, it’s not silly, it’s not cool, and it’s nothing to be proud of.
The words will come back some day: Remember, O man, that you are dust, and to dust you shall return. That sounds very much like a funeral, where the pastor says a blessing: “We now commit [this body] to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust…”. But thanks be to God, the words don’t stop there! The pastor gets to keep going to the good part: “… in the sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ, who will change our lowly bodies so that they will be like His glorious body, by the power that enables Him to subdue all things to Himself.”
That’s where we are going. Ash Wednesday ends in Easter. The ashes end in lilies. The cross ends in resurrection. Death ends in life.
The ashes aren’t a sacrament, nor are they a game. But they do remind us of who we are—dying sinners—and who Jesus is. For onto our heads is traced a cross, the sign of Jesus who gave everything for us, and loves us still.
Tagged: Ash Wednesday, Ashes, Cross, death
God has not bequeathed us the gift of faith to deal with trivial things but rather to confront grave matters such as: Death, sin, the world and the Devil. For the world is not capable of resisting Death, but, instead, the world is terrified and runs away from Death, but is in the end defeated by him. But faith remains steadfast and resists Death who devours the whole world. Faith gains the victory over Death and then swallow up this insatiable devourer of life.
Martin Luther, taken from Luther Brevier, p59
Gorging and getting drunk the day before Ash Wednesday probably wasn’t what the Lord meant when he said to “repent, for the kingdom of God is at hand.”
-Russell Moore, Tempted and Tried: Temptation and the Triumph of Christ
Tagged: Ash Wednesday, Fat Tuesday, Mardi Gras, Russell Moore, Tempted and Tried