Blessed to Bless: Sermon on Genesis 12, 1 Samuel 3, and Zechariah 8

The old man had three jobs – each one a heavy enough burden in its own right. Before the mobs ever cried out for a leader over the nation, he had been a leader within the nation – a judge, leading the people in military victory and then traveling in a constant circuit, seldom resting, until he had sifted out the truth in every dispute, however minor. He poured his God-given wisdom into the lives of those around him. On top of that, he led his people in worship. Raised at a holy shrine, he knew what he was doing. He built altars, he offered sacrifices. He went to God on behalf of the people, bringing a gift; he handed the gift over to God to be consumed by God's holiness; he brought it back to the people as a sacred gift exchange; and so the people were blessed to dine with the divine. That's worship, that's what a priest is all about. And if that weren't enough, he held down a third full-time gig as a prophet, a seer. You want to hear what God has to say, you go to this man. He has the inside scoop. You watch what you say around him, lest you learn more than you bargained for! But he teaches the whole nation. It's plain as the nose on his face that the LORD is with him, that the LORD will “let none of his words fall to the ground” (1 Samuel 3:19). And so this prophet's word “came to all Israel” (1 Samuel 4:1). It blesses the entire kingdom because of this one man's obedience, because this one man's attitude was: “It is the LORD; let him do what seems good to him” (1 Samuel 3:18).

How does a career like that get launched? He's prime minister, he's megachurch pastor with a nation-sized congregation, he's an inspired social critic – how did all that happen? Rewind the clock, turn down the pages of the calendar, retreat into the mists of history – and you'll see a boy, handed over by his parents to the care of an aging priest named Eli. The two of them live in God's presence: the holy box, the ark of God, is there in their midst on this holy ground (1 Samuel 3:3). And though the word of God is rare (1 Samuel 3:1), is it any surprise to hear a voice in the dead of night? Is it a shout? Or is it, more likely, a whisper? “Samuel! Samuel!” The boy hears it once, runs to Eli, mistakes the call of God for one human voice among others. He needs discernment. “Samuel!” He hears it again, makes the same mistake. “Samuel!” The third time is not the charm. Eli pieces together the mystery, knows that something beyond the normal is afoot, traces the footprints of an Intruder who invented the thing we call 'universe' (1 Samuel 3:4-8).

A fourth time the voice calls out – not just calls out, but the LORD actually stands there, right next to the boy's bed as he waits in the pitch-black darkness. “Samuel! Samuel!” And what does the boy say? What are the right words in the face of God's sudden call? What's the answer when God wants our attention, when all is dark but he wants to make his presence known, when he has a destiny stored up for us? “Speak, LORD, for your servant is listening” (1 Samuel 3:10). In other words: “You're LORD, I'm servant, I'm ready to both learn and obey, please proceed.”

Too often, that's not how we answer. Too often, we're stuck at the first stage: mistaking the LORD's voice for that of Eli – at best! We expect God to stay far away. Or, too often we despair in the dark of the night and think that if it's dark, then God isn't there. Doesn't he dwell in unapproachable light (1 Timothy 6:16)? Wouldn't all things shine if he were near? But here we see what the cross confirms: that amidst the dark night of our souls, God may very well have drawn nearer than we can imagine; that unbeknownst to us, when we weep in our darkness, in our God-forsakenness, he could be within an inch of our soul, poised by our bedside, whether he speaks or whether he waits in the stillness of silence and invites us to rest with him there.

Or, too often we answer by saying, “Don't speak, LORD, for your servant has had enough already!” We aren't ready to receive. We look at ourselves, and we're smugly self-satisfied that we have things quite well enough figured out. We know what we're about, we've jotted down our daily to-do list, we've got a calendar full of appointments and amusements, and life is stable. When the LORD calls, he may well destabilize things: God is disruptive of all our false order, all our managed chaos; he speaks an order we don't recognize, and to hear him call and promise to listen may be an offer of grace too costly for our warped tastes.

Or yet, too often we answer by saying, “Speak, LORD, for your servant is curious.” We'd love to get an audience with God. We have so many questions! We're curious about so many things! Wouldn't it be great to unravel the great mysteries of your life – understand all the whys and all the hows, all the whos and all the whats? Wouldn't it be so wonderful, in other words, if God made himself available to serve our agendas – to confirm our theories and our speculations, to fork over all the trivia we'd like to collect, to download knowledge into our brains, so that we could sit back, prop up our feet, and grin in the delight of information acquisition?

None of those answers belong on Samuel's lips. Again, what does he actually say? “Speak, LORD, for your servant is listening” (1 Samuel 3:10). In the blackness of the night, when heaven and earth and shrine are gone, when everything joyful lapses into invisibility, Samuel recognizes God there. When God calls out to him, Samuel recognizes that God is offering something good, something that may alter the course of his life but which he nevertheless needs. Samuel doesn't tell God to go away or bid God to keep silent. Samuel pleads with God to do what God wishes – to speak. And when God is offering his word, Samuel isn't merely curious, isn't preparing to treat a divine revelation as a museum showcase to hang on the wall of his mind and admire from time to time. Samuel is ready to listen, to act, to obey; ready to not just let the word of God fall on his ears, but to pass it along to others, to spread it around as God directs. In the words of this morning's hymn: “Lord, speak to me, that I may speak / in living echoes of thy tone.” And so begins a career where “the word of Samuel comes to all Israel” (1 Samuel 4:1), not a syllable falling lifelessly to the dirt (1 Samuel 3:19) – because Samuel first heard that word from God and then shared it. The only reason Samuel could bless his nation with his words was because Samuel first was blessed by God's word at his bedside. And Samuel knew that he'd been blessed with God's word with a purpose of blessing the whole nation with the same message. Samuel had been blessed to bless.

Now turn back the clock again, watch the centuries rewind. Shiloh zooms into the future, the lineage of Samuel and Eli reverses course, until they wind back to one man, standing in the desert with his clan. Called out from house and home, he'd packed his bags and booked a one-way ticket with the destination redacted. Introducing Abraham, or the man who becomes Abraham. Not quite a spring chicken: he's seventy-five years young when his saga even begins unfolding! We like to think of Abraham in his final form, as the perfect example of faith – a man ready to trust God with anything, even the life of the promised heir Isaac. But the truth is that Abraham's story is an epic of the slow development of his faith.

Up until that close call atop Mount Moriah, where the faith of Abraham is proven even in his own eyes, Abram gets encouraged in his faith – and then mistrusts God in some pretty daring ways. No sooner had God called him, asking him to exercise that initial mustard-seed of faith to become an immigrant in a strange and foreign land, than Abram tricked the Egyptians, fearing that God wouldn't protect him there (Genesis 12:11-20). A few chapters later comes that wonderful sentence, the one Paul quotes with glee: “He believed the LORD, and it was reckoned to him as righteousness” (Genesis 15:6). Here's a man with flawless faith... right? Well, God then gives Abram another promise, that his family will own the land – and how does Abram answer? Do we read again that Abram's faith is reckoned as righteousness? Abram promptly asks God, “How can I know for sure?” (cf. Genesis 15:8). In other words, “Convince me, God; you can't just expect me to take your word for this one!” Abram's faith has a long way to go.

The next chapter unfolds, and Abram gives in to his wife's proposal to try to help God's promise along, take some shortcuts, make things easier for God. And so Ishmael comes into the world in an effort to manufacture God's blessing through human ingenuity (Genesis 16:1-12). Next chapter, God's blessing Abram again, renaming him as the Father of Many Nations (Genesis 17:5), reiterating his promise – and the newly minted Abraham laughs in God's face (Genesis 17:17). Two more chapters, and has Abraham learned from a couple decades earlier when he tricked Pharaoh? No, he does the same thing in Gerar that he did in Egypt (Genesis 20:1-7). Not until after Isaac's birth do we eventually see Abraham's faith flourish into full maturity. The Bible is shockingly honest that this kind of faith took a lot of time and a lot of work; it wasn't built in a day.

But alongside the story of Abraham's growth in faith is the story of his struggle to live into his vocation. To our ears, he doesn't come across very well when he tricks Pharaoh and then Abimelech, telling them lies of omission that lead to Abraham getting rich of their backs (Genesis 12:16; 20:14). Abraham gets blessed at their expense. But that isn't what Abraham was called to do, is it? That isn't God's purpose for his life. With what words did God call Abram in the first place? “I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and the one who curses you I will curse; and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed” (Genesis 12:2-3). Why did God bless Abraham? Why did Abraham get all these promises from God? God himself spells it out: “So that you will be a blessing!” He wasn't meant to just bless himself. He wasn't meant to prosper at the expense of his neighbors. He was meant – and ultimately did, through the maturity of his faith – to be blessed to bless.

Abraham's descendants often forgot that, every bit as much as we do. The prophets had to consistently remind the people that God wouldn't give up on them ultimately, but also that God was holding them accountable to the same task he gave Abraham. The LORD said through Zechariah that he'd settle his people back in their true home, in the real Zion, where “they shall be my people, and I will be their God, in faithfulness and righteousness” (Zechariah 8:8). So far, that sounds great – for them. But he also encourages them – literally, exhorts them to courage – by saying that just as they'd been cursed by the nations, so now they would be saved with a purpose: “I will save you, and you shall be a blessing” (Zechariah 8:13).

And what does that look like? “Speak the truth to one another; render in your gates judgments that are true; and make for peace” (Zechariah 8:16). Be an example that truth, justice, and peace all go together, that they are possible when God is present; and when the nations see that God is present, they can be drawn there for a blessing, they will say, “Let us go with you, for we have heard that God is with you” (Zechariah 8:23). Israel was blessed mightily throughout the whole Old Testament – but their chosenness wasn't something to hoard, something to brag about, something to enjoy in the lap of luxury while everyone else toiled away in valleys of envy. Israel was blessed to bless, to be “a blessing in the midst of the earth” (Isaiah 19:24).

Isn't that how God works? God almost never blesses anyone exclusively for their own sake. There are a few possible minor exceptions, like Paul's trip to the third heaven or like praying in tongues without an interpreter. But you'd be hard-pressed to find many places in the Bible where he blesses an individual or a group for only their own sake, or maybe even primarily their own sake! God doesn't save us just for us. God doesn't glorify us just for us. God doesn't teach us just for us. God doesn't enrich us just for us. Forget that, and everything is just shades of the prosperity gospel. Remember, Paul reminded the Corinthians Christians that they had been enriched to be generous (2 Corinthians 9:11), and his advice to thieves to start working didn't end with, “so that you can feed yourselves honestly,” but, “so as to have something to share with the needy” (Ephesians 4:28). “God is able to provide you with every blessing in abundance,” but the purpose is that “you may share abundantly in every good work” (2 Corinthians 9:8). God doesn't bless you just for you. All his gifts are meant for gaining-together (1 Corinthians 12:7). And it's a life like that, that makes people cling to us and say, “Let us go with you, for we have heard that God is with you” (Zechariah 8:23).

Truth be told, churches don't see that often, do they? How many congregations frequently see people clinging to the members, begging to join them? Not many. And we aren't one of them. But why not? Hasn't God blessed this church? Every person who truly belongs to this church has been blessed by being snatched from sin's grasp and raised up from death to life; blessed by being drawn into the life of God's love that existed before the world began; blessed by being seated in high heavenly places on thrones; blessed by being made kings and priests to our God and Father; blessed by being filled with God's life, the Holy Spirit, to live through us; blessed with encouragement, with growth in virtue, with spiritual gifts aplenty. And we've been blessed with a beautiful building, blessed with gainful employment or the lingering benefits of past labor, blessed with homes and food and clothes – blessed with the riches of earth and the riches of heaven. We've been blessed to hear God's word, to learn the truth; we've had the riddle of existence unfolded before our eyes in Jesus Christ. We're blessed to have the ear of the King of Kings, and to dine at his table with him and to eat the sacrifice of praise. We “who believe are blessed with Abraham who believed” (Galatians 3:9).

And yet... And yet we aren't attracting the needy, those who crave the blessings found here. There are more important things than numbers: better to be small and deep than broad but shallow. But the truth is, when we think about what time in our congregation's history was the most blessed, few of us think of right now. Why was that then and not now? Could it be that we've lost sight of why we're here? Could it be that we as a church have a tendency – like so many churches – to consume our resources internally, to cater to our own wants and serve our own needs? Could it be that we act in practice like these blessings are all primarily for our benefit, and so God knows he can't yet trust us with anything more?

We sit here on a Sunday morning, we bid the LORD to speak to us through his word, and we hear what God has to say – but what practical difference does it make on Monday, or Wednesday, or Saturday? Not just, “How does it change us?”, but, “How does it bless them?” – them, those people whose paths we cross, or whose paths we might cross if we were sensitive to God's voice and did as he said? That's what this church is here for. This church does not exist for the benefit of its members. The church exists to glorify God and to bless the world, and our purpose is no exception. If we as a church aren't spreading God's blessings to neighbors near and far, then we're forgetting that we're blessed to bless. If you read our church newsletter, you might recognize this quote from Richard Bauckham, in my opinion one of the greatest living scholars of the New Testament:

God never singles out some for their own sake alone, but always for others. So the church should be the community from which the blessing of Abraham, experienced in Jesus, overflows to others. The church should be the people who have recognized God as he truly is in God's revelation in Jesus, and therefore make that revelation known to others. The church is those people who, so far, acknowledge God's rule as he is implementing it in Jesus and live for others in the light of the coming of his kingdom in all creation.

Operation Christmas Child is the tip of the iceberg, a token of what should be a persistent way of life. As it's been said, the church doesn't so much have a mission, as God's mission has a church to carry it out. We exist for the sake of the mission, and our options are two and only two: either live out our blessed-to-bless mission and make it the measure of all things, or else exist in vain and run on fumes until we break down. I can't promise that Option #1 is an easy thing; but we don't have to bless others in our own unaided power – God will bless us to make it possible.

What does it look like, in our day and in our place, to be blessed to bless? Maybe it means sharing the sermon's lessons with those who didn't hear it. Maybe it means being a patient and proactive listener to those with burdens, and then taking them to the throne of grace through the access wherewith Jesus blessed us in him. Maybe it means giving away half your possessions to people you've never met. Maybe it means opening your spacious home to those with nowhere else to turn or go. Maybe it means seeking out those who frustrate you, who infuriate and exasperate you with all their sins and all their prickliness and all their weaknesses and bad habits, and embracing them as they are, just as God first welcomed us as we were, with all our sins and all our prickliness and all our weaknesses and bad habits. “Do not repay evil for evil or abuse for abuse; but, on the contrary, repay with a blessing” (1 Peter 3:9).

Maybe, in the wake of the recent abhorrent terrorist attacks in Beirut and Paris, it means going to our Muslim neighbors in this county, and treating them as we'd want to be treated if wicked men perverted our faith that way, and pledging to use our voice to stand with them for peace against the pervasive politics of fear. Maybe it means actively seeking out the lost, the untouchable, and bringing them love and grace rather than judgment and exclusion. We have a whole community to care for: “By the blessing of the upright, a city is exalted” (Proverbs 11:11). Maybe it means all this and more.

I have a challenge for you as individuals and families and for us as a church. Go home today, and between now and next Sunday, start to write a list of the blessings God has put into your life right now. Your house, your food, your clothes, your car, your family, your friends, your job, your money, your time, your daily decisions, your very body and mind and soul; all the blessings you have in Christ; the skills and gifts God has given you. If you have trouble, ask those who know you to help you. But make an actual list – a literal one on paper. As you do, go through and ask yourself this question: “What did God give me this for? How does he want me to steward it to glorify him and bless others?” Bathe it in prayer, scrutinize it with the word of God. Pray, “Speak, LORD, for your servant is listening.” And as you begin getting a sense of the possibilities, commit to actually act on them, as the Spirit blesses you with wisdom for each day.

As a church community, let's pray that same prayer, let's make that same resolution. If we bring our lists all together, if we let Jesus open our eyes to the possibilities of life as parts of one and the same Body with one and the same Spirit, who knows what will happen? Who knows where God will take us, what God will make of us? But it isn't going to happen through our own inertia unless we first make a move to follow Jesus, the one Man who most undeniably lived his whole blessed life to bless us. That's what he was all about. That's how he defined his life. His body was broken for us, his blood was shed for us, his soul bore the burden of sin for us, he rose again for our justification – and he calls us his Body on earth now. Don't let this be another speech to occupy a few hours on a Sunday morning and then forget it. As the New Zion, God has saved us to be a blessing. Let Jesus redefine your life, our life, as a living, walking, breathing blessing. Let his mission have you, have you unreservedly. “If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them” (John 13:17). “Blessed are those who hear the word of God and obey it” (Luke 11:18)! So let's obey it and go a-blessin'. Amen.

Lessons from a Gospel Veteran: Sermon for the Sunday Before Veterans Day

Close your eyes and picture it. The eleventh hour, eleventh day, eleventh month, ninety-seven years ago. Men and women of every nation were weary and exhausted – and relieved. Less than six hours earlier, eight minutes changed the course of history – eight minutes of men in a train car signing their autographs to seal the end of four years of wasted blood and broken dreams. And now the paper's points would be a reality. Soldiers could let the sun beat down on their unhelmeted heads; they could drop their rifles in the mud, unafraid. The fighting was done. Mothers, wives, sons, daughters had hope to see their long-imprisoned loved ones again. Out of the valley our forefathers climbed, and over that final crest sloped the straight path to sweet peace. President Wilson lauded the heroism of those bold men who strove for “peace and justice in the councils of the nations.” The war that ate all the earth was put to rest. Looking back on that day, Congress approved its anniversary as “a day to be dedicated to the cause of world peace.” And, standing tall and going home that day, bearing the burdens of war's horrors but at last freed to go rebuild the world they'd left behind, went veterans of that well-fought fight.

Now, pan to a still older scene. In or beneath the dirty streets of Rome sits a cramped cell where rests a weary veteran of a different sort. It wasn't his first time bound in chains. Four years ago, he'd been in chains in this same city, forced to plead his case to the king. Though no one came to his defense, he escaped the lion's mouth. He made an expedition to Gaul, maybe reached Spain, until word reached him that his life's legacy was put in jeopardy by traitorous men. Exhausted from his labors, he went back – Crete, Macedonia, Nicopolis, Miletus, Troas – and finally set his face like flint and marched on Rome again. Dark days had come. The king had lost his mind, given way to savagery. And so this veteran was arrested again, thrown in a cell, and condemned at last.

Here he sits, awaiting the day scheduled for his head to roll through the streets – the time for his departure is near (2 Timothy 4:6). Here he sits, shackled by chains, under a guard's contemptuous eyes. But Paul doesn't despise the guard. He, too, is a soldier. He calls his colleagues Epaphroditus and Archippus his “fellow-soldiers” (Philippians 2:25; Philemon 1:2). He didn't enlist at his own expense; he was bought with a price (1 Corinthians 6:20; 9:7). Pressing forward, he fights with divine armor under the kingdom of God's banners against spiritual forces (Ephesians 6:10-18; 2 Corinthians 10:3-4). He's a soldier. And he's a battle-tested veteran: he's already “fought the good fight,” and he's waiting for the laurel-crown of righteousness to be placed on his head, the ancient Purple Heart and Medal of Valor all in one (2 Timothy 4:7-8).

He doesn't fight with sword and shield in hand; he's fought a divine fight by fearlessly preaching the gospel. He's taught about the grace of God that saved us “not because of anything we had done,” a grace “given to us in Christ Jesus before the beginning of time” (2 Timothy 1:9). But that grace rolled onto the scene in history when God sent down a Deliverer to rescue us from our sins, from all our dead works. And that Deliverer, that Savior, Jesus Christ, won an awesome victory: he “destroyed death and has brought life and immortality to light through the gospel” (2 Timothy 1:10). That's the good news. And putting that good news into practice, fighting the good fight to implement Christ's victory, is how this veteran has spent the last thirty years since defecting from the enemy forces.

Christ made him a general, and now look at him. He sits in his cell, “chained like a criminal,” loudly dictating notes to a secretary who'll piece together a rough draft of what Paul's saying. One conviction motivates them: “The word of God is not chained” (2 Timothy 2:9). And over the course of weeks, as the clock ticks down, Paul will correct it until it's done: one last letter from the great gospel general to his dearest young captain and the troops under his supervision. Five-star General Paul knows that Captain Timothy has already “proved himself” by consistently serving the cause of Jesus Christ instead of his own interests: “As a son with a father, he has served with me in the work of the gospel” (Philippians 2:22). Now the time is short, and in one last letter, General Paul wants to remind Captain Timothy what it means to “be a good soldier of Jesus Christ” (2 Timothy 2:3). But this letter was saved, copied, preserved, handed down through time, because all the troops need to hear what it has to say. So what are the traits of a good good-news soldier?

First, a good soldier is focused on a steadfast mindset. He retains healthy words. Two of the greatest challenges facing our military today are licentiousness and despair. On the one hand, some soldiers may easily imbibe an atmosphere of frat-boy-style partying while off-duty so as to vent the stresses of their lives. It's no wonder that harassment and assault rates are so high, higher even than among civilian populations. And on the other hand, the leading cause of death among actively serving American soldiers today isn't being killed in combat. It's when despair and trauma lead soldiers to take their own lives. Those are the biggest threats our servicemen and servicewomen are facing. And what could take the sting out of both? Healthy words. Healthy words mean healthy attitudes. Healthy words cut through the fog of a licentious culture. Healthy words give comfort and hope to those who've seen what no man or woman was ever made to see. Healthy words are the answer – or, as General Paul calls them, “sound teaching” (2 Timothy 1:13).

The same is true for a soldier of God's kingdom. A soldier of God's kingdom needs to retain all these “healthy words,” the teaching passed down from the apostles, with all the comfort and all the challenge they bring. They are the standard, the measuring rod, that keeps us committed to the cause and on-point with the mission. They bring faith, hope, and love to life (1 Corinthians 13:13). That's our mission, because it's God's mission. He isn't here to serve our agendas. His kingdom come, his will be done, on earth just as it is in heaven (Matthew 6:10) – and his will is that we live in glorious love and lead the world in worshipping him, 'til the glory of the LORD covers the earth as the waters cover the sea (Habakkuk 2:14). That's God's vision for a healthy world, the world the healthy words of the gospel set forth. And all the devil's schemes from the gates of hell aren't going to withstand us as we march on in the Spirit's power!

Second, a good soldier is strong and bold. When I think of the military ideal, I don't think about a bunch of men cowering at home under their desks. I don't think about men marching toward a yawning foe. No, a good soldier is strong – that's what all the training is for, to build up the muscles and discipline needed for the job, whatever that may be. And just so, a good-news soldier is “strong in the grace that is in Christ Jesus” (2 Timothy 2:1). A good-news soldier's strength isn't mustered up from within his internal reserves. Those run dry. But the grace of God, his benevolent, shining grin and hands open with many a gift – that never runs dry. And you'll find that kind of grace every time you go to Jesus Christ. He'll supply you with what you need. We can face any kind of situation – being “well-fed or hungry, living in plenty or in want” – through Christ who gives us strength (Philippians 4:13).

And a good-news soldier is bold. “The righteous are as bold as a lion” (Proverbs 28:1)! General Paul himself says, “We are very bold” (2 Corinthians 3:12). But like our strength, that doesn't come from ourselves, from our natural personality. Not all of us are outgoing, not all of us are social butterflies – I know I'm neither of those things. But whenever the Acts of the Apostles describes Paul as “speaking boldly,” it's something that the Holy Spirit does in and through him (Acts 4:31; 28:31). And that same Spirit wants to work boldness in us. God didn't give us a Spirit of cowardice, a Spirit of fear, a Spirit of being timid. “Be courageous, be strong” (1 Corinthians 16:13)! No, “God did not give us a Spirit of cowardice, but rather a Spirit of power and love and self-control” (2 Timothy 1:7). We have power not to hate, but to love; not to wreck, but to build up; not to dominate, but to serve; power to strip away sin with the Spirit's sword (which is the word of God [Ephesians 6:17]) and to set the captives free for healthy life. And we have power to live with self-control.

That's another key trait of a good soldier: self-control, self-discipline, sober-mindedness. That laser-like focus is what the military's all about. More than physical strength, that's what all the training is for: to achieve that kind of discipline and order. A good soldier doesn't live like he's drunk: “a warrior wakes from the stupor of wine” (Psalm 78:65). A good soldier isn't scatterbrained or distracted when he's on duty. A good soldier is all-in for the mission. A good soldier is fully committed: everything he does is fixated on what will lead to that goal of victory. That mission and its objectives are the final measure, and he knows it. We're on duty as good-news soldiers. Are we willing to recognize the kingdom's mission and objectives as the final measure? Are we committed to making our every action serve it? That's what we're enlisted to do. We need to be sober-minded and self-controlled. We need soldierly discipline for Christian living. We need to be perpetually equipped with the full armor and armaments of God, “so that you can take your stand against the devil's schemes” (Ephesians 6:10), ready in season or out of season (2 Timothy 2:2), “so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground” (Ephesians 6:13). And we need to be forever “alert and always keep on praying for all the Lord's people” (Ephesians 6:18).

Third, a good soldier doesn't shrink back from enduring hardship for the sake of the mission. That's what General Paul tells his captain: “Keep your head in all situations, and endure hardship” (2 Timothy 4:5). He says to Timothy, “Share in suffering like a good soldier of Christ Jesus” (2 Timothy 2:3). The life of a soldier isn't easy. Plenty of you know that from experience. A soldier doesn't live in the lap of luxury. A soldier doesn't dine on caviar and well-aged cheese. A soldier is down there in the dirt, doing hard labor, sometimes facing bullets or explosions. A soldier suffers, and a soldier doesn't turn back. A good soldier doesn't do what Paul said his former fellow-soldiers did: “All who are in Asia have turned away from me, including Phygelus and Hermogenes” (2 Timothy 1:15). Those soldiers went AWOL – absent without leave. A good soldier doesn't go AWOL. A good soldier toughs it out, endures hardship without complaining about it – not inviting pointless suffering into his life, but facing whatever difficulties the mission calls for and going through them anyway. That's what a good-news soldier does, a good soldier of Jesus Christ: We take our shares in suffering for the sake of the mission we're on. Maybe that means bearing with it when a fallen world steals our loved ones. Maybe that means giving when it hurts to give. Maybe that means going without something we want dearly but which would risk corrupting us and leading us astray. Whatever it is, a good soldier endures hardship. “Whoever does not carry their cross and follow me cannot be my disciple,” a soldier of Christ (Luke 14:27). But “if we endure, we will also reign with him” (2 Timothy 2:12).

Fourth, a good soldier lives a soldier's lifestyle, apart from civilian affairs. A soldier's lifestyle isn't like anyone else's. Civilians don't live with the discipline of a soldier. And soldiers don't meddle in all the frivolities and luxuries of civilian life. Soldiers have to focus, even at the expense of the many agendas and causes a civilian can serve. Just so, General Paul tells good-news soldiers to abstain from civilian affairs – literally, the practices of this life. Too often, we live like civilians, as if we're no different. We ignore our rations of Word and Sacrament and go out to eat at this culture's banquets. We campaign for this or that – things that have nothing to do with our mission, and what's worse, we throw our military clout behind it. We bicker, we get tied down. We weren't made for that. We weren't called to that.

Don't let this world's way of practicing life entangle you. God didn't just save us. He also “called us with a holy calling” (2 Timothy 1:9). A holy calling, a holy life, means a life that's different, a life that's set apart for a mission. We aren't aimless. We aren't drifting through life. We aren't just existing from day to day. It can feel like that sometimes, can't it? That there's no overriding purpose to what we're doing? I've felt that way, when I've been furthest from God. God has a purpose for you. He has a mission for you. Never doubt it. He has a mission for all of us together. And that mission isn't meddling in civilian affairs. It's a holy calling, a separate path, “for God did not call us to be impure, but to live a holy life” (1 Thessalonians 4:7). Live as a good soldier.

And fifth, a good soldier is devoted to serving in these ways to please his Commanding Officer. “The soldier's aim is to please the commanding officer” (2 Timothy 2:4). Just who is our true CO? Am I the CO? Thank God, no! Is the President of the United States our CO, as believers? Same answer. Is our CO Billy Graham or Rick Warren? No. What about George Washington or Abraham Lincoln? No. They didn't enlist us in this, and they aren't the ones we have to please. Jesus Christ is our Commanding Officer. And make no mistake, he's the best Soldier there is. He's “the LORD strong and mighty, the LORD mighty in battle” (Psalm 24:8). “The LORD is a man of war” (Exodus 15:3). “The LORD your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves” (Zephaniah 3:17). And Revelation gives us a picture of Jesus as the One Faithful and True who “judges with justice and wages war” (Revelation 19:11). He is our Commanding Officer, riding into life's battles for us and with us – so “don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows” (Luke 12:7). Just trust your CO and do as he's told you.

The take-away is that we need to please our Commanding Officer. We need to be the “troops willing on his day of battle,” all “arrayed in holy splendor” to serve our Lord and King (Psalm 110:3). We, too, just like General Paul and Captain Timothy before us, are called to “fight the battle well, holding on to faith and a good conscience” (1 Timothy 1:18-19). We, too, are called to “fight the good fight of the faith” and to “take hold of the eternal life to which you were called when you made your good confession in the presence of many witnesses” (1 Timothy 6:12). Because there's a war going on. And the devil has already taken so many people “captive to do his will” (2 Timothy 2:26). Anger and hostility won't set them free. Neither will resentment. They can only come to their senses if they're “gently instructed, in the hope that God will grant them repentance leading them to a knowledge of the truth” (2 Timothy 2:25). But in that gentle instruction is how we wage war on the devil: “We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ” (2 Corinthians 10:5).

Some of you are both kind of veterans – a soldier of Jesus Christ, and also a soldier of your nation in a time of need. For those of you who've served well in the armed forces, thank you. You know that not everyone out there shows the proper respect for what you've done. Not even in the church. Thanks to some modern theologians like Stanley Hauerwas, John Howard Yoder, and others, “Christian pacifism” movements are on the rise, movements that condemn all military service as evil. In seminary, I personally saw some fellow students sneer at signs thanking veterans. While Yoder and the rest have some merits to their criticisms of American attitudes about war, in reading the Bible I can't accept their extremes.

Paul himself, that great gospel veteran, made clear that the military can serve a valid and God-ordained purpose in this fallen world: “Rulers do not bear the sword for no reason. They are God's servants, agents of wrath to bring punishment on the wrongdoer” (Romans 13:4). Even the traditional Anabaptists didn't deny that the military was good; they just thought it was a kind of lesser good off-limits to Christians. And even among the early church leaders who weren't comfortable serving in the pagan Roman army, they all shared the burden of praying for that same army. They knew that not all military force is violent, even if so much even of our own is these days.

But if God trusts us to wield the sword of the word of God, surely he trusts us to hold weaker swords justly and rightly, if we can. One modern theologian wrote that “the aim of a just war is that the unjust enemy will turn from their wicked ways, make amends, and rejoin the community of peace and justice.” That doesn't sound so foreign to the gospel to me. So if that's what was in your heart, if that's what you sincerely sought to do, if you were following St. Augustine's advice to “be a peacemaker even in war” as a soldier, then veterans, don't be discouraged when anyone disparages the honorable service you gave.

And yet our greater fight is fought with otherworldly weapons, and in the kingdom of God's cause we don't wage war as the world does. Paul himself said that: “Though we live in the world, we do not wage war as the world does. The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds” (2 Corinthians 10:3-4). They're higher weapons for a greater fight – a struggle “not against flesh and blood” but “against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms” and within our own hearts (Ephesians 6:12). And (dare I say it) Jesus enlists us as troops in a force even nobler than any army, any navy, any air force that this world has ever seen. “Better a patient person than a warrior, one with self-control than one who takes a city” (Proverbs 16:32). God's Word says that there's something even better, even nobler, even more dignified than a soldier in great victory – and that's a patient person with discipline, a person who “waits upon the LORD” (Psalm 37:9), on “the Mighty Warrior who saves us” (Zephaniah 3:17). And that LORD is Jesus Christ, the only God who so perfectly offers perfect “peace and justice in the councils of the nations.”

Even better than being a veteran soldier is being a person who patiently trusts in Jesus Christ for salvation and is called to a holy calling. Better than a veteran of this world's wars is a veteran of the kingdom's war on the devil. And a soldier of Jesus needs to live with discipline as a disciple. And here's how discipleship gets passed on: “What you have heard from me and from many witnesses, entrust to faithful people who will be able to teach others well” (2 Timothy 2:2). That's it, that's what it takes. Avoiding “profane chatter,” we explain the word of truth in the right way (2 Timothy 2:14-15), and we teach others how to be shaped like the kingdom, how to live the life of a kingdom soldier, while we do that very same thing ourselves, trusting in our Commanding Officer every step of the way. That's what it takes. So “proclaim the message. Be persistent whether the time is favorable or unfavorable. Convince, rebuke, and encourage with the utmost patience in teaching. … Always be sober. Endure suffering. Do the work of an evangelist. Carry out your ministry fully” (2 Timothy 4:2, 5). Those aren't my words; they're Paul's. Imitate this veteran gospel general as he imitates our Heavenly Commander-in-Chief (cf. 1 Corinthians 4:16). Be “a good soldier of Christ Jesus” (2 Timothy 2:3), of the one who enlisted us before the foundation of the world. Long for Christ's final Victory Day at his glorious appearing, and so earn the Medal of Honor waiting in heaven for you (2 Timothy 4:8). Onward, Christian soldiers!

Consider the Generations Long Past: A Sermon for All Saints Day

“Praise be to you, LORD, God of our father Israel, from everlasting to everlasting. Yours, LORD, is the greatness and the power and the glory and the majesty and the splendor, for everything in heaven and earth is yours. Yours, LORD, is the kingdom; you are exalted as head over all” (1 Chronicles 29:10-11). Have any words ever been so beautiful? In all our singing on this holy day, we “ascribe greatness to our God” (Deuteronomy 32:3). And it is a special day, a day of remembrance. Last night was All Hallows' Eve. Today is All Saints' Day, tomorrow is All Souls' Day.

It's a time set aside to focus on one oft-forgotten but core teaching of the gospel: that “we believe … in the communion of saints.” We do! We believe in the communion of saints, in the fellowship of God's holy ones throughout all ages. We believe that history is not dead and gone. History is alive! The people of God are alive, whether they fight the good fight here below among the church militant or whether they breathe the air of angels among the church triumphant! And that isn't just for special super-Christians; it's for all who've been washed clean by Jesus and who've followed the Spirit home – their names are written above from least to greatest, and all are “the spirits of the righteous made perfect” (Hebrews 12:23). “We feebly struggle, they in glory shine, / yet all are one in thee, for all are thine.” All, not just today, but in all the yesterdays.

The gospel didn't start in the year 2000. The kingdom of God is not a novelty, a passing fad. The torch has been handed down from generation to generation, and just when the world thinks they've snuffed it out at last, God breathes it back to bright flame. Our God is “a faithful God who does no wrong,” the Creator who “made us and formed us” (Deuteronomy 32:4-6). He's been at work for thousands of years before any of us arrived on the scene, and will be at work long after our bones rest in peace and our spirits rejoice on high. We don't know what form God's work will take in the years, decades, maybe centuries ahead of us – he's a God of new wine, not a God who patches up what's wearing thin – but we do have the benefit of looking back over a long and living history of God's mighty deeds when he “exalted and gave strength to all” (1 Chronicles 29:12). Not just looking back over it – actively holding fellowship with believers of every era. “Remember the days of old; consider the generations long past” (Deuteronomy 32:7).

They have plenty to teach us about living in a world that wasn't always friendly to the message they brought. They “endured a hard struggle with sufferings, sometimes being publicly exposed to abuse and persecution,” clinging above all to something the world couldn't take away, a glory “better and more lasting” (Hebrews 10:32-34). They pushed through it with compassion and mercy, not “abandoning their confidence” (Hebrews 10:35). They didn't shrink back; they had faith and so were saved (Hebrews 10:39). They had a conviction that God was at work even in their trials, and that God would bring beauty out of their smallest achievements done in his name (Hebrews 11:1). And that's what faith looks like. It was “by faith” that “our ancestors,” those who ran the race before us, “received approval” in God's eyes (Hebrews 11:2).

Have you ever wondered what the Hebrews 11 Hall of Faith would look like if it got updated for our time and place? If, tacked onto the litany of saints from Abel to the prophets, it covered the last five centuries? The communion of saints includes Abel, Noah, Abraham, Moses, Samuel, David, but also the saints who gave nearer shape to our faith here today. What's our saintly story? What would our elders tell us (Deuteronomy 32:7)? They'd remind us that by faith, a fire-eyed priest in the early 1500s dared to question the world he saw around him; by faith, this Martin Luther stood firm on Scripture against the corrupted church leaders of his day, defying their sword and fire and sparking the Reformation. In his preface to Romans, he wrote:

Faith is a divine work in us. It changes us and makes us born again from God. It kills the old Adam and makes us altogether different men, in heart and spirit and mind and powers, and it brings with it the Holy Spirit. Oh, it is a living, busy, mighty, active thing, this faith! And so it is impossible for it not to do good works incessantly. It doesn't ask whether there are good works to do, but before the question arises, it has already done them and is always doing them. … Faith is a living, daring confidence in God's grace, so sure and certain that a man would stake his life on it a thousand times. … Hence a man is ready and glad, without compulsion, to do good to everyone, to serve everyone, to suffer everything in love and praise to God, who has shown him this grace. It is as impossible to separate works from faith as heat and light from fire.

By faith, in 1738, an unknown Moravian preacher in London read those words aloud where they could fall on the ears of a failed Anglican missionary, once desolate in heart but in that moment suddenly feeling his heart filled and “strangely warmed” by the fiery love of God. By faith, that missionary, John Wesley, witnessed in the fields and foundries, organized a movement of classes and bands to be “all on fire for God,” devoted himself to know “no holiness but social holiness,” preached to set England ablaze and to spread the flame “from village to village.” By faith, his missionaries like Thomas Coke and Francis Asbury traveled to the American colonies so that here, too, the fire of the Spirit could run from heart to heart. “O that the hammer and fire of God's word and love might come down among them!,” faithful Asbury prayed.

By faith, the German evangelist Anton Houtz was filled with the word of God to condemn sin and preach holiness, never holding back. The fire that warmed Wesley's heart blazed in his speech, even amidst the pallor of death. They woke a grieving tilemaker named Jacob Albright from his complacent life of “great sinfulness”; he was cut to the quick by “keen sorrow.” By faith, the farmer Adam Reigel, Jacob's next-door neighbor, opened Jacob's eyes to the truths of Holy Scripture, unfolding the faith delivered once and for all to the saints (cf. Jude 3) – and so the lost Jacob stumbled, now found, into the arms of Jesus and discovered “such a sweet peace … as no pen can describe or mortal tongue can express.” By faith, a Methodist class-leader named Isaac Davis nurtured Jacob in his newfound salvation, shepherding him as he grew from grace to grace.

By faith, this same Jacob Albright sought and found the true Shepherd of his Soul and persevered in prayer with broken heart, yearning to see the light of the Lord dawn on the neglected and benighted Pennsylvania Dutch, for which he daily “implored God with burning tears” to “send them true and exemplary teachers who would preach the gospel in its own power.” By faith, he was commissioned by God to preach the gospel tirelessly all his days: “Go, work in my vineyard; proclaim to my people the gospel in its primitive purity, with energy and power, trusting in my fatherly love that all those who hear and believe shall have part in my grace.” By faith, Albright preached in the open markets to riotous mobs, regarding the salvation of even one lost soul of greater consequence than his own body's safety; and by faith, like Stephen of old he dropped to his knees and prayed for his persecutors when they sought to stone him on the road in Berks County (cf. Acts 7:59-60). By faith, Albright looked forward with prophet's blazing eye beyond the close of his own life and pronounced, “Men will appear among you who will be able to accomplish what I shall not be able to do.” And so by faith he remained steadfast in grace through each trial until, in 1808, he left behind the “seals of his ministry” to seek an incorruptible crown.

By faith, Albright's colleague John Walter became an Apollos in his day, preaching the word of God by the Spirit with force enough to break locks asunder and swing the doors open wide for revival in New Berlin, so the Lord Jesus might “establish his work here in spite of all the opposition of hell and wicked men.” By faith, George Miller, saved and sanctified under Albright and Walter, withstood mockery, persecution, vandalism, beatings and stonings, and cared only to stay walking in the Way of the God of Love. By faith, Moses Dissinger charged headlong into the devil's den and prayed like a prophet of old in the power of the Most High, that the walls trembled and quaked.

By faith, in the 1840s bold itinerants like Frederick Danner, Abraham Schultz, and Davis Hambright stirred hearts in a recently penetrated mission field, men and women who lived up on a lawless mountain among the birds who wing their way across the airy skies. By faith, three of the recent converts – William Dewees, William Boyer, and Watson McAnelly – sought by God's grace a resting place for their conviction, buying land to raise a house to the holiness of the Lord. By faith, William Fairfax Marshall, whose great-great-grandson sits in this room today, hauled stone day after day to bring life and reality to the vision God had set before Watson and the other Williams. By faith, Pastor Hambright and his successors rode between the churches of the newly-formed Chester Circuit, while local preacher Jonathan Kurtz led the young Mt. Airy Church through its earliest years of witness to Jesus Christ and him crucified.

By faith, Benjamin D. Albright, Antietam veteran and Jacob's grandnephew, called down revival's fires from heaven in the year of our Lord 1871, igniting the Welsh Mountain like Elijah at Mount Carmel in days of old (cf. 1 Kings 18:30-39). By faith, revival fire shed its gospel light far and wide through the Pequea Valley for months, illuminating the hearts of many, George Kauffroth among their number. By faith, Rev. Albright gave shape to the flame, binding a few new believers together in the valley schoolhouse as the Millwood Class Meeting for accountability and growth. By faith, Rev. J. N. Metzgar, “afire with the love of God,” rode his steady steed Old Dubbin around the new Conestoga Circuit, preaching every Saturday night and thrice each Sunday to keep the embers of Albright's revival stoked and ablaze to the glory of God.

By faith, under Rev. Metzgar's fiery ministry, sparks blew from the mountainside church and the valley class-meeting to ignire a new church, bringing together Jonathan Kurtz, George Kauffroth, Reuben Martin, Albert Hurst, Jeremiah Futer, Jacob Davidson, Samuel Stilwell, David Doutrich, Samuel Wasson, Daniel Warfel, Josiah March, Thomas Spence, Peter Reeser, Samuel Reiff, John Yoder, David Groff, and Benjamin Keenan. By faith, on April 29, 1874, they chartered their new adventure and named it for their valley: Pequea Evangelical Association Church.

By faith, they bellowed revival fires throughout 1876 and quadrupled their numbers to forty-one. By faith, a year later the newly minted preacher George Sweigert joined the wandering people of Pequea and shepherded them as they planned their new home: they bought a pricey hill from John Kurtz, they dug out a foundation, they laid the cornerstone in August. Just over two months' labors passed and on October 28, by faith the building was “filled from the door to the pulpit” as seven ministers – including one from Pequea Presbyterian – dedicated the whole house to the Lord of the Harvest, the previous night's sermon by the aged Pappy Saylor still singing their ears with the white-hot glory of God. And like David long before them, they asked, “Who is willing to consecrate themselves to the Lord today?” – and the people answered and “gave willingly” (1 Chronicles 29:5-6). One hundred thirty-eight years and four days ago, they confessed to God that “all this abundance that we have provided for building you a temple for your holy name comes from your hand, and all of it belongs to you” (1 Chronicles 29:16).

By faith, within a week, the saints of Pequea began a three-month protracted meeting until February 2, watching the mighty hand of God snatch forty-four souls from the haunts of hell to the gates of glory, of whom all but six joined the church – praise God! By faith, when trouble rocked the church eighteen days later, and the Millwood four of the five trustees resigned, the church body remained devoted to her sacred mission in the Pequea Valley. By faith, they committed themselves to the future God had in store for them on that hallowed soil, in which George Kauffroth and Reuben Martin planted the trees that still stand as memorials from 1878.

By faith, when that July saw a desperate bandit dig up the cornerstone to steal the funds deposited in the name of Jesus, the fifty-some saints of Pequea neither grumbled nor cursed, but forgave the culprit without ever learning his name, praying that the God of their salvation would rescue the man from himself through the stolen Bible and hymnal that were also unearthed. By faith, when cruel death intruded into God's green earth to rob the assembly of two of their littlest children, the saints of Pequea refused to rage against their Maker but instead commended their youth to the consecrated earth, unwavering in their hope of resurrection.

By faith, like the Patriarch Jacob of old, son of Isaac, son of Father Abraham, the Pequea saints grasped their Heavenly Shepherd and refused to let him go until he blessed them by stirring up a “great revival” that very December, and the December after it as well, under the faithful ministry of the gifted Pastor Ferdinand Smith (cf. Genesis 32:26). By faith, the Pequea saints, living their days and nights in the Refiner's fire, made generosity and fellowship their watchwords: In 1885, when Pastor James Krause lost his cloak on the road, they pooled their funds and bought him a new one. But they had the attitude of David: “Everything comes from you, and we have given only what comes from your hand” (1 Chronicles 29:14). Such was the saintliness of Pequea – finding and restoring the lost was all their heart.

Nine years later, when dark days descended on the denomination, when the Evangelical Association was cleaved in twain and the majority Esherites stole the title to the church building, then by faith Pastor Erisman and the Pequea saints neither surrendered nor stumbled; but, hoping against hope that the God who called them to this place did not mean to abort their mission before it had run its course, they praised their Divine Teacher in the schoolhouse until they could buy back the temple they'd reared years before.

By faith, in those days George Kauffroth raised his son George from an eight-day-old infant when the church was dedicated to the full stature of manhood in Christ Jesus. By faith, the younger George pledged his life to the service of the good news, pastoring the Evangelical saints of all the countryside, even serving as “a 'prophet with honor' respected and beloved by all” among the saints of Pequea United Evangelical Church in his own native village. Not dissuaded by ill health or Parkinson's, George would run his race, would fight his seventy-six years' good fight, would keep the faith until lowered beneath this hallowed ground to wait until the day when in his own flesh, he'll see his blessed Savior. Under his preaching and care, hundreds received the new birth into the family of God.

By faith, during the days of his ministry, the Pequea saints renovated the church with a bell tower to “send its cheerful welcome across the whole valley” in Jesus' name. By faith, George Schaum prayed: “May the Lord continue to bless his people on Pequea Mission, and may the church increase in influence and power until the glory of the Lord fills the whole house.” By faith, the saints of Pequea labored with the revival flames of the Consuming Fire (cf. Hebrews 12:29), and in the face of the devil's own counterfeit blaze the next year – the Great White Horse Fire of 1913 – their shield of faith refused to yield to any of Satan's fiery darts, but they resisted the devil, and so he fled (Ephesians 6:16; James 4:7). By faith, Pastor Kauffroth won the young Guy Mentzer to the Lord that same year; and by faith, Mentzer would serve the Lord and his saints for decades in this place, leading the Pequea charge to someday become self-supporting for the sake of the kingdom.

By faith, through the struggles of the First World War, the saints of Pequea labored long and waited for warmer days. By faith, as the years passed and a second World War came and went from the globe's great stage, the saints of Pequea opened their arms to the community, providing the church as classroom space for the local students. By faith, in spite of petty membership losses in the decades to come, the holy ones left at Pequea held fast to the work of the Lord, praying to see God's kingdom come to the Pequea Valley as in heaven above. And as revival fire fell again through the keen and joyful ministry of Pastor John Bergman, bearing precious souls into that kingdom, by faith the saints of Pequea gave “all praise and honor and glory” to God alone, the God who “tests the heart and is pleased with integrity” (1 Chronicles 29:17).

“And what more shall I say” (cf. Hebrews 11:32)? There's not time enough to tell about Dwight Baxter and Isaac Todd, Ruth Eicholz and Harry Gossert, Lester Howe and Ross Parmer, Norman Trago and Bill Huyett, Melvin Stehr and Sam Brady – “the world was not worthy of them” (Hebrews 11:38). By faith, they waited quietly upon the Lord; they acted justly, loved mercy, walked humbly with their God (Micah 6:8), and looked forward to the promises of the Lord of the Harvest, which are all yes and amen in Jesus Christ (2 Corinthians 1:20). These men and women, Albright's spiritual sons and daughters, the saints of Pequea, “were all commended for their faith,” but God has so much more in store “so that only together with us would they be made perfect. Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles; and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the Author and Perfecter of our faith” (Hebrews 11:39—12:2).

Now, we and all those who went before us are “foreigners and strangers in [God's] sight,” whose days on earth are “like a shadow, without hope” in ourselves (1 Chronicles 29:15). That's the lesson of the Reformation: for all our pomp and circumstance, we are and always have been “by nature children of wrath” until seized upon by the free grace of God (Ephesians 2:3). We've got no claim to it: we're foreigners to God. In ourselves, like a shadow appears and vanishes with the rotation of the earth, our generation would come and go and be forgotten. In ourselves, all this history would be dead. But the grace of God in Jesus Christ, apprehended by faith and faith alone, gives hope to the hopeless! And so the “generations long past” are not generations long gone. We and they – now “ransomed, healed, restored, forgiven” – are like a brilliantly hopeful bonfire in Christ. That's the communion of saints: Death in the body can't extinguish the flame. They are not gone, only in glory. We have fellowship still with Luther, Wesley, Albright, Hambright, Metzgar, Kauffroth, and all the rest. And beneath the excited gaze of all these witnesses, we're called to run our race just like they ran theirs.

We're the saints of Pequea, standing in the same shoes, with the same mission and the same Shepherd. But do we burn as they burned? Is the Spirit that drove them on, living in us? Or have we forgotten the fire, sidelined the Spirit, meandered from the mission? The best – the only – way to honor the living legacy of all the saints is to stay fervently faithful to that flame, to the grace that raised them up and made them holy, to the power of God igniting them and us to bring the world to Christ and Christ to the world. The faithful God who was gracious to them is no different from the God who endures unchanging now! And that God lights us up “by grace … through faith” (Ephesians 2:8).

“O LORD, God of our ancestors,” God of our spiritual fathers and mothers, God of the saints of Pequea and of all the saints in every time and place, “keep these desires and thoughts in the hearts of your people forever, and keep their hearts loyal to you” (1 Chronicles 29:18). May we hold firm the fiery faith of our fathers and the love of our “Captain in [our] well-fought fight.” May it be said by our children and our children's children that we gathered here “all praised the LORD, the God of [our] fathers” (1 Chronicles 29:20), and that we were all aflame with the blazing love of the kingdom.

Twelve Years a Patient: Sermon on Mark 5:21-43

Stiller of storms. Sanity of souls. Savior of the sick. In last week's story, Jesus brought salvation to Gentile shores when he tossed a few thousand demons out of a Greek man there. Being asked to leave those shores, Jesus and his disciples navigate their way back across the Sea of Galilee to the western side, Israel's territory. 

And in these next verses, Jesus goes out of his way to help two people who belong to another second class in the typical Pharisee man's eyes: women. The Pharisees actually suggested this prayer be made daily: “Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who has not made me a Gentile. Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who has not made me a woman. Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who has not made me a slave.”

Jesus, in his teaching and his example, would have absolutely none of that superiority complex. Paul was only following in the Master's footsteps when he upended that very prayer, and the similar Greek boasts it was based on, by declaring that in Christ “there is neither Jew nor Greek, neither slave nor free, no male and female” (Galatians 3:28). Everywhere we follow Jesus in the Gospels, he's giving attention and care to women – using positive female figures in his parables, even to represent God's actions; treating his female followers as full-fledged disciples; spending time ministering to women on no lesser basis than he ministered to men. The Gospels are trailblazing in the emphasis they place on including women.

So here we meet Jesus again, on the western shore of the lake. A massive crowd once more swarms him (Mark 5:21). Onto the scene bursts one of the local elites: “Jairus,” Mark calls him, Yair – a good Hebrew name, borne by one of the patriarch Joseph's grandsons, and one of the judges, and even Mordecai's dad. And in their illustrious company stands this man of means, a respectable elder in the synagogue, a civil leader elected to keep watch over local Law observance and to arrange for services to be conducted in an orderly fashion. He's both halves of Law and Order, is what I'm saying. And you'll find him in plenty of churches. He's the trustee with a fat wallet. When he talks, people listen. He's a pillar of the community – respected, and hopefully respectable. He's a synagogue chief, a church elder; you'll hear his measured, confident voice at board meeting and borough council (Mark 5:22).

But right now, that pales in the light of what's going on. In the backwoods of the Roman Empire, like many places today, half of all children born alive didn't make it past their teen years. And his precious girl, his pride and joy, his jewel, his little lamb, is at risk of joining their ranks. She's badly sick, you see. He says his little daughter is “holding on at the end.” A lawless disease has upended all the order of her life and his. And so he rushes and throws himself to the ground at Jesus' feet. Like the man freed from his demons, Jairus begs on his knees. He's got one request: “Come and lay hands on her, that she might be saved, and she will live” (Mark 5:23).

That is what he wants, and that's all it will take: If Jesus touches her, if Jesus sets her apart, if Jesus will have fellowship with this sick pre-teen girl, she'll have rescue, she'll have salvation, she'll have life! Because that's what it means to be saved, that's the result. The point of being saved is to live – to really and truly live. That's why Jesus came: that we “might have life, and have it to the full” (John 10:10). Salvation isn't a get-out-of-jail-free card, it isn't just being snatched from the furnace. Salvation frees us up for life.

So Jesus goes, he accompanies Jairus, the crowd follows, and they just swarm all over Jesus, they squeeze him from every side. It can't have been easy to walk like that! But still, Jesus presses on toward Jairus' house (Mark 5:24). He's on the way to help, to do all he can – but then enter a new character, an opportunity intruding from the culture's margins: a very sick woman, a social outcast on one last desperate mission. We don't learn this woman's name, but we do find that she has a serious problem. She has a medical condition, a chronic illness, and not just any kind. For the past twelve years, her very existence has been defined by a recurring flow of blood, hemorrhaging from her womb. Doctors today might call it menorrhagia. I don't know if it was caused by ovarian or endometrial cancer, by uterine fibroids, by a clotting disorder, or what have you – but it was uncomfortable, even painful, maybe even agonizing, and beyond all that, it put her in a tricky spot (Mark 5:25).

See, the Law set out a symbolic world where everything was in its place. Anything that heralded the power of life or death – anything like blood – had to be treated with caution, kept in bounds wherever possible, to show that God is a God of order. It wasn't meant to be cruel; it was meant to be compassionate. But even the best laws can be twisted, even the best laws can be stretched to ruin the lives of those in exceptional cases. Satan's a master at that. And what God meant for compassion became for this woman a cause of greater suffering. 

According to the Law, an issue of blood meant becoming ritually impure for a full week (Leviticus 15:19). But what if it never stops (Leviticus 15:25)? What if there's no seven-day respite to recover (Leviticus 15:28)? Anything she ever touches gets marked as unclean, made a contaminant (Leviticus 15:26-27). How do you conduct your life like that? She became a social outcast. No one would come near her. If she'd ever been married, her husband would have abandoned her (Leviticus 15:24). She wouldn't have children. By Law, she shouldn't even live in town (Leviticus 15:31; Numbers 5:2). She's marked out, ashamed, spurned, scorned for twelve years. Can you imagine that?

In her situation, it's no wonder she was desperate. It's no wonder she spent everything she had on trying every treatment the doctors suggested. But none of them worked. In fact, she tried everything she could get her hands on, reached out to every specialist, but the only thing they did was compound her suffering, exacerbate her affliction. 

Medicine back then wasn't a pretty sight: “Wear this stone around your neck, eat these spices, inhale these cabbage fumes, drink this dove juice and some wine, and if all else fails, it's slice-and-dice time, and what a shame we haven't invented general anaesthesia yet.” Up until fairly recent history, trained doctors might have been more likely to do harm than good. And that's her story: not only do they multiply her suffering, but her condition just gets worse and worse, with crippling cramps and rising anemia making her woozy (Mark 5:26). Twelve years a patient, bound to the sickness that scourged her and the well-meaning thieves who took her money and left her worse off.

Our spiritual condition by nature isn't that much different from hers. When sin infects us, when sin thins our resolve and spreads like a cancer through our lives, we start hemorrhaging vitality, we bleed purpose, we get morally and spiritually dizzy and endure the harsh cramps of life in a fallen world, with shattered relationships. Even if we can't put our finger on the malady, we yearn to be made whole again, we long for something we're missing. 

So we try every remedy we can find to fill that void. Any treatment will do: “Wear this, eat this, smoke this, drink this, change yourself to be like this.” But it all comes up short, it's all empty. None of it addresses the real problem. In the end, looking back over a life spent trapped in worldly patterns of living, a life infected by sin and defined by our old nature, we can see that all of those so-called solutions only compounded our suffering and exacerbated our affliction.

In her situation, it would have been so easy for her to give up hope. I mean, everything possible had been tried. She'd made her list of options, and crossed them each out, one by one. It was done. Game over. For twelve years! Twelve whole years of living with this, twelve whole years of failed promises and false answers. But somehow, she hasn't given up hope. She's heard about Jesus. She's heard that this man is sent from God, that he teaches the arrival of God's kingdom and backs it up with more than words alone. She's heard that Jesus is the hope of the hopeless. And so she'll use every last ounce of her strength to reach him.

She slips into the crowd. Will anyone see her? Will anyone recognize her? Maybe she veils herself, wears a different set of clothes as a disguise. She breaks her way into this seething mob – breaking the Law that commanded her to keep at a distance and identify herself. She had to squeeze up against everyone to reach Jesus, and by the Law's standard (or at least the Law as they learned it in Sabbath School then), she corrupted dozens of people as she made her way to Jesus. What was she thinking? If only she could touch Jesus – no, if only she could even brush a finger against one of the holy tassels on his cloak, the tassels that represent the commandments of God (Deuteronomy 22:12; Numbers 15:38-41) – she'd find salvation there: “If I should touch at least his garments, I will be saved” (Mark 5:28).

So she crept up behind Jesus, hoping that she'd go unnoticed by everyone. Just one touch, and she can go back home (Mark 5:27). That's her plan. And it half works. If she's hoping to steal just a bit of the divine power rolling off of this man, well, he lets her – but not like a thief in the night. If she or anyone was tempted to see his work as magic, he's determined to stop her and reframe the situation. His power goes forth, immediately the fountain of blood dries up, and she can feel deep within her body that the ever-present plague that scourged her with sorrow and anguish is gone. She's been healed (Mark 5:29). What no doctors could do, what no potions could pull off, Jesus just accomplished!

Her hopes to escape unnoticed are in for a rough patch, though. He turns around and calls out the person who touched his clothes, whoever that may be (Mark 5:30). The disciples think it's silly (Mark 5:31-32), but Jesus knows what he's doing. Whenever you think Jesus is just being silly, give him some space and watch: he's up to something more clever than we've got the sense to put together save maybe in hindsight. Though he's in a rush, this kingdom-bringer makes time for her, thrusts her into the spotlight. And so the woman fesses up, she admits everything, she tells the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

And she doesn't do it boldly; she does it with immense fear and trembling. What's going to happen when the mob realizes who she is, how she touched them all? Will they tear her to shreds, will they stone her on impulse? And will Jesus resent what she did? Will he undo his healing, will he snatch salvation away, will he call down fire from heaven or command the earth to swallow her whole? Does she fear divine prosecution for magical theft? 

And Jairus is still here watching. He's a synagogue chief, responsible for enforcing observance of the Law. He's the man whose job description includes keeping women with her condition in their place. He's supposed to make sure to exclude her, to quarantine her, to protect the community from the danger she brings. He may be the man she fears most – and is he happy? As he feels the seconds counting down, as he frets over his baby girl's last raspy breaths, someone – not just anyone, but this pitiable woman – has distracted Jesus, has held up this emergency rescue operation, has maybe even corrupted Jesus with her defilement and ruined his last chance. After all, “anything an unclean person touches becomes unclean, and anyone who touches it becomes unclean until evening” (Numbers 19:22). And doesn't this woman know there's no time for all that? That his little one comes first? That after living with this for as long as his baby's even been alive, she could at least have the decency to wait until the return trip?

No wonder she's afraid. But even so, she steps forward and takes responsibility and waits for the worst (Mark 5:33). The worst never comes, though. Jesus names what motivated her. It wasn't superstition, as she herself could have easily decided in retrospect. No, it was faith – the same faith that makes her confess it publicly now, instead of running away and losing out on all Jesus has to offer. (How often do we let our fear be a reason to not confess faith?) 

She wasn't looking for a secret burst of power from any two-bit holy man who passed by. Even in her desperation, she reached out in faith, knowing that it wasn't magic she was looking for; it was a messiah. The person of Jesus himself, the kingdom he reveals wherever he goes – that was the salvation she was seeking. And she had faith enough to disregard the normal niceties, faith enough to break through the crowd, faith enough to risk everything to touch what's touched Jesus. Faith enough, if not to hope to lay a finger on him, then at least to grasp his fringes – because they've been in contact with the Master, the certain cure-all.

In other words, she trusts that the power of Jesus is more contagious than her problem. She trusts that Jesus is so vital, so exuberant in his eternal energy, so bubbling over with authority and hope, that even the tips of his tassels have life to spare. Now that's faith! And I wonder if maybe one of the faults with the American church today is that we've broken the newborn faith of our neighbors. See, if we've been in contact with Jesus, if we've brushed up against his holiness and his love and the wholeness he radiates, we should be just like those tassels. Couldn't we at least be known as his fringes – having no boast of our own, nothing to claim on our own merit, just yarn, except for the fact that Jesus has touched us, has let his presence rub off on us? At our very weakest, couldn't we at least be that?

But so often, people reach out to touch the church in their desperation, hoping some of Jesus will rub off on them – and we give them nothing but another hopeless remedy, or worse, our own squabbles and judgment. Is it any wonder that a rising number of Americans, while still claiming to believe in God, still thirsting for something spiritual, still practicing individualized versions of prayer, nevertheless miss out on the gospel because they've been burned by the church – they've reached out and gone away empty or even hurt? Is it any wonder that the gospel sounds to them like one of the many doctors' potions – eye of newt with a bitter flavor – and they write off Jesus because when they touched us, they found that we were lousy conductors of his power? 

But we can be different. We can be those tassels, those fringes, and so much more. And it isn't something hard: all it takes is to be in touch with Jesus and to not let ourselves get in the way of transmitting him to those who touch us.

That's what this woman confesses to having done, even though her every step was illegal. She's touched his tassels, she's gotten a taste of what Jesus can do. And how does he react? Does he cast her out? No. She's the one and only woman in the Gospels he directly addresses as “Daughter.” See, Jairus is worried about his little girl, one tied to him by flesh and blood. He sees this woman as an interloper, a distraction, a nuisance. Jesus sees her as his own daughter, one every bit as precious to him as that little child is to Jairus. So no, she can't wait.

Jesus proves himself eager to help and heal and restore. He's no stingy Savior! He doesn't chastise her for subtracting from his power – because she hasn't. He's the same Jesus, yesterday and today and forever (Hebrews 13:8). She hasn't stolen; she's been given God's gift. And Jesus proves himself eager to welcome: he names her as his daughter and says that her faith has saved her. Not magic. Not even the act of touch itself, in purely physical terms. It was the faith that brought her to Jesus. That's what opened salvation's gates to her. That's what restored her health. He tells her to “go in peace, and be healthy, far removed from your scourge” (Mark 5:34). 

But she still has one lingering problem. According to the Law, she still has to wait seven days to be certified as clean (Leviticus 15:28). Though she's got no money left, she has to make the prescribed atonement offering (Leviticus 15:29-30), and the townspeople are still going to look at her as, you know, “that woman,” the one with the problem, the untouchable one.

But Jesus is eager, not just to welcome, but to stand with her. He doesn't care if people view him as somehow polluted by what she's done. He's with her anyway. He names her as his daughter publicly, claims her as one of his own. He redefines her. She's not that woman with the problem; she's that woman who's under Jesus' protection, the woman who belongs to his family, his clan. He is who he's always been, and that's all the defense she needs. She's been cured, she's been saved, and he publicly calls her his own. 

That's what he offers to us too. Jesus was willing to let her impurity touch him, because his holiness is all the more contagious. Jesus let our sin, our spiritual impurity, latch onto him on the cross. He took it, he carried it down to the grave, he blew it to smithereens. He's willing to be publicly identified with us, to call us his spiritual sons and daughters, to name us as his family. That's our identity now. And that's all the defense we need. 

Even after repenting, people may be tempted to still name us by our past sins, to still define us in terms of the impurities we bore. But Jesus redefines us. He claims us as his own, even if it means him being associated with all our old sickness. That's who he is: a Savior who shares in our sicknesses, bearing the burden, so by him we can be saved. He's no stingy Savior.

Now, while this is all in progress, messengers come from Jairus' house and deliver the worst news ever: “Jesus' daughter may be all well and good now, but Jairus, your daughter is dead and gone. Why keep harassing the Teacher any longer?” Can you imagine the sinking feeling that gripped Jairus' stomach? The way his blood drained from his face, the way everything suddenly felt cold and distant except the frantic pounding of his broken heart? Some in this congregation know exactly how Jairus felt. Some of you have done what no parent should ever have to do, and buried a child. I'm not going to tell you I understand. No one understands that pain unless they've been there. But at this moment, Jairus is there, losing his last shred of hope, facing his worst nightmare (Mark 5:35).

Jesus hears, and he inserts himself into the conversation. Jairus came to him in hopeful, desperate faith – don't give up now! Don't give up when all is lost! Don't be afraid, don't let fear win. There's only one thing Jairus needs to do here: keep having faith. When everything is broken, keep having faith. When all that matters is dead, keep having faith. When hope is invisible and darkness is everywhere, keep having faith! Not an abstract faith, not just some glimmer of optimism, but a resolute attachment to Jesus as the hope of the hopeless (Mark 5:36). 

So Jesus and his innermost circle of three disciples leave the others behind to manage the crowd. For all their insistence on squeezing Jesus, he refuses to let them come. How he stopped them, Mark doesn't say, but I imagine when Jesus raises his voice and makes it sharp, they know better than to take one more step (Mark 5:37).

Jesus reaches his destination, the synagogue chief's fine estate, and Jesus beholds the customary riot, with all the professional hired wailers doing their job as usual, crying and howling and thumping their chests and causing a ruckus (Mark 5:38). Jesus insists all isn't lost: “The child is not dead but asleep” (Mark 5:39). No wonder all their pretense of grief quickly turns to mockery as they laugh him to scorn. 

But they miss what he's saying. To Jesus, death isn't the end of all hope; death isn't the outermost limit of recovery. Death is sleep – a mournful sleep, a kind of sleep that never should exist, but a sleep from which there's hope of waking. Jesus enters the house. Should Jairus stop him? I mean, as far as Jairus' eye can see, Jesus is now a carrier of the pollution that woman had. By law, he's unclean. But Jairus has faith beyond the law, faith to see that something more is possible, something beyond the mundane. He's willing to listen to the one voice of Jesus over the voices of his household staff, over the voices of the professionals (Mark 5:40).

Jesus kicks them all out of the house; he exorcises the residence from their faithless, discouraging presence. He admits only a few: his three followers, and the little girl's mom, and Jairus. From here on out, Jairus isn't called “synagogue chief,” he isn't known by his title. He's only known as that little girl's dad. Because that's what matters, second only to the fact that he has faith in Jesus. He has faith enough to take him to the body, already losing its color and warmth. He takes her by the hand, he touches her just like Jairus had asked. Is he about to do some magic, is he about to chant some funny words and cast a spell? 

Mark gives us those incomprehensible words: “Talitha koum!” But then Mark does what you don't do with magic: he translates what looks like an incantation of arcane syllables and demystifies it. All Jesus said, using his ordinary, everyday language, the one that Jairus and Mrs. Jairus spoke too, was: “Little girl, precious lamb, rise, stand on your feet” (Mark 5:41). And just like that, she does (Mark 5:42). Jesus touched a corpse, he risked catching the worst kind of ritual impurity (Numbers 19:11-13) – but instead, the body contracted a case of Jesus' own contagious life! Because of the delay, his power is even clearer. All she needs now is to be fed, to be maintained, to have her basic needs met (Mark 5:43).

Just like that, Jesus proves that he really is “the resurrection and the life” (John 11:25). And Jesus is the same Jesus, yesterday, today, and forever. He's hope for those who've spent all they've got, and he's hope for those who have more than they could ever spend. He's the hope of the hopeless, and he's never asleep on the job. When all avenues are dead-end roads, there he is: he's the Way. When all remedies prove to be vain lies and pointless pomp, there he is: he's the Truth. When it's too late, when everything's lost, when the grave's the only certainty in a sea of change, there he is: he's the Life (John 14:6). He may not be safe, but he's all that saves. He's what the kingdom looks like, because he's the God who gives the kingdom.

The kingdom means salvation – not through works, not through what you can pay for it, but through your faith bringing you into contact with Jesus. The kingdom means life, a life that's more contagious than all the impurity the devil can muster, a power that infects the sick with health, the defiled with holiness, and the dead with life. The kingdom is the “perfect love that casts out fear” to make room for faith to flower and bloom (1 John 4:18). 

The kingdom enthusiastically embraces rich and poor, young and old, white and black, Jews and Gentiles, men and women on fully equal terms, cherishing them all. The kingdom means solidarity, sharing: Jesus stands with you in your darkest places, names you as his own, redefines you, and sends you out in peace; we stand with those in need in their darkest places, name them as God sees them, pray Jesus to redefine them through the gift of faith, and work to share the peace and healing of Jesus with them. Because he's mercy and compassion, he's matchless grace, he is the resurrection, he is contagious life, he's the kingdom's king. Rise from your sickbed, go in peace, be fed, and live free to the full!