2 Chronicles 28:8-15; Galatians 3:15-22; St Luke 10:23-37
In the Name + of JESUS. Amen.
There stood Adam. A bad man desiring to be considered “good.” There he stood, half naked, on the run, hiding from God behind a tree, guilt all over his face. There was no way he could justify his behavior. But the deepest impulse in his fallen heart was to try. So he did. He said, The woman whom You gave to be with me, she gave me fruit of the tree and I ate (Gen 3:12). Translation: “It’s Your fault God.”
There stood Aaron, a bad priest desiring to considered a good one. But there he stood before an angry Moses. Those hands that were supposed to handle the Holy Things, instead had chiseled the golden calf and blessed the false worship. Caught red handed there was no way to justify his behavior. But the deepest impulse of his fallen heart was to try. So he said it this way, The people gave me their gold. I threw it into the fire and out came this calf (Ex 32:24). Translation: “It’s not my fault.”
There stood that lawyer, guilty as sin. Jesus had just summarized the Law. Love God with your all. Love your neighbor as yourself. But he hadn’t. And he knew it. He was a bad neighbor. But his deepest desire of his fallen heart was to be considered a good one. So he - desiring to justify himself - said to Jesus, And who is my neighbor? Translation: “Just make sure to keep my neighborhood small. Family, friend, people I like and who like me.”
The deepest impulse of fallen man is to justify himself. And its always a pathetic sight. Whether its you trying to justify that bad investment. Another purchase on Amazon. Your eating habits. Your rudeness toward family. Your sin. This is the central impulse of the sinner. We desire to justify ourselves.
We even hear this Gospel of the Good Samaritan and try to justify that we are the Samaritan. We’re nothing like him at all. Its pathetic. The Good Samaritan helped a bitter enemy - Jews and Samaritans loathed each other. We only do what a pagan does: help only those we like, who like us, who appeal to us, are nice to us. And if they stop? Well, then, so do we! And we justify it saying, “Well, she was mean to me first.”
The Good Samaritan didn’t just call 911. He himself touched the man. Applied the medicine. We’d never go that far. The Good Samaritan totally inconvenienced himself, to the point of taking him to an inn, staying overnight with him and promising to pay the innkeeper whatever it too to get the man back on his feet. Our mercy has to fit into our tidy schedules and not interfere with our lives.
According to Jesus’ definition of neighbor, we can’t call ourselves a “Good Samaritan.” Maybe not even a “Good Christian.” How often are we like those Israelites in the first reading? Taking advantage of our neighbor’s misfortune? Thinking that because they’re suffering, it must mean God loves us? Right? The love God requires is a love we’ve never given. Nor ever will. In fact, according to the flesh, we don’t even desire to. So how can we stand here and justify what we’ve been and what we’ve done?
We can’t. So don’t. Don’t stand there like Adam, blaming God. Don’t stand there like Aaron, offering flimsy excuses. And don’t stand there like that lawyer looking for technicalities and loopholes. In fact, don’t stand at all. Repent. And humble yourself. You’re not the Samaritan. Put yourself in the ditch right next to the man who fell among robbers, was stripped, beaten and left half-dead. No matter how small we might try to shrink our neighborhoods, it will never be enough for us to be able to justify our lack of love.
But be of good cheer, beloved. For the Lord has regard for His covenant. God arises and defends your cause. Jesus, in His boundless love, has united Himself to you. And that’s good for you. Because doing good does not make you a “Good Christian.” Receiving mercy is what does. And He has gathered you here again to receive it.
For you are the man who went down from Jerusalem to Jericho in the parable. You are a son of Adam who was attacked by that robber Satan. Stripped of his original goodness and left half dead in the ditch. The priest and the Levite, the representatives of the Law, they cannot help. For the Law has no compassion. Like you heard in St Paul’s letter to the Galatians: For if a Lw had been given that could give life, then righteousness would indeed be by the Law. But Scripture imprisoned everything under sin, so that the promise of faith in Jesus Christ might be given to those who believe.
Along comes Jesus, the High Priest of our salvation, able to do for you what the Law could never do - have compassion; give life. He saw your desperate state. A pathetic sight, with no righteousness of your own. Unable to justify the things you’ve done. But Jesus didn’t keep His distance. He didn’t stay away, afraid to sully Himself with your uncleanness. We went down into the ditch and bound up the festering wounds of your sin. He applied the medicine Himself. The Psalmist prays, The Lord stoops and raises the poor from the dust; He lifts the needy from the ash heap, to make them sit with princes (Ps 113:8).
He picks you up, sets you on His own animal, that is, the Lord carries you Himself. He then brought you to an inn, His Church, where He has placed an innkeeper, the Pastor, giving him two denarii, His word of Law to bring you low when you attempt to justify yourself, and His word of Gospel to raise you up once more. Words that will be care for you until the Good Samaritan comes again in glory.
The deepest impulse of your fallen heart is to justify what you’ve done and what you’ve been. Don’t bother. For the deepest impulse of Jesus’ heart was to do whatever it took to justify the ungodly (Rm 4:5). As David sings in the Psalm, Blessed is the one whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered. Blessed is the man against whom the Lord counts no iniquity (Ps 32:1-2). He has. And He does.
For Jesus came for this purpose: to destroy the works of the devil (1 Jn 3:8). He was the good Man Adam never was. The deepest impulse of His heart was not to hide behind a tree half naked, but to hand on one, half naked, taking into His flesh your ungodliness and dying for it. He rose from the dead to declare you good. He then ascended into heaven because the deepest impulse of His heart was not to be a high priest like Aaron, saying anything to avoid punishment, but to be a High Priest who has cast Himself into the fire of God’s wrath for you and now raises His hands to bless as He intercedes for you.
He didn’t pick and choose who He would love and serve. The deepest impulse of His heart was not to die only for a few, but to die for the whole neighborhood of sinners in the world - even those who betrayed Him, persecuted Him, and crucified Him.
Blessed are the eyes that see what you see. Your father Adam longed to see what you see this morning - the blood of the promised Seed, the crucified and risen Messiah, pressed to your lips. Blessed are the ears that hear what you hear. For Aaron longed to hear such things. “Take; eat, the Body of Christ; Take, drink, the Blood of Christ given and shed for you.”
Think of this Communion Rail, this Table of the Lord, as that ditch where the Good Samaritan comes to you, touches you, applies His healing medicine to you, restores and justifies you.
It’s no wonder that Jesus now says to you, Go and do likewise. For there are others whom our Lord has put in your path. Neighbors laying next to you in the ditch who are not gathered here to receive what you’ve received. Don’t avoid them. Don’t neglect them, passing by on the other side. Go to them. Show them mercy as you’ve been shown mercy. You have been lifted up and set on your feet, so that you can now crouch down to other sinners wrecked by the Law and given them the same mercy and compassion you’ve been shown. For "Jesus’ boundless love toward you seeks to remove all coldness from your heart, that your every act, word, thought be love" (LSB 683).
His Spirit desires to gather you all together here, His congregation which He has purchased of old (Introit), to receive an inheritance that could never be earned, one that is imperishable, undefiled and unfading, kept in heaven for you, who by God’s power are being guarded through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time (1 Pt 1:4-5).
In the Name of the Father and + of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
In the Name + of JESUS. Amen.
There stood Adam. A bad man desiring to be considered “good.” There he stood, half naked, on the run, hiding from God behind a tree, guilt all over his face. There was no way he could justify his behavior. But the deepest impulse in his fallen heart was to try. So he did. He said, The woman whom You gave to be with me, she gave me fruit of the tree and I ate (Gen 3:12). Translation: “It’s Your fault God.”
There stood Aaron, a bad priest desiring to considered a good one. But there he stood before an angry Moses. Those hands that were supposed to handle the Holy Things, instead had chiseled the golden calf and blessed the false worship. Caught red handed there was no way to justify his behavior. But the deepest impulse of his fallen heart was to try. So he said it this way, The people gave me their gold. I threw it into the fire and out came this calf (Ex 32:24). Translation: “It’s not my fault.”
There stood that lawyer, guilty as sin. Jesus had just summarized the Law. Love God with your all. Love your neighbor as yourself. But he hadn’t. And he knew it. He was a bad neighbor. But his deepest desire of his fallen heart was to be considered a good one. So he - desiring to justify himself - said to Jesus, And who is my neighbor? Translation: “Just make sure to keep my neighborhood small. Family, friend, people I like and who like me.”
The deepest impulse of fallen man is to justify himself. And its always a pathetic sight. Whether its you trying to justify that bad investment. Another purchase on Amazon. Your eating habits. Your rudeness toward family. Your sin. This is the central impulse of the sinner. We desire to justify ourselves.
We even hear this Gospel of the Good Samaritan and try to justify that we are the Samaritan. We’re nothing like him at all. Its pathetic. The Good Samaritan helped a bitter enemy - Jews and Samaritans loathed each other. We only do what a pagan does: help only those we like, who like us, who appeal to us, are nice to us. And if they stop? Well, then, so do we! And we justify it saying, “Well, she was mean to me first.”
The Good Samaritan didn’t just call 911. He himself touched the man. Applied the medicine. We’d never go that far. The Good Samaritan totally inconvenienced himself, to the point of taking him to an inn, staying overnight with him and promising to pay the innkeeper whatever it too to get the man back on his feet. Our mercy has to fit into our tidy schedules and not interfere with our lives.
According to Jesus’ definition of neighbor, we can’t call ourselves a “Good Samaritan.” Maybe not even a “Good Christian.” How often are we like those Israelites in the first reading? Taking advantage of our neighbor’s misfortune? Thinking that because they’re suffering, it must mean God loves us? Right? The love God requires is a love we’ve never given. Nor ever will. In fact, according to the flesh, we don’t even desire to. So how can we stand here and justify what we’ve been and what we’ve done?
We can’t. So don’t. Don’t stand there like Adam, blaming God. Don’t stand there like Aaron, offering flimsy excuses. And don’t stand there like that lawyer looking for technicalities and loopholes. In fact, don’t stand at all. Repent. And humble yourself. You’re not the Samaritan. Put yourself in the ditch right next to the man who fell among robbers, was stripped, beaten and left half-dead. No matter how small we might try to shrink our neighborhoods, it will never be enough for us to be able to justify our lack of love.
But be of good cheer, beloved. For the Lord has regard for His covenant. God arises and defends your cause. Jesus, in His boundless love, has united Himself to you. And that’s good for you. Because doing good does not make you a “Good Christian.” Receiving mercy is what does. And He has gathered you here again to receive it.
For you are the man who went down from Jerusalem to Jericho in the parable. You are a son of Adam who was attacked by that robber Satan. Stripped of his original goodness and left half dead in the ditch. The priest and the Levite, the representatives of the Law, they cannot help. For the Law has no compassion. Like you heard in St Paul’s letter to the Galatians: For if a Lw had been given that could give life, then righteousness would indeed be by the Law. But Scripture imprisoned everything under sin, so that the promise of faith in Jesus Christ might be given to those who believe.
Along comes Jesus, the High Priest of our salvation, able to do for you what the Law could never do - have compassion; give life. He saw your desperate state. A pathetic sight, with no righteousness of your own. Unable to justify the things you’ve done. But Jesus didn’t keep His distance. He didn’t stay away, afraid to sully Himself with your uncleanness. We went down into the ditch and bound up the festering wounds of your sin. He applied the medicine Himself. The Psalmist prays, The Lord stoops and raises the poor from the dust; He lifts the needy from the ash heap, to make them sit with princes (Ps 113:8).
He picks you up, sets you on His own animal, that is, the Lord carries you Himself. He then brought you to an inn, His Church, where He has placed an innkeeper, the Pastor, giving him two denarii, His word of Law to bring you low when you attempt to justify yourself, and His word of Gospel to raise you up once more. Words that will be care for you until the Good Samaritan comes again in glory.
The deepest impulse of your fallen heart is to justify what you’ve done and what you’ve been. Don’t bother. For the deepest impulse of Jesus’ heart was to do whatever it took to justify the ungodly (Rm 4:5). As David sings in the Psalm, Blessed is the one whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered. Blessed is the man against whom the Lord counts no iniquity (Ps 32:1-2). He has. And He does.
For Jesus came for this purpose: to destroy the works of the devil (1 Jn 3:8). He was the good Man Adam never was. The deepest impulse of His heart was not to hide behind a tree half naked, but to hand on one, half naked, taking into His flesh your ungodliness and dying for it. He rose from the dead to declare you good. He then ascended into heaven because the deepest impulse of His heart was not to be a high priest like Aaron, saying anything to avoid punishment, but to be a High Priest who has cast Himself into the fire of God’s wrath for you and now raises His hands to bless as He intercedes for you.
He didn’t pick and choose who He would love and serve. The deepest impulse of His heart was not to die only for a few, but to die for the whole neighborhood of sinners in the world - even those who betrayed Him, persecuted Him, and crucified Him.
Blessed are the eyes that see what you see. Your father Adam longed to see what you see this morning - the blood of the promised Seed, the crucified and risen Messiah, pressed to your lips. Blessed are the ears that hear what you hear. For Aaron longed to hear such things. “Take; eat, the Body of Christ; Take, drink, the Blood of Christ given and shed for you.”
Think of this Communion Rail, this Table of the Lord, as that ditch where the Good Samaritan comes to you, touches you, applies His healing medicine to you, restores and justifies you.
It’s no wonder that Jesus now says to you, Go and do likewise. For there are others whom our Lord has put in your path. Neighbors laying next to you in the ditch who are not gathered here to receive what you’ve received. Don’t avoid them. Don’t neglect them, passing by on the other side. Go to them. Show them mercy as you’ve been shown mercy. You have been lifted up and set on your feet, so that you can now crouch down to other sinners wrecked by the Law and given them the same mercy and compassion you’ve been shown. For "Jesus’ boundless love toward you seeks to remove all coldness from your heart, that your every act, word, thought be love" (LSB 683).
His Spirit desires to gather you all together here, His congregation which He has purchased of old (Introit), to receive an inheritance that could never be earned, one that is imperishable, undefiled and unfading, kept in heaven for you, who by God’s power are being guarded through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time (1 Pt 1:4-5).
In the Name of the Father and + of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
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