The Renewal of True Religion

Sometimes people object to Christianity by saying things like, "There are too many hypocrites in the church!' I know a pastor who used to respond to that by saying, "Well, come on in—there's always room for one more!"

I'm just letting you know that this message will make us all squirm a little, and maybe a lot. The opposite of true religion is false religion, and who among us isn't guilty of a little play-acting about our religion? The problem is, we're usually not fooling anyone.

A rather pompous pastor was once teaching confirmation class, and was trying to impress upon the students the value of living a Christian life. After a rather lengthy introduction, the pastor asked his payoff question, "Why do people call me a Christian?"

After a moment's pause, one youngster said, "Maybe it's because they don't know you."

Who among us doesn't have a public face and a private face? Who among us does not know the embarrassment of having the mask slip, exposing the private face for all to see? Will the real you please step forward? Although we can be phonies and not practice what we preach, God calls you and me to practice true religion, which means that we say with our lips and our lives, "I am not good; I am forgiven."

In each Gospel, Jesus spends a significant amount of time speaking out against the Pharisees, who proudly called attention to their own good deeds but were actually loveless toward others. In other words, they did not practice what they preached.

Nobody likes a phony, but we are probably better at spotting phoniness in others than we are spotting it in ourselves. The insincerity of a phony is eventually discovered. The phony likes to use people. The phony is usually thinking, "Me First." The phony is a pretender.

The worst phony of all is the phony Christian. Phony, hypocritical Christians can hurt the faith of others and they eventually come to believe their own lies. Phony religion led to the excesses of the Middle Ages. Phony religion made the Reformation necessary. And phony religion isn't going anywhere—it seems to rule the airwaves and cable channels, not to mention the world wide web.

And the scariest thing about phony religion is how quietly is sneaks into our hearts and how easily it convinces us of this beautiful lie: I do good things, therefore I'm good, and if I'm good, then I have God's blessing. Yes, you heard me right. That is a lie--a beautiful lie, one that resonates with us very deeply--but a lie nonetheless. If only good people can be accepted by a good God and His good followers, then we are all lost. Do not think God can be fooled. Don't think you can throw God off your trail with a few good deed decoys. The Pharisees followed 613 rules that interpreted the commands of God, but Jesus still described them as white-washed tombs, beautiful on the outside, and on the inside filled with death, because their hearts were far from God. Although they were devoted to doing good things, they somehow were not in love with God. Does that sound familiar to you?

Well, don't be afraid. Jesus did not come looking for quote-unquote good people. Nowhere does Jesus say, "I'm building my church and only the good people may apply." Jesus confounded the do-gooders and astounded the outsiders by claiming that the type of people God wants are people that are painfully aware of how good they are not.

The renewal of true religion happens when we confess that the religion of our goodness is false. True religion happens when we know that we are lost sheep who have been found by the Shepherd. This is the true Christian faith. You have a God who receives you and communes with you. He does not leave you in your sins, but changes your heart with His love, so that you are able to say, "There is hope for others—look at what God has done and is still doing with someone like me."

Can you see in your life where phony religion can be overcome by the true religion that comes from the cross of Jesus?

The renewal of true religion happens when we confess that the religion of our goodness is false. The focus is all wrong. True religion locks into place when we make sure that our focus is on Jesus. In His suffering, he paid the price I should've had to pay for my sins, but Jesus wouldn't let me. I know in my heart of hearts that I am not good; but I am forgiven. In spite of my lame, half-hearted, hypocritical attempts to "do good," Jesus gives me His goodness and invites me to wear it like it's my own, but it is all about Him. We need to say this when there is conflict, so that repentance leading to forgiveness becomes a way of life for us. We need to say this to our children, so that they don't go around burdened with the guilt of not being good, but are free in the joy of being forgiven. We need to say this in our churches so that no one fails to enter them because they feel unworthy, and we need to say this in our church so that no one who enters this place leaves without being invited to experience real forgiveness and renewal in Jesus.

A pastor once overheard a woman who was a member of the church talking to a stranger who was sitting in the back pew. "May I help you?" the woman asked. "No," said the stranger. "I only came into this church to pray. I'm not really a member anywhere." "Well," the woman said, I want you to know that whatever burdens you have, you don't need to bear them alone. Our people will help you to bear your cross."

The renewal of true religion happens when you remember just how much you have been helped by Christ and begin looking for others to help. It is service rendered not out of fear or obligation, but service rendered out of thankfulness. Or, to say it another way, you do what you do because you love Jesus. To be loved by Father, Son and Spirit and to love Him in return—and to love other people as an offshoot of that relationship—goes beyond mere religion. It is the life we're all looking for, and it is here for you, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Thirsty?

Thirst is the craving for fluids, and that craving is a result of one of two things: either you are low on fluids, and your body is telling you to fill up; or you have too much of something—like salt—in your system, and your body is telling you to flush it out.

Once upon a time I was hiking near Mt. Charleston, Nevada, and I mean to tell you, it was hot. At the same time, it was your classic "dry heat," so you don't really have the sensation of being that sweaty. But I'll never forget the first time we stopped for a water break. I got the water out and started drinking, and it was like something inside me took over, because I just kept drinking and drinking, guzzling down this water like there was no tomorrow. I hadn't even felt that thirsty, but my body was telling me that yes, I needed water right now. I kept up with frequent drink breaks the rest of the way.

There is an urgency to physical thirst that is pretty easy to understand. In very cool temperatures, ten days is about the outer limits of how long you will live without taking in any water. Raise the high temperature to 100 degrees and you're looking at 5 days, max. There is no life without water—it's as simple as that.

Jesus says, "Whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again. The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life." He said these words to a woman that he met at the town well. Even though Jesus had asked her for a drink of water, it turns out that she was the one with the thirst, and it was a thirst that she was having a problem quenching. It was a thirst she had tried to satisfy in relationships with men, but five husbands later—six if you count the live-in boyfriend—there was still something missing. With a track record like that, she's an easy target for ridicule, so let's be careful as we think about her. The truth is, we all have a Nevada-desert-heat thirst for something. Our souls are parched, and our own attempts at finding life can be pretty desperate.

Maybe you're like that Samaritan woman, and you try to quench your thirst in relationships. You crave attention and affection, praise and appreciation. You love being loved. You'll go to great lengths to get that feeling. But the thing is, people have a way of disappointing you. They don't appreciate you quite as much as you would like. They don't love you the way you wish they would. You try on one relationship after another, hoping this next one will hit the spot, but you're still thirsty.

Maybe you try to quench your thirst through achievement. By striving for excellence and success, you believe you can fill yourself up. So you work hard, you work long, you become successful, you hit each goal you set for yourself. You enjoy the fruit of your labor. But even so, when it's just you and the silence, there's an itch that you can't scratch; something gnawing at you; a thirst that your talent can't seem to touch.

Maybe you try to quench your thirst by "getting stuff." Maybe just a little bit nicer car; maybe just a little bit bigger house; maybe just a few more toys; maybe the next wave computerized gadget or the 3D HD Dolby 5.0 Surround Sound system is going to be the one that finally makes me happy. Sure, I've got dumpsters full of things that I thought would do it for me, but maybe this next one will be the one, and I can finally be satisfied. That's what the commercial promised.

Maybe you've tried to quench your thirst by literally taking a drink, or a pill, or a snort. Drugs and alcohol offer a momentary escape from that nagging soul thirst you've got. For a little while, anyway, you can stumble around having forgotten you were thirsty in the first place. But as that window of forgetfulness gets shorter and shorter, a ravenous thirst of another kind takes over; a cruel, insatiable appetite for a false peace.

And maybe you've even tried to quench your thirst by turning to religion—and by "religion" I mean the religion that human beings have invented; religion that says if you do something for God, He'll do something for you in return. Religion that says that if you start going to church, maybe bad things will stop happening to you the rest of the week. Religion that says, "God, just get me out of this predicament, and I'll do whatever you ask." But then God doesn't hold up his end of the bargain, He doesn't answer your prayer the way you asked him to; You played the game and said the words and put a few bills in the offering plate, but the thirst is still there, and you're wondering, what more am I supposed to do?

I don't think I can say it any clearer than this: your desperate soul thirst will never go away until—until—you drink deeply of Jesus Christ. He is the source from which you must draw if you want to finally be quenched and healthy and whole. Now that's beautiful poetic language, all this talk of water and thirst and so forth. But what does it really mean?

It means that you receive Jesus on His terms. As Jesus told the Samaritan woman, He is nothing less than the Messiah. The Messiah came to wage war against evil. He came to save sinners from the hellish consequences of their sins. He came to suffer and die on a cross and rise from His grave, and in so doing to dig a well that would overflow with forgiveness. To drink deeply of Jesus, then, is to humble yourself and to admit all the bad places your thirst has taken you and finally, to drink from His well of mercy. It means to guzzle down the fresh water of God's forgiveness like there is no tomorrow, because life with Him depends on it. There is no life without water, and Jesus pours it out with extravagant generosity.

Life-giving water spills from the baptismal font. Jesus pours himself into us in his holy Supper. Jesus' words take dehydrated hearts and saturate them until they're like waterlogged sponges, overflowing with grace. Jesus has bucketful after bucketful of living water to pour out for you, if you will only hold out your cup to Him in faith.

And when you do, you'll see your thirst for relationship quenched in brotherhood with your Savior and Lord. You'll see your thirst for success quenched in Jesus' victory over death. Your thirst for getting stuff will be quenched in Christ-like contentment and thankfulness for the gifts you've been given. A thirst for escape will be quenched by a confident embrace of reality in which Jesus is truly there, moment by moment with you. And your thirst for a religion that "works" will be quenched by a person…a person who loves you, a person who sacrificed everything for you and will never leave you.

The Samaritan woman had it right when she said, "Sir, give me this water." Give us this water, Lord Jesus. Amen.

The Renewal of Godly Fear

Imagine that you walked into church tonight, and instead of a cross above the altar, you saw a hangman's noose. Or imagine you saw an electric chair bolted high on the chancel wall. What would you think? "Is this some kind of joke?"

And yet the cross of Jesus—an instrument of execution—is at the heart of our faith. The cross might seem like a strange place to look for renewal. Renewal implies a beginning. Calvary's cross signals an ending. Renewal implies hope, new possibilities, new ways of living. Yet if there is hope for renewal here, there is hope for renewal anywhere. If there is hope for renewal in a dying thief, there is hope for you and me. There is hope for you in this church tonight, no matter what you may have done or not done in your life. There is hope and forgiveness here. Tonight we pray the prayer of our brother, the thief: "Lord, remember me."

We're talking about the renewal of godly fear tonight, and first, let's consider when fear is appropriate. To fear God is not always bad. The dying thief on the cross first needed to feel fear of God. He knew then what he had spent his life avoiding. It doesn't matter that the world says something is right or wrong, good or bad. God alone matters. When we realize at a moment of decision that our choice will show either that we love God or that we love ourselves, that is good fear. It is godly fear. "I cannot do this, for God is present, and I will not sin against Him." That's good, godly fear.

Perhaps one of the reasons people make and break marriage vows so casually today is that there is no fear of God in them. Same goes for all of the sinful choices that are at our fingertips. Could it be that we have welcomed pop psychology into our lives, which tries to remove guilt without confessing it? Or proper fear is missing because, and how's this for irony, God does not allow the full weight of our sins to drop on us? Or maybe there's no healthy fear because, truth be told, we don't think about God all that much to begin with, until we need something, or someone to blame.

All of these reasons fell away for the thief in the moments of his execution, and they will fall away for us when we come face to face with our own death. But we cannot wait until then. For you and for your congregation, this Lent is a time for renewal of godly fear. Part of that renewal must include taking another look at the cross. But fear is not enough. The thief was filled with godly fear. But he needed more than fear, for in that fear he would soon die forever.

A pastor tells of a woman, the happy and efficient wife of a fellow pastor, who was experiencing her full share of life's sunshine and shade, but no real darkness filled her way. Then, without warning, her husband died of a heart attack, leaving her terribly alone and afraid—afraid of her own decisions, afraid of the present, afraid of the future. When the pastor visited her, he found her in a vicelike grip of fear, so much so that most of her time was spent in bed. She was so terrified she became bedridden.

When the pastor saw her a couple years later, he was amazed to find a poised, serene woman working as a receptionist in an insurance office. When the pastor asked her to explain her surprising recovery, the woman replied, "The work helped, of course, but I couldn't work at all until I faced my fear. I realized my fear was a selfish rebellion against God and what I thought was God's will. When I saw that, I began to pray that God would forgive my selfishness. And as I prayed, I became aware of God's hand reaching down to me, and the Holy Spirit moved me to reach up in faith until I clasped that hand. And then to my amazement, I found His hand clasping mine, and I knew that he really cared and that he would help me as long as I held his hand in faith."

That thief on the cross needed more than fear. And there on the cross, something clicked. He may have thought, I am guilty and I am dying. I know why I'm here. But why is Jesus here? Could God be here in my fear, my guilt, my death? Could God be here in order that my shame and guilt could somehow be transferred to Him? But how? The thief was helpless to act. He could not save himself. He could only do one thing. He could say, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom." Remember me! Not my sins and guilt. Remember me!

Are those also your words tonight? If so, then the promise comes to you, as it came to him, "I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise." The load of sin is lifted. The guilt is gone, and with it, the fear is also gone. No matter who you are or what you have done, you can say, "I am guilty. I am not worthy to be called your child. But Jesus died for me. He gave me the promise of paradise." No matter who you are or what you've done, God says to you: "I know you. You are mine. Come and enter the place prepared for you from eternity." The thief on the cross is not the exception. The thief is the rule by which you and I die and live eternally—the rule of mercy by faith in Jesus Christ.

So, how will you spend the rest of your life? The thief spent whatever little time he had left, maybe four hours or so, living in a new kind of godly fear. It is godly reverence, the awe of living in the Lord's presence. The cross became an altar of praise. Jesus promised the kingdom to the thief, and the thief learned the awe of God. That's the other side of godly fear—to make the most of the rest of your life with holy urgency, and to do so knowing that God's kingdom is already breaking into this world.

That's the gift of paradise. Paradise is not something we claim only at the end of our lives. It claims us now. Paradise opens when we commune at the Lord's Table, when you are in awe that Jesus is there under the bread and the wine. Paradise opens when you see that God is there to be worshipped in the decisions you make, in the people you serve, in the work that you do, in the friends that you love, in the family where he has put you. Paradise opens when your Bible opens, and God's own words remind you of what's true; of who you are in Jesus and what you're here to do.

Godly fear—true awe of our great, loving, merciful God—enables us to say, "Lord, you remembered me. Help me to remember you." In Jesus' Name: Amen.

John 3:16 (The Vaccine)

It is a major understatement to say that my world changed when my son was born. Like many fathers before me, I can remember with total clarity the first time I laid eyes on my child—the first time I held him in my arms—the first time he "urped" all over my shirt. A profound shift takes place when there he is (or there she is), and this little person now depends on you for everything! You look down at that little one, and the phrase "my treasured possession" would certainly be appropriate.

I bring this up because it adds depth to what might be the most well-known verse in the Bible: John 3: 16. Most Christians know that verse by heart, which is a good thing. The only danger is we know it so well that it doesn't touch us anymore. So today I invite those of us who have been blessed to be parents to look at John 3:16 from a parent's perspective. What does it say about God that he "gave His one and only Son"? Even if you're not a parent, but there's someone in your life that you treasure, you can begin to understand the sacrifice God made for you and me.

Now here's the scenario, and you'll have to use your imagination just a little: Let's say that you're having a typical day, whatever that is for you, and you hear a news report about a new flu virus that is starting to affect people in China. Initial reports are sketchy, but it sounds like this is a new strain of bird flu that is pretty aggressive. Within a day or two, the reports start to grow more and more intense. Entire villages are being quarantined; the World Health Organization is issuing measured statements; internet rumors suggest an 85% death rate for those infected.

Within a week's time, the world is plunged into a panic, as infections are reported in an ever-widening area; Officials are fairly sure that some people are carrying the disease on overseas flights, and there's very little that can be done about the virus' spread. Phrases like "the new Black Plague" are being used in media coverage as the rumors turn out to be true: Almost 90% of those who have contracted this virus have died and there are whispers of a 100% mortality rate.

About ten days out from the original report, the first confirmed American cases come to light, on both east and west coasts. National hysteria is just barely being suppressed. And in the middle of all this, you get a phone call from your family doctor, asking you to come in to the office right away.

You do so, and when you enter his office, you are stunned to see a well dressed gentleman flanked by two military officers, and you are invited to take a seat. What your family doctor has to say shakes you to the core. Through a series of routine tests, it has been determined by a team of government doctors and research scientists that your child--your treasured possession—has a one-in-a-billion genetic sequence that holds the key to stopping the deadly virus. From your own child, a vaccine could be produced that could literally save the world. Ah, but there is catch…and you felt there was the moment you stepped in the room. The catch is, in order to extract the gene sequence in a useful way, your child will have to be exposed to the virus, and will, without doubt, die a horrible, painful death. What you are being asked to do is to sign off on this procedure—a procedure that will kill your child, but give life to the world. So what do you say? Will you go through with it?

John 3: 16 tells us that God the Father did just that—and that's the gospel truth! That's the good news we preach and believe in. The deadly virus is the virus of sin, and it infects us all. The virus of sin makes us sick and weak and the mortality rate of this virus remains at 100%.Without waiting to be asked, God signed off on the procedure that would create the vaccine against sin. He gave the green light to the cross; to the procedure that would kill his Son. He went ahead with it, hopeful that there were people who would take this vaccine and live; hopeful that there would be people who would look to His Son and receive forgiveness through His Blood; hopeful that He could still gather a people to himself that would be his treasured possession to live with Him forever.

"For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life."

He gave his only Son. What could we possibly give Him in return? Amen.