Nostr notes by dizziness

Yes, in our ten children. But now that three moved out, we have ...

2026-02-15T12:25:13Z

In reply to nevent1q…dyum
_________________________

Yes, in our ten children. But now that three moved out, we have to freeze them.

I think this is a consequence of social media fatigue. Very few ...

2026-02-15T00:24:45Z

I think this is a consequence of social media fatigue. Very few want to move again. Of course, that the point of Nostr. But convincing others without more banning, soft censorship, or ad spamming, is unlikely.

quoting
nevent1q…xvhx
I'm getting bored with nostr. Maybe I'm just following the wrong people, but it seems to be an echo chamber about how great the protocol is and platitudes about bitcoin.

Interesting content outside of those two topic areas doesn't get many boosts, so when people do post it, it frequently doesn't get discovered. I've found maybe 8 people on here who post that kind of stuff. That's a pretty small social network.

Combine that with the bots and technical issues DMs no longer being reliable and it's no wonder so many people bounce off and then tell all their friends not to bother with nostr.

Since I delivered these bitter truths about my experience here, I'm already bracing for the reply guys who are going to tell me that I am the problem, or that it's not that bad. Probably at least one insinuation that I oppose freedom of speech or I'm using the wrong client. You know, the usual beratement and gaslighting.

Solid. #nevent1q…ktr3

2026-02-07T02:18:30Z

Solid.

quoting
nevent1q…ktr3

#Jesus #WordofGod #Christian #Bible #Scripture #Wisdom #worship #biblestr #bibleverse #Christ #God

So the Transfiguration teaches you how to be in church. It ...

2026-01-27T14:53:58Z

So the Transfiguration teaches you how to be in church. It teaches you what to expect: not entertainment, not novelty, not spiritual fireworks—but Christ, hidden and given. It teaches you what to fear: not long readings, not a slow sermon—but ignoring the Son. It teaches you what to desire: not the pastor’s charm, not the congregation’s warmth, not a fog machine of “experience”—but the clear, saving voice of Jesus.
#biblestr

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7z-D0pJba9E
nostr:naddr1qqahjmm494nk2apddfjhxatn94hkumre94skuepddfjhxatn945hxtt9dehh2emg9468yctwwdnxjem4wfshg6t0dcknyvpjxcpzqfydqalpwf5dacjn5vwr8n2u4z82cqca8kv0thgt897vavmhcc30qvzqqqr4gune5epk

Joseph Feeds Brothers, Sends Them to Jacob—Gen. 42:25-38 ...

2026-01-23T15:02:30Z

Joseph Feeds Brothers, Sends Them to Jacob—Gen. 42:25-38 #biblestr
https://youtube.com/live/XXjwAkPjzXA

So yes—there is a “not yet.” Your body still breaks. Your ...

2026-01-22T14:44:38Z

So yes—there is a “not yet.” Your body still breaks. Your heart still aches. Your house still gets sick. Your relationships still strain. The grave still waits. And Christ will come again to finish what you cannot see finished yet: the dead raised, the blind seeing, the oppressed fully freed, the captives fully released, the whole creation set loose from corruption.
#biblestr

quoting
naddr1qv…8vg4

21. January 2026\ Wednesday of Epiphany 2\ Luke 4:14-22a

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

People love a “theme verse.” A verse for a conference. A verse for a school year. A verse they carry like a banner into the next chapter of life. Sometimes it’s a confirmation verse. Sometimes it shows up again at a funeral, because it became the verse that held them up when everything else fell apart.

I’ll be honest: the whole theme-verse thing can feel a little forced. Like we’re trying to brand our year with a slogan. That’s not always me.

But then Jesus walks into His hometown synagogue, and He does something that makes every “theme verse” look small. He receives the scroll of Isaiah, finds a particular passage, reads it aloud, sits down, and says, “Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

If you want an identity verse, if you want a mission statement, if you want a banner over Christ’s public ministry, that’s it. Not because Jesus needs a theme verse, but because He is the theme. The Scriptures are not a pile of religious quotes for self-improvement. The Scriptures are God’s promise coming due, paid out in the person of Jesus Christ.

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me… to proclaim good news to the poor… liberty to the captives… sight to the blind… to set at liberty those who are oppressed… to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

And then the staggering claim: This is about Me. This is happening in Me. This is fulfilled—today.

Scholars can argue all day about Isaiah 61. Is it the prophet speaking? Is it the Servant? Is it the Messiah? Is it the Servant who is the Messiah? Jesus doesn’t tiptoe around that debate. He ends it. He steps into the text and says, “It’s Me.” He is the Anointed One. He is the Spirit-filled Servant. He is the Messiah who brings the Lord’s favor, not as a theory, not as a metaphor, but as a real deliverance for real people.

And Luke says the people “spoke well of Him” and “marveled at the gracious words that were coming from His mouth.” They’re impressed. They’re moved. They’re drawn in—at least for a moment. But here’s where the text presses on you, not just on them: Do you marvel?

Because if you’re paying attention, you know there’s a problem. Jesus says the blind see, the oppressed are set free, captives are released, and good news is preached to the poor. Yet you look around, and what do you see?

People still blind—sometimes physically, often spiritually. People still oppressed—by tyrants, by cruelty, by addiction, by despair, by their own sin, by other people’s sin. Captives still chained—some by prisons of concrete and steel, others by prisons no one else can see: shame, bitterness, lust, greed, fear, the relentless replaying of old wounds. Even inside the Church, suffering is not absent. Trouble is not rare. Death is still doing its worst.

So what are we supposed to do with Jesus’ bold “Today”? If He fulfills Isaiah 61, why doesn’t it look finished? Why does it still feel unfinished? This is exactly where weak faith gets uncomfortable. Not because Jesus’ words are unclear, but because our eyes see a world that argues back.

And the unbelieving world loves this. It wants to say, “See? Nice religious talk. But if Jesus really brought liberty and healing, you wouldn’t still have tears, hospitals, funerals, and hypocrisy. Your ‘Messiah’ didn’t fix it.”

But you’re not an unbeliever. You’re baptized. You’ve been given faith. And faith does two things at the same time: it confesses Christ truly, and it admits honestly that we do not yet see everything put under His feet. Here’s the key: Jesus is not lying, and you are not crazy. Both are true: He has fulfilled the prophecy, and the final, public, visible completion of that fulfillment is still coming.

This is the Christian life in Epiphany light: Christ is revealed as the Messiah, the Spirit-anointed Savior, and yet His glory is still largely hidden under the cross, under weakness, under preaching, under water, under bread and wine, under suffering that looks like defeat.

So when your marveling is wears thin—when you hear Jesus say “fulfilled,” and your mind immediately answers, “Then why is it still like this?”—what then? Then you do what faith does. You stop putting Jesus on trial in the courtroom of your feelings, and you let His Word judge your eyes instead.

Because Jesus does not say, “Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your seeing.” He says, “fulfilled in your hearing.” That is not an accident. This is how the kingdom comes now: by the Word. By proclamation. By the Spirit working through what sounds unimpressive and ordinary.

So hear what Jesus is actually doing in Nazareth. He is not giving a vague promise of a better society someday. He is announcing the arrival of God’s salvation in Himself. And that salvation is delivered to you—personally—where Christ has promised to be for you: in His Word and Sacraments.

“You are the ones who have good news preached to you.” That’s not a mere slogan. That’s the point.

Good news to the poor: not first the poor in wealth, but the poor in spirit—the ones who have nothing to bargain with before God. The ones who know, deep down, that if salvation depends on their performance, they’re cooked. Jesus says: I am for you. I have come for you.

Liberty to captives: yes, the world still has prisons. But there is a deeper captivity than bars: slavery to sin and the fear of death. And Jesus actually breaks that captivity—not by trite sentiments, but by His cross. The Messiah becomes the Servant. The Anointed One becomes the condemned One. He lets the chains close on Him so they can be opened for you.

Recovery of sight to the blind: you may know what it is to be blind in a different way—blind to your own sin when you want to justify yourself, blind to God’s mercy when guilt screams louder than grace, blind to hope when the future feels like a wall. Jesus opens eyes by speaking forgiveness into the dark. The light is not first in your circumstances; it’s in His verdict: “Your sins are forgiven.”

To set at liberty the oppressed: some oppression is obvious, some is hidden. Oppression by other people’s cruelty is real. But oppression by the Accuser is also real—Satan crushing you with, “You again. You failed again. God’s done with you.” Jesus answers that oppression with His blood. The devil does not get the last word. Christ does.

And “the year of the Lord’s favor”: that’s jubilee language. Debt release. Slaves freed. Inheritance restored. Not because the slaves proved worthy, but because God declared release. That is exactly what Christ announces and accomplishes. And He does it for people whose marveling is not perfect, whose faith is not strong, whose hearts are often mixed with doubt, irritation, and fatigue.

This is where the Gospel gets pointed and specific: Jesus fulfills Isaiah 61 not in general, but for you. He forgives you for the times you don’t marvel. For the times your faith is weak. For the times you look at the Church and see mess instead of mercy. For the times your frustration with others bubbles over. For the times you quietly wonder whether Christ is really reigning.

And He doesn’t do it by crushing you into pretending. He does it by being exactly the kind of Messiah you actually need: the One who does not break the bruised reed, and does not snuff out the smoldering wick. He does not come to finish you off. He comes to carry you.

So yes—there is a “not yet.” Your body still breaks. Your heart still aches. Your house still gets sick. Your relationships still strain. The grave still waits. And Christ will come again to finish what you cannot see finished yet: the dead raised, the blind seeing, the oppressed fully freed, the captives fully released, the whole creation set loose from corruption.

But do not miss the “today.” Today, Christ is revealed as the Messiah for sinners. Today, He speaks. Today, He gives His Spirit through the Gospel. Today, He puts His favor on you. Today, in your hearing, He is doing what He promised: forgiving, freeing, opening eyes, lifting the poor, strengthening the weak, sustaining the bruised.

So: marvel—yes. But more than marvel: rejoice and believe. Not because your marveling makes Him the Messiah, but because He is the Messiah, whether your feelings agree or not. He is the fulfillment of the Scripture. He is the Lord’s favor in flesh and blood. And He is for you.

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie\ St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center\ Random Lake, Wisconsin

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gm1Wf25gIHQ

Joseph Becomes the Prince of Egypt—Genesis 41:37-57 #bliblestr ...

2026-01-21T15:53:19Z

Joseph Becomes the Prince of Egypt—Genesis 41:37-57
#bliblestr
https://youtube.com/live/08bf0rnCTDQ

Joseph Interprets Pharaoh’s Dreams—Genesis 41:1-36 #biblestr ...

2026-01-20T14:56:48Z

Joseph Interprets Pharaoh’s Dreams—Genesis 41:1-36 #biblestr
https://youtube.com/live/Bkpq9g4oqTQ

Coffee is as diverse as the people who drink it. Stay curious, ...

2026-01-20T12:35:11Z

Coffee is as diverse as the people who drink it. Stay curious, friends.

quoting
nevent1q…ek0z
Regards to the flavor/aroma descriptions of our coffees, these are subtle notes to help the customer distinguish between the various coffees. This is much in the same way a wine, whiskey, or scotch aficionado would describe their drinks.

https://gillespie.coffee/blogs/learn/flavor-aroma-and-your-cup-of-coffee

Here is the good wine kept until now. Forgiveness that does not ...

2026-01-19T21:37:12Z

Here is the good wine kept until now. Forgiveness that does not run out. Joy that does not depend on your mood. Hope that does not collapse when the test results, the bank statement, or the family meeting go badly. Fellowship with Him and with one another at a table that outlasts death. We are not playing religious pretend. He truly gives Himself. #biblestr

quoting
naddr1qv…6nyu

18. January 2026\ Epiphany 2\ John 2:1-11

In the Name of Jesus. Amen.

From empty jars to an overflowing cup. That is Cana. That is Amos. That is what the Divine Service is. And if we have managed to make it into something drab, mandatory, and easily skipped, that’s on us—not on Him.

John tells it simply: “On the third day there was a wedding at Cana in Galilee… When the wine ran out…” (John 2). That’s the problem. The wine runs out. The wedding is still going. The guests are still there. The glasses are still in their hands. But the joy—the thing that makes it a feast—is gone.

That is not just a Cana problem. That’s your life, your home, your congregation. Things that start bright and glad—marriage, work, health, even church—sooner or later run dry. The smiles get tight. The talk gets thin. You still go through the motions, but the feast is failing.

Mary puts it in one sentence: “They have no wine.” (John 2:3). You can say the same about yourself, and it would be true. “I have no wine, Lord. No joy that lasts. No love that holds. No patience left. No righteousness of my own. My cup is empty.” You can say it about the church. “Lord, we have no wine. We have bulletins, agendas, reports, and schedules. We have opinions and arguments. But we are short on joy, short on hope, short on love.” You may not know what to do with that. Mary knows what to do. Take it to Jesus.

Listen to Amos. “In that day I will raise up the booth of David that is fallen and repair its breaches… Behold, the days are coming, declares the LORD, when the plowman shall overtake the reaper… the mountains shall drip sweet wine, and all the hills shall flow with it.” (Amos 9:11,13).

The booth of David is the house of David that collapsed. The royal line in ruins. The people dragged off. No king, no glory, no feast. Just the memory of what used to be. Sound familiar?

The Lord does not say, “If you rebuild yourselves, I’ll help.” He says, “I will raise… I will repair… I will rebuild… I will plant… I will restore.” And the sign of His restoring? Hills dripping, mountains flowing with wine. Not a trickle; an absurd abundance. Eschatological feast. The last-day party. God Himself is hosting.

At Cana, that promise arrives in the flesh. The fallen booth of David is standing there as a carpenter’s Son. Nobody recognizes Him. The royal line has come down to this: a poor man from Nazareth invited as a guest to a wedding that is running out. Mary brings Him the problem: “They have no wine.”

He answers in a way that takes us straight to Amos and beyond Amos: “My hour has not yet come.” (John 2:4). His “hour” is the cross. Nails, spear, darkness, thirst. There, He will drink the cup of wrath so that He can pour out the cup of salvation. There, He will be the booth of David raised up, repairing the breach between God and sinners with His own blood. But already here, before the hour, He lets the future break in.

Six stone jars. For water. For ritual washing. For getting yourself cleaned up to be allowed near God. Twenty or thirty gallons each. Monsters of respectability. Jesus presses them into service for His joy. “Fill the jars with water.” They do. To the brim. No room for you to add anything.

“Now draw some out.” Somewhere between the filling and the drawing, without any drumroll, the water is wine. Not cheap stuff. The master of the feast calls the bridegroom over, half-accusing, half-amazed: “You have kept the good wine until now.” (John 2:10). The failing feast is rescued. The shame of the bridegroom is covered. The guests are given more than they can drink.

“This, the first of His signs, Jesus did at Cana in Galilee, and manifested His glory.” (John 2:11). Glory shown in rescuing a party that doesn’t deserve it, with wine it didn’t earn. That is what your Lord is like. That is the One who gathers you into the Divine Service. And, what is the Divine Service?

If you think it is a mandatory weekly meeting, something God put on the calendar, and you grit your teeth and get through, then no wonder it feels like a chore. If you treat it as a religious duty—“I ought to go, or God might be mad”—you will hear little, expect little, and receive little. You do not come here to show God you can sit still for an hour.

This is Cana. This is Amos fulfilled. This is where the raised-up David, crucified and risen, is host. This is the feast of the Lamb in time, on the way to the feast of the Lamb in eternity. And He is not stingy.

Listen to how the Service of the Sacrament begins: “The Lord be with you.” He is the Host; He greets you. “Lift up your hearts.” We answer, “We lift them up unto the Lord.” That is not a pious way of saying, “Try harder, feel more.” It is Christ hauling your hearts up out of their emptiness, out of their self-preoccupation, into His Father’s joy. The Bridegroom is drawing you to His table.

Then the Proper Preface: we are told why it is “meet, right, and salutary” that we give thanks always and everywhere. Here and now, He locates His feast: because of His incarnation, His epiphany, His cross, His resurrection, His ascension, His sending of the Spirit.

Then the Sanctus: “Holy, holy, holy Lord God of Sabaoth; heaven and earth are full of Thy glory. Hosanna in the highest. Blessed is He that cometh in the Name of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest.”

You are not play-acting that. The One who rode into Jerusalem to be crucified, the One who turned water to wine at Cana, is the One who comes here, now, in His body and blood. “Blessed is He who comes in the Name of the Lord” means He is not far away. The same Jesus, the same hour, the same blood, now present at this altar.

Then the Words of Our Lord. Not a re-enactment. Not a bare remembering. His own testament: “Take, eat; this is My body… Take, drink; this cup is the New Testament in My blood, shed for you for the forgiveness of sins.”

Here is the good wine kept until now. Forgiveness that does not run out. Joy that does not depend on your mood. Hope that does not collapse when the test results, the bank statement, or the family meeting go badly. Fellowship with Him and with one another at a table that outlasts death. We are not playing religious pretend. He truly gives Himself.

So, where does the Offering fit? Not as “paying the bill” for the feast. There is no bill for you to pay. The Bridegroom picks up the tab with His blood. The Offering and Offertory are what happen when cups are full, and hearts are glad. Hands open. Money, time, gifts—poured out, not to make God love you, but because He already has. One of our Offertories sings it: “What shall I render to the LORD for all His benefits to me? I will take the cup of salvation…” First, the taking, then the rendering. Always His giving before your giving.

You have been at the feast. What happens to people who are fed like this? “Having gifts that differ according to the grace given to us, let us use them…” (Romans 12:6). Teaching, encouraging, contributing, leading, showing mercy. That is what a congregation filled from Christ’s table looks like.

“Let love be genuine… Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor… Contribute to the needs of the saints and seek to show hospitality. Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.” (Romans 12:9–15).

That is not a self-improvement project. You don’t squeeze that out by trying harder to be nice. That is the life that flows from the altar. One Body, many members; one Cup, many mouths. What He gives in the feast spills over into your life together.

So when Hudson Douglas LeClair was brought to the font today, it is not a cute family moment tacked on. It is the Lord adding another place at His table. Another member joined to this Body. Another mouth to be fed. Another life to be caught up into the “rejoicing” and “weeping” of this congregation.

The water poured on Hudson is Cana-water—water that Christ has claimed for Himself. The Name spoken over him is Amos-Name—promise of restoration, planting, rebuilding. The life given to him is feast-life. He is being brought into the booth of David that has been raised up, into the Church gathered around Word and Supper.

We will rejoice with those who rejoice today. And when the days come when his parents are tired, when sin and sorrow come (and they will), we will weep with those who weep—still as people who know where the feast is, where the wine never runs out.

So let’s be honest. If you treat the Divine Service as optional—“if nothing better is scheduled, if the kids don’t have a game, if we’re not too tired”—you are saying to the Bridegroom, “Your feast is negotiable.” You are telling Him you have found other tables that suit you better. If you drag yourself here as to a chore—“I suppose I have to; God expects it”—and you refuse to sing, refuse to listen, refuse to rejoice, you are acting as if His cup were half-empty and weak.

Repent. Not because He needs your enthusiasm, but because you are cheating yourself. The Lord of Cana does not run a dreary, gray canteen. He sets a table where mountains drip wine, where sins are forgiven, where death is already outflanked. He gives you Himself. He gives you each other. He gives you a future.

A congregation renewed in the Divine Service expects joy. Not noise for the sake of noise, not fake smiles, but the deep gladness of people who know: “I was empty. He filled me.” It sounds like robust singing, even from tired lungs. It looks like honoring the feast—being here, on time, focused, hungry. It treats Sunday not as the first thing to cut when life is busy, but as the center around which everything else must arrange or be refused.

From empty jars to an overflowing cup. That is not your doing. That is His. He did it at Cana. He promised it through Amos. He delivers it here. “In this mountain the LORD of hosts will make for all peoples a feast,” Isaiah says. Today, that mountain is right here at this altar. Today that feast is for you. And for Hudson. And for all who have no wine and dare to say it to Jesus.

In the Name of Jesus. Amen.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie\ St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center\ Random Lake, Wisconsin

https://youtu.be/fHRDTsMvrOk

The things you're not supposed to talk about in polite ...

2026-01-19T21:14:19Z

The things you're not supposed to talk about in polite company are the very things we need to talk about. Don't be snookered into laying down your ideological arms and allowing the enemy to destroy family, church, and state.

Joseph Interprets Dreams in Prison—Genesis 40:1-23 #biblestr ...

2026-01-19T14:56:23Z

Joseph Interprets Dreams in Prison—Genesis 40:1-23 #biblestr

https://youtube.com/live/mlo2U9E90EQ

While @nprofile…ag7t has accepted BTC via @nprofile…w85c for ...

2026-01-19T12:44:09Z

While gillespiecoffee (nprofile…ag7t) has accepted BTC via strike (nprofile…w85c) for a long time, we’ve put our sats where our mouth is. Now you also get sats back rewards for every single origin coffee, blend, subscription, whatever, via oshiapp (nprofile…xhvs).

https://gillespie.coffee/pages/pay-with-bitcoin-lightning

It’s about time. #nevent1q…ls7n

2026-01-18T02:47:20Z

It’s about time.

quoting
nevent1q…ls7n
Coffee by Gillespie: Small-batch, fearlessly roasted coffee delivered fresh to your door. Now even better → earn bitcoin rewards with every purchase! High-grade beans, no stale shelves, and sats back in your wallet. → Grab yours at https://gillespie.coffee.
OshiZaps (npub1cpl…88a2) dizziness (npub1yjx…8prh)

Sunday’s OT and Epistle—Amos 9:11-15; Romans 12:6-16a ...

2026-01-17T14:59:37Z

Sunday’s OT and Epistle—Amos 9:11-15; Romans 12:6-16a #biblestr
https://youtube.com/live/B6wsmZdMYYo

The way of the world is to refuse to call a thing what it is. ...

2026-01-17T14:31:50Z

In reply to nevent1q…v9w8
_________________________

The way of the world is to refuse to call a thing what it is. This leads to malaise, despair, grayness, nihilism. The way of the cross tells the truth, calling evil and good what is.

The first Lightning payment processor on Shopify WITH an Express ...

2026-01-15T23:34:50Z

The first Lightning payment processor on Shopify WITH an Express Checkout button is going to crush e-commerce similar to Square did with POS. I’m betting on jack mallers (nprofile…5egz) and strike (nprofile…0j5p) doing it first.

Remember what the PayPal “Buy Now” button did?

See John 6.

2026-01-15T23:27:21Z

In reply to nevent1q…67se
_________________________

See John 6.

Joseph’s Brothers Sell Him into Slavery—Gen. 37:1-36 ...

2026-01-15T15:52:38Z

Joseph’s Brothers Sell Him into Slavery—Gen. 37:1-36 #biblestr
https://www.youtube.com/live/DDczO-l2tXI

You have been baptized into Christ. That means where He is, you ...

2026-01-15T14:51:06Z

You have been baptized into Christ. That means where He is, you are. If He has stepped into the sinner’s water and taken your sin as His, then your sin is not free-floating anymore. It has an address: on Him. And if His righteousness is His—and He gives Himself to you—then His righteousness has an address too: on you. #biblestr

quoting
naddr1qv…g8a6

14. January 2026\ The Baptism of Our Lord (Octave of the Epiphany)\ Text: John 1:29–34 (with Matthew 3:13–17; Mark 1:9–11)

In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.

John sees Jesus coming, and he doesn’t say, “Here comes a great teacher,” or “Here comes a moral example,” or “Here comes the religious inspirer.” He says something far more dangerous and far more comforting: “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.” That sentence is either true… or Christianity is just another self-improvement program with nicer music.

Because “sin of the world” is not a small problem. It’s not “a few bad habits.” It’s not “I’ve been under stress.” It’s not “I need to be kinder to myself.” Sin is rebellion against God. It’s the rot in the will. It’s the guilt that sticks even when you manage to behave for a week. It’s death working its way into everything. And John doesn’t say, “Behold, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the fairly decent people.” He says the world. That includes the smug religious, the obvious wrecks, and the quiet respectable sinners who look fine on the outside and are a mess inside.

And that’s why the Baptism of Jesus is so offensive to religious instinct. John’s baptism is a sinner’s baptism. It is a baptism of repentance. People were coming out confessing their sins. John is not running a spa. He’s not doing a symbolic ritual as a spiritual retreat. He’s calling sinners what they are, and he’s pointing them to the One who will deal with it.

So when Jesus shows up and steps into the line, John tries to stop Him. “This isn’t right. You should be baptizing me.” John’s instincts are correct. Jesus has no sins to confess. He has no filth to wash away. So why is He there? Because He is the Lamb. And lambs don’t come to congratulate the flock. Lambs come to be sacrificed.

Jesus does not stand at a safe distance and shout helpful advice across the Jordan. He steps down into the same water with the same sinners. He doesn’t do this because He is confused about who He is. He does it because He knows exactly who He is: the Servant, the Righteous One, the One who bears iniquity, the One on whom the Lord will lay the sin of us all.

This is how God’s righteousness works: not by keeping a holy distance from dirty people, but by the Holy One joining Himself to dirty people to cleanse them. That’s the scandal: God saves by solidarity. Not solidarity like political slogans. Real solidarity: Christ takes your place under God’s judgment. Christ puts Himself where your sin is. Christ stands where you should stand—condemned—and He will carry it all the way to the cross.

So when Jesus says to John, “Let it be so now… to fulfill all righteousness,” He is not talking about performing a religious checklist. He’s announcing the plan: righteousness will be fulfilled by the Righteous One taking the sinner’s place.

Now notice what happens next. Heaven opens. The Spirit descends. The Father speaks: “This is My beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” The Father puts His Word on the event so you don’t miss what is happening. Without God’s Word, you’d misread it. You’d say, “Nice moment. Powerful symbol.” But God does not give you symbols to interpret. He gives you a Word to believe.

And then John, in our Gospel for the Octave of the Epiphany, says the same thing in his own office: “I saw the Spirit descend like a dove, and remain on Him… and I have seen and testified that this is the Son of God.” So put it together. Jesus steps into the sinner’s waters. The Spirit remains on Him. The Father declares delight in Him. John points and says: Lamb. Son. The One who takes away sin.

This is not a random episode in Jesus’ biography. It is the public unveiling of His mission: He is here for sinners, as the sinner’s substitute, to carry sin away by His death, and to give righteousness as a gift.

Now here’s where you need to stop lying to yourself. Your default move is to keep distance—either from God or from other people—because distance feels safer. Some of you keep distance from God by shame: “I’ve made too much of a mess. I can’t come close.” Others keep distance by pride: “I’m not like those people. I’m basically fine. God should be pleased with me.” Both are unbelief. Just dressed differently.

John’s first instinct was distance: “You should not be in this water with these people.” Jesus overrules that instinct. “No. Us.” This is not God waiting for you to climb up to Him. This is God coming down to you, into the water, into your dirt, into your death. And that is the only hope you have.

Because if your righteousness depends on your moral performance, you’re finished. Even your best deeds are infected with self-love. Even your repentance is mixed. Even your prayers wander. Even your worship can be a performance. If God’s delight depends on you, then you will either become smug or despairing—usually both, depending on the day.

But the Father’s delight rests on the Son. And now the truly astonishing thing: the Father has put His Word on you, too. St. Paul says in the Epistle: you heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation, and you were sealed with the Holy Spirit of promise. Sealed. Marked. Claimed. Not because you earned it, not because you were impressive, but because God decided to place His Name on you.

That is Baptism. Baptism is not your dedication to God. It is God’s dedication of you to Himself. It is not your public spiritual statement. It is God’s public claim: “This one belongs to Me.”

That means you don’t get to define yourself by your feelings, your failures, your past, your fantasies, your achievements, or your wounds. You can try—most people do—and it will crush you. The modern world is obsessed with self-definition, and it produces anxious, fragile, angry people because the self is a lousy god.

God gives you something sturdier: His Word attached to water.

So when you are tempted to drag yourself around like a lonely, guilty, fearful nobody—like you are an accident of atoms in a meaningless universe—cut it out. That is not humility. That is unbelief wearing black, taking the black pill.

You have been baptized into Christ. That means where He is, you are. If He has stepped into the sinner’s water and taken your sin as His, then your sin is not free-floating anymore. It has an address: on Him. And if His righteousness is His—and He gives Himself to you—then His righteousness has an address too: on you.

This is why John says, “Lamb of God.” Lamb means sacrifice. Lamb means blood. Lamb means atonement. Lamb means: your sin is dealt with by Someone else. Not ignored. Not excused. Dealt with—paid for.

And if you want to know where the Lamb takes away the sin of the world, don’t look inside yourself for spiritual progress. Look where He promises to be the Lamb-for-you: in His Gospel preached, in Absolution spoken, in Baptism given, and in His Supper—His body and blood—placed into your mouth.

That’s the pattern of God’s mercy: He does not save by vague inspiration. He saves by concrete gifts.

So today, behold Him.

Behold the Lamb who steps into the water with sinners.\ Behold the Son who receives the Spirit and the Father’s pleasure.\ Behold the Servant who will carry it all to the cross.\ Behold the Christ who puts His Name on you and seals you with His Spirit.

And then live like it.

Not like a person trying to earn God’s delight.\ But like a person who already has God’s delight in Christ.

Because you do.

In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie\ St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center\ Random Lake, Wisconsin

Audio: https://creators.spotify.com/pod/profile/stjohnrandomlake/episodes/Baptism-is-Gods-public-claim-This-one-belongs-to-Me--Octave-of-Epiphany-2026-e3dmpec

LIVE THIS AM: The Baptism of Our Lord—Matthew 3:13-17 #biblestr ...

2026-01-14T14:57:52Z

LIVE THIS AM:
The Baptism of Our Lord—Matthew 3:13-17 #biblestr
https://youtube.com/live/o2n41lHZYNk

Radical proposal: give a tithe of your time to hearing, study, ...

2026-01-13T16:32:45Z

Radical proposal: give a tithe of your time to hearing, study, meditation, and prayer of God's Word.

John the Baptist Prepares the Way of the Lord—Mt 3:1-12 ...

2026-01-13T14:56:31Z

John the Baptist Prepares the Way of the Lord—Mt 3:1-12
#biblestr
https://youtube.com/live/eOScV50g88Y

10 For even when we were with you, we commanded you this: If ...

2026-01-12T17:30:45Z

10 For even when we were with you, we commanded you this: If anyone will not work, neither shall he eat. 11 For we hear that there are some who walk among you in a disorderly manner, not working at all, but are busybodies. 12 Now those who are such we command and exhort through our Lord Jesus Christ that they work in quietness and eat their own bread.

sjrl.org/media/bible-study-1-thessalonians-41-12-november-30-2025-e6zb3-rhbps-4wg2y-r8rbc #biblestr

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=936sqYvMXo4

So what is the Father’s “business”? To send His Servant, ...

2026-01-12T17:13:26Z

So what is the Father’s “business”? To send His Servant, His Son, filled with the Spirit, to bring justice, to be a covenant, to open blind eyes, and to free prisoners. That is not a vague “mission statement.” That is concrete: forgiveness for the guilty, light for darkened consciences, and release for people chained to their sins and fears.

quoting
naddr1qv…npft

11. January 2026\ Epiphany 1\ Isaiah 42:1–9; Romans 12:1–6a; Luke 2:42–52

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

What are we doing here? Not in theory. Not on paper. Not in the Constitution. Right now, this morning—what exactly is going on?

If you ask most people, even in a decent Lutheran parish, you’ll hear some version of: “We’re here to worship God,” which usually means, “We’re here to show God we love Him, prove we’re serious, and give Him our time and attention so He’ll be pleased with us.” That sounds pious. It is also wrong.

Today, on this First Sunday after Epiphany, the Lord puts a twelve-year-old boy in front of us to straighten us out. Mary and Joseph lose Jesus, panic, and then find Him in the temple. And when they scold Him, He says, “Did you not know that I must be in My Father’s house?” (Luke 2:49). Or you can translate it, “about My Father’s business.”

The question is not, “What are we doing here?” The first question is, “What is He doing here?” Because if this is only about what you are doing for God—your piety, your sincerity, your singing, your attention span—then this will always collapse either into pride or despair. Either you think you’re doing well and look down on others, or you know you’re not and you quietly give up.

But Jesus says, “I must be in My Father’s house.” (Luke 2:49). He has business to do. And He has not stopped.

Isaiah saw this long before Mary did. The Lord says, “Behold My Servant, whom I uphold, My chosen, in whom My soul delights; I have put My Spirit upon Him; He will bring forth justice to the nations.” (Isaiah 42:1). This Servant is not you. It is not the pastor. It is not the Church. It is Christ. Isaiah goes on: “I will give You as a covenant for the people, a light for the nations, to open the eyes that are blind, to bring out the prisoners from the dungeon.” (Isaiah 42:6-7).

So what is the Father’s “business”? To send His Servant, His Son, filled with the Spirit, to bring justice, to be a covenant, to open blind eyes, and to free prisoners. That is not a vague “mission statement.” That is concrete: forgiveness for the guilty, light for darkened consciences, and release for people chained to their sins and fears.

And where does the Servant do this work today? Here. In the Divine Service. Not in some mystical space in your heart or in your best intentions, but through His actual means: His Word preached, His absolution spoken, His body and blood given into your mouth.

When you walk into this sanctuary on Sunday morning, you are not coming to show God your spiritual résumé. You are walking into the workshop where the Servant is about His Father’s business—on you. Look at how the Divine Service actually runs.

We begin in the Name: “In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit” (Matthew 28:19). That’s not a religious slogan. That is Christ Himself calling you by the Name given to you in Baptism. He says, “You belong to My Father; you are not your own.”

Immediately, we confess: “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.” (1 John 1:8). We stop pretending. We admit what the Law has already exposed during the week: idolatry, laziness, filth, anger, and self-righteousness. We admit that by nature we are the blind and the prisoners Isaiah talked about.

And what happens? We do not climb our way up to God with promises and emotional effort. Instead, you hear: “In the stead and by the command of my Lord Jesus Christ, I forgive you all your sins…” (John 20:23). The Servant speaks through a human mouth and does what He came to do: bring forth justice, not by smashing you, but by putting your sin on Himself.

From the very beginning of the service, the main actor is not you. It is Christ. You are being acted upon.

Then the readings. Christ speaks. He speaks from the Old Testament, from the Epistles, and from the Holy Gospel. “My sheep hear My voice” (John 10:27). The sermon is not “the pastor’s thoughts.” It is Christ applying His Word to this congregation at this time.

And then, when the sermon is done and we have confessed the Creed, He does something even more concrete: “Take, eat; this is My body… Drink of it, all of you; this cup is the new testament in My blood…” (Matthew 26:26–28). The Servant who once sat in the temple as a twelve-year-old now serves you at His table as the crucified and risen Lord. He feeds you the same body that hung on the cross and the same blood that was poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.

And finally, He sends you: “The Lord bless you and keep you…” (Numbers 6:24–26). That benediction is not wishful thinking. It is the Name of God marked on you as you go out, so that you bear Him into your home, your work, and the mess of Monday. From start to finish, the Divine Service is Christ’s business.

We heard Paul say in Romans 12, “I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship.” (Romans 12:1).

Notice the order. It is “by the mercies of God.” Not by the quality of your worship, the strength of your feelings, or how “into it” you were today. God acts first. He pours out His mercies—His forgiveness, His Word, His Supper—on bodies that are tired, sinful, distracted, and sometimes bored. Then, having been forgiven and fed, you present those same bodies back to Him as a living sacrifice.

That means your spiritual worship is not limited to this hour. It is your body tomorrow morning, getting up to serve your spouse, your children, and your neighbor, not for glory but because Christ has claimed you as His own. “We, though many, are one body in Christ, and individually members one of another.” (Romans 12:5). The Divine Service shapes an entire life of service.

But again, the starting point is not your effort. It is His mercy. This is why our first instinct about worship is so dangerous. If you deep down believe that worship is mainly about what you do for God, the Divine Service will become one of two things:

A performance to manage. “Did I get something out of it? Did I like the hymns? Did the sermon hold my attention? Did I feel uplifted?” You become the judge, God becomes the audience, and the whole thing exists to entertain or inspire you.

A chore to endure. “I put in my time. I showed up. God should be happy.” Then you wonder why it feels empty.

In both cases, the focus is on you. You—your feelings, your taste, your effort—are the center. That is idolatry dressed in church clothes. The Scriptures will not let us keep that illusion.

When Mary and Joseph find Jesus after three days, she says, “Son, why have You treated us so?” (Luke 2:48). You can hear a hint of accusation. “We were anxious. You scared us. How could You?” Jesus does not apologize. He answers, “Did you not know that I must be in My Father’s house?” (Luke 2:49).

You could almost hear Him say to us, “Did you not know that when you gather in My Name, I have work to do? This is not about you managing Me. This is about Me saving you.”

So let’s be blunt. If you treat the Divine Service as optional, as something you attend when it fits your schedule or your mood, you are not merely missing an event. You are walking away from the very place where the Servant does His work on you.

If you show up but refuse to listen, picking and choosing what you will hear—“I like the Gospel, but not so much the Law; I want comfort, not repentance”—you are not merely “having preferences.” You are telling the Servant how to do His job.

If you insist that the church must be exciting, relevant, or emotionally satisfying on your terms, or else you will withhold your presence, money, or support—you are not worshiping God. You are demanding that God worship you. That needs repentance. But Jesus is here for exactly that.

The same boy who stayed in His Father’s house when His parents did not understand is the same Lord who went to the cross when you did not want Him. He did not say, “Did you not know I had better things to do than suffer for you?” He set His face toward Jerusalem, was betrayed, beaten, crucified, and buried—for every half-hearted service you have ever attended, for every bored yawn in the pew, and for every arrogant critique of His gifts.

On the third day, He rose. And now, in mercy, He keeps showing up in His Father’s house, in places like this, in congregations as flawed as ours, to be about His Father’s business: forgiving, cleansing, teaching, feeding, and sending.

So what does renewal look like for us? It does not begin with a new program. It begins with a different answer to the question, “What are we doing here?” We are here because Christ has called us. We are here because the Servant is on duty. We are here because the Father delights in giving us His Spirit through His Son.

Practically, that means:

We show up, not as consumers evaluating a product, but as sinners coming to be forgiven.

We listen, really listen, to the readings and the sermon, because we believe Jesus when He says, “The words that I have spoken to you are spirit and life.” (John 6:63).

We come to the Lord’s Supper expecting that we will walk away different—absolved, strengthened, joined more tightly to Christ and to each other.

And then we go home and into the week as people whose bodies belong to God, ready to live as living sacrifices, not to earn His favor, but because we already have it.

You may not feel very different. You may not always “get something out of” the service in the way you expect. But the point is not your feelings. The point is His faithfulness. The Servant does not fail. “He will not grow faint or be discouraged till He has established justice in the earth.” (Isaiah 42:4). That includes here. That includes you.

So when you lose track of Jesus in your week—and you will—come back to where He has promised to be: in His Father’s house, about His Father’s business, for you.

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie\ St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center\ Random Lake, Wisconsin

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xjgB6z4DAGk

The Boy Jesus in the Temple—Luke 2:41-52 #biblestr ...

2026-01-12T14:57:55Z

The Boy Jesus in the Temple—Luke 2:41-52 #biblestr
https://youtube.com/live/FpMz_E-yoXc

Sunday’s OT and Epistle—Isaiah 42:1-9; Rom. 12:1–6a ...

2026-01-10T15:48:33Z

Sunday’s OT and Epistle—Isaiah 42:1-9; Rom. 12:1–6a #biblestr
https://youtube.com/live/BMsUkguF5gY

The Slaughter of the Holy Innocents—Matthew 2:16-23 #biblestr ...

2026-01-09T15:53:59Z

The Slaughter of the Holy Innocents—Matthew 2:16-23 #biblestr
https://www.youtube.com/live/cCnfXJDs9VE

Simeon and Anna Receive the Christ-child—Luke 2:25-40 #biblestr ...

2026-01-06T14:57:54Z

Simeon and Anna Receive the Christ-child—Luke 2:25-40
#biblestr
https://youtube.com/live/_qUr0qJTy-0

God places His salvation in the hands of people the world has ...

2026-01-05T14:59:59Z

God places His salvation in the hands of people the world has already moved past. Not kings. Not managers of religion. Not the impressive. An old man ready to die. An old church lady who will not stop talking. That is the Lord’s way.
#biblestr

quoting
naddr1qv…kyr2

04. January 2026

Christmas 1 (observed)

Luke 2:33-40

Then Simeon blessed them, and said to Mary His mother, “Behold, this Child is destined for the fall and rising of many in Israel, and for a sign which will be spoken against (yes, a sword will pierce through your own soul also), that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.” (Lk 2:34–35).

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Merry Christmas. And no—Christmas does not end with angels. The angels sing. The shepherds run. The sky breaks open. Glory floods the night. And then it ends. The shepherds go back to work. The singing fades. The straw goes cold. The mystery cools.

And Mary and Joseph—exhausted, bewildered, still trying to understand what has happened to them—do what faithful people do after God acts. They go to church.

They brought the child to the temple “to present him to the Lord” (Luke 2:22–23). They offered what the Law required—small, ordinary, unimpressive obedience (Luke 2:24). They do the small, obedient things that look utterly insufficient—almost embarrassing—when you remember they are carrying God in the flesh. No spectacle. No explanation. Just parents, a baby, a few coins’ worth of birds, and the steady rhythm of the Lord’s house.

And already that tells you something about the God we are dealing with. God does not despise the ordinary. He hides Himself in it. Waiting in the temple are two people the world has already learned to step around.

Simeon is old. Not “seasoned.” Not “distinguished.” Old. Old in the way your bones argue with the weather. Old in the way patience has replaced ambition. Old enough to stop pretending the world can be fixed with energy and elbow grease.

Luke says Simeon was “righteous and devout, waiting for the consolation of Israel.” Waiting. Not managing. Not innovating. Not chasing relevance. Waiting.

And the Holy Spirit had made him a promise: “it had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not see death before he had seen the Lord’s Christ” (Luke 2:26). Which means Simeon had lived a long time with a quiet, daily thought: Maybe today. Maybe not. Years of waking up, going to the temple, praying, listening—and going home again still alive.

That should comfort you because Simeon’s faith does not look productive. It does not look successful. It does not look impressive. It looks like waiting. Breathing. It looks like the kind of faith most Christians actually live: hearing the Word, praying it back to God, doing the next faithful thing, and waiting—sometimes with joy, sometimes with ache, sometimes with the quiet fear that you misunderstood God entirely.

Then one day, into the ordinary churn of the temple, Simeon sees a baby. Not a glowing baby. Not a remarkable baby. Not a baby with a helpful sign hovering over his head. Just a child—carried by parents who look like they have not slept well in weeks.

And something breaks open. Simeon takes the child in his arms—already outrageous. Old men are not supposed to grab strangers’ babies in church. So don’t tell me I never preached about Christian living.

And the Spirit moves Simeon. As he takes the child in his arms, he sings the most bracing song in the Church’s hymnal: “Lord, now You are letting Your servant depart in peace, according to Your word; for my eyes have seen Your salvation” (Luke 2:29–30). Now. In other words: Thank God—I can die. In peace.

This is not sentimental. That is a man who has waited long enough to know what matters. The promise is fulfilled. The Savior is here. The work is done—not because Simeon finally accomplished enough, but because he is holding the Consolation of Israel in his arms.

Simeon does not say, “Now my life begins.” He says, “Now my life is complete.” Because faith does not always lead to new projects. Sometimes faith leads to a laying down. Sometimes faith leads to a good death. And that is not defeat. That is victory.

This is why the Church sings Simeon’s song after receiving the Lord’s Supper. Because Simeon teaches us what it means to see salvation. Salvation is not an idea. Not a mood. Not a feeling you generate. Salvation is a Person—placed into your mouth.

In the Bible, God loves to work through what Lutherans have always called signs—things that look like the opposite of what they contain. He hides His glory under what looks weak. A baby looks like weakness; yet that baby contains the Lord’s Christ. A cross looks like failure; yet that cross contains the victory of God. Bread and wine look ordinary; yet by the Word of Christ they contain and deliver what He says: His true body and blood, given and shed “for you.”

God’s way is to hide His glory under lowliness, so that you must receive Him by His Word—by hearing, by trust. Not by your senses. Not by your pride. Not by your demand that God perform according to your specifications. God reduces you to what you actually are: a receiver. Simeon receives. And he is ready to die in peace.

But Simeon is not finished. He turns to Mary—young, stunned, still holding together angels and labor and confusion—and he ruins Christmas for her. “This child is appointed for the fall and rising of many in Israel. He will be opposed. And a sword will pierce your own soul too.”

That is not pillow embroidery. That is prophecy. This rescue will hurt. Not because something has gone wrong—but because this is how God saves. Christmas is not God arriving to make your life easier. Christmas is God coming to tell the truth. And the truth cuts.

This child will expose hearts. He will topple people who thought they were standing just fine. He will lift people whom everyone else stepped over. He will forgive sinners publicly. He will eat with the wrong people. He will refuse to behave—politely or privately.

And he will be killed. Not because he failed. But because he succeeded too openly. Why is Jesus opposed? Why the enemies? Why the councils, plots, arrests, and execution? Not because he heals. Not because he feeds crowds. Not because of miracles.

Jesus is killed for forgiving sinners. He forgives where forgiveness threatens control. He forgives where people want measurement. He forgives openly—and mercy like that must be silenced.

So Simeon tells Mary the cost: “a sword will pierce through your own soul also” (Luke 2:35). Not because God failed. Not because Christmas went wrong. But because this is how God saves: not by avoiding pain, but by taking it into Himself and draining it dry.

Christmas is already aimed at Good Friday. The wood of the manger points to the wood of the cross. The infant hands that clutch Mary’s finger are the hands that will be stretched out to carry your sin. The Child is born to be “a sign that is opposed” (Luke 2:34) so that He can do what you cannot do: carry the opposition, absorb the hatred, answer it with forgiveness, and rise again. Simeon knows this. Old men who have waited long enough usually do. And then, as if the Spirit wants to make sure we don’t miss the point, Anna appears.

Eighty-four years old. Widowed most of her life. Living in the temple because she has nowhere else to be. She does not offer polite commentary. She praises God. And she tells anyone who will listen that this child—and only this child—is the Savior of Jerusalem.

That is dangerous talk. Because when the Savior comes, things change. Power shifts. Death loses ground. Stories are rewritten. Anna speaks like someone with nothing left to lose. Because she doesn’t.

And here is the sharp gift of the Sunday after Christmas: God places His salvation in the hands of people the world has already moved past. Not kings. Not managers of religion. Not the impressive. An old man ready to die. An old church lady who will not stop talking. That is the Lord’s way.

And now the text turns toward us. Because we like Christmas gentle. We like the child quiet. We like the story safe and contained. But Simeon and Anna will not allow that. They tell us this child will divide. This child will demand allegiance. This child will cost you something.

Which is why faith is not a mood. It’s not a seasonal emotion. Faith is a reckoning. It is being brought to the end of yourself and learning to live as a receiver. And that’s why this text belongs right after Christmas: because Christmas is not a one-night show. Christmas is the Lord moving into your life and refusing to leave.

So look at the scene again. Mary and Joseph bring Jesus to the temple. And in the temple, Jesus is recognized—not by the powerful, but by the faithful. He is recognized by those who have been trained by waiting, trained by hearing, trained by prayer, trained by promises. That is the Church.

Week after week, you come into the Lord’s house the way Simeon did: not with certainty in yourself, but with the Word. You come with bodies that ache. With grief you can’t fix. With sins you can’t undo. With prayers that feel repetitive. With waiting that feels long. And the Lord meets you the same way He met Simeon: with Christ.

Not a glowing spectacle. Not a spiritual performance. Christ—given in the means He has chosen.

And that’s why Simeon’s song lives where it does in the liturgy. After the Supper, the Church sings, “Lord, now you let your servant depart in peace…” because we are not pretending. We are confessing reality: we have seen salvation. We have received Him. We have been given what we needed. If the Lord calls us home, He will not find us empty-handed. He will find us holding Christ by faith, with His forgiveness in our mouths.

So yes, blessed are you who receive Him today—not because He will make your life easier, but because He will make your life true. He will forgive you. He will name your sin without lying to you, and then He will put it to death in His own body. He will give you a clean conscience. He will give you peace that doesn’t depend on your circumstances. He will give you hope that can survive the grave.

And that is what lets a Christian sleep—even if the world is loud, even if your heart is conflicted, even if your body is failing. Because the peace is not in you. The peace is in Him.

So here we are—just after Christmas Day. Lights still up. Hymns still ringing. And old voices still telling the truth: this Child is our rescuer. This Child is in conflict in the flesh. This Child is mercy that refuses to stay small, refuses to stay tidy, refuses to stay private. He is the Lord’s Christ (Luke 2:26). He is “a light for revelation to the Gentiles” and “the glory of your people Israel” (Luke 2:32). He is your salvation.

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie\ St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center\ Random Lake, Wisconsin

https://youtu.be/PNe5jBJgzP8

Bible Study: 2 Thessalonians 2 — January 4, 2025 #biblestr ...

2026-01-05T14:49:48Z

Bible Study: 2 Thessalonians 2 — January 4, 2025
#biblestr
https://sjrl.org/media/bible-study-1-thessalonians-41-12-november-30-2025-e6zb3-rhbps-4wg2y

Sunday’s OT and Epistle—Jeremiah 31:31-34; Galatians 4:1-7 ...

2026-01-03T14:59:31Z

Sunday’s OT and Epistle—Jeremiah 31:31-34; Galatians 4:1-7
#biblestr
https://youtube.com/live/dzQKJ6Y-U_s

The Ark of the Covenant into the Temple—1 Kings 8:6-13 ...

2026-01-02T15:09:24Z

The Ark of the Covenant into the Temple—1 Kings 8:6-13 #biblestr
https://youtube.com/live/qprlKV-VRWM

Circumcision and Name of Jesus: Luke 2:21 #biblestr ...

2026-01-01T14:54:02Z

Circumcision and Name of Jesus: Luke 2:21 #biblestr
https://youtube.com/live/74ZhRatcDuM

What does this have to do with the turning of the year? ...

2026-01-01T13:00:03Z

What does this have to do with the turning of the year? Everything. We are tempted to treat a new year like a blank page where we finally get to write a better story about ourselves. Resolutions. Reinvention. Image management. Control. But that’s not how Christians enter a year. Christians enter time under a Name already given, under a mercy already promised, under a Savior already bleeding for them. You don’t walk into this year alone. You walk into it branded—sealed—named.

quoting
naddr1qv…r8j0

31. December 2025\ Octave of Christmas\ Luke 2:21

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

On this day—the Octave of Christmas, the Circumcision and Name of Jesus—the Church makes you look at one verse and refuses to let you sentimentalize Christmas. “When eight days were completed for the circumcision of the Child, His name was called JESUS, the name given by the angel before He was conceived in the womb.” (Luke 2:21) That’s it. One sentence. And it is as sharp as a knife.

Because this isn’t just about a cute ritual, circumcision is blood. It is the law. It is a covenant. It is a mark cut into flesh that says: you belong. And it is the first time the Holy Child sheds blood. Not by accident. Not by fate. By obedience. By design. The Son of God steps under the Law—under our Law—so that He can carry it all the way to the Cross. “God sent forth His Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law.” (Galatians 4:4–5)

And then there is the Name: JESUS. The Name is not an incidental detail; it is His mission spoken out loud. “You shall call His name JESUS, for He will save His people from their sins.” (Matthew 1:21) That’s what the Name means. Savior. Deliverer. The One who does for you what you cannot do for yourself.

Now, here’s the problem: you and I spend our lives trying to do the opposite. We try to make a name for ourselves. That’s the old Babel itch: “Let us make a name for ourselves.” (Genesis 11:4) We want a reputation, a legacy, control, a clean conscience we earned, a life we can manage, a year we can secure. We want to own ourselves. We want to belong to ourselves. And if we’re honest, we often wish for God’s help without God’s claim—God as useful, not God as Lord.

But God does not play along. He does not “support your goals.” He claims you. He puts His Name on you. That’s what blessing is. Not a vague wish. Not religious well-wishing. Blessing is God placing Himself—His favor, His protection, His peace—onto His people, publicly, out loud. That’s why He gives you the Aaronic Benediction: “The LORD bless you and keep you; the LORD make His face shine upon you, and be gracious to you; the LORD lift up His countenance upon you, and give you peace.” (Numbers 6:24–26) And then the clincher: “So shall they put My name upon the people of Israel, and I will bless them.” (Numbers 6:27) Put My Name on them. Mark them as Mine. And I will bless them.

That’s not poetry. That’s ownership and care. A name on something declares whose it is and who is responsible for it—God’s own logic in the blessing placed on Israel. And God does the same thing to you, not with a hot iron, not with a knife, but with water and the Word. In Holy Baptism, the Triune Name is spoken over you, and you are marked as Christ’s own. You are not primarily “your own person.” You are the Lord’s. And that is either terrifying or freeing—depending on whether you’re still trying to be your own god.

So what does this have to do with the turning of the year? Everything. We are tempted to treat a new year like a blank page where we finally get to write a better story about ourselves. Resolutions. Reinvention. Image management. Control. But that’s not how Christians enter a year. Christians enter time under a Name already given, under a mercy already promised, under a Savior already bleeding for them. You don’t walk into this year alone. You walk into it branded—sealed—named.

And that cuts both ways. Because when God’s Name is on you, you can’t keep living as though you belong to yourself. Repentance is not general regret. Repentance is telling the truth in God’s presence. “I will confess my transgressions to the LORD.” (Psalm 32:5) Not “I’ll do better.” Not “I’m sorry life is hard.” Confession says: Lord, I have broken faith with Your Name. I have used Your gifts to serve my idols. I have taken what is Yours—my time, my body, my money, my mouth—and acted like it was mine. I have tried to manage guilt instead of killing sin. I have been attempting to negotiate with You instead of fearing, loving, and trusting You above all things.

And here’s the point: confession is not you paying God back. Confession is you clinging to God’s Name when you have nothing else. When everything in you, and sometimes everything around you, contradicts that God is for you—when the year looks ominous, when your family is strained, when your body is failing, when your past won’t shut up—then you have this: “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.” (Romans 10:13) That is not a motivational slogan. That is a divine promise. God has tied Himself to His Name. He cannot be other than who He has declared Himself to be. And who has He declared Himself to be toward sinners? The God who saves.

That is why the Church will not let you skip over circumcision today. It is the first public confession that this Child has come to be your substitute. He belongs to Israel—He takes Israel’s covenant mark into His own flesh—so that He can be Israel for Israel, and righteousness for the unrighteous. His blood begins to flow now because it will not stop until the Cross finishes the job. “He Himself bore our sins in His own body on the tree.” (1 Peter 2:24) The Name JESUS is not cheap. It is paid for in blood.

And this is why Galatians is appointed today. Because you are not saved by sliding around the Law, and you are not saved by claiming the Law as your personal ladder. “Before faith came, we were kept under guard by the law… therefore the law was our tutor to bring us to Christ, that we might be justified by faith.” (Galatians 3:23–24) The Law does its job when it stops your mouth and drags you to Jesus, not when it props up your ego. And then Paul says the quiet thunderclap: “For as many of you as were baptized into Christ have put on Christ.” (Galatians 3:27) Not “as many of you as achieved spiritual consistency.” Not “as many as kept your resolutions.” Baptized into Christ. Put on Christ. That means His Name covers you. His righteousness covers you. His sonship is given to you. “You are all sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus.” (Galatians 3:26)

So the Christian life is not you trying to manufacture a better name. It is you receiving a better Name. And receiving what comes with it: forgiveness, adoption, access to the Father, and a future you did not earn. That’s why Scripture talks about a “new name.” God is not done with you yet. You are being carried toward what He intends—toward resurrection, toward holiness, toward glory—and He will finish what He started. The world measures you by your record. God names you by His promise.

Which is what brings us right back to the Divine Service, where this isn’t theory. You came here today to be handled by the Name. You began the service “In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” (Matthew 28:19) You confessed your sins under that Name. You were absolved under that Name: “If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them.” (John 20:23) And in a little while, the Lord will once again put His Name on you in the Benediction—because He intends to keep you. To make His face shine on you. To be gracious to you. To give you peace. (Numbers 6:24–26)

That peace is not a mood. It is shalom—wholeness with God—because Jesus has made peace by the blood of His Cross. (Colossians 1:20) And the irony is beautiful: the day that begins with a knife ends with a voice. God speaks His Name onto you. God speaks His peace into you. And that is how you walk out into the year: not swaggering, not self-inventing, not pretending you can control the next twelve months, but actually strengthened—because you are named, claimed, and kept.

You do not know what this year will bring. God does. And you don’t need to. You need His Name. You need JESUS, not as a religious ornament, but as your Savior—your only Savior. And you have Him. He has put Himself on you. He has put His Name on you. And He will not abandon His own.

Enter the year that way: repentant, honest, emptied of your idol-projects, and filled with Christ. Call on His Name when you are afraid. Call on His Name when you are tempted. Call on His Name when you fail. Call on His Name when you rejoice. Because “there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved.” (Acts 4:12) And that Name is JESUS. Amen.

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie\ St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center\ Random Lake, Wisconsin

#biblestr

https://youtu.be/EXpDGOD-dSo

The Feast of the Circumcision and Name — December 31, 2025 ...

2026-01-01T12:36:54Z

The Feast of the Circumcision and Name — December 31, 2025
#biblestr
https://youtube.com/live/_85JvBKZAAM

Nostr event nevent1qqszh5qdptejxm0tnv23gk0pq3quyedcdg8zrqurdvzqkrs68637ktqzyqjg6pm7zungmm398gcux0x4e2yw4sp360vc7hwskwtue6eh033z7l8v5w5

2025-12-31T15:42:40Z

New Year’s Eve: Luke 12:35-40 #biblestr ...

2025-12-31T14:55:43Z

New Year’s Eve: Luke 12:35-40 #biblestr
https://youtube.com/live/O9Uy3UjfBho

“Do Not Be Afraid to Go to Egypt”—Genesis 46:1-7 #biblestr ...

2025-12-30T14:57:50Z

“Do Not Be Afraid to Go to Egypt”—Genesis 46:1-7
#biblestr
https://youtube.com/live/Jmy3h_cX764

David’s Son Will Build the House of the Lord—2 Sam 7:1-16 ...

2025-12-29T14:59:50Z

David’s Son Will Build the House of the Lord—2 Sam 7:1-16

https://youtube.com/live/YaUe178eIqE

Christ’s kingdom on earth is a cross-kingdom. Not because God ...

2025-12-29T12:44:50Z

Christ’s kingdom on earth is a cross-kingdom. Not because God enjoys pain, but because this is how He conquers. The throne is a cross. The crown has thorns. The victory is hidden under weakness. And if that is true for the King, it will not be different for the people who belong to Him.

quoting
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28. December 2025\ Holy Innocents\ Matthew 2:13-18

“A voice was heard in Ramah, Lamentation, weeping, and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children, Refusing to be comforted, Because they are no more” (Mt 2:18).

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

The Feast of the Holy Innocents is a rude interruption to the “cozy Christmas” people try to invent. The Church puts blood right next to the manger on purpose, because Jesus did not come to decorate our lives. He came to save them. And that means He walked straight into a world where kings panic, tyrants murder, and the devil rages—because a real King has arrived.

Christ’s kingdom on earth is a cross-kingdom. Not because God enjoys pain, but because this is how He conquers. The throne is a cross. The crown has thorns. The victory is hidden under weakness. And if that is true for the King, it will not be different for the people who belong to Him.

Look at how quickly the sweetness of Bethlehem meets the hatred of hell. An angel wakes Joseph with a command that is both tender and terrifying: “Arise, take the young Child and His mother, flee to Egypt… for Herod will seek the young Child to destroy Him.” (Matthew 2:13) God is in the flesh—Emmanuel—and the first thing that happens is not a Christmas parade. It is a midnight escape.

Christmas is not God coming down to affirm our plans. It is God coming down to overturn them. Joseph and Mary don’t get to keep control. They don’t get a predictable timeline. They don’t get to say, “But Lord, we just had the baby—can we not?” No. They obey. They rise. They go “by night.” (Matthew 2:14) The Son of God begins His life as a refugee child.

And we have to say what the Gospel says without flinching: Herod wants to destroy Him. That is not an “unfortunate political complication.” That is Satan’s ancient war against the Seed of the woman. (Genesis 3:15) The dragon always tries to devour the Child. (Revelation 12:4) If you want a Hallmark Christmas, you won’t understand Scripture. If you want the real Christ, you must face the real enemy.

Then comes one of the ugliest sentences in Matthew: “He sent forth and put to death all the male children who were in Bethlehem… from two years old and under.” (Matthew 2:16) These are not symbols. These are children. Little bodies. Little voices. Mothers with empty arms. The text does not sentimentalize it, and neither should we.

Matthew says Jeremiah is fulfilled: “A voice was heard in Ramah, lamentation, weeping, and great mourning… refusing to be comforted.” (Matthew 2:18; Jeremiah 31:15) That line is not a metaphor for “seasonal sadness.” It is Scripture naming real grief—raw, irrational, furious grief. Sometimes, the most faithful thing the Church can do is stop talking and let Rachel weep. The Bible does not scold her for tears. It records them.

But the Feast is not called “The Holy Victims.” It is called “The Holy Innocents.” That word can trip people up, so let’s be clear.

They are not “innocent” because they were sinless. “None is righteous, no, not one.” (Romans 3:10) They are “innocents” in two plain senses. First, before the world, they had done nothing to Herod. They were not threats. They were not rebels. They were murdered because a wicked man was afraid. Second—and this is the deeper comfort—before God, they are counted clean because of the promised Christ. In Israel, covenant children bore the sign; in the Church, Christ puts His Name on children in Holy Baptism. “For as many of you as were baptized into Christ have put on Christ.” (Galatians 3:27) God does not wait for you to become impressive before He becomes gracious. He gives Himself. He marks the helpless as His own.

That is why Jesus says, “Let the children come to Me; do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God.”(Mark 10:14) He does not say, “Let them come when they can explain it.” He says, “Let them come.” Because salvation is a gift. Always gift.

So what are these children in Bethlehem? They are the first blood-witnesses around the Messiah. They do not preach sermons. They do not confess with articulate words. But they are taken up into the warfare surrounding Christ, and they die because He is here. Their death is not meaningless. It is not “wasted.” It is gathered into the story of the Lamb who came to be slain. And here’s the hard, holy point: in a grim way, they die in His place.

Herod’s rage is aimed at Jesus. Jesus escapes. The children die. That feels unbearable. And it is. But do not miss where the Gospel is going. Later, Jesus will not escape. Later, the Father will not send Him to Egypt. Later, there will be no detour around the slaughter. Jesus will set His face toward Jerusalem. (Luke 9:51) He will walk into the teeth of hatred on purpose. “The Son of Man came… to give His life as a ransom for many.” (Matthew 20:28)

The Holy Innocents are not the end of the story; they are the warning flare. They tell you, at the very beginning: this Child is marked for the cross. Simeon said it to Mary: “A sword will pierce through your own soul also.” (Luke 2:35) Holy Innocents is that sword beginning to glint. So what does this feast do to us?

First, it destroys carnal expectations about Christ. If you are following Jesus mainly because you think He will make your life smoother, you’re not listening to the Gospel. Jesus is not a life-hack. He is a King at war. The outline says it the way Scripture shows it: the King Himself had to go under the cross to found His kingdom; therefore, His kingdom on earth can only look like a cross-kingdom. That is, grace comes wrapped in suffering, and glory comes through death.

And you see it right away: “The Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head.” (Luke 9:58) The Creator borrows a manger. The Redeemer borrows a boat. The King borrows a donkey. The Savior dies on a borrowed cross and is buried in a borrowed tomb. You don’t get to call Him “Lord” and then demand a life of uninterrupted comfort. That is not Christianity; that is consumer religion.

Second, this feast tells the truth about the world. People love to say, “If God were real, why would He allow…” as though the Bible is naïve about evil. It is not. Scripture names tyrants. Scripture names murder. Scripture names demonic hatred. And then Scripture says something that sounds impossible: God is still Lord.

Matthew does not say Herod “got lucky.” He says God fulfilled His Word. “Out of Egypt I called My Son.” (Matthew 2:15; Hosea 11:1) God is not improvising. Even when Satan rages, he is on a leash. That does not make the evil good. It means the evil cannot win.

Jeremiah even dares to speak into Rachel’s weeping with a promise: “Refrain your voice from weeping, and your eyes from tears… there is hope in your future… your children shall come back.” (Jeremiah 31:16-17) God does not wave a wand and erase grief. He puts hope under it. Real hope. Resurrection hope.

Third, this feast comforts the Church in her own losses. Some of you carry grief that still burns. Some of you have buried children. Some of you have prayed over tiny coffins. If that is you, then hear me carefully: the Church is not asking you to pretend it didn’t happen. The Church is putting your tears inside the Bible’s tears, so you don’t have to grieve alone.

And the comfort is not, “They’re in a better place” as a vague slogan. The comfort is Jesus Christ Himself: the Child who escaped Herod did not escape death. He died. He rose. And because He rose, the slaughter does not get the last word. “Because I live, you also will live.” (John 14:19)

Finally, the feast teaches us how to see martyrdom—and, honestly, how to see our whole life. The world says honor looks like ease, applause, safety, and control. God says honor looks like Christ—humble, hidden, faithful under pressure. Christ’s shame is the world’s mockery, but it is His people’s honor, and the Father will finally honor them.

That’s why Revelation shows the end not as silence, but song: “A Lamb standing on Mount Zion… and they sang… a new song before the throne.” (Revelation 14:1–3) The Lamb is standing because the Lamb was slain and lives. The song is new because death is defeated. And the ones singing are those marked with the Father’s Name. (Revelation 14:1) That is baptismal language. That is Church language. That is your future.

So you do not honor the Holy Innocents by turning them into a political mascot or a sentimental ornament. You honor them by confessing what their blood confesses: Jesus is the King, Herod is not. Jesus is Lord, Caesar is not. Jesus gives life; death does not. Jesus wins, the devil does not.

And you honor them by receiving the same Christ they died around: the Christ who comes low, who comes hidden, who comes for the helpless, who comes to forgive sinners, who comes to kill death by dying. This is the Kingdom. A cross-kingdom now—yes. But not forever.

One day, Rachel will not refuse comfort, because comfort will be standing in front of her, alive: the Lamb who was slain, and the children He has gathered. One day, the Church’s weeping will end. One day, the tyrants will be judged. One day, every stolen life will be answered by a resurrection.

Until then, we keep Christmas the way God gives it: not as a fantasy world with no Herod, but as the real world with a real Savior. The Child has come. The war has begun. And the outcome is not in doubt. “Where I am, there will My servant be also.” (John 12:26) That sounds like a cross. And it is. But it also sounds like home.

And that is why—even on the Feast of the Holy Innocents—we can still say it without lying: “Behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy… for unto you is born… a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.” (Luke 2:10–11)

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie\ St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center\ Random Lake, Wisconsin

#biblestr
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b40OjyDC-Xc

The Word became flesh so that nothing human would be left ...

2025-12-25T19:42:41Z

The Word became flesh so that nothing human would be left unredeemed. Not only the “spiritual” parts of you. You. Your body. Your mind. Your will. Your suffering. Your death. Christ has entered the whole human condition so that He can heal the whole human condition.
#biblestr

quoting
naddr1qv…jhk6

25. December 2025\ Christmas Day\ John 1:1-14

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth (Jn 1:14).

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Christmas Day is joy with strength. Not the thin joy of “everything is fine,” nor the forced cheer of a Hallmark ending, but the deep, steady gladness that something real has happened in the real world—something that changes what it means to be human.

John opens the Gospel like a bell ringing across time: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God” (John 1:1). Before Mary, before Bethlehem, before time itself, the Son is God—fully, eternally, and unshakeably. Then John says the line that makes angels sing and devils tremble: “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:14).

That sentence is not poetry; it’s a claim. The eternal Word took on our humanity. Not as a disguise. Not as a temporary role. Not like God “visiting” the human condition for a weekend. Flesh. A body that can be held. A mouth that cries. Hands that learn to grasp. A mind that grows in wisdom. A heart that knows sorrow. A man who can bleed.

And that’s exactly why Christmas Day is a day of joy: God has not saved us from a distance. He has come near—near enough to be touched, near enough to carry our burdens from the inside, near enough to heal what we could never repair. If you’ve ever felt that God is far, that faith is too abstract, that your life is too messy for holy things—Christmas announces the opposite. God has stepped into the mess.

Hebrews says it plainly: “Inasmuch then as the children have partaken of flesh and blood, He Himself likewise shared in the same” (Hebrews 2:14). He didn’t hover above our weakness. He entered it. He shared it. He took it on. And why? Hebrews doesn’t say, “so that He might offer tips for a better life.” It says: “…that through death He might destroy him who had the power of death, that is, the devil” (Hebrews 2:14). That’s a Christmas word you don’t hear often enough: destroy. Jesus comes as a baby because He came to fight—and to win—not with an army, but with His own body and blood.

This is why the Church has always insisted: what Christ does not assume, He does not heal. He doesn’t save by pretending to be human; He saves by becoming human. And not a partial humanity either—He takes the whole human condition.

That’s where we can rejoice more deeply. We refuse a “half-Christ” who only touches the surface of our lives. We can press into the truth that salvation isn’t merely a legal trick or a divine wave of the hand. We don’t just have isolated bad actions; we have a wounded nature. We don’t merely stumble occasionally; we are bent inward. Our loves get disordered. Our desires get tangled. Our will—our choosing, our wanting—doesn’t stay straight.

And if Christ is going to save you, He must enter where you are actually broken. Not only your skin and bones, but the place inside where you say “I want” and “I won’t.” He must assume even the human will—and heal it.

Hebrews pushes in that direction: “Therefore, in all things He had to be made like His brethren” (Hebrews 2:17). In all things. That’s breathtaking. It means the Son of God did not only borrow a body; He truly became man. He takes a real human mind. A real human heart. A real human will.

And this is not a cold doctrinal detail. This is comfort. Because it means Jesus doesn’t save you by bypassing your humanity. He saves you by restoring it. Now, when we talk about Christ’s human obedience, it can sound like we’re turning Christianity into a self-improvement program. But that’s not what we’re doing, and it’s not what Hebrews teaches.

Listen to Hebrews: Christ became man “to make propitiation for the sins of the people” (Hebrews 2:17). That’s sacrifice language. That’s atonement language. That’s “He did what we could not do.” Jesus’ obedience is not first a template for you to imitate; it is a gift given for you to receive. His life is righteousness for sinners. His death is payment for sinners. His resurrection is victory for sinners.

So when we say Christ heals the human will, we are not saying, “Try harder and become holy.” We’re saying: the Son of God entered the very arena of our collapse and won for us—so that His victory becomes ours, and His life begins to remake us.

You can see that human will in its most exposed moment in Gethsemane: “Nevertheless not My will, but Yours, be done” (Luke 22:42). That’s not theatre. That is the incarnate Son, with a real human will, embracing the Father’s will in the face of suffering. He doesn’t dodge the bitter cup; He drinks it. He doesn’t avoid obedience; He fulfills it. And Christmas Day is where that obedience begins—because the Word becomes flesh so that the flesh may be redeemed all the way through.

John tells us how we get in on this: “But as many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God… who were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God” (John 1:12–13). That is wonderfully humbling and wonderfully freeing. You don’t become God’s child by heritage, or grit, or personal spiritual intensity. You become God’s child because God gives birth from above—because God gives His Son, and you receive Him.

And then John adds a line that should settle anxious hearts: “And of His fullness we have all received, and grace for grace” (John 1:16). Received. That’s the posture of Christmas. Open hands, not clenched fists.

This is also why our liturgy is so concrete. If God saves by becoming flesh, then God loves to deliver salvation in tangible ways—outside of you, toward you, for you. Not vague spirituality. Not a private feeling you must manufacture to prove you’re sincere. God speaks promises that can be heard. God joins His Word to water that can be felt. God puts His gifts on your tongue.

That’s not a distraction from the Incarnation. It’s the logic of the Incarnation continuing in the Church. The same Word who became flesh still comes to sinners through means. “Faith comes by hearing, and hearing by the word of God” (Romans 10:17). And Christ doesn’t merely inspire faith; He creates it, sustains it, and strengthens it with His own gifts.

Hebrews also names something most people feel but rarely say: “through fear of death [we] were all [our] lifetime subject to bondage” (Hebrews 2:15). That fear shows up in a hundred disguises. Sometimes it looks like frantic control. Sometimes it looks like a constant distraction. Sometimes it looks like anger—because anger feels strong when we feel vulnerable. Sometimes it looks like numbing out. Our world has learned to keep busy and entertained, partly because silence lets the fear leak in.

Christmas meets that fear in the most unexpected way: not with denial, not with a motivational speech, but with a baby. A child who will grow into a man who will die—and in dying will break death. As Hebrews says, “For in that He Himself has suffered, being tempted, He is able to aid those who are tempted” (Hebrews 2:18). Notice the word: aid. Help. Not “be impressed.” Not “stand at a distance.” Help. The Incarnation means your temptations and weaknesses are not invisible to Him. He is not indifferent. He is not shocked. He has entered our human struggle, and He stands as the merciful One who actually helps sinners.

Now, let’s be honest: we do sometimes try to keep Jesus manageable. We prefer a Christ who comforts us but doesn’t disrupt us. We like the parts of Christianity that feel uplifting, and we sometimes sidestep the parts that expose our pride or confront our idols. We can treat the Church like a vendor—“give me what I like”—instead of receiving Christ as Lord. We can reduce faith to morality or identity, rather than life from the living God.

Christmas Day does not scold you for that; it simply outgrows it. It gives you something better. It says: the true Christ is not less than comforting, but He is more than comforting. He has not come to be an accessory to your life. He has come to be your life.

And that is exactly why this day is for everyone. If you’re visiting and you’re unsure what you think about Christianity, here’s the center: “The Word became flesh” (John 1:14). Christianity is not first about you climbing up to God; it’s about God coming down to you—down into history, down into flesh, down into suffering, down into death—so He can raise you into life.

If you’ve been in the pew for decades, here’s the same center in a different tone: don’t let Christmas become nostalgia. Don’t let it become only the comfort of familiar hymns and family routines. Those are good gifts. But the point is Christ Himself—the living Lord who comes not merely to warm your heart but to save you, body and soul.

So what is the simple claim of Christmas Day? The Word became flesh so that nothing human would be left unredeemed. Not only the “spiritual” parts of you. You. Your body. Your mind. Your will. Your suffering. Your death. Christ has entered the whole human condition so that He can heal the whole human condition.

And the joy of that is not shallow. It is sturdy and strong. It can carry you through grief. It can hold you in anxiety. It can steady you when life feels fragile and fast because your salvation does not rest on your ability to keep it together. It rests on the One who took flesh, took your place, took your sin, took your death—and now gives you Himself.

So yes, today we sing. We sing because God has come near. We sing because the light has entered the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it. We sing because our humanity—so often treated as disposable—has been honored, assumed, and redeemed by God Himself. Rejoice, not with forced cheer, but with confidence: the Word became flesh. God is not far. God is not guessing. God is with you. And He has come too close to let you go.

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie\ St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center\ Random Lake, Wisconsin

https://youtu.be/BWeKoT-958o

This is where joy breaks wide open: God is not waiting for you to ...

2025-12-25T13:53:28Z

This is where joy breaks wide open: God is not waiting for you to get your act together before He comes near. He comes near to rescue you. He comes near to carry what you cannot carry. He comes near to take what is yours—your frailty, your vulnerability, your mortality—so that He can give you what is His: righteousness, life, and peace.
#biblestr

quoting
naddr1qv…2hqa

24. December 2025

Christmas Midnight

Luke 2

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Midnight is not accidental. If you came tonight because you love the quiet, the candlelight, the hymns that feel older than you—and maybe older than your troubles—good. The Church meets at this hour on purpose. Not because we’re trying to be dramatic, but because midnight fits the truth.

The darkness is not only “out there.” It’s in here. And yet tonight is not a scolding service. It’s a rescue celebration. Isaiah calls it “the land of the shadow of death” (Isaiah 9:2). That’s not moody poetry. It’s a plain description of life in a world that breaks down. Bodies age. Relationships strain. Joy gets interrupted. Guilt clings. Even in the good seasons, there’s a quiet awareness that we can’t keep everything we love.

But here is the Christmas shock: God does not stand at a distance and shout instructions into the dark. He comes in. “For unto us a Child is born, unto us a Son is given” (Isaiah 9:6). Not an idea. Not a slogan. A Child. A Son. Given. And Isaiah dares to name Him “Mighty God” (Isaiah 9:6). The One who made the stars enters His own story as a baby you could hold.

That is why we can be joyful tonight without being shallow. Christmas joy is not denial. It’s defiance. It looks the darkness in the face and says: God has stepped into it, and He is not leaving until it’s dealt with.

Luke tells the story with stubborn concreteness: an emperor, a census, a journey, a town, a manger. “And she brought forth her firstborn Son, and wrapped Him in swaddling cloths, and laid Him in a manger” (Luke 2:7). This is not a myth floating above history. God lands in the middle of it.

And notice the sign the angels give to the shepherds. It’s not a special feeling. It’s not a light show. It’s a baby. “This will be the sign to you: You will find a Babe wrapped in swaddling cloths, lying in a manger” (Luke 2:12). That means God chose smallness. God chose closeness. God chose a real human body—one that could be tired, hungry, wounded, and yes, mortal.

And that’s the point. If our deepest problem were ignorance, a teacher would be enough. If our deepest problem were lack of motivation, an example would be enough. If our deepest problem were stress, a few coping skills would be enough.

But our deeper problem is corruption—sin that doesn’t just scratch the surface but bends the heart and ends in death. We don’t just do wrong things; something is wrong with us. The world is not merely confused; it is decaying. And we can’t reverse that from the outside.

So God does something far more radical than sending advice. He enters the very thing that is killing us, to kill it. That’s why Christmas is already aimed at Easter. The manger already points to the cross. The swaddling cloths already whisper about burial linens. The wood of the feeding trough already foreshadows the wood of Calvary. This Child did not come mainly to improve your life. He came to give you His life, because death had you in its grip.

Here is truth, simple and bright: the victory comes through substitution. Not generic “light wins.” Not vague “good triumphs.” The victory is personal, in-your-place, for-you.

“The Son of Man came… to give His life a ransom for many” (Mark 10:45).\ “He who knew no sin [was made] to be sin for us” (2 Corinthians 5:21).\ “Christ has redeemed us from the curse of the law, having become a curse for us” (Galatians 3:13).

This is why Christmas joy is sturdy. It’s not built on your performance. It’s built on His gift. The Child is already Redeemer. The salvation is already in motion, and it cannot fail. That’s also why the angels don’t come with a checklist. They preach.

“I bring you good tidings of great joy” (Luke 2:10). Good tidings—news. Announcement. Not “good advice.” Not “here are ten steps.” News means something has happened that changes everything.

And what has happened? “For there is born to you this day… a Savior, who is Christ the Lord” (Luke 2:11). A Savior. Not a life coach. Not merely an inspiration. A Savior—because you and I need saving.

Now, that’s a tender truth, but it does carry a gentle sting: it means we’re not fine on our own. We’re not just a little tired. We’re not just “finding ourselves.” We’re lost without Him. And Christmas is God’s answer to that—not with a wagging finger, but with a gift laid in a manger.

Then the song: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men!” (Luke 2:14).

Peace. Not a sentimental “let’s all get along.” Peace with God—because the real barrier is addressed. Sin is not brushed aside. Judgment is not ignored. Peace is made. The war ends because the true sacrifice is provided.

And notice the direction of it all: glory goes to God because He does it. Peace comes to earth because He brings it. The angels are not applauding human potential. They are announcing divine mercy.

This is where joy breaks wide open: God is not waiting for you to get your act together before He comes near. He comes near to rescue you. He comes near to carry what you cannot carry. He comes near to take what is yours—your frailty, your vulnerability, your mortality—so that He can give you what is His: righteousness, life, and peace.

And that means the darkness has met its match.

John says it like a banner over the whole night: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it” (John 1:5). The darkness doesn’t get to set the terms. The light doesn’t negotiate. It shines. It presses in. It wins.

How does it win? By going straight into the enemy’s strongest fortress: death.

That’s the astonishing strategy of God. He doesn’t dodge death. He takes it on in the flesh. He lets death strike Him—so that when He rises, death is broken from the inside.

Scripture says it plainly: “Inasmuch then as the children have partaken of flesh and blood, He Himself likewise shared in the same, that through death He might destroy him who had the power of death, that is, the devil”(Hebrews 2:14). Through death… destroy. That’s Christmas aimed at the grave.

So what does this mean for us, here, tonight? It means you can finally stop pretending you can hold everything together. That’s not an accusation; it’s an invitation. Many of us are exhausted from trying to manage what can’t be managed—our regrets, our fears, the people we love, the future we can’t control. Christmas says: you don’t have to be your own savior.

And yes, it also gently exposes a common temptation: we sometimes use the season like emotional insulation—busy enough, bright enough, loud enough to keep the heavier things at bay. But God loves you too much to leave you with distractions. He gives you something better than distraction: a Savior.

And this Savior doesn’t stay theoretical. He attaches His victory to you. He put His Name on you in Baptism. “As many of us as were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into His death… that… we also should walk in newness of life” (Romans 6:3–4). That means His death counts as yours, and His resurrection life is already working in you.

And He feeds you with the very Body and Blood that death could not hold. “Whoever eats My flesh and drinks My blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day” (John 6:54). Christmas does not end with a memory. It continues with gifts—given, delivered, received.

So, hear this as simply as possible: Christianity is not mainly “be better.” It’s “be rescued.” It’s not “climb up to God.” It’s “God comes down to you.” The heart of it is not your effort. It’s His mercy. And if you’re a die-hard Lutheran, don’t let familiarity dull your wonder. We are hearing again the best news there is: God has come in the flesh to overthrow death. Not manage it. Not soften it. Overthrow it. Midnight proclaims what daylight often tries to ignore: death is beaten, not merely postponed.

And therefore Christmas joy is not fragile. It is anchored. “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light” (Isaiah 9:2). Not a mood. Not a metaphor. A Person. So sing the hymns like people who have been given peace. Hear the angels like people who have been claimed by a Savior. And carry this with you into whatever comes next: the light has entered the darkness, and the darkness will not win.

“For unto us a Child is born… and the government will be upon His shoulder… and of the increase of His government and peace there will be no end” (Isaiah 9:6–7). The Light does not bargain with the darkness. It overwhelms it.

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie\ St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center\ Random Lake, Wisconsin

https://youtu.be/VsW-C86p7KA

If you come tonight with fear, or questions, or weariness, you ...

2025-12-25T13:46:33Z

If you come tonight with fear, or questions, or weariness, you are not out of place. The angels preached first to people in the dark. If you come tonight with guilt, you are not beyond hope. This is exactly why a Savior is born. And if you come tonight with joy, then let it be this kind of joy: not fragile and forced, but anchored in what God has done.

quoting
naddr1qv…ykc8

24. December 2025

Christmas Eve

Luke 2:1-20

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

The scene set isn’t cozy if you pay close attention. It’s night. Real night. “In the same region there were shepherds out in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night” (Luke 2:8). These are working people, outdoors, alert in the dark. And it’s to them—ordinary, tired, uncelebrated people—that God sends the first Christmas proclamation.

Then it happens: “An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them” (Luke 2:9). Luke doesn’t describe it as gentle. He calls it overwhelming. The shepherds respond as Scripture says sinners do when holiness draws near: “They were filled with great fear” (Luke 2:9).

That fear is not strange. It’s honest. God isn’t a decoration we hang on a season. He is the living Lord. When He draws near, a conscience wakes. We realize we are small, not clean, and not in control the way we like to imagine.

And then heaven speaks, not to crush that fear but to answer it with the Gospel: “And the angel said to them, ‘Fear not’” (Luke 2:10). That isn’t a sentimental phrase. It’s a command, backed by an announcement—because “fear not” only helps if there is a reason. “For behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people” (Luke 2:10). Not advice. Not a new technique. News—something has happened in the world that changes things for fearful people.

“For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord” (Luke 2:11). That’s the heart and center today. “Unto you.” Not to the powerful first. Not to the impressive first. Unto you—shepherds, sinners, the unsure, the weary, the visitor who’s just trying to make sense of life, the lifelong churchgoer who knows the hymns by heart.

“A Savior.” Because the deepest trouble isn’t just stress or sadness. It’s sin, guilt, and death. And those aren’t solved by cheer. They’re solved by rescue. “Christ the Lord.” The promised One. And not merely God’s representative, but the Lord Himself coming near.

Then Luke gives the sign, and it’s striking in its simplicity: “And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger” (Luke 2:12). A baby. Wrapped like any baby, placed where animals feed.

This is where Christmas becomes astonishing. God’s answer to our night is not distance, but nearness. Not an idea floating above the world, but a life inside it. He does not save from a safe distance. He comes to where the darkness is, and He takes up our humanity so completely that He does not hover over weakness—He enters it.

The manger matters because it tells you what kind of God this is. He is not embarrassed by low places. He is not repelled by need. He is willing to be found in humility. “She gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths and laid him in a manger” (Luke 2:7). God has hands now. God has a heartbeat now. God has a mother now. He has taken what is ours—body and soul—so that He may heal what is ours from the inside.

And this isn’t meant to erase your humanity, as if salvation means dissolving into God or leaving creatureliness behind. Nor is it mainly a moral lesson about being nicer people. The child is given for something far more concrete: restoration. Healing. Rescue.

Because if the problem goes as deep as it does—into our hearts, our wills, our mortality—then salvation has to go that deep too. It has to reach the whole person. Not just thoughts. Not just emotions. The whole human condition under sin and death. God comes near enough to touch it all.

That’s why the angel’s message is so direct: it is “unto you.” “Unto you is born… a Savior” (Luke 2:11). The gift is not vague. It is personal. It is given. And then the sky opens wider: “Suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God” (Luke 2:13). And they sing: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!” (Luke 2:14).

That “peace” is not first of all a feeling. It can include a feeling, but it is bigger than that. It is peace with God. It is reconciliation. It is the end of the war that sin began. And it is grounded not in our ability to steady ourselves, but in what this child will do.

Because Christmas already points to the cross—not to darken the night, but to clarify the gift. The baby is born to be the man who carries sin, faces death, and breaks it. The manger and the cross belong together: in both, God chooses humility as His path to victory.

So the shepherds do the simplest thing: they go where the Word sends them. “Let us go over to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened” (Luke 2:15). “They went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby lying in a manger” (Luke 2:16). God makes Himself findable. God gives a sign that can be seen, pointed to, spoken of.

And when they see it, they speak: “They made known the saying that had been told them concerning this child”(Luke 2:17). They don’t manufacture a message. They repeat what they received. And Luke says the people react: “All who heard it wondered” (Luke 2:18). That still happens. Some ponder. Some rejoice. Some don’t yet know what to do with it. But the Word has been spoken: a Savior has been born.

And Mary holds it quietly: “Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart” (Luke 2:19). Faith often looks like that—receiving God’s Word and keeping it close, even when you don’t yet see every step ahead.

So here is the simple comfort of Christmas Eve. If you come tonight with fear, or questions, or weariness, you are not out of place. The angels preached first to people in the dark. If you come tonight with guilt, you are not beyond hope. This is exactly why a Savior is born. And if you come tonight with joy, then let it be this kind of joy: not fragile and forced, but anchored in what God has done.

“Fear not… For unto you is born… a Savior” (Luke 2:10–11). That is not a suggestion. That is news. And the sign is not your strength, but God’s nearness: “You will find a baby… lying in a manger” (Luke 2:12). God has come close enough to carry you. Close enough to heal you. Close enough to save you.

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie\ St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center\ Random Lake, Wisconsin

https://youtu.be/Zq00dmVhfoA

Christmas Eve: The Nativity of Our Lord—Matthew 1:18–25 ...

2025-12-24T15:00:17Z

Christmas Eve: The Nativity of Our Lord—Matthew 1:18–25
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https://youtube.com/live/yXvCUxp1Cb0

The Shepherds Visit Bethlehem—Luke 2:15-20 #biblestr ...

2025-12-23T14:56:52Z

The Shepherds Visit Bethlehem—Luke 2:15-20
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https://youtube.com/live/aguzuEJlLfk

The Birth of Christ Is Announced to Shepherds—Luke 2:8-14 ...

2025-12-22T14:57:23Z

The Birth of Christ Is Announced to Shepherds—Luke 2:8-14

https://youtube.com/live/XOl21BtpvCo

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John is a voice. Not the Word. A voice. And that’s what ...

2025-12-21T22:41:28Z

John is a voice. Not the Word. A voice. And that’s what faithful preaching always is: a mouth that points not to itself but to Christ. John is doing exactly what Isaiah foretold, as the Angel Gabriel proclaimed and Zechariah confessed. Right after that fierce, tender opening, God gives John this work: “Comfort, comfort my people, says your God.” (Isa. 40:1) How does God comfort? Not by pretending sin is small or telling people they’re “fine.” He comforts by sending a messenger who tells the truth and by sending the Lord Himself to save.

quoting
naddr1qv…samc

21. December 2025\ Advent 4\ John 1:19-28

And they asked him, saying, “Why then do you baptize if you are not the Christ, nor Elijah, nor the Prophet?” John answered them, saying, “I baptize with water, but there stands One among you whom you do not know. It is He who, coming after me, is preferred before me, whose sandal strap I am not worthy to loose” (Jn 1:25–27).

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

They didn’t come out to the Jordan because they were hungry for mercy. They came because they smelled a problem. John had a crowd. John had momentum. John was preaching repentance and baptizing, and it looked like it might slip out of the authorities’ hands. So a delegation arrived from Jerusalem—priests and Levites—and the first question wasn’t, “How do I get right with God?” It was the controlling question: “Who are you?” (John 1:19)

That question among the ones Christ sends is never neutral. It’s how fallen man tries to size up God’s work: classify it, manage it, approve it, or crush it. We say it this way, “How dare you?” But John will not play. He does not sell himself. He doesn’t soften anything. “He confessed, and did not deny, but confessed, ‘I am not the Christ.’” (John 1:20). Confession by negation.

And that is already good news for you. The world is always hunting for a messiah it can use. If not a political savior, then a medical savior. If not a celebrity savior, then a financial savior. And if none of those work, the old Adam volunteers: “I’ll take care of myself, thank you very much.” That is the original lie—Eden’s itch to be like God (Gen. 3:5). John kills that lie with a single sentence: “I am not the Christ.” (John 1:20) And since he won’t take Christ’s place, you don’t have to pretend you can fill the role either.

But they press harder, trying to force John into their categories: “What then? Are you Elijah?” (John 1:21). “Are you the Prophet?” (John 1:21). These aren’t random guesses. Malachi had promised an Elijah-like forerunner before the day of the Lord (Mal. 4:5–6). Moses had said, “The LORD your God will raise up for you a prophet like me… him you shall listen to.” (Deut. 18:15) The religious leaders know the prophecies. If they can place John in those roles, maybe they can control him? But they still don’t know the man standing before them.

And John refuses their crowns: “I am not” (John 1:21) and “No” (John 1:21). Not because the Old Testament doesn’t matter or its fulfillment—but because it matters so much that John will not let them attach it to the wrong person. The promises are not about John. The promises are completed in Jesus.

So they keep demanding something they use, maybe even against him? “Who are you, so that we may give an answer… What do you say about yourself?” (John 1:22) John answers with Scripture, not self-description: “I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way of the Lord.’” (John 1:23; Isa. 40:3) Finally, a positive confession.

John is a voice. Not the Word. A voice. And that’s what faithful preaching always is: a mouth that points not to itself but to Christ. John is doing exactly what Isaiah foretold, as the Angel Gabriel proclaimed and Zechariah confessed. Right after that fierce, tender opening, God gives John this work: “Comfort, comfort my people, says your God.” (Isa. 40:1) How does God comfort? Not by pretending sin is small or telling people they’re “fine.” He comforts by sending a messenger who tells the truth and by sending the Lord Himself to save.

And this is where Advent gets blunt. The world wants Christmas without repentance, a manger without a cross, sentiment without salvation. But John will not allow it. He is “the messenger” Malachi promised: “Behold, I send my messenger, and he will prepare the way before me.” (Mal. 3:1) How does he prepare the way? By leveling pride and exposing unbelief. By calling sinners what they are, so they can be forgiven.

The Pharisees, having heard the doctrine and still not satisfied, go after his practice: “Why then are you baptizing, if you are neither the Christ, nor Elijah, nor the Prophet?” (John 1:25). In other words: “Who authorized you to do this? Who gave you the right to attach God’s promise to water?” And so it always is with Christ’s messengers. First, the doctrine of Christ is rejected, and then the practice.

John’s answer is deliberately modest: “I baptize with water.” (John 1:26) He won’t pretend the power lies in his personality. But then he drops the line that should make every religious person nervous: “Among you stands one whom you do not know.” (John 1:26) Now we’re getting to the heart of the matter. John is a man under authority, and the identity of that authority is what matters—Jesus, the Christ.

Now we see the danger for Pharisees, old and new: Christ can be near, and you can miss Him. You can know the prophecies and still not know the Savior. You can be an expert in the Christian religion and a stranger to Jesus. You can stand in the middle of God’s gifts—and still treat them as background noise.

This is not just a first-century problem. It’s a church problem. It’s our problem. The easiest place to miss Jesus isn’t at the bar or the game; it’s in the pew, where familiarity turns holy things into ordinary things. When the sermon becomes “a talk.” When absolution becomes “a nice moment.” When the Supper becomes “what we do.” When Baptism becomes “my decision” instead of God’s rescue.

John refuses to let Christ be overlooked. “Even he who comes after me… the strap of whose sandal I am not worthy to untie.” (John 1:27) That is not fake humility. That is realism. John stands in the presence of the Holy One and knows his place. If you think you “deserve” Jesus, you don’t yet know yourself. If you think God owes you a blessing because you’re decent, you’re not ready for Christmas—you’re ready for wages. But “the wages of sin is death.” (Rom. 6:23)

Here is the brutal honesty from John: you are not the Christ. Parents, you are not the Christ for your kids. You cannot bleed away their guilt. Spouses, you are not the Christ for each other. You cannot carry the weight of another person’s salvation. Pastors are not the Christ. Your death, metaphorically or literally, won’t save any congregation. Church councils are not the Christ. A “good church culture” is not the Christ. If you try to make any of those into a savior, you will either idolize them or hate them—because they cannot do what only Jesus can do.

And what can only Jesus do? Stand in the gap between the holy God and the guilty sinner. That’s the pattern the Scriptures keep showing you. When Israel rebelled and a plague broke out, Aaron ran with incense and “stood between the dead and the living, and the plague was stopped” (Num. 16:48). That wasn’t “nice symbolism.” That was God preaching Christ ahead of time: a mediator stepping into the breach.

When Israel crossed the Jordan into the promised land, the priests carried the ark into the river, and “the waters… were cut off… and the people passed over opposite Jericho.” (Josh. 3:16) Another preached sermon: God makes a way through death-waters into promise. And the Fourth Sunday of Advent has you staring at a new “crossing place”—the Jordan again—because the true crossing is here: from sin to forgiveness, from death to life, from wrath to peace, not by your effort but by God’s promise.

That’s why the New Testament speaks so plainly about Baptism: “Baptism… now saves you.” (1 Pet. 3:21) Not because water is magical, but because Christ is faithful. Baptism saves because it joins you to the Savior who saves. “All of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death.” (Rom. 6:3) And if you’re joined to His death, you’re not left there: “If we have been united with him… we shall certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.” (Rom. 6:5) That’s Jesus standing in the breach for you.

When John says, “Among you stands one whom you do not know” (John 1:26), he is not teasing. He is warning you away from a fake Christmas and inviting you into a real one. A fake Christmas is you trying to manufacture peace through busyness and tradition while refusing repentance. A real Christmas is this: the Christ you don’t deserve is coming anyway, and He comes to forgive real sins, not to reward pretend righteousness.

And He is the only one who can. “There is one God, and there is one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus.” (1 Tim. 2:5) “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” (John 14:6) “And there is salvation in no one else.” (Acts 4:12) If you try to come to God through your own goodness, you are not being humble—you are rejecting the Mediator.

So repent. Not in a gloomy religious mood, but in the honest surrender of your excuses. Stop calling sin “just stress.” Stop dressing up greed as “providing.” Stop baptizing lust as “needs.” “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves.” (1 John 1:8) Let John’s voice do its work. Let it clear the road. Let it strip the fake crowns from your head. John isn’t the Christ, and neither are you and I.

And then hear the comfort stronger than your sin: the Lord is coming to end the war, not to negotiate with your pride. “God was in Christ reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them.” (2 Cor. 5:19) That is why He comes lowly—conceived, carried, born, wrapped, laid down. That is why He comes under the Law (Gal. 4:4–5). That is why He goes to the cross: “He was wounded for our transgressions… and with his stripes we are healed.” (Isa. 53:5)

And yes, receive Christ where He actually gives Himself—not where your imagination prefers. He gives Himself through His Word and through His promise attached to ordinary means. That’s not beneath Him. That’s His way. “Baptism… now saves you.” (1 Peter 3:21) “This is my body… This is my blood… for the forgiveness of sins.” (Matthew 26:26–28)

Advent has been stripping away your false saviors so you can recognize the real Savior when He stands among you. You are not the Christ. Thanks be to God. The Christ is coming. And the Christ who comes is the One who stands in the middle—between the dead and the living, between wrath and sinners, between heaven and your grave—to halt the plague of sin and bring you through the waters into the promise.

So don’t miss Him. Don’t let Him be “among you” and unknown. Hear His voice. Make straight the way. And welcome the Lord who comes to save you.

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie\ St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center\ Random Lake, Wisconsin

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2-sIWEAi_IA

Sunday’s OT and Epistle—Deuteronomy 18:15-19; Philippians ...

2025-12-20T14:57:44Z

Sunday’s OT and Epistle—Deuteronomy 18:15-19; Philippians 4:4-7

https://youtube.com/live/zUG6GwALI1Y
#biblestr

The Nativity of Our Lord—Luke 2:1-7 ...

2025-12-19T14:56:53Z

The Nativity of Our Lord—Luke 2:1-7
https://youtube.com/live/Rke5G2wJC7k
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The Nativity of St. John the Baptist—Luke 1:57-66 #biblestr ...

2025-12-18T14:59:16Z

The Nativity of St. John the Baptist—Luke 1:57-66
#biblestr
https://youtube.com/live/_iyqb-c2z3Q

Stop trying to keep God at a manageable distance. He will not be ...

2025-12-18T14:39:21Z

Stop trying to keep God at a manageable distance. He will not be managed. He will be received. “The Lord is with you.” (Luke 1:28). And the One who is with you is not an idea. He is Jesus—true God and true man—your Brother in the flesh, your Savior from sin, your King whose reign does not end.
#biblestr

quoting
naddr1qv…86zt

17. December 2025

Advent 3 Midweek

Luke 1:26-38

“For with God nothing will be impossible.” Then Mary said, “Behold the maidservant of the Lord! Let it be to me according to your word.” And the angel departed from her (Lk 1:37–38).

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Today, we’re not observing a “minor festival” of the Annunciation. We’re not pretending it’s March 25. Advent isn’t sentimental buildup; it’s about the Lord coming near. “The Lord is at hand” (Philippians 4:5). We are doing what Advent always tries to force us to do: stop treating God as a distant idea and confront the fact that He comes near in the flesh.

And that connects directly to the last two midweeks, because you’ve been living in the wilderness with John—sharp preaching, repentance, “prepare the way,” and the uncomfortable truth that you cannot save yourself. John is a mercy, but John is not the Christ. John can expose you and strip you down. He cannot carry your sin. He cannot be your righteousness. He can only point.

So now the Church pulls you out of the wilderness and puts you in a small house in Nazareth. Not a spotlight. Not a cathedral. Not a throne room. “The angel Gabriel was sent from God to a city of Galilee named Nazareth, to a virgin… of the house of David.” (Luke 1:26–27). Heaven invades the ordinary. God aims His rescue plan at a girl who has no power to control it.

And the first word is already too much: “Greetings, O favored one, the Lord is with you!” (Luke 1:28). That line should hit you like a hammer. “The Lord is with you” is not religious wallpaper. It’s either terror or salvation—depending on whether God is against you or for you.

Mary’s reaction is honest, and it’s the opposite of the plastic Christmas-card version. “She was greatly troubled… and tried to discern what sort of greeting this might be.” (Luke 1:29). Good. Sinners don’t naturally relax when the holy God steps close. We either panic, or we perform, or we try to manage Him with pious nonsense.

So Gabriel says the word God always gives when He comes for sinners: “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God.” (Luke 1:30). Favor. Not wage. Not merit. Not “you’ve earned this.” Favor because God gives favor.

Then the angel does what faithful preaching always does. He doesn’t hand Mary a technique. He gives her a Christ. “Behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus.” (Luke 1:31). A real Son. A real body. A real name. And the promise is soaked in Old Testament substance: “The Lord God will give to him the throne of his father David.” (Luke 1:32). God is not improvising. He is keeping His Word.

And since our previous meditations have been dealing with doubts—John’s question from prison, your own impatience, your habit of demanding God “prove it”—this text answers that in the best way: not by scolding the question, but by anchoring you in God’s promise. Mary asks a blunt question too: “How will this be, since I am a virgin?” (Luke 1:34). That’s not unbelief; it’s reality. She’s asking, “What are you saying God will do?”

Gabriel’s answer is the center of Christianity: “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you.” (Luke 1:35). In other words, this does not depend on Mary’s strength. It doesn’t depend on her cleverness. It doesn’t depend on her emotional readiness. It depends on God.

That should land on you hard, because you keep trying to run your spiritual life like a self-improvement project. You keep thinking the Christian life is “I will get myself into shape, and then God will be close.” No. God comes close first. God speaks first. God acts first. That’s grace.

And Gabriel goes even further: “Therefore the child to be born will be called holy—the Son of God.” (Luke 1:35). Not “a holy man.” Not “a special prophet.” The Son of God in flesh. That’s why this isn’t a cute origin story. It’s God entering the world He came to judge—so that He might save it.

That is what the Church confesses plainly: “the Son of God… assumed the human nature” and is “truly God and truly man” (Augsburg Confession III). Not as trivia. As comfort. If Jesus is truly man, then God has stepped into our condition. If Jesus is truly God, then His mercy is not wishful thinking. It is Almighty action.

And that ties back to the messenger theme you’ve been leaning on. In the wilderness sermons, John was the messenger—sent to prepare, sent to preach repentance, sent to point away from himself. Here, Gabriel is also a messenger. God is serious about sending His Word through servants. But the Word always aims at the same end: not “be better,” but “here is your Savior.”

And this King is not small. “He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.”(Luke 1:33). Advent is not God offering tips for coping. It’s God installing His King over every rival kingdom—including the kingdom of your self-rule.

Now here is the direct, honest truth: you and I are not neutral observers in this story. We are part of the problem it solves. The reason God must come in the flesh is that Adam’s ruin is not a minor defect. Scripture is blunt: “Sin came into the world through one man, and death through sin, and so death spread to all men.” (Romans 5:12). You don’t just do bad things. You are born bent. You are born dying. You are born with a heart that tries to be its own god.

So God does not fix this with encouragement. He fixes it with a new Man. Paul says Jesus is “the last Adam.” (1 Corinthians 15:45). And he explains the exchange: “As by the one man’s disobedience the many were made sinners, so by the one man’s obedience the many will be made righteous.” (Romans 5:19). That’s the backbone under Luke 1. Mary’s Son is the Second Adam—the new humanity beginning in Him.

This is why the incarnation matters. “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” (John 1:14). God saves you up close. Inside your humanity. By taking it into Himself so He can carry your sin and kill it.

And if your earlier midweeks pressed the question, “Where is God when I’m stuck—when I’m in prison like John, when I’m in fear, when I’m waiting?”—Luke 1 answers: God is not far away. God is in the womb. God is coming in weakness. God is already moving toward the cross.

Because yes, the cross is already in the room even if Gabriel doesn’t name it. The child’s name is Jesus, and Scripture interprets it for you: “He will save his people from their sins.” (Matthew 1:21). And sins are not removed by vibes. Sins are removed by blood. “Without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sins.” (Hebrews 9:22). Advent joy is not denial. It’s the joy that God is actually doing something about guilt and death.

So what do you do with your doubts? You stop making them the center. John asked. Mary asked. The question isn’t whether you ever have questions. The question is whether you will let God answer you where He actually answers: in His Word and in His Christ.

Gabriel gives you the line that smashes your closed universe: “For nothing will be impossible with God.” (Luke 1:37). That does not mean you get whatever you want. It means God will keep His promise even when everything in you screams “impossible.” He will bring the Savior. He will forgive sins. He will raise the dead. He will finish what He started.

And Mary’s last word becomes the Church’s Advent posture—not swagger, not control, not manipulation—faith that receives: “Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.” (Luke 1:38). That is how sinners live: by the Word.

This is also where our repentance theme hits home. The old Adam doesn’t die politely. He keeps crawling back—either into despair (“God can’t love you”) or pride (“God must be impressed with you”). So you drown him again. Paul says what your baptism means: “We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death.” (Romans 6:4). The Catechism says the same thing without flinching: “the Old Adam in us should by daily contrition and repentance be drowned and die” (Small Catechism, Baptism). That’s Advent realism. Daily death. Daily return. Daily receiving Christ.

And when you fall, you do not pretend it’s fine. You confess it. You name it. You stop excusing it. And then you stop trying to pay for it, because you can’t. God justifies sinners for Christ’s sake. “Men cannot be justified before God by their own strength, merits, or works, but are freely justified for Christ’s sake through faith” (Augsburg Confession IV). Freely. That means your standing with God is anchored in Mary’s Son, not in your weekly performance.

So, stop trying to keep God at a manageable distance. He will not be managed. He will be received. “The Lord is with you.” (Luke 1:28). And the One who is with you is not an idea. He is Jesus—true God and true man—your Brother in the flesh, your Savior from sin, your King whose reign does not end.

And if you need one sentence to carry into the rest of Advent—especially when your heart is loud and your faith feels small—take the angel’s Word straight: “Do not be afraid… for nothing will be impossible with God.” (Luke 1:30, 37).

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie\ St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center\ Random Lake, Wisconsin

https://youtu.be/-hAB8seQgAw

The Visitation—Luke 1:39-45 ...

2025-12-17T14:56:06Z

The Visitation—Luke 1:39-45
https://youtube.com/live/4MFvkkQW_CU
#biblestr

Christ’s Birth Is Foretold to Joseph—Matthew 1:18-25 ...

2025-12-16T14:58:52Z

Christ’s Birth Is Foretold to Joseph—Matthew 1:18-25

https://youtube.com/live/sZ2NxSu5WZ8

You can thank Hegel and Darwin for this confused idealistic ...

2025-12-16T14:10:13Z

In reply to nevent1q…09su
_________________________

You can thank Hegel and Darwin for this confused idealistic crusade.

Any rebellion against God's Word disintegrates into chaos, ...

2025-12-16T13:16:11Z

Any rebellion against God's Word disintegrates into chaos, even if it has the semblance of law and order.
#biblestr

That’s fantastic! “Something” means the Holy Spirit is at ...

2025-12-15T15:50:10Z

In reply to nevent1q…2nua
_________________________

That’s fantastic! “Something” means the Holy Spirit is at work!

The Annunciation of Our Lord—Luke 1:26-38 ...

2025-12-15T14:59:17Z

The Annunciation of Our Lord—Luke 1:26-38

https://youtube.com/live/hYzXCwTN6Ao

Doubts will still come. Until the Lord returns, you will still be ...

2025-12-15T14:32:46Z

Doubts will still come. Until the Lord returns, you will still be tempted to ask John’s question in a hundred different forms: “Are You really the One? Are You really good? Are You really for me?” When that happens, learn from John. Don’t sit alone in the dark trying to crush your questions or nurture them. Send them to Jesus. Bring them where He has promised to be—in His Word, in His Church, in the gifts that bear His name.

#biblstr

quoting
naddr1qv…7wnq

14. December 2025\ Advent 3\ Matthew 11:2-10

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

John sits in a dungeon. The prophet who leapt in his mother’s womb at the sound of Mary’s greeting now sits chained by Herod, waiting for a death he can see coming. This is the same man who pointed at Jesus and said, “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.” Now he sends disciples with the question most of us are too proud to say out loud: “Are You the One who is to come, or shall we look for another?”

There are different kinds of doubt. Some doubt is nothing but rebellion dressed up as honesty. Jesus compares that kind of unbelief to the citizens in the parable who sent word after their king: “We do not want this man to reign over us.” They will always find reasons to say no. He pictures them like spoiled children in the marketplace. “We played the flute for you, and you did not dance; we sang a dirge, and you did not mourn.” John comes in camel’s hair and leather, eating locusts and wild honey, and they say he has a demon. Jesus comes eating and drinking, receiving tax collectors and sinners, and they sneer, “Look at Him, a glutton and a drunkard.” Whatever God does, they reject it.

Behind that kind of doubt is not an honest question, but a refusal to repent. It is the heart that does not want to be exposed or changed. “Men loved the darkness rather than the light, because their deeds were evil.” It’s the same thing John ran into when he preached by the Jordan: “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?” They wanted religious comfort without the fruits of repentance. That’s not just the Pharisees, Sadducees, and Herod. That is, anyone who wants Jesus to bless their plans while they cling to whatever sin they will not give up. That is you when you decide that Christ can have your Sunday but not your bedroom, not your wallet, not your grudges, not your tongue.

But there is also the doubt of the disciple—the doubt of one who actually has heard the Word, believed it, and yet cannot see how the present reality fits with what God promised. That’s the doubt of John in prison. He had preached that the axe is already laid to the root of the trees, that the winnowing fork is in the Messiah’s hand, that the chaff will burn with unquenchable fire. Yet where is the fire? Where is the clearing of the threshing floor? The wicked king parties on, and the preacher of repentance sits in chains.

The disciples have this kind of doubt, too. When the women come back from the empty tomb, the apostles treat the report as idle talk. Thomas refuses to believe unless he can put his fingers into the wounds. When Jesus calms the storm, they say, “Who then is this, that even wind and sea obey Him?” When He warns them about the leaven of the Pharisees, their hearts are so dull that they think He’s scolding them for forgetting bread. Peter confesses, “You are the Christ,” and then in the very next breath rebukes Jesus for talking about the cross. After Jesus has told them a second time that He will be delivered, killed, and rise, they get into an argument on the road about which of them is the greatest. These are not spiritual super-heroes. They are ordinary sinners, with ordinary foolishness and fears and questions, whom Jesus refuses to give up on.

So what does Jesus do with John’s doubt? He doesn’t send back a scolding. He doesn’t shame him for asking. He sends the Word. “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight and the lame walk, lepers are cleansed and the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news preached to them.” He points John back to what God promised through the prophets and what is now happening in front of their eyes. The signs Isaiah spoke of are being fulfilled. The King has come, not first with visible fire, but with mercy for the ruined and the helpless, and with preaching for the poor.

And then He adds this beatitude: “Blessed is the one who is not offended by Me.” Blessed are those who let Jesus be the Christ on His own terms—the Christ who bears sin, who walks the way of the cross, who saves by suffering, who gives forgiveness as sheer gift and not as a wage. Blessed are those who don’t throw Him away because He doesn’t match their plans or their timing.

That is exactly where your doubts are answered—not by you thinking your way out of them, but by you being dragged back to “what you hear and see.” That’s what the apostles say later: “That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we looked upon and our hands have handled…this we proclaim also to you.” Faith isn’t built on feelings or theories but on the concrete works and words of Christ handed over in preaching and sacrament. “These are written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in His name.”

And the Scriptures are honest about how believing people talk in the dark. The Psalms are full of doubts. “Why, O LORD, do You stand far away? Why do You hide Yourself in times of trouble?” “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me? Why are You so far from saving Me, from the words of My groaning?” “Will the Lord spurn forever, and never again be favorable?” “You have put Me in the depths of the pit…darkness is my closest friend.” “I pour out my complaint before Him; I tell my trouble before Him. When my spirit faints within me, You know my way.”

Those aren’t the words of atheists. Those are the prayers of believers who are hanging on to God with white knuckles. The Bible does not tell you to clean up your thoughts and pretend you don’t struggle. It teaches you to bring your complaint to the God who has pledged Himself to you, to speak to Him out of the very confusion that frightens you. The sin is not in admitting your weakness; the sin is in deciding that because you are weak, God must be a liar and you are done with Him.

And listen to what Jesus says about John, this doubting prophet in Herod’s prison: “What did you go out into the wilderness to see? A reed shaken by the wind? A man dressed in soft clothing?” No. John is not a reed that bends with every opinion. He is not a court preacher dressed to impress. He is the voice in the wilderness, the promised Elijah, the one who calls a spade a spade and points to the Lamb of God. “Among those born of women there has arisen no one greater than John.” That’s what Jesus says about a man who is at that very moment sending Him a question from the dark. And then He adds, “Yet the one who is least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.”

Which means this: your standing with God does not rest on how impressive your faith looks today. It rests entirely on whether you belong to this kingdom where Christ is King. The smallest baptized child, barely able to fold her hands and say “Amen,” is greater than John, because she stands after the cross and resurrection, washed into the death and life of Jesus, fed with His body and blood.

So where are your doubts answered? Not by staring harder into yourself, but by going where John is sent: to what you hear and see from Jesus. You hear the Law that exposes your excuses and your rebellion: the ways you have said with your words or your life, “I do not want this Man to reign over me.” You hear the call to repent, like the crowds by the Jordan. You hear the warning that the axe lies at the root of the trees and that every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. You hear that those who will not have Christ will have the outer darkness, the wailing and gnashing of teeth; they chose it when they clung to their own way.

But then you hear the Gospel: this same Judge is the Lamb who has taken away the sin of the world. All that wrath you deserve was aimed at Him. All that fire fell on Him. On the cross, He prays Psalm 22, “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?” so that you can know that no matter how forsaken you feel, you are not. He went into that darkness so that you would never be abandoned there.

At your Baptism, He joined you to that death and that resurrection. You were buried with Him and raised with Him. When the devil points at your sins and says, “Look at what you are; how can you be a child of God?” you do not answer with your feelings or your performance. You point to your Lord and say, “My sins are on Him. He has answered for them. If He is enough for the Father, He is enough for me.”

You hear His Absolution, spoken through the mouth of a man as through John’s mouth long ago: “I forgive you all your sins.” That isn’t religious noise. That is the risen Lord using a human voice to do what He did in Galilee and Judea: to open blind eyes, to raise the dead, to preach good news to the poor.

And you see and taste His goodness at the altar. John once pointed and said, “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.” Now that Lamb points at you and says, “This is My body, given for you. This is My blood, shed for you.” Here again, He gives you something to “hear and see,” to hold onto that is outside of you and stronger than your doubts.

Doubts will still come. Until the Lord returns, you will still be tempted to ask John’s question in a hundred different forms: “Are You really the One? Are You really good? Are You really for me?” When that happens, learn from John. Don’t sit alone in the dark trying to crush your questions or nurture them. Send them to Jesus. Bring them where He has promised to be—in His Word, in His Church, in the gifts that bear His name.

And hear His answer again: the Scriptures that were written so that you may believe; the Psalms that give you words to pray when you have none; the Gospel that proclaims a crucified and risen Lord who does not despise weak, trembling hearts. Hear Him praise John, even as John struggles. Hear Him call you blessed when you are not offended by His cross but cling to it as your only hope.

“Blessed is the one who is not offended by Me.” Blessed are you who bring your doubts to Jesus instead of running from Him. Blessed are you whose sins are laid on the Lamb. Blessed are you, the least in His kingdom, greater than you feel, because you are His.

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie\ St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center\ Random Lake, Wisconsin

https://youtu.be/ZGbsmg9iZbo

Sunday’s OT and Epistle—Isaiah 40:1-11; 1 Corinthians 4:1-5 ...

2025-12-13T14:56:10Z

Sunday’s OT and Epistle—Isaiah 40:1-11; 1 Corinthians 4:1-5
#biblestr
https://youtube.com/live/ci2EpVTL3yQ

Contentment is not giving up on life. It is resting in Christ. It ...

2025-12-12T14:44:23Z

Contentment is not giving up on life. It is resting in Christ. It is receiving what the Father provides, using it wisely for family and neighbor, and trusting that Jesus—not money—is our life and our hope. In a world that feels like a casino, this is real freedom.

#biblestr

quoting
naddr1qv…t26e

“If we have food and clothing, with these we will be content. But those who desire to be rich fall into temptation, into a snare… For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evils.” — 1 Timothy 6:8–10

This verse and the fourth petition of the Lord’s Prayer, “Give us this day our daily bread,” belong together. St. Paul does not begin with numbers, interest rates, or budgets. He starts with the heart. Scripture never treats money as “just practical.” Money reveals what we fear, what we trust, and whom we worship.

In our time, many people feel like they are living inside a casino economy. It is not only Las Vegas. It is in our phones, our investments, our shopping apps, even in the way we talk about “opportunity” and “risk.” Everything starts to feel like a bet. Writers sometimes call this “casino logic”:

Life is a game.

The goal is to hit a jackpot.

Slow, faithful work is for losers.

Risk is exciting; patience is foolish.

If you don’t jump in, you’ll be left behind.

This thinking shows up in day trading, sports betting, speculative real estate, congregation finances, and even in the way ordinary people talk about retirement and savings. You can feel it: the sense that you must always be “playing” to stay afloat. Paul’s word for this is older and simpler: a snare.

What Paul calls a snare, we often call “normal.” Notice carefully what Scripture actually says. Paul does not say, “Money is evil.” He says:

“Godliness with contentment is great gain” (1 Tim. 6:6).

“If we have food and clothing, with these we will be content” (v. 8).

“Those who desire to be rich fall into temptation, into a snare” (v. 9).

“The love of money is a root of all kinds of evils” (v. 10).

The problem is not having money, but loving it; not using it, but trusting it. Jesus teaches the same thing in the Sermon on the Mount:

“You cannot serve God and mammon.” (Matthew 6:24) “Do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’… your heavenly Father knows that you need them all.” (Matthew 6:31-32)

Hebrews echoes this: “Keep your life free from love of money, and be content with what you have, for he has said, ‘I will never leave you nor forsake you.’” (Hebrews 13:5)

The First Commandment in the Small Catechism sums it up: “We should fear, love, and trust in God above all things.”

Anything we fear, love, and trust more than God becomes a false god—even if we never say so out loud. So the question is not, “Do I have money?” but rather, “Where is my heart?”

Do I believe I am finally safe if the numbers are high?

Do I feel finally doomed if they are low?

Do I find my worth in what I earn or own?

These are uncomfortable questions, but they are deeply biblical ones.

When prudence feels punished, gambling looks reasonable. Part of our frustration today is that many people feel like prudence no longer works. Prices rise, savings are tight, and others are getting ahead by taking bigger risks. We may feel pushed toward our own version of “casino logic.”

Scripture does not deny that the world is unfair. But it refuses to let us blame “the system” while ignoring the heart. The issue, Paul says, is still the love of money (1 Tim. 6:10). The temptation is to seek safety and identity in wealth, rather than in Christ.

Luther, in explaining the First Article of the Creed, reminds us that all our “daily bread” comes from God:

“He gives me clothing and shoes, food and drink, house and home, wife and children, land, animals, and all I have… He defends me against all danger and guards and protects me from all evil… all this purely out of fatherly, divine goodness and mercy, without any merit or worthiness in me.”

If that is true—and it is—then financial life is not primarily a game to be won. It is a sphere in which we learn to trust, be grateful, be content, and love our neighbor.

What does repentance look like in everyday life? Repentance here is not about feeling guilty for having a job, a home, or a retirement account. It is about turning again from trusting money to trusting Christ.

A few gentle questions for self-examination:

When I am worried, do I first run to numbers—or to the Lord in prayer?

Where am I using spending to cope with emotions rather than bringing them to God?

Am I honest about my debts and habits, or do I hide them?

Do I see my income as “my achievement,” or as daily bread from the Father’s hand?

Is my giving planned and joyful—or just “whatever is left”?

Repentance can look very ordinary:

Telling the truth about your situation to your spouse, a trusted friend, or your pastor.

Cutting unnecessary spending, not out of fear, but to live more freely.

Making a simple, realistic plan instead of living in denial.

Setting aside regular, thoughtful giving as a confession of faith: “I am not ruled by mammon; I belong to Christ.”

None of this earns salvation. It is simply what life looks like when the First Commandment is taken seriously and the Gospel is believed.

The comfort of the Gospel is this: Jesus Christ did not come for people who have everything under control. He came for sinners—including those who have loved money, gambled foolishly, or lived in fearful anxiety about their future.

“Though He was rich, yet for your sake He became poor, so that you by His poverty might become rich.” (2 Corinthians 8:9)

The true riches are not hidden in markets or interest rates. They are given in Christ:

Forgiveness for greed, fear, envy, and waste.

A clean conscience, washed in Baptism.

His own body and blood in the Supper, for the forgiveness of sins.

Daily bread from a Father who knows what we need.

A future that no market crash can destroy.

Paul’s simple line stands: “If we have food and clothing, with these we will be content.” (1 Tim. 6:8)

Contentment is not giving up on life. It is resting in Christ. It is receiving what the Father provides, using it wisely for family and neighbor, and trusting that Jesus—not money—is our life and our hope. In a world that feels like a casino, this is real freedom.

We see this in the Christian congregation. It’s not youthful ...

2025-12-12T13:46:56Z

We see this in the Christian congregation. It’s not youthful rebellion. Now the older generation resents and neglects with apathy the younger.

quoting
nevent1q…9c26
A traditional generational conflict usually looks like this, the older generation says “we had it hard too” the younger generation says “you don’t understand our world”. That’s normal, it happens every generation.

That’s not what’s going on with boomers and millennials.

The friction between boomers and millennials is different than the average inter-generational conflict.

Because boomers betrayed millennials.

All that judgment that should have burned you to stubble falls on ...

2025-12-11T15:53:23Z

All that judgment that should have burned you to stubble falls on Him instead. The refiner’s fire consumes Him, not because He is impure, but because He has taken your impurity as His own. The wrath that should fall on you for your indifference, compromise, lust, and self-righteousness—that wrath is poured out on Him. He, the Bridegroom, lets Himself be treated like the harlot so that His Bride can wear the white robe. He, the righteous Son, is cut off so that you can be called sons.

quoting
naddr1qv…n34a

10. December 2025\ Advent 2 Midweek\ Malachi 3:1–5; 4:1–6a; Matthew 11:11–15

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

“Truly, I say to you, among those born of women there has arisen no one greater than John the Baptist. Yet the one who is least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he. From the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven has suffered violence, and the violent take it by force… and if you are willing to accept it, he is Elijah who is to come. He who has ears to hear, let him hear.”

Centuries before Jesus said that, the Lord spoke through Malachi:

“Behold, I send my messenger, and he will prepare the way before me… the Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his temple; and the messenger of the covenant in whom you delight… For behold, the day is coming, burning like an oven… But for you who fear my name, the Sun of righteousness shall rise with healing in its wings… Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the great and awesome day of the LORD comes, and he will turn the hearts of fathers to their children and the hearts of children to their fathers.”

Malachi says: a messenger, an Elijah, a day of fire, a coming Lord, a healing Sun, hearts turned. Jesus says: That’s John. John is the messenger. John is Elijah. And Jesus is the Lord who comes, the Messenger of the covenant, the Sun of righteousness.

So why does Jesus say John is “the greatest among those born of women”? Because all the prophets flow into him. John stands at the sharp point of the Old Testament. From Adam through Noah, from Abraham through David, from Isaiah to Malachi, the Spirit-driven preaching has been moving toward one thing: the Christ. John is the mouth at the end of that long line. He doesn’t invent anything new. He gathers up everything God said before and lets it all come out in a straightforward sermon: “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.”

That’s what makes John great. Not the camel’s hair, not the Jordan crowds, not the courage to call a king an adulterer. John is great because he refuses to talk about John. He preaches Christ. He prepares the way by preaching repentance and the forgiveness of sins. He levels the mountains of pride, fills in the valleys of despair, and gets people ready to meet the Lord who is coming.

Malachi had warned that this coming would not be safe or sentimental. “He is like a refiner’s fire and like fullers’ soap.” Fire that burns away impurity. Soap that scours the stain. The day is coming, “burning like an oven” for the arrogant and evildoer. This is what it means when the living God shows up among sinners: judgment, exposure, purification. No one strolls into the presence of the holy God with their pet sins tucked under their arm.

John preaches exactly that. He does not say, “Try a little harder, and God will be pleased.” He says, “Repent.” He calls religious leaders a brood of vipers. He warns of the axe at the root of the trees. He announces the One who will baptize with the Holy Spirit and with fire, whose winnowing fork is in His hand. He names sin plainly—Herod’s adultery, the people’s greed, the soldiers’ abuse of power. He does not soften God’s Word to save his own skin.

It goes exactly how you’d expect. The kingdom “suffers violence.” Herod seizes John, throws him into prison, and then has him killed to keep a stupid oath and please a bitter woman. Later, Stephen will be stoned, James beheaded, Peter and Paul imprisoned and executed. They are all caught up in what Jesus says: “From the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven suffers violence, and the violent take it by force.”

That’s not just political violence or persecution from the outside. Scripture uses the picture of a man assaulting a virgin—trying to seize her, strip off her garments, and drag her away. That’s what the devil, the world, and our own sinful flesh try to do to the Church: to the virgin Bride of Christ. Tear off the white robe of Christ’s righteousness, drag her away from her Bridegroom, and join her to the idols of this age.

And don’t pretend you’re only a victim of this. You and I have participated in that violence. Whenever you would rather have a tame Jesus than the real one, you are trying to lay hands on the kingdom. When you want preaching that confirms your opinions instead of exposing your sin, you are reaching for the Bride’s robe. When you treat Christ’s Church as one option among many, when you shrug at doctrine, when you flee the Lord’s Service for anything that seems more urgent—that is not neutrality. That is hostility to the kingdom.

Your old Adam does not “have questions.” He is at war. He wants the Word shut up, the law silenced, the Gospel buried. He wants Jesus to be manageable, distant, and optional. That is the violence each of us brings to the text today. And yet Jesus says: “The one who is least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.”

Who is the least? Not the weakest Christian you can imagine. The least in the kingdom is Jesus Himself. He makes Himself least. He is the King who becomes servant of all, who “did not come to be served but to serve, and to give His life as a ransom for many.” He was born of a woman, laid in a manger, numbered with sinners at the Jordan, despised and rejected, mocked, stripped, and crucified outside the city.

All the violence that fell on John, all the rage directed at God’s Word, finally converges on Christ. Soldiers arrest Him. False witnesses accuse Him. Rulers mock Him. The soldiers strip off His garments and gamble for them. The crowds jeer. His own disciples run. The kingdom suffers violence in its King. The day burning like an oven—Malachi’s day of judgment—arrives, and the Sun of righteousness is hung up on a cross at midday darkness.

That’s the point: all that judgment that should have burned you to stubble falls on Him instead. The refiner’s fire consumes Him, not because He is impure, but because He has taken your impurity as His own. The wrath that should fall on you for your indifference, compromise, lust, and self-righteousness—that wrath is poured out on Him. He, the Bridegroom, lets Himself be treated like the harlot so that His Bride can wear the white robe. He, the righteous Son, is cut off so that you can be called sons.

Then, “for you who fear My name,” the Sun of righteousness rises “with healing in its wings.” Easter is that sunrise. The One who went down into the darkness comes up again with forgiveness, life, and salvation in His hands. The fire of judgment has become, for you, the warmth of His grace. Now notice how He delivers that healing, not as vague inspiration, but through real, earthy means.

In Holy Baptism, the violence is turned on you—but in mercy. The old Adam is drowned. Your name is linked to His Name. You are buried with Christ in His death and raised with Him in newness of life. The Lord doesn’t just call you to “make a decision.” He puts you to death and raises you.

In Holy Absolution, the same Jesus who once said, “Tell John the things you hear and see,” now sends a pastor to say to you: “I forgive you.” That Word is not commentary. It does something. The devil would snatch it away. Your flesh would shrug it off. But the Spirit presses it into your ears: You are forgiven.

At His altar, the Bridegroom feeds His Bride with His body and blood—the same body that hung under judgment, the same blood poured out under wrath. The kingdom still “suffers violence” in this way: the Lord gives you His crucified flesh to eat and His blood to drink. The world calls that foolishness. Your flesh calls it unnecessary. Faith says: That is my life.

Malachi also said Elijah would “turn the hearts of fathers to their children and the hearts of children to their fathers.” That is not just about warm family feelings. It is about repentance and faith passing from generation to generation. Where Christ is preached, and His gifts are given, hearts are turned—fathers who bring their children to the font, parents who pray with and for their children, children who learn to call on the Lord’s Name and honor father and mother. The Lord stitches families back together around His Word, or He gives new brothers and sisters in the Church when earthly family will have nothing to do with you.

This is how the Lord overthrows the violence. The devil tries to break apart what God joins; Christ joins what sin has broken. The devil tries to strip off the robe; Christ robes you again and again in His righteousness. The devil tries to drag the Bride away; Christ holds fast to His Church, even when she wanders.

So where does that leave you today? It leaves you where John was trying to put you: not looking at John, not trusting in yourself, but looking at Jesus. John’s whole life is summed up in that one gesture: away from himself, toward Christ. “He who has ears to hear, let him hear.” Hear what? That the greatest prophet bows before the Lamb. That the least in the kingdom—Jesus—has made Himself your servant. The fire has already burned. That the judgment has already fallen. The Sun has already risen.

Repent of your violence against the kingdom—your attempts to edit Christ, to domesticate His Word, to treat His gifts as optional. And then hear what John wanted you to hear all along: “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.” That includes yours. No exceptions. No leftovers. No “yes, but.”

The Day of the Lord is coming. For those who persist in unbelief, it will be a day of burning. For you who are in Christ, it is already a day of light. You have been marked by His cross, washed in His blood, fed at His table. The Sun of righteousness has risen over you.

So the Church, the Bride, keeps breathing out the prayer of faith: Amen. Come, Lord Jesus, quickly come.

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie\ St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center\ Random Lake, Wisconsin

#biblestr

https://youtu.be/aX6dDkQq-hw

Jacob Returns to Bethel—Genesis 35:1-15 ...

2025-12-11T14:59:40Z

Jacob Returns to Bethel—Genesis 35:1-15

https://youtube.com/live/SHBLlPxOqpQ

#biblestr

Jacob and Esau Meet—Genesis 33:1-11 ...

2025-12-10T14:56:54Z

Jacob and Esau Meet—Genesis 33:1-11

https://youtube.com/live/KiSghcLUXdM

Jacob Wrestles with God—Genesis 32:22-32 ...

2025-12-09T15:01:13Z

Jacob Wrestles with God—Genesis 32:22-32

https://youtube.com/live/mfeYDrd8JUE

Esau Comes to Meet Jacob—Genesis 32:1-21 ...

2025-12-08T15:31:47Z

Esau Comes to Meet Jacob—Genesis 32:1-21

https://youtube.com/live/cLIvyv4NXx4
#biblestr

Thanks for the zap!

2025-12-08T03:32:02Z

In reply to nevent1q…e48a
_________________________

Thanks for the zap!

Bible Study: 1 Thessalonians 4:13-5:11 — December 7, 2025 ...

2025-12-07T22:51:15Z

Bible Study: 1 Thessalonians 4:13-5:11 — December 7, 2025

https://youtu.be/IjJZqSzuVj0

But the fall into sin did not remove that dominion; it corrupted ...

2025-12-07T22:50:22Z

But the fall into sin did not remove that dominion; it corrupted the heart that wields it. So the problem is not the tools. The problem is the hands and hearts that hold them. The same mind that designs a medicine can design a weapon. The same organizational power that can coordinate relief can also coordinate slaughter. Evil is not less active in a technological age; it is more efficient, more organized, more far-reaching. One of the greatest inventions of coordination, currency like the dollar, is manipulated to devalue the value of your time, effort, and property. As time moves forward the battle does not calm down; it escalates. Wars become more brutal. Hatred becomes more destructive. Inflation runs hot. One catastrophe now can touch the whole world.

quoting
naddr1qv…rx0q

07. December 2025

Advent 2

Luke 21:25–33

“And there will be signs in the sun, in the moon, and in the stars; and on the earth distress of nations, with perplexity, the sea and the waves roaring; men’s hearts failing them from fear and the expectation of those things which are coming on the earth, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see the Son of Man coming in a cloud with power and great glory. Now when these things begin to happen, look up and lift up your heads, because your redemption draws near” (Luke 21:25–28).

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

On this Second Sunday in Advent, the Lord does not give you a warm Christmas card greeting. He speaks of signs in sun, moon, and stars, roaring seas, nations in distress, people fainting with fear, the powers of the heavens shaken, and then the Son of Man coming in a cloud with power and great glory. That’s the picture He sets before your eyes. And then He tells you, “When these things begin to happen, straighten up and lift up your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.”

We don’t usually talk about the future that way. When most people say “future,” they mean progress. A little more comfort, a little more convenience, a little more control over our lives. Better medicine, smarter technology, stronger economies. We’re trained to assume that history is one long upward curve and that life will keep getting safer and easier, especially for our children.

The Scriptures are not nearly so sentimental. From the very beginning, God gave man dominion over the earth. He told Adam to subdue the creation, to cultivate and harness it. That dominion is still at work. Every generation discovers more, builds more, controls more. You can see it in our machines, our computers, our weapons, our ability to shape and move and measure the world.

But the fall into sin did not remove that dominion; it corrupted the heart that wields it. So the problem is not the tools. The problem is the hands and hearts that hold them. The same mind that designs a medicine can design a weapon. The same organizational power that can coordinate relief can also coordinate slaughter. Evil is not less active in a technological age; it is more efficient, more organized, more far-reaching. One of the greatest inventions of coordination, currency like the dollar, is manipulated to devalue the value of your time, effort, and property. As time moves forward the battle does not calm down; it escalates. Wars become more brutal. Hatred becomes more destructive. Inflation runs hot. One catastrophe now can touch the whole world.

Another pious lie we like to tell ourselves is that each generation is better than the last. “We know more, we’ve seen more, we’re more enlightened, more tolerant, more humane.” But you don’t have to look very far to see that isn’t true. Scripture says that as the end draws near, lawlessness increases and the love of many grows cold. That isn’t just a verse to memorize; it’s what you see when neighbors stop caring, families fracture, children are catechized by screens instead of parents, churches empty out, and the name of Jesus is treated as a joke or an embarrassment. The more we congratulate ourselves on our enlightenment, the more openly we despise God and one another.

So the Bible speaks very soberly about the future. Think of the days of Noah, when the thoughts of men’s hearts were only evil continually, and the world was washed clean by judgment. Think of Israel’s kings, one after another, rejecting the Lord until the people were dragged off into exile. Think of our Lord Himself warning of wars and rumors of wars, earthquakes, famines, persecution, betrayal, and a world that cannot be bothered with repentance because it is too busy eating, drinking, marrying, and buying. History should have taught us by now that God’s diagnosis of the human heart is not pessimistic; it is simply true.

If that’s all there were to say, the future would be a bleak joke—just a long, miserable story of sin and judgment, circling the drain until the last day. But the Scriptures will not let you look at the future without Christ. In the fullness of time, at exactly the right moment, the eternal Son of God stepped into our world. Everything that happened before His coming was a preparation for Him—creation, promise, flood, sacrifice, exodus, kings, prophets, exile, return. Everything that has happened since finds its meaning in Him—His cross, His resurrection, His ascension, His reigning and interceding at the Father’s right hand, and His final appearing in glory.

Jesus stands at the beginning and the end. He is the Alpha and the Omega of history. You cannot talk rightly about the future unless you start with Him and end with Him. This very moment, with its wars, its sins, its fears, and your small life in the middle of it, has its goal in His return. The point of it all is not that the world becomes nicer. The point is that the Gospel is preached to all nations, that sinners are dragged out of darkness and into the light, that the great net of the kingdom is pulled through the sea of time until the full catch is brought to shore. That is why the world still turns.

So yes, there is a hardening, a cooling of love, an intensifying of evil. But at the same time, there is a ripening. The fields are white for harvest. The Gospel runs to the ends of the earth. Baptismal water is still poured. The Word is still preached. Sinners are still absolved. The body and blood of Christ are still given and received for the forgiveness of sins. The same Lord who will come in the clouds with power and great glory already comes hidden here and now, in the lowly forms of preaching, water, bread, and wine.

That is why our Lord calls these things “the beginning of birth pangs.” The labor pains are real. They are sharp. They can be terrifying. If you’re outside of Christ, they are nothing but a warning of the judgment to come—a sign that all you trusted in is collapsing. But if you belong to Him, they are something else entirely. They are the contractions of a creation about to be remade. The old world is groaning like a woman in labor. The new creation, promised by the prophets and shown to John in the Revelation—a new heaven and a new earth where righteousness dwells, where God wipes away every tear, where death and mourning and crying and pain are no more—that world is already pressing in.

So when the foundations of the earth seem to shake, the Christian does not pretend it’s fine, and he does not pretend it’s hopeless. He takes Christ at His word. “When these things begin to happen, straighten up and lift up your heads.” You do not stare at the ground and mumble about how bad things are. You do not bury yourself in distractions. You lift up your head to the crucified and risen Lord who is drawing near, the same Lord who was born of the Virgin in Bethlehem, who carried your sin to the cross, who breathed His Spirit into His Church, who washed you in Baptism, who feeds you with His own flesh and blood.

The Scriptures push two things into your hands as you look toward the future. First, be sober. Drop the illusion that with enough progress, enough education, enough technology, we can engineer ourselves out of suffering, sin, and death. You are not going to “fix” this world. You are not going to build the kingdom of God by your projects. This age will end in fire, not in a human utopia. Your hope is not in the next election, the next medicine, or the next gadget, but in the Lord who says He is coming soon.

Second, do not panic. When things move toward catastrophe, that alone does not mean the last trumpet is about to sound. Every age has had its wars, its plagues, its tyrants, its collapses. The Lord told us ahead of time that this is what a dying world looks like. If these are the last days, they are only what He said they would be. And if they aren’t the very last yet, they are still days under His cross and under His promise. Either way, He has not lost control.

What, then, should you do? You do what Christians have always done. You repent. You believe the Gospel. You cling to the words and promises of Christ. You pray. You gather with His Church. You put your children and your own body under the sound of His Word. You come to the altar hungry and empty so that He might fill you with forgiveness and life. You encourage one another with the Scriptures, because whatever was written in former days was written for our learning, that through endurance and through the comfort of the Scriptures we might have hope.

Heaven and earth will pass away. Everything you see, everything that looks so solid and permanent, will crumble—your house, your money, your health, your reputation, your plans—gone. But the words of Jesus will not pass away. The Name placed on you in Baptism will not pass away. The absolution spoken into your ears will not pass away. The body and blood you receive today are the very pledge that you will stand with joy before the Son of Man on the last day.

So lift up your heads. Your redemption is drawing near. Advent is not just about getting ready for Christmas; it is about learning to live with your eyes fixed on the Lord who is coming, who has come, and who will come again. The world may shake. Your heart may tremble. But the One who speaks to you today is the same One who will speak on the last day, and His Word will hold.

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie\ St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center\ Random Lake, Wisconsin

https://youtu.be/PS0BrJXqlus

The vice responsible for every immoral, unethical, and illegal ...

2025-12-05T13:44:48Z

The vice responsible for every immoral, unethical, and illegal financial scheme—whether fractional-reserve banking, Ponzi schemes, stock trading, or crypto lending—is usury driven by greed.

Nostr event nevent1qqs8wsuyaxmvnsqe89y46v83l7dsc8qf9jlf373mv7ewg4cqc235krszyqjg6pm7zungmm398gcux0x4e2yw4sp360vc7hwskwtue6eh033z7d4vk46

2025-12-05T13:44:13Z

Laban Pursues Jacob—Genesis 31:22-42 #biblestr ...

2025-12-04T15:03:26Z

Laban Pursues Jacob—Genesis 31:22-42

#biblestr
https://youtube.com/live/OpbalZjGxRs

Advent is the season where God puts John in front of you and ...

2025-12-04T14:34:24Z

Advent is the season where God puts John in front of you and says, “Listen to him. Learn from him.” Not because John is the Savior, but because John knows he isn’t. He prepares the way by preaching repentance and by baptizing sinners. He shows the church how to live in the in-between time: hear preaching, receive baptism, repent.

#biblestr

quoting
naddr1qv…yjdt

01. December 2025\ Advent 1 Midweek\ Matthew 3:1-6; James 5:7-10

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

“In those days John the Baptist came preaching in the wilderness of Judea, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand’” (Matt. 3:1–2). And James says: “Be patient, therefore, brothers, until the coming of the Lord… Establish your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is at hand” (James 5:7–8). Same Lord. Same coming. Same urgency.

John the Baptist is the man for Advent. He is the preparer, the forerunner. He stands between the old and the new, between promise and fulfillment. During these weeks of Advent, we hear him again and again: at the Jordan, in Herod’s prison, questioned by Pharisees, pointing away from himself and toward Christ.

John doesn’t build a brand. He doesn’t gather a fan club. When they ask him, “Are you the Christ?” he confesses and does not deny: “I am not the Christ.” The Christ is already among them. John isn’t worthy to stoop down and untie His sandals. That’s Advent.

Advent is the season where God puts John in front of you and says, “Listen to him. Learn from him.” Not because John is the Savior, but because John knows he isn’t. He prepares the way by preaching repentance and by baptizing sinners. He shows the church how to live in the in-between time: hear preaching, receive baptism, repent.

What you see in Matthew 3—preaching and baptizing—is not an odd preface to the “real” Gospel. It’s the pattern. Matthew begins with John preaching and baptizing, and he ends with Jesus sending His disciples to preach and baptize: “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them… and teaching them… And behold, I am with you always” (Matt. 28:19–20).

John prepares the way by preaching and baptizing. The apostles continue the same work by preaching and baptizing. And in between Christ’s ascension and His coming again, this is the life of the church. That’s exactly where James puts us. “Be patient, therefore, brothers, until the coming of the Lord. See how the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth… You also, be patient. Establish your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is at hand” (James 5:7–8).

You are not living in neutral time. You are not just “doing life” and “celebrating holidays.” You are living between the Lord’s first coming in humility and His final coming in glory. This is the season of waiting. Not lazy waiting. Not distracted waiting. Not, “I’ll get serious later” waiting. The farmer doesn’t waste the season between sowing and harvest. He doesn’t scream at the field, but he also doesn’t sit on the couch binging nonsense while the crop dies. He works, he watches, he prays, he waits.

“Establish your hearts,” James says. Nail them down in Christ. Fix them on His coming. Because “the Judge is standing at the door” (James 5:9). John says, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” James says, “Establish your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is at hand.” Same message: the time is short. Wake up.

So Advent is our season. First, because Jesus is coming. Not as a baby in a manger like He did two thousand years ago—that already happened. That work is finished. He has already lived, suffered, died, risen, ascended, and sent His Spirit. He has done everything.

Now we wait. We are in the in-between time, and we need to be awake. We need to repent. We need to hear preaching. We need, as Christ’s church, to go on baptizing in His Name and teaching all that He commanded. We need to live like people who know the Judge is at the door and the harvest is coming.

Second, Advent is our season because it is a season of repentance, preparation, and discipline. Like Lent, Advent is not about religious sentiment. It is about God dragging your priorities, your habits, and your heart into the light. Advent is not “pre-Christmas.” If it were, the readings would all be about Bethlehem and genealogies and angel choirs—Matthew 1, Luke 1–2. Instead, what does the church give you?

Advent 1: Jesus rides into Jerusalem on a donkey—to die.

Advent 2: He prophesies distress among the nations, darkened skies, and the Son of Man coming again in clouds.

Advent 3 and 4: John the Baptist, thirty years old, preaching by the Jordan and from Herod’s jail, calling sinners to repentance and pointing to the Lamb of God.

That’s deliberate. The liturgy is catechizing you. Advent is not a warm-up act for Christmas. Advent is its own thing. It trains you to live between the comings of Christ: remembering His first coming, receiving His present coming in Word and Sacrament, and longing for His coming again in glory. And that means Advent goes right for your idols.

Advent isn’t primarily about giving up soda or sweets, as if the main problem were calories. It may be good to say no to food, drink, or comfort to curb your gluttonous flesh. That can be helpful. But if that’s where it stops, you’ve missed the point. Advent is calling you to take a hard look at where your heart is.

Repent of your pride that puts you above those around you.\ Repent of your greed that obsesses over what others have and you don’t.\ Repent of your lust for people and things that God has not given you.\ Repent of wasting hours on brain-dead entertainment while your vocations starve.\ Repent of shirking your duties as father, mother, son, daughter, husband, wife, or worker.

Just with pride, greed, and lust, you already have enough to confess to God and to your pastor. And you know there’s more. You know your heart. James doesn’t let you hide it behind pious language: “Do not grumble against one another, brothers, so that you may not be judged” (James 5:9). Your complaining, your bitterness, your contempt for fellow Christians—Christ hears it. The Judge at the door hears it.

So stop pretending you can sin now and repent later. “The coming of the Lord is at hand.” The time is short. Repent.

And then what? Just sit and feel bad? No. John doesn’t just shout “Repent” and walk away. He baptizes. He preaches the One who is coming after him, whose sandals he is not worthy to carry, who will baptize with the Holy Spirit and fire. James doesn’t just say, “Be patient.” He points you to the Lord’s compassion and mercy and holds up “the prophets who spoke in the name of the Lord” as examples (James 5:10-11). The Lord does not fail His people. He never has.

So Advent is also the season to return to what the Lord has actually given you for this in-between time:

Teach your children the faith at home. Don’t outsource it. Open the Scriptures. Speak the catechism. Sing the hymns of the church—especially the Advent hymns that point not to a cute baby only, but to the cross and the Last Day.

Pray with your family. Pray about their needs and the needs of others. Pray “Come, Lord Jesus” as more than a meal rhyme—pray it as the cry of people who actually want Him to end this broken age.

Invigorate your own Bible study, prayer, and devotion. Put away some of the noise and fill your ears with what actually strengthens faith.

Be a neighbor to those who are hurting. Give a listening ear, a helping hand, a clear confession of the hope you have because Jesus is crucified and risen and coming again.

God uses pain and suffering in this world to pry our fingers off of idols and to point us and others to Christ and to the end. Advent teaches you to see that, to receive even the hard days as reminders: “The Judge is at the door. The harvest is coming. The Lord is near.”

And in all of this, you are not left guessing how the story ends. “The end is certain. We know it. It’s been given to us in Holy Scripture. We know who has conquered sin, death, and the devil.” Christ has. The One John pointed to. The One James preaches about.

So you wait—not in terror, but in confidence. You wait knowing with certainty that the same Jesus who was born for you, who was crucified for you, who rose for you, will come again for you, and He will take you to be with Him forever. You have heard the preaching of the apostles. You have been baptized in water and the Word. You are fed with the body and blood of the Lamb. You are exactly where the Lord wants you to be in this in-between time.

So use this Advent well. Let John’s preaching, James’s exhortation, the readings, the hymns, the prayers all do their work: calling you to repentance, fixing your eyes on Christ, establishing your heart in the promise of His coming. “The Lord is at hand.” “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” “Be patient… establish your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is at hand.” Come, Lord Jesus. Amen.

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie\ St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center\ Random Lake, Wisconsin

https://youtu.be/eaJ5bX51AhA

It turns out that "property rights" is another legal ...

2025-12-03T15:00:33Z

It turns out that "property rights" is another legal fiction.

quoting
nevent1q…cgek
For those who consider real estate a safe asset, this is a must read.
When I first saw the news, I thought it was bad…..but this read (that I double checked with lawyers) feels more catastrophic for Canada.

https://open.substack.com/pub/cassius133/p/cowichan?r=2iqq9o&utm_medium=ios

Jacob Flees from Laban—Genesis 31:1-21 ...

2025-12-03T14:58:39Z

Jacob Flees from Laban—Genesis 31:1-21
https://youtube.com/live/-KrzGroZCRM #biblestr

Laban Agrees to Divide the Livestock with Jacob—Gen. 30:25-43 ...

2025-12-02T14:58:47Z

Laban Agrees to Divide the Livestock with Jacob—Gen. 30:25-43

https://youtube.com/live/uRR7RCH_dhI

Imagine having a monthly budget you overspend by 25% on average. ...

2025-12-02T13:14:27Z

Imagine having a monthly budget you overspend by 25% on average. Imagine you had a family emergency that added another 25%. Imagine that you forgot to stop paying for the emergency. Imagine you kept at it month over month, doing nothing and changing nothing. Imagine that you think this is a good time to spend even more on a big home remodeling. And then imagine you thought there would be no consequences because of your magical economic theory.

Imagine.

But what if it gets a new CEO, rogue board, or multiple bad ...

2025-12-01T22:05:36Z

But what if it gets a new CEO, rogue board, or multiple bad earnings reports? What if there's a massive class action lawsuit? What if!?!?

quoting
nevent1q…yck4
16% cagr top to top would mean bitcoin doesn’t hit 400k until 2033.

8 years.

I would still be here personally, would you?

St. Andrew, Apostle (obs)—John 1:35-42a #biblestr ...

2025-12-01T15:00:44Z

St. Andrew, Apostle (obs)—John 1:35-42a #biblestr

https://youtube.com/live/VGB7UVUdZSw

Christ does not come to stir your emotions or decorate your ...

2025-12-01T14:56:45Z

Christ does not come to stir your emotions or decorate your December. He comes to forgive your sins. He comes to cleanse your conscience. He comes to break your death and give you His life. He comes into your mouth, into your body, into your grave-bound flesh. #biblestr

quoting
naddr1qv…uzc0

30. November 2025

Advent 1

Mt 21:1-11

Then the multitudes who went before and those who followed cried out, saying: “Hosanna to the Son of David! ‘Blessed is He who comes in the name of the LORD!’ Hosanna in the highest!” And when He had come into Jerusalem, all the city was moved, saying, “Who is this?” So the multitudes said, “This is Jesus, the prophet from Nazareth of Galilee” (Mt 21:9–11).

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

The first Sunday in Advent has always cut against the grain of our sentimental instincts. We want a gentle warm-up to Christmas: a soft glow, some harmless nostalgia, a gradual easing into the season. While the world tries to stir up “holiday cheer,” the Church walks straight into November’s gloom and December’s frost and begins with a season the world would never choose: Advent.

Nature itself preaches Advent before the Church does. The sun pulls away from us. The daylight collapses. The trees stand like gravestones. The fields turn gray—the land of the living and the dead blend together. Autumn’s dying beauty becomes a mirror of our own mortality. And every honest man and woman knows the ancient prayer: “In the midst of life, we are in death. Where shall we flee but to You, O Lord?”

The Church hears that cry and answers by placing Palm Sunday—not Christmas—at the doorway of the new year. We begin with Christ entering His city to die. Because until you understand why He rides into Jerusalem, you will never understand why He is born in Bethlehem. Advent refuses to lie about human nature. Advent refuses sentiment. Advent refuses the world’s attempts to numb the conscience. Advent says plainly: We live in darkness, and only Christ can bring the light.

St. Matthew tells us that Jesus sends two disciples to fetch a donkey and her colt. He tells them exactly where to go and what to say: “The Lord needs them.” There is no hesitation, no uncertainty. The King is not caught in the crowd’s enthusiasm; He commands the moment. He orders the animals. He fulfills the prophets. He directs His path because the hour has come for the Lamb to be slain.

And you must hear this clearly: Jesus does not come to fit into your expectations. He comes to shatter them. He is not entering Jerusalem to bask in the applause. He is entering to be lifted up on the cross. He is the King of Zechariah’s prophecy: humble, mounted on a donkey, going toward His throne of suffering.

There is an Old Testament parade behind Him—Abraham leading Isaac to Moriah, David dancing before the ark, Solomon seated on the royal mule. It all pours into this hour. But this King is greater. He will not offer an animal. He will offer Himself. He does not bring a sacrifice. He is the sacrifice.

The crowds cheer, of course. Crowds love a king who seems useful. They love a miracle worker. They love a political hope. They love a religious mascot. But crowds rarely love a Savior who dies for their sins, because a Savior who dies for sins must also name those sins. A Savior on a cross is a threat to every false righteousness.

And this is where Advent and Palm Sunday Christianity fail. It admires Jesus but will not follow Him. It applauds Him but does not repent. It wants enthusiasm without obedience, inspiration without conversion, miracles without crucifixion. The crowds cheer as long as God seems useful. They stop cheering when He contradicts them.

We are no different. We want a Jesus who affirms our choices, blesses our plans, and approves our desires. We want a Jesus who fixes our problems but leaves our idols alone. We want a King—but on our terms. But the King who enters Jerusalem gives you no such luxury. He comes to rule you by saving you. And He saves you by dying for you.

This is why Advent begins here. The King rides toward His death, and He rides for you. He knows exactly what you are. He knows the sins you hide. He knows the guilt that haunts you. He knows the pride that blinds you. He knows the fear that grips you. He knows your illusions of control, your false securities, your stubborn unbelief. He knows—and He rides toward the cross anyway.

Your King goes to Jerusalem not to judge you, but to let the judgment fall on Him. He takes your sin. He takes your shame. He takes your death. He takes your curse. He takes your place.

The crowd does not understand this. They admire Him for a moment. They shout “Hosanna,” then disappear. You know the story: the cheers die down, the branches dry up, and the crowds go home. But Jesus is not fooled by applause. Admiration is not faith. Admiration costs nothing. Faith costs everything.

Advent is not about admiration. Advent is about repentance and faith. Advent tears down your pride so Christ can raise you up. Thus, the Church sings “Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord” every Sunday for a reason. The King who once entered Jerusalem continues to enter His Church, not on a donkey now, but under bread and wine. Not toward Calvary now, but to give you the Body and Blood once offered there. His Palm Sunday coming, His crucifixion, His coming on the clouds of heaven—all of it is contained in bread and wine. This is why Advent is not sentimental. It is sacramental.

Christ does not come to stir your emotions or decorate your December. He comes to forgive your sins. He comes to cleanse your conscience. He comes to break your death and give you His life. He comes into your mouth, into your body, into your grave-bound flesh.

Every time you kneel at this rail, Bethlehem, Jerusalem, and the Last Day meet. He who comes in humility is here. He who comes in mercy is here. He who will come in glory is here.

And that leads us to the final truth Advent presses into your ears: He is coming again. Not on a donkey. Not in hidden humility. But on the clouds of heaven with angels and fire. The Scripture warns, “The Son of Man comes at an hour you do not expect.” Those who ignored Him will see Him. Those who admired Him but never trusted Him will face Him. And the only safe place to meet the Judge is in the arms of the Savior who rode into Jerusalem to die for you.

So Advent calls you to repent—not out of fear, but out of hope. To lay down the sins that enslave you. To abandon the idols that cannot save you. To stop cheering God only when He does things your way. To receive the King who comes to save you on His terms.

He comes to you now in His Word. He comes to you now in His Sacrament. He comes to you now with forgiveness and life. He comes to you now so that when He comes finally in glory, you will not shrink in terror, but lift up your head and rejoice. “Behold, your King comes to you.” Not to negotiate. Not to bargain. Not to take suggestions. He comes to rule by forgiving, to conquer by dying, to reign by rising, and to save by giving everything He is.

He is the King you would not have chosen. He is the King you absolutely need. He is the King who refuses to abandon you. Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord. Amen.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie\ St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center\ Random Lake, Wisconsin

https://youtu.be/egWmlPk6j-E

Bible Study: 1 Thessalonians 4:1-12 — November 30, 2025 ...

2025-12-01T14:54:33Z

Bible Study: 1 Thessalonians 4:1-12 — November 30, 2025

https://youtu.be/bBja2Dk48Rw

#biblestr

Now you can talk about Thanksgiving in a Christian way. You give ...

2025-11-27T13:03:23Z

Now you can talk about Thanksgiving in a Christian way. You give thanks for daily bread—food, drink, house, home, family, work, land—because your Father has provided it. You receive what is set before you with prayer, not as a god to cling to, but as a gift to use and enjoy. You feed the hungry, support the preaching, care for the weak, because you know you are not your own; you were bought with a price.

quoting
naddr1qv…4qj5

26. December 2025\ Wednesday of Trinity 27\ Luke 10:3b-11

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

The Church Year is almost over. The lessons tonight turn our eyes toward the end, the last harvest, the final judgment. At the same time, our nation sets aside tomorrow as a day to “give thanks,” usually for full barns, full accounts, and full tables. So it’s fitting that the Lord puts before us these words: “Behold, I am sending you out as lambs in the midst of wolves… Whatever house you enter, first say, ‘Peace be to this house’… Say to them, ‘The kingdom of God has come near to you’” (Luke 10).

Jesus sends His seventy (or seventy-two) ahead of Him. They are not sent into a religious theme park or a neutral world. “Lambs in the midst of wolves” is not a metaphor for “occasionally unpopular.” It means weak among the strong, prey among predators, confessors surrounded by liars. That’s the picture of the Church at the end of the age. It was true of Israel surrounded by the nations. It was true of the apostles. It is true of Christ’s Church now.

This is not how we like to think of ourselves. We want to be admired, respected, and secure. We want the Church to appear strong, influential, and effective. But the Lord is blunt. You are not a voting bloc. You are not a special interest group. You are lambs. The devouring wolves are false teaching, unbelief, the love of money, the worship of self, and the lust for power. Often, if we’re honest, the wolves are not only “out there,” but also in our own hearts and sometimes even in the Church’s pulpits and councils.

So the end-time warning is this: do not be surprised when being a Christian looks like weakness or poverty. Do not be shocked when the world mocks you, when the devil tempts you, when your own flesh betrays you. The Lord told you: “Lambs in the midst of wolves.” He Himself is the first Lamb in the midst of wolves—the Lamb of God surrounded by priests and soldiers and crowds who hate Him—and you are baptized into Him. That’s what you signed up for.

“Carry no moneybag, no knapsack, no sandals,” Jesus says. He strips His sent ones of what we consider basic security. No thick wallet, no backup bag, no comfortable reserve. Why? Because He wants them to live by His promise, not by their calculations. The temptation of wealth and abundance leads to greed and miserliness, even among Christians. He wants the Church to learn again that “man does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of the LORD.”

This is where His Word rubs hard against our national “thanksgiving.” The way we celebrate usually has more to do with idolatry than with faith. We boast in our barns, our yields, our salaries, our pensions, our full refrigerators. We call it “giving thanks,” but often we are really congratulating ourselves for having lots of stuff. We are far more anxious about losing our lifestyle than losing Christ’s Word.

The Lord isn’t impressed. He tells His preachers and His Church to travel light. He tells them to expect their daily bread from His hand, not from their hoarding. He tells them that the harvest is His, the laborers are His, and the support is His doing. He expects no different from all His people. When He takes away our illusions of self-sufficiency, that isn’t cruelty; it’s mercy. He is tearing our fingers off our idols so He can put something real in our hands.

Whatever house they enter, the first word is: “Peace be to this house.” Not a vague wish, not a social nicety, but a performative word. The same Lord who spoke, “Let there be light,” now speaks, “Peace.” This is the peace promised by the prophets, the peace of sins forgiven, wrath turned away, guilt covered. This is the peace the angels sang at Bethlehem and the risen Christ spoke in the locked room: “Peace be with you.” And His peace is a treasure no one can take from you.

So understand what happens when the pastor stands before you and says, “In the stead and by the command of my Lord Jesus Christ, I forgive you all your sins.” He is not offering you a religious mood. He is putting Christ’s peace on your house, on your baptism, on your conscience. When the pastor proclaims Christ crucified, when He preaches the kingdom, when he places Christ’s body and blood into your mouth, the same thing is happening: “Peace be to this house.” Jesus Himself is visiting you.

If there is “a son of peace” here—someone given faith by the Spirit—that peace rests on him. If not, it returns to the preacher. The Word is never wasted. But there are only two outcomes: either the peace is received in faith, or it is rejected in unbelief. In both cases, the kingdom has come near. No one can say, “You never visited us, Lord,” when the last day comes.

And when a town will not receive the preaching? What happens to those who refuse the Lord’s gifts with ungrateful hearts? Jesus tells them to wipe even the dust from their feet as a testimony against it. That is a terrifying image for the end of the church year. The very dust of a place rises up as a witness: “Christ came here. His Word sounded here. His peace was spoken here. His Supper was given here. His servants were sent here. And they did not want Him.”

This text will not let us pretend. We have had Christ’s Word. We have had His font and altar. We have had faithful preaching, catechesis, and absolution. The kingdom has come near to this house, again and again. If we have treated those things lightly, if we’ve skipped them for trifles, if we’ve refused to forgive while receiving forgiveness, if we’ve despised these gifts without thanks, if we’ve run after wolves and despised the Lamb—that is not a small thing. The dust remembers.

That is why the Lord gives you these words before the last day dawns: not to rub your nose in your failures, but to bring you to repentance. The right response to this text is not to argue with it, not to make excuses, but to say, “Lord, have mercy. I have not feared You as I should. I have not loved Your Word as I should. I have trusted money, wealth, and property more than You, comfort more than Your cross. Forgive me.”

And He does. The Lamb who sends you out as lambs among wolves is Himself devoured by the wolves in your place. He sets His face toward Jerusalem, not to escape suffering, but to embrace it. He goes to the cross bearing your idolatry, your ingratitude, your love of comfort, your fear of the wolves. He lets the Father’s judgment fall on Him so that when the last day comes, there is no judgment left for you.

That is why, later in this chapter, when the seventy return rejoicing that the demons submitted to them, Jesus redirects their joy: “Do not rejoice in this… but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.” Your joy, your thanksgiving, your confidence on the last day are not in what you have done, not in what you have survived, not in what you have piled up, but in this: your name is engraved in the wounds of Christ, written in the Book of Life, dwelling in the heart of the Father.

Now you can talk about Thanksgiving in a Christian way. You give thanks for daily bread—food, drink, house, home, family, work, land—because your Father has provided it. You receive what is set before you with prayer, not as a god to cling to, but as a gift to use and enjoy. You feed the hungry, support the preaching, care for the weak, because you know you are not your own; you were bought with a price.

Most of all, you give thanks for the gifts that will not burn: Baptism that has buried you with Christ and raised you with Him. Absolution that silences the accusations of your conscience and of the devil. Preaching that keeps dragging you out of yourself and back to Christ. The Supper that feeds you with the very body and blood once offered for you on the cross, now given into your mouth for the forgiveness of sins. That is the real Thanksgiving feast; that is the foretaste of the feast to come.

So as another church year comes to its close, as the fields lie bare and the days grow short, as you gather at your tables and look back over the year, do not be deceived by appearances. The wolves are still out there. Your life is still fragile. The Church still looks small and weak. But the kingdom of God has come near to you. Christ has spoken His peace to this house. He has written your name in heaven. And nothing can snatch you out of His hand. Thank God!

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie\ St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center\ Random Lake, Wisconsin

https://youtu.be/_kNFtFEfhR4

Heaven Is Opened at Bethel—Genesis 27:46–28:22 ...

2025-11-26T15:45:32Z

Heaven Is Opened at Bethel—Genesis 27:46–28:22

https://youtube.com/live/Qu8NKJ1ddyA

Esau Does Not Receive the Blessing—Genesis 27:30-45 ...

2025-11-25T14:57:42Z

Esau Does Not Receive the Blessing—Genesis 27:30-45

https://youtube.com/live/YbfgJ8wu1vM

1 Thessalonians Excursus: Advent — November 23, 2025 ...

2025-11-23T18:07:30Z

1 Thessalonians Excursus: Advent — November 23, 2025

https://youtu.be/D0sM5I-KeV4

The only thing that saves anyone is the call at midnight: ...

2025-11-23T18:05:56Z

The only thing that saves anyone is the call at midnight: “Behold, the bridegroom!” The voice wakes them—not their readiness, not their vigilance, not their superior discipline. The Gospel call creates readiness. It wakes the dead. It puts the lamp in your hand and light in your darkness.

But that fear kicks in for the foolish. “What if our lamps don’t last? What if we aren’t enough? What if He is angry? What if He won’t accept us?” This is the reflex of the Old Adam. It’s the voice that always says, “Run. Fix yourself. Get more oil. Get worthy. Get prepared.”

And that is the one thing that condemns them. They leave the groom behind. They run from the very promise meant to save them. The wise don’t refuse oil out of selfishness—they simply refuse to take part in the foolishness of unbelief. “Go buy oil” is not a cruel command. It’s Jesus revealing the futility of trying to buy what only He can give. You can’t buy readiness. You can only receive it.

quoting
naddr1qv…zszr

23. November 2025

Trinity 27

Matthew 25:1–13

Then the kingdom of heaven shall be likened to ten virgins who took their lamps and went out to meet the bridegroom. Now five of them were wise, and five were foolish. 3 Those who were foolish took their lamps and took no oil with them, but the wise took oil in their vessels with their lamps. But while the bridegroom was delayed, they all slumbered and slept (Mt 25:1–5).

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Jesus’ parables never align with our desire for spiritual self-improvement. They are not simple moral stories meant to teach disciplined Christian living. They are not an instruction manual for preparing yourself to meet God. They are tools of death and resurrection. They reveal the rot of our self-righteousness and push us—sometimes kicking and screaming—into the arms of a Savior whose mercy is the only thing that will hold when heaven and earth collapse.

The parable of the ten virgins is no different. The challenge for us is that we tend to interpret it backwards. We assume Jesus is giving us instructions: “Here’s how you stay alert. Here’s how you prepare. Here’s how you ensure your lamp stays lit.” We think Jesus is creating a spiritual obstacle course so only the strong, diligent, and foresighted reach the wedding feast. But if that’s what this parable means, then none of us will make it. Because all ten virgins fail. All ten fall asleep. All ten are unable to wake themselves up. And not one of them has a plan for what to do if the groom is late.

The whole thing starts in a way that should unsettle you. All ten virgins are pure. All of them have lamps. All of them are waiting for the bridegroom. No one is living like a pagan or running around in scandal. Outwardly, the church looks fine. Respectable. Pious. Lamps trimmed. Good order. Catechesis completed. Membership on file. But Jesus isn’t testing their external readiness—He’s revealing the difference between faith and unbelief.

Five are foolish; five are wise. And of course, you immediately want to know which one you are. But here’s the blunt truth: if you’re measuring yourself, you’re already in the foolish camp. Because the foolish and the wise divide on one thing: faith in the promise of the bridegroom. Not performance. Not preparedness. Not moral scorekeeping. Faith.

According to the Law, wisdom means being future-oriented, calculating, disciplined, and gathering spiritual risk-management tools so that when Jesus appears, you can show Him your portfolio: “Look, Lord, I’ve prepared. I’ve stored up. I’ve got reserves.” The foolish, according to the Law, are the ones who don’t plan, don’t calculate, don’t secure enough oil, and don’t have everything in hand.

But according to the Gospel, that whole framework is upside down. A Christian just born from the Gospel appears foolish to the world because faith isn't a strategy. Faith isn't about stockpiling. Faith is about receiving. Faith is about empty-handed dependence on the One who has promised to come for you.

This is why the foolish virgins are foolish—not because they failed to pack enough oil, but because they did not trust the bridegroom. They feared running out; they feared being judged; they feared the delay. Their panic reveals the real issue: they didn’t believe the bridegroom was gracious. They believed he was the kind of man who would punish them for being unprepared, so they ran off to fix themselves before facing him. That is unbelief dressed up in pious anxiety.

Then comes the part that should shatter any remaining self-confidence: all ten fall asleep. No one stays alert. No one keeps watch. No one is the epitome of spiritual discipline. All fail. This is exactly how Scripture describes humanity—“no one seeks God,” “all have turned aside,” “all we like sheep have gone astray.” If salvation depends on staying awake, then we are doomed.

The only thing that saves anyone is the call at midnight: “Behold, the bridegroom!” The voice wakes them—not their readiness, not their vigilance, not their superior discipline. The Gospel call creates readiness. It wakes the dead. It puts the lamp in your hand and light in your darkness.

But that fear kicks in for the foolish. “What if our lamps don’t last? What if we aren’t enough? What if He is angry? What if He won’t accept us?” This is the reflex of the Old Adam. It’s the voice that always says, “Run. Fix yourself. Get more oil. Get worthy. Get prepared.”

And that is the one thing that condemns them. They leave the groom behind. They run from the very promise meant to save them. The wise don’t refuse oil out of selfishness—they simply refuse to take part in the foolishness of unbelief. “Go buy oil” is not a cruel command. It’s Jesus revealing the futility of trying to buy what only He can give. You can’t buy readiness. You can only receive it.

The door shuts. That’s the Law. The Law always shuts the door. “Lord, Lord, open to us.” And the Law answers: “I do not know you.” If that were the final word, then yes—hell should scare you half to death. And Jesus gives you that fear on purpose. If you cling to your works, your preparation, your perceived readiness, the door will close on you. The Law will not bend.

But the parable is not the final word. Christ’s crucifixion and resurrection are. After the resurrection, the disciples are like the foolish virgins. They hide behind locked doors, afraid of judgment, feeling unprepared, ashamed of their failures. And Thomas—the stubborn realist—demands more proof. He wants to see the oil. He wants to measure the supply. He seeks visible security.

What does the Bridegroom do? He doesn’t lecture. He doesn’t stand outside the locked door waiting for them to get it together. He walks right in. He stands among the foolish, the fearful, the unprepared, the ashamed. He shows His wounds. He speaks peace. He provides everything they lack. The Groom breaks through locked doors—not to punish, but to give Himself. That is the Gospel. That is the wisdom of faith. Christ does not marry the prepared. Christ prepares the ones He marries.

Your faith is not the flame you keep alive through your efforts. It is the flame ignited by His Word, nourished by His promises, sustained by His Spirit, and renewed every time He brings you again to His wedding feast in the Sacrament. Here, today, the Bridegroom comes—perhaps delayed in the eyes of the world, but never absent. Here, He fills your lamp. Here He feeds you with His Body and Blood. Here, He names you His bride.

So you hear the warning—because Jesus means it. But you do not hear it without the Gospel—because Jesus means that even more. Blessed are those foolish enough to trust only what Christ gives. Blessed are those who wait for Him with empty hands. Blessed are those who come to the feast again this morning. Blessed are you, for the Bridegroom knows you, calls you, forgives you, and receives you.

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie\ St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center\ Random Lake, Wisconsin

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vstvpw_pFYo

Thanksgiving is supposed to be a day when we stop and admit ...

2025-11-21T16:34:01Z

Thanksgiving is supposed to be a day when we stop and admit something we usually avoid: the best things in life aren’t things we made for ourselves. They’re given. We didn’t invent love. We didn’t manufacture the people who care about us. We didn’t earn the food on our table as much as we like to pretend. Even our breath is borrowed.

quoting
naddr1qv…zz4u

19. November 2025\ Wednesday of Trinity 22\ Mark 11:20–26

“And whenever you stand praying, if you have anything against anyone, forgive him, that your Father in heaven may also forgive you your trespasses. But if you do not forgive, neither will your Father in heaven forgive your trespasses” (Mk 11:25–26).

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

When we gathered on Sunday, the Lord confronted us with the ugliness of an unforgiving heart. The parable of the unforgiving servant was not an abstract warning about bad behavior—it was a scalpel. Jesus drove it straight into the hard places of the soul where we excuse our grudges, justify our resentment, and pretend that we are victims while refusing mercy to our brother. He exposed the truth: if you will not forgive, it is because you have not really received His forgiveness. That parable wasn’t aimed at “other people.” It was aimed at us.

Tonight, the Lord has more to say on that same theme—but not by parable. Now he speaks through a sign. He takes us to a fig tree, a dead tree, a fruitless tree. And then He takes us into the Temple to watch the religious elite interrogate Him. It is one continuous warning: fruitless faith is no faith at all, and prayer without forgiveness is a lie.

The disciples notice the withered fig tree and are astonished. They shouldn’t be. Jesus wasn’t surprised when He saw it on their way into Jerusalem earlier. He wasn’t impatient. He wasn’t impulsive. He didn’t lose His temper. The Lord of heaven and earth does not act out of irritation. Everything He does, He does deliberately.

The fig tree with its leaves but no fruit is Israel in miniature. The prophets condemned this same thing: religious show without repentance. Isaiah warned Israel that the Lord looked for justice but found bloodshed; for righteousness but heard the cry of distress. Jeremiah spoke of the fig tree with no figs, the branches withered, and the harvest ruined. Hosea lamented that God searched for fruit in His vineyard and found nothing but emptiness.

Jesus is not introducing a new message. He is delivering the same verdict the prophets delivered: A tree without fruit is a dead tree. A religion without repentance is a dead religion.

And that should strike us in the same way the parable last Sunday did. Because our problem is not that we don’t know Christian vocabulary. It’s that we often have leaves without fruit—ritual without repentance, prayers without trust, worship without forgiveness. We can be active in church, generous with our opinions, confident in our familiarity with Scripture—and yet slow to show mercy, slow to bend, slow to be humbled, slow to pray honestly.

Jesus wants His disciples to see something unmistakable: the dead tree represents what unbelief produces. It withers. It dries up. It collapses from the roots outward. And everyone is shocked—except Jesus. When your faith dries up, when prayer becomes an afterthought, when grudges become your constant companion, when you treat repentance as optional—you should not be surprised when your heart withers. That’s exactly what Jesus shows us in the fig tree.

Then comes the command: “Have faith in God.” Not “Have faith in faith.” Not “Believe hard enough.”\ Not “Visualize the miracle.” Not “Manifest what you desire.”

Have faith in God—because you and I are painfully unreliable. We trust our anger more than God’s promises, our bitterness more than His mercy, our fears more than His providence. Jesus is not coddling us. He is commanding us. Trust your Father. Stop trusting yourself.

And then He speaks of moving mountains: “If you say to this mountain, ‘Be taken up and thrown into the sea,’ and do not doubt… it will be done.”

Do not misunderstand this. Jesus is not teaching magical thinking. He is not handing you a supernatural lever to manipulate reality. Every time God “moves a mountain” in Scripture, it is His work, not ours: At creation, He speaks light into the darkness and shapes the world by His Word. At the Red Sea, He divides the waters—not Israel. At Jericho, the walls fall by His command—not the volume of Israel’s shouting. In the valley of dry bones, He breathes life through the preached Word—not through human effort. And in the greatest miracle of all, He rolls the stone from the tomb of His Son.

So when Jesus says that prayer moves mountains, He is saying this: Your Father is powerful, faithful, and good. Trust Him enough to ask. Trust Him enough to submit. Trust Him enough to believe that He hears.

Prayer is not about your strength. It is about God’s mercy. Now comes the punchline—one that directly ties back to Matthew 18: “When you stand praying, forgive.”

This is not an optional add-on to prayer. It is the foundation. It is the air prayer breathes. The unforgiving heart cannot pray faithfully because it does not believe the God to whom it is praying.

You cannot cry out to God for mercy while condemning your brother in your heart. You cannot ask God to overlook your sin while magnifying the sins of another. You cannot receive the Lord’s Supper while sharpening your resentment like a blade. This is exactly the point of Sunday’s parable. The servant who was forgiven refused to forgive. And because he refused to forgive, he lost the very mercy he had been given.

Jesus is consistent. The command is the same: Forgive because you are forgiven. Forgive because the blood of Christ has covered your sin. Forgive because the Judge of all has justified you freely. Forgive because the cross has settled accounts in a way you never could.

And if you can’t forgive—then the place to go is not deeper into your resentment but deeper into Christ. The lack of forgiveness is not a moral deficiency; it is a spiritual emergency. It is unbelief expressing itself in hatred.

The fix is not to “try harder.” The fix is to repent—to receive again what Christ won for you on the cross, what He pours on you in Baptism, what He puts into your ears through Absolution, what He sets upon your tongue in the Holy Supper. His forgiveness is the only thing that makes your forgiveness possible.

After the teaching on prayer, Jesus enters the temple and the chief priests and elders challenge His authority: “By what authority do you do these things?” They are not asking because they want to believe. They are asking because they want to trap Him. These men are masters of religion. They know Scripture backward and forward. They have the leaves of piety, ritual, and reputation—but no fruit of repentance or faith.

So Jesus answers their question with a question about John’s baptism: “Was it from heaven or from men?” They refuse to answer. They fear the people more than God. They fear losing control more than losing their souls. And so they expose themselves: they care more about appearances than about truth.

This is the same posture as the unforgiving servant. It is the posture of anyone who demands that God explain Himself before they will trust Him. It is the posture of a heart withered like the fig tree. And Jesus leaves them in their unbelief. He does not indulge them with a debate. He does not negotiate with pride. He speaks the truth and lets their hardness condemn them.

So what does all of this mean to us? First, repent. Repent of your grudges. Repent of your silence in prayer. Repent of treating the grace of God as something owed rather than something given. Repent of demanding mercy for yourself and justice for everyone else.

Second, pray. Pray not as a ritual but as an act of trust. Pray because the Father invites you. Pray because Christ intercedes for you. Pray because the Spirit groans for you with words you cannot speak. Pray boldly, not because your faith is strong but because your Father is faithful.

Third, forgive. Forgive not because the other person deserves it, but because Christ has forgiven you when you deserved nothing. Forgive not because it is easy, but because it is necessary. Forgive because bitterness is poison. Forgive because you live from the wounds of the crucified Christ.

And if you can’t forgive, then come to the places where Christ gives His forgiveness. Come to the font. Come to the Word. Come to the altar. Come to the absolution spoken in Christ’s name. He does not ask you to manufacture mercy—He pours it into you. And what is poured into you flows out of you.

At the center of the Gospel is not the mountain you want God to move. It is the mountain He has already moved. The mountain of sin—He carried it on His back to Golgotha. The mountain of death—He shattered it by His resurrection. The mountain of the devil’s accusation—He silenced it with His own blood. The mountain of your guilt—He cast it into the depths of the sea. This is the mountain that defines your life. This is the mountain that assures you that God hears your prayers. This is the mountain that guarantees that your forgiveness is real.

So hear the Lord’s words again, not as law alone but as promise: “Have faith in God.” Because God has faithfulness for you. “Forgive.” Because Christ has forgiven you first. “Pray.” Because the Father delights to hear His children. The fig tree withers. But those who trust in the Lord are like trees planted by streams of water—bearing fruit in season, sustained by the Word, fed by the Sacraments, alive in Christ.

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie\ St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center\ Random Lake, Wisconsin

And if you can’t forgive—then the place to go is not deeper ...

2025-11-20T14:19:59Z

And if you can’t forgive—then the place to go is not deeper into your resentment but deeper into Christ. The lack of forgiveness is not a moral deficiency; it is a spiritual emergency. It is unbelief expressing itself in hatred. The fix is not to “try harder.” The fix is to repent—to receive again what Christ won for you on the cross, what He pours on you in Baptism, what He puts into your ears through Absolution, what He sets upon your tongue in the Holy Supper. His forgiveness is the only thing that makes your forgiveness possible.

quoting
naddr1qv…zz4u

19. November 2025\ Wednesday of Trinity 22\ Mark 11:20–26

“And whenever you stand praying, if you have anything against anyone, forgive him, that your Father in heaven may also forgive you your trespasses. But if you do not forgive, neither will your Father in heaven forgive your trespasses” (Mk 11:25–26).

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

When we gathered on Sunday, the Lord confronted us with the ugliness of an unforgiving heart. The parable of the unforgiving servant was not an abstract warning about bad behavior—it was a scalpel. Jesus drove it straight into the hard places of the soul where we excuse our grudges, justify our resentment, and pretend that we are victims while refusing mercy to our brother. He exposed the truth: if you will not forgive, it is because you have not really received His forgiveness. That parable wasn’t aimed at “other people.” It was aimed at us.

Tonight, the Lord has more to say on that same theme—but not by parable. Now he speaks through a sign. He takes us to a fig tree, a dead tree, a fruitless tree. And then He takes us into the Temple to watch the religious elite interrogate Him. It is one continuous warning: fruitless faith is no faith at all, and prayer without forgiveness is a lie.

The disciples notice the withered fig tree and are astonished. They shouldn’t be. Jesus wasn’t surprised when He saw it on their way into Jerusalem earlier. He wasn’t impatient. He wasn’t impulsive. He didn’t lose His temper. The Lord of heaven and earth does not act out of irritation. Everything He does, He does deliberately.

The fig tree with its leaves but no fruit is Israel in miniature. The prophets condemned this same thing: religious show without repentance. Isaiah warned Israel that the Lord looked for justice but found bloodshed; for righteousness but heard the cry of distress. Jeremiah spoke of the fig tree with no figs, the branches withered, and the harvest ruined. Hosea lamented that God searched for fruit in His vineyard and found nothing but emptiness.

Jesus is not introducing a new message. He is delivering the same verdict the prophets delivered: A tree without fruit is a dead tree. A religion without repentance is a dead religion.

And that should strike us in the same way the parable last Sunday did. Because our problem is not that we don’t know Christian vocabulary. It’s that we often have leaves without fruit—ritual without repentance, prayers without trust, worship without forgiveness. We can be active in church, generous with our opinions, confident in our familiarity with Scripture—and yet slow to show mercy, slow to bend, slow to be humbled, slow to pray honestly.

Jesus wants His disciples to see something unmistakable: the dead tree represents what unbelief produces. It withers. It dries up. It collapses from the roots outward. And everyone is shocked—except Jesus. When your faith dries up, when prayer becomes an afterthought, when grudges become your constant companion, when you treat repentance as optional—you should not be surprised when your heart withers. That’s exactly what Jesus shows us in the fig tree.

Then comes the command: “Have faith in God.” Not “Have faith in faith.” Not “Believe hard enough.”\ Not “Visualize the miracle.” Not “Manifest what you desire.”

Have faith in God—because you and I are painfully unreliable. We trust our anger more than God’s promises, our bitterness more than His mercy, our fears more than His providence. Jesus is not coddling us. He is commanding us. Trust your Father. Stop trusting yourself.

And then He speaks of moving mountains: “If you say to this mountain, ‘Be taken up and thrown into the sea,’ and do not doubt… it will be done.”

Do not misunderstand this. Jesus is not teaching magical thinking. He is not handing you a supernatural lever to manipulate reality. Every time God “moves a mountain” in Scripture, it is His work, not ours: At creation, He speaks light into the darkness and shapes the world by His Word. At the Red Sea, He divides the waters—not Israel. At Jericho, the walls fall by His command—not the volume of Israel’s shouting. In the valley of dry bones, He breathes life through the preached Word—not through human effort. And in the greatest miracle of all, He rolls the stone from the tomb of His Son.

So when Jesus says that prayer moves mountains, He is saying this: Your Father is powerful, faithful, and good. Trust Him enough to ask. Trust Him enough to submit. Trust Him enough to believe that He hears.

Prayer is not about your strength. It is about God’s mercy. Now comes the punchline—one that directly ties back to Matthew 18: “When you stand praying, forgive.”

This is not an optional add-on to prayer. It is the foundation. It is the air prayer breathes. The unforgiving heart cannot pray faithfully because it does not believe the God to whom it is praying.

You cannot cry out to God for mercy while condemning your brother in your heart. You cannot ask God to overlook your sin while magnifying the sins of another. You cannot receive the Lord’s Supper while sharpening your resentment like a blade. This is exactly the point of Sunday’s parable. The servant who was forgiven refused to forgive. And because he refused to forgive, he lost the very mercy he had been given.

Jesus is consistent. The command is the same: Forgive because you are forgiven. Forgive because the blood of Christ has covered your sin. Forgive because the Judge of all has justified you freely. Forgive because the cross has settled accounts in a way you never could.

And if you can’t forgive—then the place to go is not deeper into your resentment but deeper into Christ. The lack of forgiveness is not a moral deficiency; it is a spiritual emergency. It is unbelief expressing itself in hatred.

The fix is not to “try harder.” The fix is to repent—to receive again what Christ won for you on the cross, what He pours on you in Baptism, what He puts into your ears through Absolution, what He sets upon your tongue in the Holy Supper. His forgiveness is the only thing that makes your forgiveness possible.

After the teaching on prayer, Jesus enters the temple and the chief priests and elders challenge His authority: “By what authority do you do these things?” They are not asking because they want to believe. They are asking because they want to trap Him. These men are masters of religion. They know Scripture backward and forward. They have the leaves of piety, ritual, and reputation—but no fruit of repentance or faith.

So Jesus answers their question with a question about John’s baptism: “Was it from heaven or from men?” They refuse to answer. They fear the people more than God. They fear losing control more than losing their souls. And so they expose themselves: they care more about appearances than about truth.

This is the same posture as the unforgiving servant. It is the posture of anyone who demands that God explain Himself before they will trust Him. It is the posture of a heart withered like the fig tree. And Jesus leaves them in their unbelief. He does not indulge them with a debate. He does not negotiate with pride. He speaks the truth and lets their hardness condemn them.

So what does all of this mean to us? First, repent. Repent of your grudges. Repent of your silence in prayer. Repent of treating the grace of God as something owed rather than something given. Repent of demanding mercy for yourself and justice for everyone else.

Second, pray. Pray not as a ritual but as an act of trust. Pray because the Father invites you. Pray because Christ intercedes for you. Pray because the Spirit groans for you with words you cannot speak. Pray boldly, not because your faith is strong but because your Father is faithful.

Third, forgive. Forgive not because the other person deserves it, but because Christ has forgiven you when you deserved nothing. Forgive not because it is easy, but because it is necessary. Forgive because bitterness is poison. Forgive because you live from the wounds of the crucified Christ.

And if you can’t forgive, then come to the places where Christ gives His forgiveness. Come to the font. Come to the Word. Come to the altar. Come to the absolution spoken in Christ’s name. He does not ask you to manufacture mercy—He pours it into you. And what is poured into you flows out of you.

At the center of the Gospel is not the mountain you want God to move. It is the mountain He has already moved. The mountain of sin—He carried it on His back to Golgotha. The mountain of death—He shattered it by His resurrection. The mountain of the devil’s accusation—He silenced it with His own blood. The mountain of your guilt—He cast it into the depths of the sea. This is the mountain that defines your life. This is the mountain that assures you that God hears your prayers. This is the mountain that guarantees that your forgiveness is real.

So hear the Lord’s words again, not as law alone but as promise: “Have faith in God.” Because God has faithfulness for you. “Forgive.” Because Christ has forgiven you first. “Pray.” Because the Father delights to hear His children. The fig tree withers. But those who trust in the Lord are like trees planted by streams of water—bearing fruit in season, sustained by the Word, fed by the Sacraments, alive in Christ.

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie\ St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center\ Random Lake, Wisconsin

https://youtu.be/_lM8Xw-MFfI

Rebekah—Gen. 24:29 (30-31) 32-38 (39-41) 42-49 (50-57) 58-67 ...

2025-11-19T14:58:35Z

Rebekah—Gen. 24:29 (30-31) 32-38 (39-41) 42-49 (50-57) 58-67

https://youtube.com/live/IX7OJF6OFF4

Forgiving your brother is not some heroic achievement. It is ...

2025-11-18T16:01:45Z

Forgiving your brother is not some heroic achievement. It is simply living in the baptismal reality God has placed you in. You drown the old Adam daily by confessing your sin—every bit of it—and letting Christ speak His absolution again and again. That absolution is not information. It is power. It is the Spirit creating a new heart. And a new heart forgives. Not because the neighbor deserves it. Not because it resolves everything. Not because it feels good. But because Christ has forgiven you—fully, freely, finally—and His forgiveness changes you.

quoting
naddr1qv…nhrm

16. November 2025

Trinity 22

Matthew 18:21–35

The servant therefore fell down before him, saying, ‘Master, have patience with me, and I will pay you all.’ Then the master of that servant was moved with compassion, released him, and forgave him the debt” (Mt 18:26–27).

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Forgiveness is not a side issue in the Christian life. It is the Christian life. Take forgiveness away and you no longer have the Church, the Gospel, or Christ Himself. You’re left with a religious corpse—rules, rituals, and moral lectures, but no salvation. And your own daily life is no different. Where forgiveness is absent, everything rots: marriages, families, friendships, congregations, and the human heart.

Forgiveness. It's the air we breathe in the kingdom of God, yet the thing we most often choke on. Jesus does not treat forgiveness as an optional spiritual hobby. He binds it right into your prayer: “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.” You pray this every day. And no—Jesus does not care whether you “feel” forgiving. He commands it.

Peter tries to domesticate forgiveness: “Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? Up to seven times?” Peter thinks he’s being generous. Seven is well beyond the tolerance of most Christians today, who hold grudges for decades over nonsense. But Peter’s number is still nothing but law. It sets limits. It seeks to manage the neighbor’s sin rather than drown it in mercy. Seven. It's a generous number—double the rabbinic tradition of three, with one to spare for good measure. Peter's proud of it, like he's cracking the code on grace.

Jesus answers with something that isn’t a number so much as a death sentence for your flesh: “Not seven times, but seventy times seven.” In other words, “Stop counting.” The point isn't the math. It's the madness. Forgiveness without a ledger. Without an end. If you are counting, you haven’t forgiven.

Then Jesus tells the parable. And He tells it because your flesh refuses to listen to anything else. You want fairness. You want payback. You want the pound of flesh you think you’re owed. So He takes you into the throne room of a King whose mercy is so violent, so extreme, so disproportionate that it exposes how pathetic your resentment is.

The servant owes ten thousand talents. That’s an impossible number. In today’s terms, multiple billions of dollars. The point is not accounting. The point is that your sin is not a “mistake,” a “flaw,” or a “moment of weakness.” Your sin is a debt that destroys worlds. One sin is damnation. Your whole life is filled with thousands. This is not something you “work off.” You cannot negotiate with the Law.

The servant collapses and begs, “Have patience with me!” He has no chance—no payment plan, no excuses. And here the Gospel detonates: “The master… was moved with compassion… released him… and forgave the debt.” The King does not restructure what is owed. The king doesn't laugh or haggle. He does not give more time. He's moved with compassion, releases him, and forgives the whole impossible sum, just like that. He wipes the entire register clean. One word from the King erases billions.

This is what God does for you in Christ. You bring nothing but debt. Jesus brings nothing but mercy. He takes the ledger that condemns you and drowns it in His blood. Not one line of accusation remains. You walk out free. Not because you are improving, but because Christ died.

Where does this happen? In the very places Christ promised: In Holy Absolution, when the pastor speaks and the King forgives. In Holy Baptism, where your old Adam is drowned and your sins are buried with Christ. In the Holy Supper, where your debt is replaced with Christ’s body and blood. You are forgiven because Christ says so, and He has the authority to make it true.

But then the parable turns. The forgiven servant walks out—and throttles his fellow servant over a tiny debt, a few months’ wages. This fellow servant who owes him a hundred denarii—a few months' pay, a rounding error next to the king's mercy—and he grabs him by the throat. He demands payment. He refuses mercy. He rejects the very thing he just received.

And Jesus calls this wicked. Not foolish. Not “unhealthy.” Not “emotionally immature.” Wicked. Demonic. πονηρός—the same word Jesus uses for the Evil One in the Lord’s Prayer. Refusing to forgive the brother who repents is siding with Satan. Full stop.

This is where Jesus’s sermon hits you. This isn't a story about fairness. It's a mirror. That's you and me, staring back. Because you know there is someone whose name just crawled out of your memory: the sibling you haven’t spoken to in years, the spouse you keep punishing, the church member you avoid, the gossip you refuse to let go, the pastor who disappointed you, the friend you quietly resent. Your heart says, “But they don’t deserve forgiveness.” No kidding. You don’t either.

Forgiveness is not an endorsement of the sin, and it does not erase earthly consequences. But forgiveness is the end of your claim to vengeance. It shuts down your self-appointed courtroom. It takes the whip out of your hand. It silences your inner prosecutor. It says: “This debt is not mine to collect. Christ paid it.” You can’t hold the cross in one hand and a grudge in the other.

The King hears what the unforgiving servant has done, and He hands him over to the torturers. And Jesus says, “So My heavenly Father will do to you if each of you, from his heart, does not forgive his brother.” This is not a threat to motivate your behavior. It’s a warning about unbelief. If you refuse to forgive, it is because you have rejected God's forgiveness. You are living as if Christ’s death is irrelevant.

The problem is not your brother’s sin. The problem is that you have forgotten the size of your own debt. You have shrunk the Gospel to a manageable little doctrine instead of the absolute rescue that it is. You want to be the servant who receives mercy but refuses to show it. Jesus says that servant is not forgiven because he despises the forgiveness given.

So what’s the cure for your unforgiving heart? You’re not going to brute-force your way into kindness. You don’t need techniques. You don’t need “boundaries.” You don’t need self-help. You need to be crushed again by the reality of what Christ has done. You need to look at the ledger of your sin—billions in the red—and then see Christ tear it up. You need the Spirit to break your pride and resurrect a heart that actually believes the Gospel.

We beg, "Lord, be patient," knowing full well we can't square it. But He is patient. Moved with compassion, not for our promises, but for His Son. Jesus, who didn't grab us by the throat but let us nail Him to the cross. Who took our ten thousand talents and paid it with His blood, His holy precious blood, as of a Lamb without blemish. Not silver or gold, but innocent suffering and death. That's the forgiveness we receive—lavish, unearned, complete.

The world's on fire with grudges—social media feeding frenzies, families splintered over politics, churches fractured by who's right and who's wrong. We nod along, clutching our own resentments like badges. "They don't deserve it." Of course they don't. Neither do you. That's the point. Vengeance? "It is mine," says the Lord. Jesus could have called down fire on Pilate, on the crowd shouting "Crucify!" But He didn't. He prayed, "Father, forgive them."

This happens nowhere else but in the means of the Spirit. Forgiveness received produces forgiveness given. The more you hear and believe that Christ has forgiven you, the more your grip loosens around the throat of your neighbor. The more you kneel at the altar where Christ gives you His body and blood for the forgiveness of sins, the more the Holy Spirit pries open your clenched fist.

Forgiving your brother is not some heroic achievement. It is simply living in the baptismal reality God has placed you in. You drown the old Adam daily by confessing your sin—every bit of it—and letting Christ speak His absolution again and again. That absolution is not information. It is power. It is the Spirit creating a new heart. And a new heart forgives. Not because the neighbor deserves it. Not because it resolves everything. Not because it feels good. But because Christ has forgiven you—fully, freely, finally—and His forgiveness changes you.

Is the debt your brother owes you real? Yes. Does it hurt? Yes. Is it unfair? Definitely, but Christ has taken the ledger of your sin and obliterated it. That’s what matters. Everything else is chump change.

Forgiveness is the beating heart of the Church. It is the air the Christian breathes. It is the witness the world needs but rarely sees. The greatest scandal in the Church is not that Jesus forgives the wicked. It is that Christians refuse to forgive each other. But not you. Not today. Christ forgives you. All of it. Every debt. Every sin. Every thought you hope no one ever discovers. It is gone. You are free.

Everything begins and ends here: God's mercy on you, a sinner. Believe your sin as the Word declares it—chief of sinners, every one. Believe His mercy as the Word promises it—greater still. Then forgiving isn't a burden; it's breath. It's the most natural thing in the world for those drowned and raised in Christ.

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie\ St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center\ Random Lake, Wisconsin

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1uwDIsMXXuA

Nostr event nevent1qqsgf3d6apn6sgsvuwkng3vykc904q08yqe6dnsnau3sg7c05d55vwqzyqjg6pm7zungmm398gcux0x4e2yw4sp360vc7hwskwtue6eh033z78xgyks

2025-11-18T13:26:39Z

I love how I cannot access DownDetector when Cloudflare is down.

Or as some call it, “backup plan” or “exit strategy.”

2025-11-18T12:04:33Z

In reply to nevent1q…xp9t
_________________________

Or as some call it, “backup plan” or “exit strategy.”

Sounds like side gigs are encouraged!

2025-11-18T12:03:50Z

In reply to nevent1q…xp9t
_________________________

Sounds like side gigs are encouraged!

Seems reasonable. Also not in the Bible.

2025-11-17T23:44:47Z

In reply to nevent1q…vurq
_________________________

Seems reasonable. Also not in the Bible.

Sacrifice of Isaac—Abraham’s Faith Is Revealed—Gen. 22:1-19 ...

2025-11-17T14:57:57Z

Sacrifice of Isaac—Abraham’s Faith Is Revealed—Gen. 22:1-19

https://youtube.com/live/CYjsZ47oHa8

“This triangle of truisms; of father, mother and child, cannot ...

2025-11-17T14:50:52Z

“This triangle of truisms; of father, mother and child, cannot be destroyed. It can only destroy those civilisations which disregard it.”

—G.K. Chesterton, The Superstition of Divorce

“Those who say that children must not be frightened may mean ...

2025-11-17T14:50:37Z

“Those who say that children must not be frightened may mean two things. They may mean (1) that we must not do anything likely to give the child those haunting, disabling, pathological fears against which ordinary courage is helpless: in fact, phobias. His mind must, if possible, be kept clear of things he can’t bear to think of. Or they may mean (2) that we must try to keep out of his mind the knowledge that he is born into a world of death, violence, wounds, adventure, heroism and cowardice, good and evil. If they mean the first I agree with them: but not if they mean the second. The second would indeed be to give children a false impression and feed them on escapism in the bad sense. There is something ludicrous in the idea of so educating a generation which is born to the…atomic bomb. Since it is so likely that they will meet cruel enemies, let them at least have heard of brave knights and heroic courage. Otherwise you are making their destiny not brighter but darker.”

—C.S. Lewis

Sunday’s OT and Epistle—Micah 6:6-8; Philippians 1:3-11 ...

2025-11-15T15:48:22Z

Sunday’s OT and Epistle—Micah 6:6-8; Philippians 1:3-11

https://youtube.com/live/4bnmTB2r30s

Isaac Is Born and Ishmael Is Cast Out—Genesis 21:1-21 ...

2025-11-14T14:58:21Z

Isaac Is Born and Ishmael Is Cast Out—Genesis 21:1-21

https://youtube.com/live/pZWR0R5k3Hs