Sermons

Christian discipline isn’t bad. Not even close. Scripture speaks of fasting, prayer, and self-control. Luther says outward practices can be useful, as noted in the Small Catechism. But useful isn’t the same as saving. When discipline becomes the cure rather than the symptom, we’re already off track. Repentance isn’t a self-improvement project. It’s not climbing up to God rung by rung. It’s being stopped cold by God’s Word. Exposed. And addressed.

And He goes as the Second Adam. The first Adam was placed in a garden. Surrounded by abundance. No hunger. No thirst. No thorns. Only one prohibition. And he fell. The Second Adam stands in a wasteland. No food. No comfort. Forty days of fasting. And there He stands for you.

Ash Wednesday is not merely about dust. It is about dust claimed by God. It is about sinners marked not only with ashes but with the cross. The same forehead that hears, “Remember that you are dust,” was once washed with water and the Word. In Holy Baptism, you were buried with Christ and raised with Him. The ashes do not erase that. They intensify it.

The blind man did not analyze mercy; he received it. He cried for it and received it. So also here. At the altar, mercy is distributed in the most concrete way possible. At the altar, sinners who confess, “Have mercy on me,” are given Christ. Sins are forgiven. Faith is strengthened. Eyes are opened again and again. And this changes you.

If the tree is bad, fruit inspection will not save it. The tree must be made new. Christ does not merely trim branches. He dies. He rises. He gives His Spirit. He creates a new heart.

Now the good soil. Jesus does not define it by natural aptitude, as though some people are born spiritually receptive. He defines it by what happens to the Gospel: “hearing the word, hold it fast” (Luke 8:15). They keep Christ. They keep the Gospel. They do not move on from it. They do not treat it as the starter course before “deeper things.” The deeper thing is always the same: Christ for you. Christ crucified for you. Christ risen for you. Christ preached into you. They hold Him fast when they feel strong and when they feel weak, when life is calm and when it is chaotic. And they bear fruit with patience.

The greatness of God hides itself here—under weakness, humility, and need. This is not a strategy for influence. This is a theology of the cross. Christ prepares us for this truth by stripping away our illusions. It reminds us that the kingdom of God is not built by human excellence or sustained by spiritual achievement. It is given. Freely. To the unworthy. 

Real renewal will not come by whipping the workers harder. Real renewal will not come with “butts in the pew” or “capital campaigns.” Real renewal is throwing wage-thinking into the fire and letting the whole parish live from gift-thinking. Everything good in this place comes from what Christ hands out. The Church is not built by spiritual overtime. The Church is built by Christ giving himself—again and again—in Word and Sacrament.

Nazareth couldn’t handle Jesus—not because He was flashy, but because He was too close: “just the carpenter.” That’s the old sin in us too: we want a manageable God, not a Lord who calls us to repent. Romans 2 cuts through our excuses—“God shows no partiality” (Romans 2:11)—and exposes our habit of judging others to dodge our own guilt. The good news: the righteousness God demands is the righteousness God gives in Christ. Stop treating Jesus like background noise. Receive Him where He actually gives Himself—His Word, forgiveness, and gifts—and live as an adopted heir, not a self-justifying critic.

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.