“God’s Promises”

Reformation Sunday/Affirmation of Baptism

October 31, 2021

Isaiah 43:1-7

Romans 5:1-11

Mark 1:9-11

This day is always a day of trepidation for me. These young people sit here in front, and it feels like my last chance to say something that will connect with them. For the past four years, I’ve tried to teach them the things that will matter to them—to you. Much of the time, what you hear gets muddled in with the math assignment you’re struggling with and the performance or game you have coming up, and the essay that’s due tomorrow. And I know that—like many who have gone before you—I will likely see you less and less. You’re busy. And Church doesn’t hold the same place in families as it once did.

So, I want to give you something clear to hold onto. Something that you won’t easily forget. Something that, when you question who you are or why you’re here, you can turn to and remember that you have a whole body of people who are with you. So, no pressure, right?

It seems that, no matter what I say or how hard I try, the world’s theology tends to take precedence. A theology that insists that God’s disappointment in us needs to be appeased. A theology that tells us that all we need to do is live a good life and we’ll go to heaven when we die. A theology that says that only when we confess our sins and accept Jesus Christ into our hearts as our personal Lord and Savior can we be forgiven.

The events of this day—the readings of this day—tell us something vastly different. One of the things Martin Luther most fervently sought to dispel in the Reformation was the faulty idea that there was something we could or had to do to participate in our salvation. The Church taught then—as many Christians teach now—that we have to somehow keep ourselves pure and holy, that confession was about making a deal with God, and that salvation was individualistic. As I said, we’re still trying to get past those ideas because we can’t imagine a God that won’t operate out of fairness—our idea of fairness.

Our idea of fairness is that you get what you deserve. But that’s not God. We have created God in our own image, insisting that God won’t forgive until we confess; that God won’t love until we are holy; that God won’t save until we deserve it.

Paul very distinctly speaks against these ideas. He says, “while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Sure, someone might sacrifice their life for someone they hold dear—or for someone who deserves it. But Christ died for us even while we are a complete mess. Christ loves us more than our sin can dispel. Paul goes on—“Much more surely, then, now that we have been justified by his blood,”—we are already justified by his blood. That means that we have been made righteous—not by anything we’ve done but by what Christ did for us. “Now that we have been justified by his blood, we will be saved through him from the wrath of God.”

We are already justified. And because we are justified, we are saved. And we did not do this ourselves. Ephesians tells us, “You have been saved BY GRACE, THROUGH FAITH, and this is not your own doing. It is the gift of God, not the result of works, so that no one may boast.” You can’t do anything to make yourself right with God.

Maybe you’re saying, “Yeah, sure. You say that all the time. So what?” Here’s the ‘so what.’ I recently was asked to speak to a woman who was so caught up in her own shame that she couldn’t see anything but God’s wrath. She was certain she was going to hell. She was certain most of humanity was going to hell. Because ‘who, then, can be saved’—as the disciples asked Jesus after the rich man went away grieving. Who can be saved? No one. Not if it’s up to us. No one can be saved. No one is righteous. No one is worthy. No one is deserving.

But by grace you have been saved. ‘Grace’ means that you get something better than you deserve. When we pray to ‘gracious and merciful God,’ we recognize that God not only shows us mercy by not giving us what we deserve, but God shows us grace by giving us something so much better.

So, I was speaking to this woman, and she simply refused to accept that God could love her—after all that she had done. She insisted that she had to repent before God could forgive. But, much like Luther struggled with, she knew that there were still unseen and unknown things she should repent for, and she just didn’t know what they were. She was certain God was still angry with her. God hated her. And if she couldn’t repent, God would not forgive. Could not forgive.

But here’s the thing about God. God doesn’t work the way humans work. God forgives first. God loves us too much to wait for us to figure out how to restore that relationship. We can’t. And God knows that. So instead, God makes the first move. And the second. And the third. God forgives before we repent. God justifies while we are still sinners. God saves because we can’t. And what we do with that promise is what makes us Christian. What we do as justified, freed, beloved children of God is how we follow Christ. In his baptism, God said, “You are my beloved Son.” God says in our baptism, “You are my beloved Child.” You are already named, claimed, and saved. Done. Finished.

One of the verses I love most about our Isaiah passage today is verse 4 that says, “Because you are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you.” I love you. That, I believe, is the only place in the Bible in which God says directly to the people. We may read that God so loved the world, and that God blessed, and even that God loves us. But we don’t read God telling Israel, “I love you.” Except here. No matter what you go through, no matter how many times you turn away, no matter how many mistakes you make, God says, “I love you.” And, as Paul will write later in Romans, there is nothing—nothing that you can do or say or believe or be—that can keep you from God’s love. It’s a pursuing love that follows you even when you intentionally try to hide from God. Even when you forget about God. Even when you no longer have time for God. God doesn’t leave you. God won’t leave you.

This is the promise we receive in Baptism. A promise we have nothing to do with other than to mark its reality with water and Word. It’s the promise we receive in Holy Communion every time we come to the table—a promise that insists that it is ours long before we deserve it. And no one is below or outside of the love offered in the bread and wine.

It’s the promise you all hear again as you will make your own promises and commitments to the Church and to God—promises to stay connected to the community we call Church, promises to continue to receive God’s love through worship and communion, promises to care for others and proclaim God’s love to the world, promises to help our world heal. This is a big deal for you and for us because we, too, have made promises. And together, we get to bless the world in a very particular way—the way of grace and mercy.

So, today I want you to hear this louder than you’ve ever heard it before. God loves you. God forgives you. God makes you whole. And God saves you. But not just you—this is a community event. God loves ya’ll—as a group. God forgives ya’ll. God makes ya’ll whole—this whole gathering and the families from which we come and the whole creation. And God saves ya’ll. Despite stories that might make us question this, God is saving this world. And God calls ya’ll to be part of it.

Pastor Tobi White

Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church

Lincoln, NE