Historic First Lutheran Church of Pasadena

In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

“Rejoice in the Lord always! I will say it again: Rejoice!”

Say those words along with me, won’t you? “Rejoice in the Lord always! I will say it again: Rejoice!”

Now say those words just once more, this time with meaning and excitement: “Rejoice in the Lord always! I will say it again: Rejoice!”

Those might be tough words for some of us to say this morning. I mean, after all, we’re wet; we’re cold; we haven’t seen the sun for about three days; some of us might already be SAD – suffering from seasonal affective disorder, something I saw a lot of while I lived in Wyoming.

Those might be tough words for some of us to say this morning for deeper reasons than just the weather. I know there have been times in my life personally during this past year that I have found those words very difficult to say with excitement. And, compared with what some of you have dealt with during this past year and what some of you are even dealing with right now, the past year in my life has been tame and non-eventful.

The question before us this morning is what do you do when you very clearly have heard St. Paul’s command to “Rejoice in the Lord always” but you’re just not at the point of life where that seems possible?

That’s where we find John the Baptist this morning [Luke 7:18-28]. John, you will remember, was Jesus’ cousin. He was ordained before birth to be the forerunner of the long-awaited Messiah. When cousins Elizabeth and Mary met while they were both pregnant, John the Baptist leapt in the womb of his mother, knowing that the pre-incarnate Christ was present in the womb of His mother. You remember John’s excitement at the Jordan River when cousin Jesus approached to be baptized. You remember John’s excitement after Jesus was baptized when the Heavens opened and the Holy Spirit descended like a dove and that booming voice announced, “This is My Son, Whom I love.” At those times early in John’s life and ministry, it seemed very easy to “Rejoice in the Lord always!”

By the time we get to today’s Gospel, all that seems to have changed. John was no longer in the emotional state to “Rejoice in the Lord always!” John had been arrested. He was being held in jail. He had a good idea that his imprisonment would probably end in his death. Try dwelling on that fact day after day. Suddenly, life is not so joyous and John begins to question whether he’s possibly gotten something wrong. He sent a couple of his followers to his cousin Jesus to ask just once more if He was indeed the Messiah or if his life was on the line for nothing.

There are some of us here this morning who say that the summary of John’s life sounds similar to their own. There are some here this morning for whom serving the Lord Jesus used to be exciting. It used to be something around which we organized entire days and weeks, but then something happened – and that “something” will vary from person to person. That “something” might be the death of a loved one. That “something” might be the loss of a job. That “something” might be relationship problems. That “something” might be something said about or done against you. That “something” might even be something that you have done to yourself. That “something” might be just about anything.

Whatever that “something” might be, the fact remains that we all go through seasons of life that are exciting and joyous and we all go through seasons of life that are challenging, even faith-challenging.

But let’s not dwell on that. Let’s remind ourselves again that the question before us this morning is what do you do when you’re just not at the point of life where “Rejoicing in the Lord always!” seems possible?

The people of Israel also struggled with that issue. They, after all, where the chosen people of God. It was their ancestor Abraham who had been given the promise that his descendants would be as numerous as the stars in the sky. It was their ancestor Noah who had been given the promise that the world would never again be destroyed by water. It was their ancestor Moses who had been told that they would be God’s people and that He Himself would be their God. But now they had been languishing for hundreds of years, oppressed by foreign rule, submitted to unfair taxes, shoved under the carpet and treated as second class citizens and, beyond all that, how long would they have to wait for the promised Messiah. It had already been centuries!

Along came the prophet Zephaniah, in a long string of commissioned messengers God sent to His people to remind them that He hadn’t forgotten them and to remind them that He hadn’t forgotten His promises. Being an Israelite himself, a person of high social standing, maybe even in the royal line, Zephaniah personally knew the disappointment and discouragement experienced by his people. He knew that they were a frustrated people who had largely abandoned hope. That’s why he spoke the words, “Do not fear, O Zion. Do not let your hands hang limp. The Lord your God is with you. He is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you. He will quiet you with His love. He will rejoice over you with singing” [Zephaniah 3:16-17].

That reminds me of an elementary school basketball game I saw in St. Louis. The teams were totally mismatched. One team was from a large school. They had fancy uniforms and it looked as if each one of the fifth graders was destined for a career in the NBA. The other team was from a small, struggling inner city school. Their “uniforms” were blue P.E. shorts and plain white t-shirts onto which had been silk-screened uniform numbers. I don’t think more than a couple of the players had ever made a basket in their entire life. They didn’t stand a chance. As much of a slaughter as was that game, as dehumanizing and discouraging as it was to the psyche of those kids, there was one dad in the stands who was continually standing and clapping and cheering and encouraging the team. And, after the game, that dad joined the coach in hugging each of the defeated players, telling them what a great job they had done, that they had done their best.

Using Zephaniah’s language, that’s what God does for us. He knows how beat-up we get in this world. Don’t forget – He got beat-up Himself. God’s knows how clever the devil is at scoring victories in our lives, rubbing our noses in our failures, quietly and secretly whispering in our ear that God can’t possibly love us anymore, that we’re the worst excuses for human beings God ever made. But – thank God – His voice is more powerful than the devils and God doesn’t have to whisper quietly or secretly. Instead, our God shouts to us, “Do not fear, O Zion. Do not let your hands hang limp. The Lord your God is with you. He is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you. He will quiet you with His love. He will rejoice over you with singing.”

The Gospel message is simple –and because it is so simple we often forget it, but it is so simple: God loves us. He loved us so much that He sent Jesus from Heaven to earth. He loved us so much that He suffered and died and rose again for us to remind us how precious we are to Him, to remind us that He does take great delight in us, to remind us that He does rejoice over us with singing.

So, if you today find it tough to rejoice, remind yourself that God rejoices over you. Through Jesus, He rejoices in you. He’s the father cheering us on, encouraging us, reminding us that we are loved, wrapping us in His Arms and saying “You are My son; you are My daughter; I love you; I rejoice over you.”

In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

Pastor Christopher Schaar
Historic First Lutheran Church of Pasadena