Saint Athanasius Lutheran Church

Life often leads us down paths we never planned—ventures whose endings we cannot see. That’s true for churches, for families, and for each of us. Yet through every change, setback, or unknown, God’s hand still leads and His love still supports. From Naomi’s famine and exile, to the lepers healed by Jesus, to Paul’s imprisonment for the Gospel, God worked good through what seemed hopeless. The same Lord is at work in our own uncertainty—feeding us in famine, healing us in sin, and guiding us through every peril by grace. So we pray with faith and courage: not knowing where we go, but trusting the One whose hand leads us and whose love never fails.

Today, we’re looking at the prophet Habakkuk—a man who saw a world filled with violence, injustice, and corruption, much like our own. Habakkuk cried out to God, asking why He seemed silent. God answered—but not as expected. He would use the ruthless Babylonians to discipline His people, proving that even through chaos, His purposes stand. The lesson? “The righteous shall live by faith.” Faith that trusts when nothing makes sense. Jesus echoes this in today’s Gospel, calling us not just to confront sin but to forgive—again and again. It sounds impossible, yet the power doesn’t come from us but from Christ, who bore our sin and conquered it on the cross. The same God who once used Babylon for His purpose now uses His people—you and me—to bring His mercy into a broken world. Forgiveness isn’t weakness; it’s divine strength. The righteous live by faith—faith in the One who died, rose, and now lives through us.

This week, I’m reflecting on the “war in heaven” — that mysterious battle between Michael and his angels and the dragon and his own. We may not understand how angels fight, but we know the outcome: the good prevailed. Yet the defeated enemy now rages on earth, turning his attacks toward us, using not swords but words — sowing doubt, twisting truth, and tempting us with his favorite word: “but.” Still, we are not defenseless. God’s Word and the blood of the Lamb are our weapons; His Word cuts through deception, and His Sacraments heal and strengthen us for the fight. Though we may not see the struggle, it is real — and the victory is already won. Our names are written in heaven, not by our strength, but by Christ’s blood, shed on the cross. The angels fought in heaven, but Jesus won the greater war — for us.

When Jesus said, “Go and learn what this means: I desire mercy, not sacrifice,” it wasn’t a rebuke just for the Pharisees—it’s a call for us, too. God doesn’t delight in rituals for their own sake, but in mercy that mirrors His own heart. Jesus came to bring that mercy to sinners, to touch the broken and bear their sin—even when it killed Him. On the cross, He became both the perfect sacrifice and the perfect mercy. And He still comes to us today—to forgive, heal, and invite us to His table, where mercy flows freely. Then, like Matthew the tax collector, we’re sent out to share that same mercy with a world that needs it.

The world measures funerals by size and fame, but Jesus does not. Whether in a stadium or a small chapel, He sees the same need—sinners in need of forgiveness and life. That is what He gave Reinhardt in Baptism, in His Word, and in His Supper: the promise that though he died, he is not dead but alive in Christ. Like the paralyzed man Jesus healed, Reinhardt will rise, not to temporary strength, but to everlasting life when Christ returns. And that same promise is ours. Our worth is not in the world’s opinion but in the Savior who died and rose for us, who says even now: “Take heart, your sins are forgiven.”

This week’s tragedies remind us how deeply sin has scarred our world and our own hearts. Violence, hatred, and death are not exceptions but the fruit of our fallen humanity. That is why we need the holy cross. At the cross, Jesus took all sin, guilt, and hatred upon Himself, died in our place, and rose victorious to give us life. There, what looked like defeat became victory, turning death into life and despair into hope. Through Word, Baptism, Absolution, and the Lord’s Supper, the cross finds us and gives us forgiveness, strength, and new life in Christ. So in a world bent on destruction, we turn not left or right but to the cross, where we see God’s love and victory—and from there, we live in His peace, courage, and hope.

Today, I reflected on Jesus’ hard words about hating family, bearing the cross, and renouncing all we have. At first, they sound impossible—almost like disqualifications for discipleship. But Jesus isn’t telling us how to earn salvation; He’s warning us not to let anything stand in the way of following Him. Like those in His parable who made excuses about property and family, we too can let “later” become never. Yet Jesus counted the cost and bore the cross for us, securing our life with Him. So He calls us to keep the end in mind—eternal life with Him—and live wisely now. In Word, Baptism, and the Lord’s Supper, He strengthens us to bear our crosses, trust His promises, and follow Him all the way home.

Today, I reflected on how Jesus turns the tables on what it means to be honored. At the Pharisee’s banquet, people fought for the best seats, but Jesus chose the place of the outcast and welcomed a man with dropsy, healing him and giving him dignity. That is what He does for us, too. Our sin disfigures us, but Jesus opens the door, forgives us, and gives us a seat of honor at His table. In His kingdom, the last are first, the humble are lifted up, and the unworthy are made worthy. His feast is not about status but grace—a joy shared with sinners, saints, and all the company of heaven. And because He has welcomed us, we are now free to welcome and serve others with the same love.

Today, I reflected on the disciples’ argument about who was the greatest, even after Jesus had given them His Supper. Jesus reminded them—and us—that greatness in His kingdom is not about status, but service. That truth comes alive in the story of St. Bartholomew, also known as Nathanael, whose very name means “gift of God.” Though not among the most famous apostles, he shows us that our worth doesn’t come from ranking higher than others, but from God’s grace. Jesus enters our ruts of sin, dies in them, and raises us to new life in baptism. Like Bartholomew, we are called not to measure ourselves by the world’s standards, but to live as God’s children—His precious gifts, redeemed and lifted up by Christ.

Today, I reflected on Jesus’ hard words about casting fire on the earth. At first, they can sound harsh—even off-putting—but they reveal the truth about a world already burning with sin and brokenness. Jesus doesn’t come to ignore the flames but to fight fire with fire, taking the blaze of God’s wrath upon Himself at the cross so that we are saved. His work may bring division, even in families, but it also brings true peace—peace in forgiveness and new life. Whether this is your first time in church or you’ve been here for years, the message is the same: look to Jesus. In Him, the fire that consumes becomes the fire that purifies, and the cross becomes the place where life truly begins.