Saint Athanasius Lutheran Church

In this message, I reflect on how Advent is not only about preparing for Christmas, but about preparing for Christ’s coming now through His Word and Sacraments and His coming again on the Last Day. Scripture gives us a joyful picture of that final day, not just as judgment, but as a wedding feast between Christ and His Church. Through Baptism, we are cleansed and made His radiant Bride, clothed in His promises rather than our own faithfulness. Because of this, the Last Day becomes a day of joy, not fear. We live now in hopeful anticipation, eager for the Bridegroom’s return and longing for others to share in that same joy.

In this week’s message, we hear Paul’s urgent reminder: you know the time. Not clock time, but the spiritual moment we live in—one where Christ’s return draws nearer each day. The temptation is to hit the snooze button, to drift through life distracted, sleepy, or spiritually drowsy. But Scripture calls us to wake up, to live as people who know what hour it is. We prepare by crying out “Hosanna” as the crowds once did, receiving Christ in Word and Sacrament, and practicing for His final coming each time we gather at the altar. Paul urges us to cast off the works of darkness, repent, and put on the armor of light—living as people clothed with Christ in Baptism. Advent invites us to stay awake, to connect the manger, the cross, and Christ’s promised return. We prepare not just for Christmas Day, but for the Last Day, living out Christ’s love in service to our neighbors. So we pray: Stir up Your power, O Lord, and come—wake us, arm us with Your light, forgive us, and keep us ready for the day when the Savior of

In this week’s message, we shift from wondering what eternal life will be like to facing what life looks like as we wait for Jesus’ return. Scripture shows us a world marked by turmoil—wars, disasters, false teachers, persecution, and a creation groaning toward its end. These signs have been unfolding since Christ’s ascension and continue today. But Jesus’ surprising instruction is not to duck and cover, but to stand up and lift our heads, because these signs mean our redemption is drawing near. Like first responders trained for crisis, we gather in worship to receive strength, forgiveness, and peace, so we can go back into a troubled world with courage and hope. Christ—who faced the cross, conquered death, and promises never to forsake us—anchors us with words that will never pass away. So when we see the world shaking, we do not fear. We stay awake, stand firm, and bear witness, confident that our Savior is near and coming again to redeem His people.

In this episode, I explore why Scripture tells us so little about heaven and why our limited minds couldn’t grasp it anyway. Jesus gives us a small glimpse when He tells the Sadducees that life in the resurrection will be entirely new—no longer divided into many families, but united as one family in Christ. We recall Moses at the burning bush, meeting the eternal God who stands outside of time, and we hear Jesus affirm that the resurrection is real and that God is the God of the living. Until that day comes, Paul urges us to stand firm in truth and good works, even as the world burns with doubt and sin. Though we don’t yet understand what eternal life will be like, we know Christ will bring us there. And until then, He prepares us at His table, where heaven and earth briefly meet.

Just as we call loved ones to know they’ve arrived safely, John’s vision in Revelation shows that our loved ones in Christ have reached their true home—safe before the Lamb. They endured the tribulations of life and now rest in the victory Jesus won through His death and resurrection. But John’s vision also reminds us that not everyone is there yet. The world still needs the hope and mercy of Christ. As blessed ones, we are called to bring that hope to others—to live as lights in a world of pain, pride, and despair. Even when faith is met with rejection or ridicule, we persist, because Jesus didn’t give up on us. All Saints’ Day is a glimpse of eternity amid a dying world—a reminder that though we still journey through struggle, we do so with purpose and hope. For one day, by grace, we too will be home—safe, sound, and forever with the Lamb.

When Jesus said, “You will become free,” His listeners protested, claiming they had never been enslaved. But Jesus revealed a deeper truth — all are bound by sin. Every outburst, grudge, and selfish act exposes our captivity to our sinful nature. However hard we try, our efforts to overcome it fail, like a game of Whack-a-Mole where sin always reappears. Christ came to end that bondage. Through His cross and resurrection, He conquered sin and death, freeing us to live as God’s children. In baptism, our old selves are drowned, and we rise renewed — no longer slaves, but beloved sons and daughters. The Reformation was not rebellion, but rediscovery: that true freedom comes only through the grace of Jesus Christ, who makes us free indeed.

“Trust but verify.” President Reagan made the phrase famous, but Jacob lived it long before him—trusting God, yet still hedging his bets. As Jacob prepared to meet his brother Esau, fear led him to rely on his own strength instead of God’s promises. That night, God met him in a wrestling match—not to destroy him, but to teach him to trust completely. Like Jacob, we often wrestle with doubt, wanting to believe yet still trying to stay in control. But God has already fought—and won—the real battle for us in Jesus. At the cross, the Son of God wrestled with sin and death and rose victorious. So now, we don’t need to “verify” God’s faithfulness; the empty tomb is proof enough. Whatever fears we face, He still meets us where we are, blesses us, and holds us fast. The victory is His—and by faith, it’s ours too.

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.

Building on the Parable of the Rich Fool, Jesus teaches that life is more than possessions and that anxiety over material needs is unnecessary for those who know God as Father. Just as He feeds the ravens and clothes the lilies, He will surely care for His children—so much so that He gave His only Son for them. Our work, then, is not merely for personal gain but a way God provides for others and us. Freed from the idolatry of wealth and the burden of anxiety, we can live as little children—trusting, serving, and seeking God’s kingdom first—confident that our Father will provide all we need for body and soul.

In this episode, we reflect on a powerful moment when a man asks Jesus to divide an inheritance, revealing how easily worldly desires can overshadow eternal truths. The message warns against covetousness and idolatry—when we chase things that ultimately leave us spiritually empty, like drinking salt water that only increases thirst. Jesus invites us instead to seek heavenly treasures—His forgiveness, life, and glory—freely given to us as His inheritance. The call is to live not for self, but for others: forgiving, loving, serving, and sharing the riches of Christ. Because in the end, those who live in Him die truly rich.

When the disciples asked Jesus, “Lord, teach us to pray,” they weren’t just asking for words—they were asking to be drawn deeper into relationship with God. Though they knew the traditions of prayer, they longed for what Jesus had: intimacy with the Father. Jesus responds by teaching them the Lord’s Prayer, beginning with the powerful word “Father”—a reminder that we pray not as strangers, but as beloved children. This relationship changes how we pray and live. Jesus encourages persistent prayer, not because God is reluctant, but because He is eager to give. We are called to pray boldly, for ourselves and for others, trusting in God’s good gifts—especially His greatest: His Son and the Holy Spirit. In a world full of empty promises, God gives us real gifts: forgiveness, life, and salvation. So we pray, receive, and live as His children—now and forever.