She chuckles in response: “Promises, promises.” Her ears have taken in her husband’s words before as he sits in comfort, watching the game. “I’ll get to it later,” but later never comes. Oh, he’s sincere: he does plan to take out the garbage. But something comes along and the intent to do so is gone, as weak as the fallen flesh.
Experience taught her well, which her quiet laugh of “Promises, promises” reveals. We make promises we don’t keep, to ourselves and one another. We even make promises to God, which we don’t keep. No wonder the Psalms cry out, “All people are liars!” (Psalm 116:11). Every son of Adam and daughter of Eve is a liar: we break our promises.
Doesn’t life teach us the same? The longer we live, the more we experience the sting of broken truth. People don’t do what they promise. We don’t do what we say we will. Our language even teaches us this reality. Think of the expressions we use to assure someone. This time, so-and-so will be true to his word. His word is his bond. You can count on him. He won’t let you down. Believe me, and so on and so forth.
So, as we grow old, we must work not to become skeptical of promises. Becoming the cynic is easy. Not so with children. The wounding and hurtful lies have not yet cauterized their hearts. Soon enough, life will teach them how faithless we adults can be.
So we learn the point of having faith like a child. Jesus taught, “I assure you: Unless you are changed and become like little children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:3). God needs to come along to make our hearts pliable once more, so we will believe His Word, what He speaks into our ears. Such is why God calls you to come to church every week.
Abram is no child, just fallen off the turnip truck. He’s been around the block a time or two. The lying words of this fallen world scar his heart, as well. Even so, God comes to him and speaks his name: “Abram.” The Lord summons him outside to ponder the multitude of stars in the heavens. “Count them if you can!”
Abram stares dumbfounded: The stars are too many even to fathom. God whispers: “So will your descendants be.” Pay little attention to Abram’s old age, soon to become ancient. Forget about his wife, Sarah, who is no longer having the way of a woman’s monthly cycles. Pay no mind that no glimmer even sparked in his mind of how God’s promise was even possible.
On a cloudless night long ago, a miracle took place under the desert sky. The Lord spoke a promise, and a man believed it. Abram became like a little child and believed what God said. He trusted, somehow, God’s promise will come true. The Lord credited the faith He gave to Abram as righteousness.
Abram was still a fallen, sinful person, with sinful thoughts and deeds—but God didn’t look at those sins anymore. He only took in this: Abram trusted what He said. Moses, Abram’s descendant, would later agree: “God is not a man who lies” (Numbers 23:19).
Still, faith, trust in God, experiences struggle, does it not? For is not faith the “the reality of what we hope for, the proof of what we do not see”? Yes! Even more, God keeps His promises on His timeline, His schedule. Some of what God promises is awaiting its fulfillment—even after we die. Are not the souls in heaven also living in faith, awaiting the body’s resurrection, like us? Yes!
Think of Abram (later renamed Abraham) and Sarah. They both died without seeing God fulfill His promise. Oh, Sarah did bear a son, Isaac. One child, however, does not a nation make. Living as strangers in a strange land doesn’t mean you now own the land. For the patriarchs of old, they did not get to see God fulfill most of His promises.
The miracle of faith is not only that it is a miracle. No, faith trusts that what God speaks is stronger than even the sting of death. Sarah considered God faithful, who made the promise. Our reading from Hebrews puts it this way: “These people died in faith without receiving the promises. They only gazed at them from afar, but still, they welcomed them. They confessed that they were strangers and foreigners on earth” (Hebrews 11:13).
Abraham and Sarah went into the darkness of death trusting God had prepared a heavenly country and city for them. Why were they so sure? They knew God didn’t lie, and so they could count on His every promise. Only someone with faith can die in such a way.
In our Gospel reading, Jesus spies the growing anxiety in His disciples. A quivering voice unmasks their fear. Jesus speaks the truth, even while comforting them: “Everyone will die, for everyone is stranger and foreigner on earth. But do not fear little flock, for your Father delights to give you the kingdom.”
Our posture in life now changes, becoming one of waiting: waiting for God’s promises to reach their final fulfillment. We wait for the final breaking in of God’s Kingdom. Jesus borrows words from the exodus of the Israelites: “Keep your belts fastened and your lamps burning.” We’re a people ready to go; all we need is for our Lord’s signal to sound.
So, if our real home isn’t here in this world, how can the stuff of this world become the stuff of our lives? The Father delights to give us His kingdom—His kingdom! Let that soak in for a moment! Then it only makes sense to keep a loose grip on the stuff of this world. We now can drop it in a second to catch the new life God sends our way in Christ Jesus.
Why are we scraping together even bigger piles of stuff? The wise Solomon called that emptiness. No, we live in watchful waiting. When’s Jesus coming? We wait with eagerness and joy for the moment when He returns to bring us to our real homeland: The new heaven and earth.
Did you catch what drove the Gospel reading? It was not fear: “Oh no, Jesus is returning! I’m done for, for I’m not good enough.” The lash of the Law, the fear of being unprepared is not our motivation. What prepares us is this: Jesus, whom we love, is coming back to bring us home. What joy! Who wouldn’t want to be ready and waiting for Him when He comes? What prepares us is not the Law, but the Gospel.
The one for whom we wait reveals Himself by what He does. He returns, and what does He do? The Lord of heaven and earth, who took on human form in love to save us, arrives at last. What does He do? Better yet, what doesn’t He do?
Jesus doesn’t sit down, ordering His servants to serve Him, which is what we would expect. He’s God; we’re not. Of course, we serve God. What we find, however, is something else. Jesus comes as the Server. He invites His people to sit and feast at the table, for He is preparing the food.
What a surprising ending to the parable, or is it? For what Jesus does when He returns is in line with who He says He is! “The Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for the many” (Mt 20:28, Mk 10:45).
From conception, to cross, and to empty tomb, Jesus is the servant. He served us by becoming our sin on the cross and giving us His righteousness where He chooses to deliver it to us. He served us by living the perfect life God’s holiness demands, which we could never do. Jesus washes us in the waters of baptism, which give us the Holy Spirit (Acts 2:38), brings us into the New Covenant (Colossians 2:11-13), and offers a clean conscience before God (1 Peter 3:21).
When He returns, is it odd for Jesus to tell His people to “take their place at the table” where He will “come to serve them”? No! Our Lord has been doing that our entire Christian lives.
Jesus enlivens us with a spiritual birth from above by water and Spirit (John 3:3, 5). After He brings us into the New Covenant by spiritual birth, He feeds us so we do not die. Jesus gives Himself to us in the New Covenant: His Supper. “This cup is the New Covenant in my blood, which is shed for you for the forgiveness of sin.”
Unless you are a Pharisee and think worship is your work for God instead of His work for you, Jesus serving you is how He wants you to understand Him. You receive Jesus’ work for you, what He does to serve you in every Divine Service. He is preparing you for His coming, for the Supper here is but a foretaste of the Feast to come in eternity.
So, we are right back to Abraham and Sarah, except we are on the other side of the cross. We do not wait for the Messiah to come, die, and rise to give us life. No, we await the Messiah’s return when He fulfills what He began. Death and sin are vanquished, waiting for the new heaven and earth, free from all sin, freed from death.
Like Abraham and Sarah, we live our lives in faith: watching and waiting. For the One who is keeping His promises will not let us down in the end. His service to us will go on even into eternity. For that is your God!
“Promises, promises?” Yes! For they are God’s promises—and that makes all the difference! His Word of promise is powerful enough to last for all eternity. Amen.
