John 14:1-6; Rollie Adkins Funeral Sermon; May 18, 2026

Rollie Adkins Funeral Sermon

John 14:1–6

May 18, 2026
Life in Christ Lutheran Church, Grand Marais, MN

“Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also. And you know the way to where I am going.” Thomas said to him, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” (John 14:1–6, ESV)

Grace, mercy and peace to you from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

Jesus said: “Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in Me. In My Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?”

I did not know Rollie as many of you did. You knew his life, his work, his stories, his strengths, and his struggles far better than I ever could. But there is one thing I do know about Rollie with absolute certainty, because it is true of every person gathered here today: Rollie was a sinner.

And I am not speaking ill of the dead. I would say the very same thing about myself and every one of you. Scripture says, “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.”

And the proof is here before us today. “The wages of sin is death.” Death itself stands before us as proof that God’s Word is true. This is why hearts are troubled at funerals. This is why death grieves us so deeply. We know instinctively that death is not how things are supposed to be. Death is an enemy.

And yet, this is exactly why the words of Jesus matter so much today. “Let not your hearts be troubled.” Notice Jesus does not say death is not real. He does not say grief is imaginary. He does not tell His disciples to ignore sorrow. No, these words are spoken on the night before His own death. Jesus Himself is walking toward the cross. He knows suffering. He knows tears. He knows death. And yet He says: “Believe in God; believe also in Me.”

Rollie spent much of his life working, planning, building, and providing. You can read it in the obituary. Hard work from a young age. Physical labor. Engineering. Business. Investing. Building a life. Building a home. Finally settling here in the north woods that he loved.

And more importantly, building a family whom he loved deeply. Today, you feel that loss most deeply, Mary, Chris, Allison, Kevin, Cole, and all the rest of Rollie’s family and friends who mourn him today. And we feel it with you.

Death leaves behind a growing emptiness. An empty chair at the table. A quiet room that once carried his voice. Conversations that now live only in memory. An empty cabin by the lake waiting for someone who will not walk through its door again. And that grief is real.

But Jesus reminds us today that every earthly home is temporary. Paul says in 2 Corinthians that this earthly life is a tent. Temporary. Fragile. Passing away. And we know that is true. Homes decay. Bodies weaken. Strength fades. Wealth disappears. Eventually every earthly thing slips through our fingers.

But Jesus speaks of another home. “In My Father’s house are many rooms.” The old King James says “many mansions.” But the Greek word really means dwelling places. Abiding places. Permanent homes. Not temporary tents. Permanent dwellings.

And the center of that home is not golden streets or heavenly luxury. The center is Christ Himself. Listen again to what Jesus says: “I will come again and will take you to Myself, that where I am you may be also.” That is the comfort of the Christian faith. Not merely that believers go somewhere after death. But that Christ receives them to Himself.

Paul says: “To be away from the body [is] to be at home with the Lord.” The Christian dead are not lost. Not abandoned. Not forgotten. They belong to Christ.

And notice something else. Jesus says: “I go to prepare a place for you.” How does He prepare that place? Through His cross. Through His suffering. Through His death. Through His resurrection.

The comfort of today is not that Rollie was good enough. The comfort is not that he worked hard enough, or succeeded enough, or deserved enough. The comfort is that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners. Jesus prepares the Father’s house by dying for sinners and rising again. That means the Christian hope rests entirely on Him. Entirely on Christ.

And there is even more here. Many people think Christianity teaches only this: you die and go to heaven. But the promise is even greater than that. Yes, those who die in Christ are with Him now. But the final Christian hope is not disembodied spirits floating somewhere far away. The final hope is the resurrection of the body.

Isaiah says: “He will swallow up death forever.” And that is exactly what Christ will do. The day is coming when Christ Himself will return. The dead will be raised. Creation itself will be renewed. New heavens and a new earth. No more death. No more graves. No more funerals. “This body in the grave we lay there to await that solemn day.” The dwelling Christ prepares reaches its fullness in the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come.

And so Jesus says finally: “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.” Jesus does not merely teach the way. He is the Way. He is the narrow gate. He is the resurrection and the life.

And so this funeral is not only about Rollie. It is also for you. For your faith. For your repentance. For your hope. Because every person gathered here faces the same reality. The wages of sin is death.

But Christ has died. Christ is risen. And Christ will come again.

And therefore, for those who belong to Him, death does not have the final word.

So today we grieve. But not without hope. Because Christ has prepared a place for His people. And where He is, there His faithful shall be also. Amen.

The peace of God that passes all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.

Ephesians 1:15–23; Ascension; May 17, 2026

The Ascension of Our Lord, Jesus Christ

Ephesians 1:15–23

Life in Christ Lutheran Church, Grand Marais, MN
May 17, 2023

Grace and peace to you from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

Ascension seems a bit strange to Christians.

The Ascension almost seems like an ending.

Christmas begins something.
Good Friday accomplishes something.
Easter triumphs over something.

But Ascension can sound like Jesus simply went away.

As though the disciples watched Him disappear into the clouds and now the Church is left alone to continue without Him.

That is how many Christians quietly think about Ascension.

Jesus was here once.
Jesus acted once.
Jesus spoke once.

But now He is gone.

But the Scriptures teach the opposite.

Ascension is not Jesus leaving His church.

It is about Christ taking His throne.

Jesus Christ, the crucified One, now reigns over His church.

Lots of people don’t look at this Ephesians text as an Ascension text.

But it is.

It is exactly what Paul is talking about.

He speaks about rulers, authorities, powers, and dominions.

And to be honest, in our day and age, all of that looks like a mess.

The world is a mess.

Wars rage across the world.
Governments promise peace and produce corruption.
False teaching creeps into the Church itself.
Christians are mocked.
Churches shrink.
Death continues its relentless work.
Cemeteries keep growing.
Hospitals remain full.

And every generation of Christians begins to wonder the same thing:

Is Christ really reigning?

There is nothing new here.

The world is always the world; societies are built on corruption and greed.

The church faces the temptation to doubt Jesus’ words.

Even the disciples stood staring into the sky after Jesus ascended.

Into this doubt, Paul says God:

“raised [Jesus] from the dead and seated Him at His right hand.”

He uses enthronement language.

Seated at the right hand of God.

The power of God is there at His right hand.

Christ isn’t floating somewhere in space.

He is seated at the power of God, at the authority of God, at God’s dominion, and His kingship.

And notice:

The One who reigns isn’t merely God.

The One reigning is Jesus Christ.

The man born of Mary.

The One with the nail marks in His hands and feet, and the spear scar.

The One who was crucified for sinners.

The crucified man rules the universe.

Not Caesar.
Not presidents.
Not billionaires.
Not armies.
Not the devil.

The One ruling creation is the One who allowed nails to be driven through His hands.

The One seated above every power is the One who carried a cross through the streets of Jerusalem.

And that changes everything.

Then Paul pushes it one step further.

It is, in fact, the very heart of this text.

“And He put all things under His feet and gave Him as head over all things to the church.”

Over all things, Paul says.

But he doesn’t end there.

Over all things to the church.

To the church.

In other words, everything Christ rules, He does for the benefit of His people, the Church.

The ἐκκλησίᾳ.

The Greek word means “called out.”

Those Jesus calls through Holy Baptism, through faith, are the beneficiaries of Jesus’ rule.

We benefit from all that we see Him doing.

Just look at this church building—I see Him working here.

But that’s obvious.

He rules even in things we don’t understand.

He rules in suffering.
He rules in hardship.
He rules even in death.

There is nothing that happens that escapes His authority.

Absolutely nothing.

That means your suffering is not random.

Your hardships are not meaningless.

Even death itself has been bent into service under Christ.

The devil intends destruction.
The world intends chaos.
Sin intends ruin.

But Christ reigns over all of it.

And if you think there are powers outside His control, Paul answers that too:

“For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
— Romans 8:38–39

Notice how Paul piles up the universe itself:

death,
life,
angels,
rulers,
powers,
height,
depth,
all creation.

He is exhausting language itself trying to make one point:

Nothing can separate you from Christ.

In other words, the One governing history isn’t your enemy.

He rules over everything in love, for you.

He is your Savior.

And being that, everything that happens is used for your benefit.

When we think that the Ascension means Jesus is absent, the Scriptures teach exactly the opposite.

Christ now fills all things.

He is here every time we gather.

He is reigning over His church through speaking His Word, through His activity in Holy Baptism, through His real presence in the Holy Supper, and especially through the forgiveness proclaimed to you.

The ascended Lord Jesus Christ is here now.

He isn’t here because you can feel Him here.

He isn’t present here because we use our emotions to climb up to Him.

We don’t gather around memories of Jesus.

The church gathers around the living Christ who still speaks and gives Himself.

Christianity is not nostalgia.

The Church is not a museum preserving stories about a dead religious figure.

Christ is alive.
Christ reigns.
Christ speaks now.
Christ forgives now.
Christ feeds now.
Christ is present now.

Paul prays.

The text is a kind of prayer.

He wants us to understand how Jesus is reigning.

He gives us hope in our calling.

We are ἐκκλησίᾳ, called out, the Church.

The Church is the ἐκκλησία — the “called out ones.”

Called out of darkness.
Called out of unbelief.
Called out of death itself.

Christ reigns for those He has called to Himself.

He calls us out of the world to Himself.

He gives purpose and meaning.

We have an inheritance.

Not only a heavenly one, but a new earthly one.

And everything He does is for the Church.

Why does Paul spend ink on those things?

Because we lose sight of Jesus reigning.

Christians see the world the way it is.

And Satan is pushing you to believe that evil is winning.

That history is random and rudderless.

That Jesus is distant.

That He left the church and abandoned us.

But Ascension says otherwise.

Jesus reigns now.

He is the One reigning over all heaven and earth.

And He is the same One who died and rose for you.

Ascension is not the story of Christ abandoning His church.

It is a public declaration:

Sin is defeated.
Death is conquered.
Satan is crushed.
The sacrifice has been accepted.
And the crucified Christ now reigns forever.

The throne of heaven is occupied by your Savior.

And He reigns for you. Amen.

The peace of God that passes all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.

John 9; The Fourth Sunday in Lent — March 22, 2026

The Light of the World

John 9
The Fourth Sunday in Lent — March 22, 2020
Life in Christ Lutheran Church — Grand Marais, Minnesota

Grace and peace to you from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

Since our text is an entire chapter, we will walk through it together and make a few comments along the way.

“As he passed by, he saw a man blind from birth.”

Jesus sees people in need, and He acts.

After all, He came in human flesh to suffer and die on the cross for your need. He sees your need for forgiveness and does something about it.

The disciples ask what seems like the obvious question:

“Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”

The assumption is clear: someone must be getting punished.

Think of Job’s friends.

But Jesus redirects the conversation. He speaks not about blame, but about purpose.

“It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be displayed in him.”

That is important.

Our lives are not ultimately about our own purposes, but God’s. This man’s blindness becomes the occasion for God to reveal exactly who Jesus is.

Then Jesus says:

“I am the light of the world.”

Jesus does not merely give physical sight. He gives spiritual light. He opens blind eyes so people may truly see Him.

John has already introduced this theme at the beginning of the Gospel:

“The true light, which gives light to everyone, was coming into the world.”

John 1:9, ESV

There is a conflict throughout John’s Gospel between light and darkness, faith and unbelief. And that conflict becomes sharper throughout this chapter.

Jesus spits on the ground, makes mud, places it on the man’s eyes, and tells him to wash in the Pool of Siloam.

Notice how earthly and physical this all is.

God does not deal with us merely through ideas floating around inside us. He works through external means.

Through mud, water, and His Word, Jesus heals the man.

And God still works that way.

He used the ordinary human body of Jesus hanging on the cross to bring salvation into the world. And He still delivers forgiveness through ordinary means: water, bread, wine, and His Word.

The neighbors are confused.

“Is this not the man who used to sit and beg?”

Some say yes. Others say no. Blind men do not simply begin seeing every day.

Then the Pharisees enter the scene, and division begins.

Jesus healed on the Sabbath. According to their man-made rules, this means Jesus cannot be from God.

But others ask an obvious question:

“How can a man who is a sinner do such signs?”

That is always the central question with Jesus:

Who is He?

The healed man says simply:

“He is a prophet.”

The Pharisees refuse to believe. So they bring in the man’s parents.

The parents confirm this is indeed their son and that he truly was born blind. But they are afraid.

Anyone confessing Jesus as the Christ would be cast out of the synagogue.

And so the questioning returns to the healed man.

The Pharisees become openly hostile.

“We know that this man is a sinner.”

But the man answers with one of the clearest confessions in all Scripture:

“One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see.”

The Pharisees cannot tolerate this testimony. They revile him and finally cast him out of the synagogue.

They remove him from the church—not out of love, but hatred.

But then something beautiful happens.

Jesus finds the man.

“Do you believe in the Son of Man?”

The man asks:

“And who is he, sir, that I may believe in him?”

Jesus answers:

“You have seen him, and it is he who is speaking to you.”

Then comes the confession of faith:

“Lord, I believe.”

And he worships Jesus.

St. Paul writes:

“Faith comes from hearing, and hearing through the word of Christ.”

Romans 10:17, ESV

The man now sees spiritually as well as physically. Jesus has brought him into the light.

Then Jesus says something sobering:

“For judgment I came into this world, that those who do not see may see, and those who see may become blind.”

This chapter shows us something important:

Whenever Jesus comes, there is division.

God’s Word divides.

Sinful people—including us—do not like God’s judgment against sin. We want to excuse it, hide it, minimize it.

But Jesus is not from the world. He is from God.

And He came to confront darkness.

Jesus says:

“For judgment I came into this world.”

But elsewhere He also says:

“I did not come to judge the world but to save the world.”

John 12:47, ESV

And both are true at the cross.

At Good Friday, Jesus takes the world’s darkness onto Himself. He becomes the sin of the world. He suffers under Pontius Pilate, is crucified, dies, and is buried.

Sin is judged in His death.

But then comes Easter.

God raises Jesus from the dead.

He walks, speaks, and eats with His disciples. He proves that sin, death, and darkness are defeated.

He proves that He truly is the One sent from God—the Light of the world.

Amen.

The peace of God, which passes all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.

Acts 17:16–31; John 14:15–21; The Seventh Sunday after Pentecost; May 10, 2026

The Seventh Sunday after Pentecost

Acts 17:16–31 & John 14:15–21

Life in Christ Lutheran Church, Grand Marais, MN
May 10, 2026

Grace and peace to you from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

“Now while Paul was waiting for them at Athens, his spirit was provoked within him as he saw that the city was full of idols.”

“Men of Athens, I perceive that in every way you are very religious.”

“I found also an altar with this inscription: ‘To the unknown god.’ What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you.”

“The times of ignorance God overlooked, but now he commands all people everywhere to repent…”

“…because he has fixed a day on which he will judge the world in righteousness by a man whom he has appointed; and of this he has given assurance to all by raising him from the dead.”

In Athens, Paul confronted the idols and philosophy of the day.

There were idols everywhere.
Temples everywhere.
And conversations about truth everywhere.

Would he see the same thing today?

Of course.

Just think about it.

The Athenians had statues.

We have bank accounts, politics, entertainment, comfort, identity, technology, and self.

But Martin Luther says the same thing Paul saw in Athens remains true:

“Whatever you trust in and depend upon in trouble—that is your god.”

Paul and Luther agree.

What you run to in trouble;
what you fear losing;
what you trust in distress;
what you believe will finally save you;

that is your god.

You’ve heard Acts 17 so many times that it barely touches you anymore.

You shake your heads at the Athenians and their idols while lying in your own dirty beds beside idols of your own making.

You hear about carved statues and pagan temples and think, “How foolish they were.”

Meanwhile, we trust our own idols.

We push the truth about our own idolatry onto people we call blind and foolish, all while clinging to gods we have simply made more respectable.

The Athenians bowed before stone.

We bow before screens, bank accounts, desires, entertainment, reputations, and fears.

And Luther’s words cut straight through us:

“Whatever you trust in and depend upon in trouble, that is properly your god.”

That is why Paul was provoked in Athens.

Not because idolatry is strange—but because it is normal to fallen man.

And the worst idols are often the ones we defend, excuse, and baptize with religious language while pretending we are wiser than the pagans.

Paul was not impressed by the Athenians; he would not be impressed with us.

He sees people worshipping lies.

Our town is no different.

It’s not less religious, just less honest.

People do not naturally drift toward God; they drift toward something they think they can control.

That’s what the Athenians did.

With all their advanced philosophy, all their culture, all their effort, all they could really say was:

“We don’t know.”

They created an altar to an unknown god.

It was a safety measure. They didn’t want any god to be left out.

You hear these things every day:

“I think God is…”
“For me, God means…”
“All religions are basically the same…”

It is meant to be humble.

It isn’t.

It is a confession of blindness.

Left to themselves, people—that’s you and me—do not find God.

We find everything but.

We invent a god in our own image.

“What you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you.”

Paul doesn’t start a discussion; he makes a proclamation.

He proclaims that God, the true God, is the Creator of all that exists.

He isn’t just a part of creation.

The Athenians saw gods as a part of the created world.

The God who is the Creator isn’t served by human effort.

If He created everything, He doesn’t need anything.

He doesn’t need any help.

He is the one who gives life.

And He is near to us.

He isn’t discovered by guesswork.

He can’t be reached by climbing up.

He must come down.

With these thoughts, Paul destroys the idea that you can earn a place in God’s favor by doing good things.

He doesn’t need you to do that for Him.

He destroys spirituality that is based on emotion.

God is outside of creation.

Emotion does not create God’s presence or truth.

It reacts to what God has already done.

And he destroys the pride that goes with using your mind to bring God close.

With all these pushed aside, Paul shows that you can’t build a ladder or tower to God.

He must be the one who comes down to you.

And that is exactly what He has done.

But He comes with a demand.

“God… now commands all people everywhere to repent.”

Repentance is returning to God.

It isn’t optional.

Repentance is a word we don’t really like.

It requires a change of life.

He is not one path among many paths.

He is the only path.

He commands, and we must obey.

Why?

Because now, ignorance is no longer an excuse.

After driving the Law, the command, home, Paul continues:

“He has fixed a day… by a man… and has given assurance by raising Him from the dead.”

It all turns here.

Jesus Christ raised from the dead.

All of Christianity is centered on this point.

Christianity isn’t an idea born in the mind of people.

It isn’t fleeting feelings that turn and fade.

It isn’t a system that is used to get good things out of life.

Christianity is… a man.

Crucified and raised.

There is no neutral ground here.

Jesus is either raised after His crucifixion, or He isn’t.

If it is true, it means everything.

If He isn’t, it means nothing.

The truth of Jesus divides.

People mock the idea.
It strains scientific credibility.

Some people delay.
“Not now. I’m too connected to my life the way it is.”

And some believe.

The question isn’t:

Do you like Christianity?

The real question is:

What do you do with the risen Christ?

If Jesus, crucified, dead, buried, and risen, is the only true God made known… He isn’t neutral.

If He isn’t neutral, you must ask what that means for you.

The Athenians did not know the true God.

Their danger was real.

But ours is even more so.

We confess the true God with our lips while at the same time trusting gods with our hearts.

Luther’s quote still stands:

“Whatever you trust in and depend upon in trouble, that is properly your god.”

It is quite simple to test.

Ask yourself:

What do I actually trust when fear comes?
What controls my decisions?
What devastates me when threatened?
What do I believe will finally save me?

If, like me, you have doubts about these questions when push comes to shove, Paul’s preaching can be devastating.

You can feel alone, orphaned.

But Jesus says:

“I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Helper, to be with you forever, even the Spirit of truth…”

“I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you.”

“Because I live, you also will live.”

In steps the crucified, risen Lord, Jesus.

In the Gospel for today He says:

“I will not leave you as orphans.”

The God who was unknown in Athens, and is undefinable by human effort, does so much more than reveal Himself.

He comes to you, and He stays.

He does it through the Word, proclaimed to you.

Jesus says the Spirit of truth will be in you.

The Spirit is in you.

He is not feelings.

He does not leave us to guesses.

Jesus is proclaimed, preached to you, right into your ears, right from Scripture.

That proclamation comes with promises.

The Word proclaimed creates and strengthens faith.

It isn’t vague unreliable words.

It is Christ’s own Word.

The truth proclaimed.

Jesus Christ, crucified, dead, buried, and raised, for you.

The Holy Spirit is key here.

Jesus says:

“The world cannot receive Him… but you know Him.”

The world still lives in “unknown god” mode.

It can’t do anything else.

But the church, Christ’s true church, has received the Spirit.

The world looks inward for answers; the church looks to Christ.

Jesus isn’t found by looking into yourself.

He is found on the cross and the empty tomb.

The Spirit points to Him constantly, through Word and Sacraments.

Through these concrete means, He keeps you in Christ.

There is nothing abstract here, nothing vague or unknown.

Jesus comes to you through concrete, visible, earthly things.

That is the Holy Spirit at work.

Holy Baptism is God putting His name on you with water, a visible common element.

And with that water and the working of God in the Holy Spirit, you are changed from struggling with an unknown god to being filled with the real one.

When you struggle with your doubts, when sin troubles you, when you feel too weak to go on, God sends His forgiveness to you through a spoken voice.

It is an audible, concrete thing:

“I forgive you, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

There can be no more positive assurance that you are forgiven than to hear these words—Christ’s words—spoken into your ears.

That is Confession and Absolution.

And then there is the Holy Supper.

Again common, visible elements.

Bread, you eat.
Wine, you drink.

And yet, Jesus is there in His very body and blood.

In it you become a part of Him.

You are given all that He has for you.

It’s too simple!

Yes.

But the Means of Grace are meant to be that way, because we need it.

In these Jesus is delivered.

He is not unknown.

He is not far away.

He is present, visible, and available.

“Because I live, you also will live.”

And there it is, the resurrection again.

The certainty of faith.

In Athens there was uncertainty.

They put up an altar, just in case.

Our altar is a confession of certainty, a symbol of Jesus coming to us here.

And it isn’t because we have struggled and figured it out.

It is given.

It is because of Jesus.

He died.
He rose.
Really.
Physical.
Provable.

He comes to you here in your need.

The world still worships an unknown god.

It still guesses.
It still searches.
It still invents.

But you are not left in that darkness.

The true God has been made known to you—in the man Jesus Christ, crucified and risen.

And He does not leave you there wondering.

He comes to you.
He speaks to you.
He gives Himself to you.

“I will not leave you as orphans.”

Because He lives—you live. Amen.

The peace of God that passes all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.

1 Peter 2:2–10; The Fifth Sunday of Easter; May 3, 2026

The Fifth Sunday of Easter

1 Peter 2:2–10

Life in Christ Lutheran Church, Grand Marais, MN
May 3, 2026

Grace and peace to you from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

In our country most people don’t know what it means to lack food. Sure, there are hungry people, but very few people starve to death here.

But spiritual hunger—that is everywhere.

And the problem is worse, because you can be starving and not even know it.

You can go weeks without the Word. You can neglect hearing, reading, and receiving. You can assume everything is fine.

That is what Peter is talking about.

“Like newborn infants, long for the pure spiritual milk, that by it you may grow up into salvation—if indeed you have tasted that the Lord is good.”

This is not gentle encouragement.

This is life and death.

Newborns do not tolerate hunger. They cry out because they must be fed.

That is the picture of faith.

But we do not live like that.

We treat the Word of God as optional. We fit it in when convenient. We assume we can go without it.

And the result is exactly what you would expect: weak faith, shallow understanding, confidence grounded in ourselves instead of Christ.

The worst part is that we do not even recognize the condition.

We can be starving—and unaware of it.

And this is why neglecting the Word is so dangerous.

Because when you neglect the Word, you are not just skipping something religious—you are cutting yourself off from Christ crucified.

But Peter is not just exposing the problem.

He is pointing you to the gift.

“You have tasted that the Lord is good.”

And where have you tasted that the Lord is good?

Not in your feelings.
Not in your effort.

You have tasted it in Christ crucified.

The goodness of the Lord is not an idea. It is not a vague kindness.

It is this:

That He gave His Son to be rejected, to suffer, and to die—for you.

The One who is called the cornerstone first became the rejected stone.

The One who feeds you first gave Himself over to death.

That is what you have tasted.

And that is what the Word gives you.

Not advice.
Not information.

It gives you Christ—crucified and risen.

The same Christ who was rejected is now given to you again and again through the Word that you hear.

And that same Word—the Word that gives you Christ crucified—builds you.

“As you come to Him, a living stone rejected by men but in the sight of God chosen and precious, you yourselves like living stones are being built up as a spiritual house…”

Grammar matters here.

“You… are being built.”

Not: you build.
Not: you maintain.
Not: you hold things together.

You are being built.

God is the builder.

You are the stones.

And this is happening now.

Faith is not self-constructed.

The Church is not a human project.

God is building.

And what is He building on?

“Rejected by men but in the sight of God chosen and precious.”

Do not soften that.

Jesus was not mildly dismissed.

He was rejected—condemned, cast out, crucified—thrown away by the world.

But that was not the end.

God raised Him.

And the stone the builders rejected has become the cornerstone.

The cross is not a detour.

It is the foundation.

And that foundation still divides.

“A stone of stumbling and a rock of offense.”

There is no neutral ground here.

Either you believe—and will not be put to shame—or you reject, and you fall.

Christ is either your foundation or your offense.

Here in our little corner of the world, we are building a church. Boards and nails, drywall and paint.

We can see it going up.

And it is very easy to think: that is the Church.

But it is not.

That building serves the Church.

You are the stones.

And what God is building here—through His Word and Sacraments—is something far greater.

Stone by stone, God is building His people on a crucified and risen Christ.

And that structure will not fail, because it rests on a foundation that has already been tested by rejection, by suffering, by death itself—and stands.

And because of that, Peter can say:

“You are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for His own possession.”

This is not something you grow into.

It is not something you achieve.

It is given.

Once you were not a people.

Once you had not received mercy.

But now you are God’s people.

Now you have received mercy.

Your identity is declared through Christ.

There is no clearer place to see it than in Holy Baptism.

There you were marked as Christ’s own.

Not because you built your way in, but because He placed you there.

So yes, a building is going up.

And it is a confession.

Christ is preached here.
His Word is taught.
His Sacraments are given.

But that building will not last forever.

And that is fine, because it is not the foundation.

The real building is happening right now—as Christ speaks, as He feeds you, as He builds you into Himself.

The world rejects what God chooses.

The cornerstone was rejected—not misunderstood, but crucified—thrown away, put to death.

And that is exactly the stone God has made the foundation of everything, by raising Him from the dead.

Which means this:

Your life before God is not built on your strength, not on your faithfulness, not on how well you hold things together.

It is built on a crucified man.

The One who was rejected was rejected for you.

The death He died, He died for your sin.

The judgment He bore was yours.

And the life He now lives He gives to you.

So, you are not building your place before God.

You are being built—placed, held, secured—on a foundation that has already endured sin, death, and judgment—and stands.

That building we are putting up will be finished.

And one day it will wear out.

But what Christ is building—built on His cross and sealed in His resurrection—will not fall.

Because the stone was rejected, and God made Him the cornerstone—and in Him, so are you.

The peace of God that passes all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.

John 10:1–10; The Fourth Sunday of Easter; April 26, 2026

The Fourth Sunday of Easter

John 10:1–10

Life in Christ Lutheran Church, Grand Marais, MN
April 26, 2026

Grace and peace to you from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

We like to think we are strong, independent, capable.

But Jesus calls us sheep.

Sheep aren’t the smartest animals in the barnyard. They follow each other, even into danger. They return to the same trouble time after time.

Did you know sheep get stuck on their backs?

It’s true.

They get on their back with their legs in the air, can’t roll over, panic, and die if not helped. Their digestive gasses build up and suffocate them. No injuries. No predator attack. Just stuck.

When it happens, they are called cast sheep.

The danger is real and fatal.

Jesus calls us sheep.

It isn’t a compliment.

A cast sheep needs someone to come and turn it over or it dies.

The reality of being a shepherd is that sheep do dumb things.

Sheep don’t need advice. They do the same dumb things over and over again. They will follow each other and anyone into danger. They wander from the flock after green grass.

They must be constantly corrected and protected… from themselves.

And Jesus calls us sheep.

Jesus knows what He’s talking about.

It’s a diagnosis.

We are sheep.

We return to the same sins. We follow the wrong voices. We can’t see our sin. And according to the Bible, you can’t fix it, the problem is permanent.

You don’t just need guidance—you need to be rescued from yourself.

“A sheep is a poor, weak animal; it cannot help itself, it cannot find pasture, it cannot defend itself.”
— Martin Luther

You are a sheep.

You cannot be your own guide out of sin.

You cannot fix your sin.

You cannot save yourself.

And Jesus gets specific.

“A stranger they will not follow…”

But we follow the world.

When the culture speaks, we follow.
When fear speaks, we follow.
When pride speaks, we follow.

Sheep don’t evaluate the truth. They recognize a voice, even the wrong voice.

They follow the wrong shepherd.

You are a sheep. You are always following a voice—and left to yourself, it won’t be Christ’s.

Jesus is the Good Shepherd.

He calls His own sheep by name.

His call is very personal.

He uses your name.

He doesn’t use force.

He uses His voice.

He calls wandering sheep.
He calls sheep that repeatedly return to the same problems.
He calls sheep that don’t listen.
He calls frustrating sheep.

Jesus knows exactly what kind of sheep you are.

He calls you anyway.

People—and you and me—are stubborn sheep.

We are not easy to shepherd.

We are wandering sheep.
We are stuck sheep.

An ordinary shepherd—Jesus calls him the hired hand—might give up.

Jesus, the Good Shepherd, doesn’t give up.

He calls you by name.

He tells you the way.

“I am the door…”

It isn’t about improvement.

The door isn’t one option among many.

He is the only door.

If Jesus isn’t your Shepherd, you are not safe.

He uses another name for false, hired-hand shepherds.

He calls them thieves.

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy…”

The thief uses false teaching that sounds right.
The thief promotes self-trust.
The thief endorses false religion.

The thief takes.

The Good Shepherd gives.

Jesus doesn’t give up on you because He gives Himself for you.

“Christ is the Shepherd who gives His life for the sheep.”
— Martin Luther

How astonishing it is that a shepherd would do such a thing.

A shepherd protects the sheep. He works for the sheep. He may even risk himself.

But a shepherd will not die for the sheep.

They simply are not worth much.

Sheep can be replaced.

If a wolf comes, the hired hand runs. That only makes good sense. The shepherd’s life is worth much more than the sheep.

Jesus says something that makes no sense:

“I am the Good Shepherd. The Good Shepherd lays down His life for the sheep.”

That’s the absurdity of it, the backwardness of it.

It is not how the world actually works.

And even more so when you make it personal.

Remember what kind of sheep you are.

You wander off.
You repeat your sins.
You don’t learn from your mistakes.
You are frustrating.
You are not valuable.
You are not impressive.

And yet—Jesus dies for the sheep, you and me, anyway.

It is not hypothetical.

It is not poetic.

He actually dies.

See it right there on the cross.

He hangs in suffering and death, for you.

He does it anyway.

Again Luther brings it home:

“Christ is the Shepherd who gives His life for the sheep.”

Not because the sheep are worth it.

But because He, the Good Shepherd, chooses them.

He chooses you.

You don’t have value because of who you are; you have value in Christ because He died there, on the cross, for you.

The absurdity is not that sheep need a shepherd.

The absurdity is that the Shepherd dies for them.

The Shepherd, the Good Shepherd, died for you.

And the Good Shepherd, the One who died for you, is still speaking to you.

He calls you by name.

Not just once—continually.
Not in the past—right now.

It comes to you through His Word, through His voice.

In His voice, in His Word, that is where your life is.

It is not in your strength.
Not in your ability to follow.

You would naturally wander off to what you think are greener pastures.

Your life is in the voice of the Shepherd who will not stop calling you.

You are not kept because you hold onto Him.

You are kept because He does not let go of you.

Jesus, the Good Shepherd, has already died for you.

He lays down His life for you.

So listen.

Don’t listen to yourself.
Don’t trust in your sinful heart.
Don’t listen to what the world says.

Listen to Him.

The voice you hear, in Word and Sacraments, is the voice of the Shepherd.

He keeps the sheep.

His sheep.

Even a sheep like you. Amen.

The peace of God that passes all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.

Luke 24:13–35; The Third Sunday of Easter; April 19, 2026

The Third Sunday of Easter

Luke 24:13–35

Life in Christ Lutheran Church, Grand Marais, MN
April 19, 2026

Grace and peace to you from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

Two men were walking on the road to Emmaus. They were dejected. These men were talking about all the things that they had seen in Jerusalem.

Then there was a man walking with them. They hadn’t seen him before, he was just there. He joined their conversation.

“What are you talking about?”

Cleopas, one of the men answered.

“Are you the only visitor to Jerusalem who does not know the things that have happened there in these days?”

“What things?” the traveler asked.

They were shocked.

Cleopas continued.

“Jesus of Nazareth! He was a prophet of God. He did lots of things only God could do. The chief priests delivered him to be condemned and crucified. We had hopes that he would be the Savior of Israel. And now some women we know said they went to the tomb and didn’t find his body. Angels appeared to them and told them he had risen from the dead. Others went to the tomb and didn’t see his body.”

The stranger then said:

“You are foolish. Don’t you believe what the prophets have said? They said all this was necessary for the Christ to suffer these things and enter into his glory.”

Then he showed them from the Scriptures, point by point, how Jesus had fulfilled everything that Moses and the prophets said about him.

Jesus doesn’t give them moral advice. He doesn’t tell them to try harder to believe.

He gives them the key to the Scriptures.

The Word of Life is found in the Bible. It is about Me.

The entire Scriptures are about Jesus.

That’s how you know a church is teaching the right thing. Everything is centered on Jesus Christ crucified. Every doctrine, every sermon, every Bible class.

Churches that deviate to moral teaching or life coaching are missing the point. The church of Jesus Christ is about Jesus Christ.

Very specifically, Jesus Christ lived as a human being, taught about Himself as the center of God’s Word, healed the sick, gave sight to the blind, was crucified dead and buried, and rose again from the dead.

The disciples on the road to Emmaus had missed the point.

“We had hoped…”

When they saw Jesus dead on the cross, they thought that all He had said and done was pointless.

What they didn’t see was the resurrection.

They had heard rumors, but they didn’t believe. They were lost in Jesus death.

Jesus clears it up for them.

He points to the words of Scripture:

“And beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, [Jesus] interpreted to them in all the Scriptures the things concerning himself.”

All the Scriptures… concerning Himself.

Jesus taught them exactly what they had hoped was true.

Jesus is the one to redeem Israel. And in fact, the whole world. His resurrection proves it.

He pointed to the multitude of passages that verified it. He pointed to the multiple passages that said He had come to forgive sins.

In other words, He taught them the meaning of Jesus Christ.

Later at the table, He was revealed to them for who He was.

“And their eyes were opened, and they recognized him. And he vanished from their sight.”

They saw Him for who He was.

Jesus Christ again in the flesh.

They believed He had risen. They believed He had died for their sins.

Their response is positively epic.

“Did not our hearts burn within us while he talked to us on the road, while he opened to us the Scriptures?”

It was the Word spoken by the One who caused it to be written. The One it is all about. The One who fulfilled it all.

And their hearts burned.

It was a natural emotion created by the teaching of the truth by the Truth Himself and received by the human heart.

The emotion isn’t the thing.

It was a reaction to the coming of faith. Faith in Jesus crucified and risen. Faith created through hearing the Gospel.

People so often confuse the emotion for faith. We like the feelings, the experiences, and the spiritual highs.

Scripture doesn’t condemn these, but it does show us that these aren’t faith.

Faith is trust in Jesus to do what He says He will do—forgive sins.

Faith is looking to Jesus on the cross.

Faith is the for me of everything that Jesus did.

The turning point in this text is at the table.

Jesus’ identity was still hidden from them until He:

“took the bread and blessed and broke it and gave it to them.”

Immediately Jesus was known to them.

He wasn’t seen in the teaching on the road.
He wasn’t seen in the emotion.
He was seen at table.

That’s a key.

At table means during the action of the meal. It emphasizes the action, not the furniture.

Jesus is seen in the breaking of bread and the fellowship of eating.

It is in Jesus breaking bread that:

“their eyes were opened.”

And then… Jesus was gone.

Why?

We see Jesus, not in His physical body, but in Word and Sacrament.

Jesus in the flesh doesn’t have the certainty of Word. Even seeing Jesus in the flesh isn’t the sure thing—we don’t see Him that way.

The Emmaus disciples saw Jesus and did not know Him; but in His Word and in the breaking of the bread, their eyes were opened—for we have a more sure word.

You don’t go looking for Jesus somewhere else.

You don’t climb up to Him.

You don’t feel your way to Him.

He comes to you.

In His Word—spoken into your ears.

In His Supper—placed into your mouth.

Not a memory.
Not a symbol.
Christ Himself.

Crucified.
Risen.
For you.

Here your eyes are opened.

Here your sins are forgiven.

Here you truly see Him.

Your eyes are opened there.

And there—whether you feel it or not—you truly see Him. Amen.

The peace of God that passes all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.