Ezekiel 34:11-16; The Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost; September 14, 2025;

Ezekiel 34:11-16; The Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost; September 14, 2025;

Life in Christ Lutheran Church, Grand Marais, MN;

“For thus says the Lord God: Behold, I, I myself will search for my sheep and will seek them out. As a shepherd seeks out his flock when he is among his sheep that have been scattered, so will I seek out my sheep, and I will rescue them from all places where they have been scattered on a day of clouds and thick darkness. And I will bring them out from the peoples and gather them from the countries, and will bring them into their own land. And I will feed them on the mountains of Israel, by the ravines, and in all the inhabited places of the country. I will feed them with good pasture, and on the mountain heights of Israel shall be their grazing land. There they shall lie down in good grazing land, and on rich pasture they shall feed on the mountains of Israel.

I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep, and I myself will make them lie down, declares the Lord God. I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strayed, and I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak, and the fat and the strong I will destroy. I will feed them in justice.” (Ezekiel 34:11–16, ESV)

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

It is pure gospel. Tucked between the law, proclaimed against the faithless shepherds and faithless sheep. God does what God does. He saves. Right after harsh judgment on faithless shepherds and wandering sheep, right there comes this Gospel. It is sheer grace. Behold I, I myself will do it. He doubles up on the subject. I…I will do it. It isn’t just a way to fill up the text, it is divine emphasis. It is a conventional oath. God is at center stage. In every verb, the subject is God himself. Ten times God’s I will echoes out from the text. He is the searcher. He is the shepherd. The sheep don’t act. It is God alone.

God says,

Behold! I, I myself will search; I will seek them out; I will rescue them; I will bring them out; I will gather them; I will feed them; The verbs, seek, rescue, bring out, gather and feed, are given in the imperfect tense. That means ongoing, continuous action by God. It doesn’t stop. It isn’t a one-time action. Whenever the sheep are lost, he finds them with his active pursuit. Whenever they are in danger, he rescues them. Whenever they are bound in chains, he brings them out. Whenever they are scattered, he gathers. Whenever they are hungry, he provides rich pasture. You are seeing the very heart of God, the searcher. Grace in action. He seeks me, his sheep, whenever I stray.

And God continues,

I myself will be the shepherd; I will seek the lost; I will bring back the strayed; I will bind up the injured; I will strengthen the weak. I will feed with justice. Again, we see God’s tender heart. Continually, God never abandons the lost; he heals wounds with forgiveness; he gives courage to face the harsh world; and he protects the vulnerable.

And yet, God says it’s true. But… the news. Instead of safety, you hear about a Christian man shot on campus, attacks on churches, workers dismissed for their confession of Christ. It is a steady drumbeat of opposition. Satan himself, and the broken world, want the sheep to think they are alone, lost, abandoned, scattered, harassed and helpless. God speaks louder than the news. I, I myself will search, I, I myself will bind. I, I myself will save.

The natural question is: When? Where? How does God do all this. It seems the world is winning. Ezekiel gives the verbs. The Gospels show the face of God, in Jesus. I, I myself will search. I, I myself will shepherd. The invisible God has become visible in Jesus. He comes into the world, not as a king, but with nail scared hands.

The presence of evil remains. The wolves prowl around the flock, licking their chops. Persecution, hatred, bloodshed. If the shepherd has come, why is this still true? Ezekiel spoke it clearly. Jesus warned of it. “I send you out as sheep in the midst of wolves.” But the power of evil is broken. Evil is met at the cross. The jaws of death are crushed. He still growls. He still bites. But he is done in. His real power is destroyed. He only lashes out in desperation. His end is sure. And he knows it. The shepherds word still stands: “I Myself will seek, I Myself will bind, I Myself will save.” In His presence—right in the middle of evil—we are not abandoned, not alone, not helpless. We are His, and nothing will snatch us from His hand.

He [Christ] is the image (eikōn) of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. Colossians 1:15

Every question asked is answered in the I, I myself will…

I (I, I myself) am the Good Shepherd. The Good Shepherd lays down His life for the sheep. John 10:11

Every question you ask is answered in Jesus. When does God search?

But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons.” (Galatians 4:4–5, ESV)

Where does God bind up the broken? The cross. The shepherd takes the wounds of the sheep on himself, into his own flesh.

But he was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and by his stripes we are healed. Isaiah 53:5

The healing isn’t abstract, either. He is wounded for us. Jesus, the I, I myself, is bruised, beaten, and torn. Our injuries are laid on him. His wounds become our medicine. The news tells us of violence that wounds and scatters, but the Gospel proclaims the violence Christ bore that heals and gathers. His stripes are your healing. His death is your life. His blood is the Shepherd’s binding for the broken.

How does God save? In Jesus. The shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.

Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world! John 1:29

The I, I myself of Ezekiel takes on human flesh. Jesus Christ comes into the world to seek and save the lost. The verbs of Ezekeil take on human flesh. Jesus became the very words of God. He searches, rescues, binds and strengthens. He searches out Zacchaus, he rescues the demon-possessed, he binds the wounds of the broken. He strengthens the weak in faith. In the end he lays down his very life, so that the lost, broken, and condemned, are secure forever.

For you, He has done it—for you, the lost and condemned creature. The Shepherd became the Lamb. He was pierced for you. He bore the stripes that heal, for you. He laid down His life and rose again, for you. Jesus is the “I Myself” of Ezekiel in human flesh. Every verb—search, rescue, gather, feed, bind, strengthen—lives and breathes in Him. The news may roar with violence, hatred, and death for those who bear His name, but Christ has already crushed the wolf’s jaws. He is stronger than death, He has defeated Satan, He has won the victory—and that victory is already yours. Behold, I Myself will search. I Myself will bind. I Myself will save. That is our Savior. That is Jesus. He has done it, and He will do it forever. Amen.

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

September 7, 2025; Philemon 10-21; 13th Sunday after Pentecost;

Life in Christ Lutheran Church, Grand Marais, MN;

1Paul, a prisoner for Christ Jesus, and Timothy our brother, To Philemon our beloved fellow worker. 10I appeal to you for my child, Onesimus, whose father I became in my imprisonment. 11(Formerly he was useless to you, but now he is indeed useful to you and to me.) 12I am sending him back to you, sending my very heart. 13I would have been glad to keep him with me, in order that he might serve me on your behalf during my imprisonment for the gospel, 14but I preferred to do nothing without your consent in order that your goodness might not be by compulsion but of your own free will. 15For this perhaps is why he was parted from you for a while, that you might have him back forever, 16no longer as a slave but more than a slave, as a beloved brother—especially to me, but how much more to you, both in the flesh and in the Lord. 17So if you consider me your partner, receive him as you would receive me. 18If he has wronged you at all, or owes you anything, charge that to my account. 19I, Paul, write this with my own hand: I will repay it—to say nothing of your owing me even your own self. 20Yes, brother, I want some benefit from you in the Lord. Refresh my heart in Christ. 21Confident of your obedience, I write to you, knowing that you will do even more than I say. Philemon 1,10-21 (ESV)

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

(Thanks again to Edit-O-Earl!)

“Other’s can err but we don’t allow ourselves the same privilege.” That’s a phrase from a sermon by a Rabbi named Daniel Roberts. It’s not really all that profound, but it is very true, especially for all you perfectionists out there. You will really understand what the Rabbi is saying. Even those who are not perfectionists know a lot about making mistakes, because our lives are full of them. A famous Bishop once said, “I saw a man this week that hasn’t made a mistake in 4000 years.” He was talking about a 4000 year old mummy. It’s only dead people who don’t make mistakes. In fact, one definition of death is: “To stop sinning, suddenly.” We are not so lucky; we make mistakes all the time. And we hate it when it happens. It’s bad enough to make a mistake but worse when we make a public one that everyone knows about. When we make them, we are usually pretty hard on ourselves doing it.

I’ve made my share of mistakes. I remember when I was little. I wanted to make a good impression on the kids at my new school. We were playing softball, and I was third base. I missed an easy grounder right to me; you know the kind practically hit my glove and slipped right between the legs. I hung my head in disgust, forgetting that there was a runner advancing round the bases. He made it all the way home while I moped trying to show deep remorse. I doubled up on my mistake, because I was trying to show how upset I was at missing the ball.

Do you remember that show the The Apprentice. One of the guys there made a big mistake. (Actually, I think Donald Trump seized on it more for ratings than anything else!) He was offered immunity from being eliminated. But thinking he had done a great job and was safe from getting fired by Trump he turned it down. Donald Trump was flabbergast and fired him. As the young man was leaving the room he said, “I’ll not make that mistake again.” Because of a silly mistake he’s now out of the running for the coveted job.

We don’t often make life-changing mistakes. Most of the time they are of no real consequence to us, we hear ourselves saying that tell-tale word “oops.” But occasionally we make a whopper, a mistake that we can’t correct, one that really makes a difference in our lives. You know the kind: The big ones that are life changing, we may say “oops” when they happen, but the word doesn’t really cover the serious nature of them.

That’s what happened to a man named Onesimus. He made a mistake, his big mistake. His mistake is the reason why Paul wrote the letter to Philemon that is our text today. In a way, Onesimus is like the “Prodigal Son.” It seems (in as much as we can guess) that he was a slave who ran away from his master, Philemon, and may have even stolen something in the process. The punishment for what he had done was death. For slaves in the Roman Empire crucifixion was the most common way to carry out a death sentence. We don’t know why Onesimus ran; he may have wanted to see the world, or he may just have wanted to get away, but he ended up in Rome. When he discovered that a life of running away wasn’t all it was cracked up to be; it is thought that he went looking for Paul, who was in prison courtesy of the Roman government. Under house arrest. Paul was Philemon’s good friend. He had founded the church at Colossae. Where Philemon lived. Onesimus must have known Paul was in Rome, so he went to see if he could help him.

Paul does help, what he does is nothing less than Christ-like. He sends Onesimus back with a letter to Philemon asking that he (Paul) be charged for anything that is owed. Implying that Onesimus should be forgiven for running and even sent back to Paul to continue working with him. Martin Luther said that we are all like Onesimus, runaway slave. Jesus saves us from the punishment we so rightly deserve. “Receive him as you would receive me,” Paul wrote to the Onesimus’ master. Sounds a lot like Jesus words, “Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.” Matthew 25:40 (ESV)

There are two ways that people usually handle their mistakes, both the big ones and the small ones. There is the guilt route. You know that our society doesn’t really tolerate mistakes. Mistakes are seen as weak and foolish things we do that cost us. Mistakes are illogical and stupid. Just look at the ex-apprentice. Donald Trump must have called him stupid a dozen times. Oh sure, he learned from the mistake, but I wonder how long it will be before he’s hired, how long it’s going to be till he’s not known as the guy who made the “big stupid mistake” on television. When that’s the way we see life, when that’s the pressure that’s put on us, it’s no wonder that our teenagers suffer from a very high suicide rate. Our reaction when we make those dreaded mistakes is to go into automatic depression, like me when I hung my head after missing the ball. We are pushed toward self-revaluation. They cause us to re-consider our self worth. Others can err, but we don’t allow ourselves the same privilege. We hold ourselves accountable our whole life… and even beyond. And even when things seem to be going really well, we dredge up our past errors, to temper our luck. We carry our mistakes as a burden, slung over our shoulders like a big sack. That’s the guilt trip we lay on ourselves with our mistakes. And, at one time or another we’ve all been there.

And yet there’s another way to take that sentence. Others can err, but we don’t allow ourselves the same privilege. Mostly, when we run up against a mistake, we push it off on someone else. Call it the blame game. The more serious the error the more fingers we try to point away from ourselves. “If all else fails, blame someone else!” That kind of blame game has been going on since the very beginning. When God walked into the garden after Adam and Eve ate the fruit from the forbidden tree, he asked Adam, “What did you do?” “Hey,” the man answered, “the woman gave me the fruit. It’s her fault. And you know that it never would have happened if you hadn’t put her here.” And God asked her, “What have you got to say, Eve?” “It was the snake, he fooled me.” She answered. Adam tried to reflect the blame to Eve and God. Eve blamed the snake. God laid the blame squarely where it belonged, on both of them.

The reason we fret over our mistakes or try to give them to someone else is because we know what they really mean. Often, we say, “Nobody’s perfect.” And that’s true. We are not perfect. Adam and Eve were, at first. They made more than a big mistake. It was a life-or-death issue. They willfully disobeyed God. They purposely defied his place in their lives. They followed their own desires and did the only thing God told them not to do. They condemned the whole human race to the same mistake, the same rebellion, and the same punishment. We talked about Onesimus running away from his master. And the penalty was death. Being a slave, he may have had reason to run away. We don’t have good reason to reject God. And yet we do. Every day we try to make it on our own and ignore him. If Onesimus had been caught he would have died on a cross. The punishment we deserve is no less than that. That’s what our mistakes continually remind us of. It’s not that God punishes us for our little flubs. We make mistakes because we aren’t the people that he created us to be. We don’t live up to the perfection that God has every right to expect from us. The punishment we should get is death.

In his letter to Philemon, Paul takes up Onesimus’ cause. Onesimus had made a mistake, a dangerous one. Paul could have appealed to Philemon on his authority as an apostle, in fact, as Philemon’s Pastor. But instead, he chooses to present his case through love. He never tells Philemon what he should do. He just reminds Philemon of the special relationship they have. “Don’t forget that you really owe me your very self.” As if to say, “Jesus came into your life through me.” Paul doesn’t say, “Forgive Onesimus, free him, and send him back to me.” Instead, he says, “I want you to do what you believe is right, based on your relationship with me, and mostly on your relationship with Jesus.” What kind of a relationships were those? Here are a few things Paul had said before that he may have wanted Philemon to think about:

"God demonstrates His love for us in this: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us."

“Christ Jesus came into this world to save sinners--of whom I (Paul) am the worst. But for that very reason I was shown mercy so that in me, the worst of sinners, Christ Jesus might display His unlimited patience as an example for those who would believe on Him and receive eternal life."

That was the background of their relationship to each other, and their relationship with Jesus. Of course, we should remember that Onesimus’ mistake wasn’t just a little one, like a secretary’s typo. It was a serious problem. It was potentially fatal. It wouldn’t be an easy thing to set aside. Philemon is asked to ignore the fact that he has a houseful of potential runaway slaves. Forgiving and forgetting is a dangerous precedent to set. But, of course, forgiveness is never easy.

Paul didn’t expect Philemon to forgive Onesimus’ mistake because he felt like forgiving him. He expected him to do it because God had already taken care of it; and not only that but because God had taken care of Philemon’s mistakes, too. He assumes that he will forgive, because he too, had been forgiven. He assumes that because God has been gracious with him, he will be gracious with his slave. Paul told Philemon to charge him for whatever Onesimus owed, and he would pay it. It was a reminder to Philemon that Jesus had already done that very thing for him.

We deal with our mistakes in different ways, but God deals with them in only one way. He dealt with our mistakes, our sin, in the death of Jesus. The cross that Onesimus deserved for running away was the cross that Jesus took. The death that we deserve for our rebellion is the death that Jesus took. Jesus died to forgive the sins of Onesimus and Philemon and Paul, of you and me, and to take care of the mistakes that we all make. We don’t have to carry them around anymore. They don’t have to trouble us to our graves. We don’t have to blame other people either. We can take the blame ourselves and remember that Jesus went to the cross and died for those mistakes too. We’ve been forgiven much. We can take those things that trouble us and give them to Jesus.

And even more importantly, when someone makes a mistake that hurts us, that costs us. We remember that we have been forgiven much. You know the largest room in the world is room for improvement. Forgive as you have been forgiven. Amen.

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