LCMS Convention Proceedings St. Louis, Missouri — 2013, Page 91

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from His throne, assumed human flesh and drawn near to you.
Yes, he has drawn near to the world itself in bringing upon Himself your sins, which afflict you and which, if were not attended,
would leave you to both your physical and spiritual death. How it
escapes us to understand that this is divine mercy, compassion that
the Son of God gives even as the world hurls its vindictive insults
upon Him: “He saved others. Himself He cannot save. Physician,
heal Yourself.” “He says He is the king of the Jews.” “Despised,
rejected, we esteemed Him not.” His love is mercy, responding to
your need in body and soul. His love is sacrifice. It is Himself, all
of Himself, that He gives for you.
Yet, even here, divine mercy is given. It is Jesus, the Christ, who
has risen in His body, who is your neighbor. He is true God and
true man. He has given Himself to be the propitiation for your
sins. In Baptism, He forgives you in giving of Himself. You have
been freed from sin. You are His. He, who has died, has buried
with Himself your sin, your old life, and this life in Christ is now
hidden. “Consider yourself dead to sin and alive to God in Christ
Jesus” (Rom. 6:11).
You have died. Baptism is your death certificate! Now, in Christ,
by faith, you are freed to live. You are now a Samaritan, hated by
the world, dead to your flesh, freed from the guilt of sin. There is a
new reality and new life in this Jesus, the Christ. He has redeemed
you in body and in soul. His mercy is love, responding to your
brokenness, your sin, and taking that upon Himself.
There is more! His Spirit through water and the Word is now in
you and gives you all that is of Jesus. This Spirit also links my spirit
to yours and yours to mine for we assume the mind of Christ and
together have His blood, which makes us brothers and sisters.
Now, one in need, the man fallen amongst thieves is your brother,
your sister, and you are freed in Christ through your Baptism to
love him, to show him mercy. It is He, Jesus, who gives you at His
altar this blood and body so that we are all one—Him in us, us in
Him—and we are one.
Eduard, an 18-year-old young man, was helping us build a woman’s
wooden hut that had fallen down. She was mentally challenged
and had a young boy. The youth and pastors began to work to put
it back up. Her frame was rotted, and we did not have the money
to do this, so we stopped. Two days later, I went by her house, and
the frame was up, and the youth were building the house again. I
asked Eduard where the wood came from. He had been building a
house at the same time. He said, “Pastor, I took it from my house;
she needs it more.” Love, in Christ, is sacrifice, and yet so freely
given to neighbor.
This Gospel is radical. It is all grace. It is freewheeling. It is of the
Spirit, and it blows where it will. There are no limits. A Christian
freed to love is a powerful force for mercy. Our Dominican missionary team arrived for earthquake relief at 5:00 p.m. in the afternoon
at Good Samaritan Hospital. Two buses of doctors and nurses were
boarding buses. I asked where they were going. “We have done our
shift” was the answer. “Where are the replacements?” One doctor
said to me, “That’s not my problem. I have done my part.” It was
missionaries from four different denominations those first three
nights who cared for the wounded and gave them water as best
they could until more professionals and help arrived. In Christ,
the Christian is dead to the world, its expectations, its limits, its
C o n v e n t io n E s s ays

reason, and lives in faith toward the Lord and true works of mercy
to his neighbor.
Natasha came into the church through a friend. In the middle of
catechism class one day, she announced, “I am going to die.” I asked
her, “Do you want say something more?” “No.” I went to visit her,
and she had nothing to say about this. Two o’clock in the morning
I received a call asking me to visit Natasha. I arrived, finding her
completely drunk. A couple of the ladies of the church bathed her,
and coffee was prepared. We put her to bed, and the next morning,
the deaconess and I went to visit her. She said, “My mother had
breast cancer and died of it, and I will too.” The members of the
church took special offerings, and it did not amount to what was
needed. Doctors were asked to consider her case pro bono. Finally,
a door opened, and a doctor agreed to operate. The night before
her operation, the two of us shared the Lord’s Supper. When we
concluded, she said, “Pastor, do not worry. If die tomorrow, I will
be with Christ, and if I live, He is with me and my children.” The
Christian is freed to live. Even death has no grasp on one, rather
eternal life. She survived.
Six months later, the cancer returned. The doctor gave her a prognosis of 10 percent chance of survival. Now, Natasha was fully
incorporated in the Body of Christ. The day before her operation,
some 30 brothers and sisters of her Christian family packed her
hospital room, and we shared together in her suffering, in song,
prayer, the Word, and the Lord’s body and blood. It was agreed
that, upon her death, a sister in Christ would raise her children.
Again, the Lord was merciful, and she survived. Yet now, too weak
to work and pay the rent, she had no social net and no food.
The church members approached me and said, “Pastor, we want
Natasha to live on the church premises with her children and clean
the church.” I said, “She cannot work.” They said, “Pastor, invite
her to clean the church.” I said, “She is too weak.” They repeated
to me, “Invite her to clean the church.” I went to Natasha and
said, “Natasha, your Christian family would like you to be the one
who cleans the church and lives there.” She said, “Pastor, I am too
weak to work.” I responded, “Natasha, they want you to clean the
church.” She said, “Pastor, I am too weak.” Again, I gave her the
answer given to me. “Natasha, come, live there and clean.”
She came and lived there. It was Sunday, though, that most surprised me. It was time to share the peace, and Natasha entered
the sanctuary with tiny cups of coffee on a tray to share the other
sacrament of Lutherans as we greeted each and every one by name
and then proceeded to receive the benefits of our Lord who suffered in His body and blood and, as such, be privileged share one
another our sufferings.
A year later, we prepared to dedicate our first sanctuary. The day
before the dedication, Natasha asked to talk to me. We sat in the
sanctuary, and she unrolled a banner in which with pencil she had
drawn the picture done by Albrecht Durer called the Holy Trinity.
In it, the Father holds His Son in His lap who was recently taken
down from the cross. Above His head is the Holy Spirit in the form
of a dove. Off to one side is the cross, the scourge, and the hyssop.
Angels are seen looking on sorrowfully.
I said to her, “Natasha, when did you do this?” She replied, “Every
time I began to think of my cancer and my children and I could
not sleep at night, I drew this and remembered the Father’s love
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