Rend Your Hearts

In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

This past Sunday, we celebrated the Feast of the Transfiguration of our Lord. We were privileged to have the heavens opened and the voice of God speak to us. We saw the face of our Lord bright and shining as the sun. And now the heavens are shut up tight.

Epiphany is a season of having the gates of heaven flung open to the whole world. The Lord of Hosts is here. And now we enter in to the season of Lent, where the doors are closed. The way is barred. The gates are locked. You may not enter heaven, not even in a vision. You may not hear the song of the angels. No glory resounds in the sky now. Mankind may not enter into heaven, but must remain on earth. You must sit beside the waters of Babylon, weeping for your sins and praying for a Redeemer. Mourn for yourselves, for your children, for the consequences of your sin. Transfiguration is over; today is Ash Wednesday.

The Lord and His Offerings

In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

“Yet even now,” declares the LORD,
“return to me with all your heart,
with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning;
and rend your hearts and not your garments.”
Return to the LORD your God,
for he is gracious and merciful,
slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love;
and he relents over disaster.

Each year, as we begin this season of Lent, as we mark the occasion called Ash Wednesday, the Church hears again the words of the prophet Joel, calling the people of God to repentance and faith in the Lord God of Israel.

Such is the portrait of repentance the Holy Scriptures teach you. Return to the Lord with all your heart. Rend your heart, and not your garments. Be broken inside, where the Lord sees and knows what is in your heart.

Return to Me

In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

As rebels, Lord, who foolishly have wandered

Far from Your love – unfed, unclean, unclothed –

Dare we recall Your wealth so rashly squandered,

Dare hope to glean that bounty which we loathed? (LSB 612.1)

We have wandered far from the love of God and from His grace and favor. Ever since Adam and Eve were thrown out of the Garden of Eden, man has been wandering the earth, seeking his own way to his own goal. The road is hard and unpleasant, and the destination horrible beyond imagination.

Isaiah says, “All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned – every one – to his own way” (53:6). You and I have gone our own ways, seeking after the desires of our hearts and minds. Lost in the darkness and the shadow of death, you groped along, trying to find the scraps of something good, holy, clean. Just as in Israel in days of old, everyone does what is right in his own eyes. Whatever floats your boat. Different strokes for different folks, after all.

Let the Bones Which You Have Broken Rejoice

In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

“Let the bones which You have broken rejoice.” That phrase seems like a hard pill to swallow. How can broken bones rejoice? Why would we rejoice in pain and suffering? Brokenness should induce sorrow and weeping, not praise and rejoicing. But in Psalm 51, David leads us in the pattern of true repentance.

Psalm 51 is set amidst a situation of deep grief for sin. King David had seen Bathsheba bathing on her rooftop, and lusted over her. So he called for her and seduced her, and impregnated her. When David found out she was pregnant, he tried to cover up his sin by bringing Uriah, her husband, home from battle. However, Uriah was a righteous man, and he refused to lie with his wife while his troops were in battle. So, David had Uriah sent to his death on the front line. Then he took Bathsheba as his wife. However, the prophet Nathan was sent by God to call David to account for his sins, and David was stricken with grief and contrition. His contrition pleased the Lord, but because of his sin, the son conceived in David's adultery died soon after birth.