Romans 5:6-15

I feel like the devil got easier to believe in this year. It’s been bad enough I don’t need to name examples to prove it. You already know. Laying them out only reminds us they happened so recently. Things are moving too fast. Time flies when you’re having fun, but apparently unrest, fear, and panic seem to do the trick too. The idea that there are dark forces at work doesn’t seem like a stretch even to a world so steeped in the secular.

Christians know the devil prowls about like a roaring lion seeking those to devour. That his wrath is fierce because he knows his time is short. That he is the enemy, the deceiver, the accuser, the murderer. We know who he is and we know what he’s after. Ever since he cajoled Eve into eating the fruit she coveted, he tipped his hand. “Therefore, just as sin came into the world through one man, and death through sin, and so death spread to all men because all sinned.” “Yet death reigned from Adam to Moses, even over those whose sinning was not like the transgression of Adam, who was a type of the one who was to come.” The devil wants none saved. The devil wants God’s creation undone. Of all the stuff nobody agrees on at least we can agree to stand together and say that’s bad. We’re against the devil. Sometimes Christians call it spiritual warfare.

We want to fight back. But since we haven’t found anyone in red suits with pitchforks, it’s harder to do. Spiritual warfare is easier when we can find that enemy in a pandemic. It’s easier still when we can find that enemy inside each other. The devil is in the thing making us hurt. The devil is in the one slinging blame that leaves us feeling like we can never do enough to make things right again. Accusation meets self justification. We paint the other side of every issue as the evil ones. The world as the problem. We pick sides to help. And Spiritual warfare becomes much less spiritual. Look around. The only thing we’re fighting is each other.

The scriptures are clear. All have sinned. The law always accuses. It shows how things are supposed to be. Things are not the way they’re supposed to be. That parts real easy to see in 2020. The devil doesn’t need new tricks to point it out. His pitchfork points to what God’s own law already condemns. Us. “Death spread to all men because all sinned.” The danger of spiritual warfare is assuming you’re on God’s side because you’re right and, and if not innocent, at least less guilty than the other side. It’s easier to talk about spiritual warfare when we find the enemy inside each other. It’s harder when the real problems in ourselves. I am a sinner. The problem is me.

It’s the devil who would have you think the only enemies are outside of yourself and outside of our walls. In true spiritual warfare, there is no us against them. There is only Jesus for sinners. For if while we were enemies we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son, much more, now that we are reconciled, shall we be saved by his life. WE were the enemies of God. Not the world. Not the devil. Us. If you want to understand spiritual warfare, don’t start with demon possession and angels warring against dark forces and crying for your help. Don’t look to the world and why everyone is doing the wrong thing about whatever just got called out on the 2020 Bingo card of horrors this week. Look to yourself. We were enemies of God. Spiritual warfare was fought against you.

It doesn’t look like all the good Christians teaming up with God to pray away the bad. Listen again. For if while we were enemies we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son, much more, now that we are reconciled, shall we be saved by his life. Spiritual warfare looks like the death and resurrection of Jesus for you. For me. For sinners. For all.

And that’s finished. Jesus died for you. Your sins are forgiven. So are your enemies’. Even the one who is wrong about the stuff that’s so important to you. Especially that one. Now we are reconciled to God by the death of His Son. Now, present tense, you are reconciled, so much more shall you be saved by His life. The devil lost. He wants none saved. He wants God’s creation undone. But Christ is risen. Sin and death cannot destroy anymore. The law cannot condemn anymore. The devil cannot condemn anymore. Now you are reconciled to God. The war over your spirit is over.

Now, the battleground is your conscience. Think back to Adam and Eve. The devil didn’t work damage through plague or war, but in a promise that never could actually comfort. Eat that fruit. You shall be like God. If you just do that, things will finally be better.

Today satan makes the same deceitful and empty promises. You can see it in the measurement of victory. How do even good and devout Christians talk about spiritual warfare? There is no talk of victory before the devil loses and we all get along. We don’t win until the devil loses and the vaccine is found and whatever other thing that goes wrong next gets fixed. In all the promises to make things better, there’s no comfort, only anxiety that grows as the next number gets called out in 2020 Bingo. G7. Murder hornets.

The devil’s true fight today isn’t in what’s wrong, but our mounting unrest, animosity, and fear. The devil’s war right now is fought over your conscience. The one that knows deep down that it’s more than “this isn’t how it’s supposed to be”. It’s “I’m not how I’m supposed to be.” I haven’t done enough. I haven’t trusted enough. Spiritual warfare is the devil doing everything he can to take your eye off the cross where Christ already won for you the victory.

Nothing in 2020 can change what happened in 33. Christ was crucified. Christ is risen. Christ is risen from the dead and death cannot hold you. You literally can’t stay dead. You literally wear the crown of life today because He who was crucified is risen. But I’m still scared. I’m still struggling. I’m still sinning. Even if all the problems in the world went away, I’d still be stuck with me. This is where the devil fights.

But spiritual warfare is not fought in us. It’s fought in Christ, for us. He fights back against the accusations of the evil one. “For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly.” For you. The free gift is not like the trespass. The free gift is not found in the law that accuses and shows what’s wrong. It’s in the gospel that reconciles enemies. “Now you are reconciled to God through the death of His Son.” Now you are baptized. Now you wear the armor of God that protect you from the darts of the evil one even as you wear robes washed clean in the blood of the lamb that let you respond to the accusations of the law.

I am a sinner Jesus died for. No, I haven’t done enough. I haven’t trusted enough. I haven’t fought hard enough. But Jesus has. And He did it for me and He did it for you. Now there is grace, the free gift, given to sinners that reconcile us to God and so reconcile us to each other. If you can’t see past the picture the law would paint of your enemies and of yourself, your spiritual warfare is simply to receive the gospel. Receive pardon and mercy. Receive grace and reconciliation. Receive forgiveness, life, and salvation that unite us to the victory already won when Christ burst from the tomb. That unite us even to each other. We are the enemies that were reconciled to God together. We are the sinners Jesus died for. We are the baptized. We are brothers and sisters in Christ.

Genesis 1:1-2:3 Matthew 28:16-28

This week has been a painful reminder of just how much power words can hold. We’ve tried really hard to forget it. We live in a culture that laughs at the idea that words were used to create our world. That would trade books and poetry for tweets. Even in the church, hearing how God spoke and stuff happened leaves us not with a sense of wonder, but of loss. We can’t do that. Let there be beer, but nothing happens. Do other Christians buy Alexa out of spite for the divine or is it just me? Shuffle my playlist, but even that doesn’t always work. It’s why I used to think our words were less than God’s, even though He gave them to us. He spoke, and creation formed itself to His words. Sometimes it feels like the best we can do is describe a situation.

It leaves us with a creation story that we’re too quick to gloss over. It might have been of more comfort hundreds of years ago, but now we can’t skip past it fast enough. I don’t think God gave us this creation narrative to feel embarrassed about in front of evolutionists, or even so that we would think less of words. I think it was the opposite. So that we would find comfort in just how much power they have.

Words have more power than the nursery rhymes we teach our children would indicate. Sticks and stones may break your bones, but words shaped the sticks and stones in the first place. 2 of the 10 commandments about words. One in each table of the law. You shall not misuse the name of the Lord your God. You shall not bear false testimony against your neighbor. Use words, not for evil, but for God. Don’t attach God’s name to falsehood, but call upon Him, pray, praise, give thanks. Don’t use words to harm your neighbor’s reputation, but defend him, speak well of him, and explain everything in the kindest way. The reason God gives this commandment is to show us how careful we are with our words to defend ourselves and how reckless we can be with them when talking about someone we disagree with. Words have enough power that God tells you that things can break if you use them for evil, and things can be built and even healed if you use them for good.

Stop. Breathe. Take a step back and consider. There’s something to be said for a group of people so afraid that justice will not happen that instead of seeking it from those given to protect and serve them, they have taken to crying for it publicly. There’s something to be said for the group of people who bear witness to this and instead of shaping their response out of love for the people who hurt, do so out of fear of being called a racist. Look at two mobs crying out identities to each other. Each say “You are not righteous. You have not done enough.” Each cry identities to themselves. “We are the virtuous ones. We stand for good.”

See how God uses words. He builds. He brings order. He shapes. He uses them for the good of someone else. He creates for us. Now look at how we use them. Do you build or destroy? Do you cry for order or chaos? Do you speak for the good of your neighbor, or just for yourself? Words used for good to create good. Words used for evil create more of the same. Words used for hate and violence produce those things. Words used for mercy, for justice, the same.

If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sin, God is faithful and just to forgive our sins, and to cleans us from all unrighteousness. I think what’s most heartbreaking is how little room there is to be called a sinner for how we talk. It points us away from seeking forgiveness for ourselves, but more, it leaves us convinced our neighbor wouldn’t want it either. This is why the world shouts at each other. If you can only find your neighbor’s sin in a sermon, look closer. This is not who you are called to be. You aren’t called to be the ones who justify yourselves. You’re called to be forgiven by the God who’d bleed for you. True virtue isn’t defined or demanded by the mob. It’s a gift of God who bestows it. And our God gives righteousness to sinners, to me, to you, to all.

He bore the cross to win it. He suffered not just the beating and the torture, but the mockery and the slander. He was called nothing so that you would be called sons and daughters of the king. He was hated so you would be called worthy of love. He was cast out so that you would be welcomed. Yours is the God who sends preachers into all nations, uniting them across all divisions. And something wonderful happens. The 11 go with Jesus to the mountain, and they worshipped, and some doubted. And Jesus still sends them. He said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.””

He stands in the face of those who worship Him, still inwardly fighting doubt that this can work. He stands among sinners cleansed in His blood. He sends them out to Baptize in the name of the triune God. Go give a new identity to all nations that would change every would you would speak. Doubt all you want. This doesn’t stand on you. This isn’t about you. This is for you.

We find our God dwelling among sinners in this promise. Lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age. He isn’t waiting until we finally get our act together. He isn’t waiting until one side wins. He is right here where He promised to be. That font and this altar are a mark of His presence. We gather, sinners with differences both seen and unseen, and some of us doubt too, but here, in the things He has commanded us to observe, He is with us. He is for us. And He will be so until that great end of the age when He comes again in glory.

When the day of Pentecost arrived, the disciples were in quarantine. It was about 50 days after Easter, and not as much changed as we figure. A couple months pass after Jesus conquering death, and we figure everything’s got to be different now. The Pharisees were still running the temple. Caiaphas still offered sacrifices there as high priest, refusing to believe he already sacrificed the lamb of God that takes away the sin of the world. The city was still under Roman occupation. The crowd still didn’t do anyone any favors by paying attention to them. Remember who this crowd is. They cried for a revolution when Jesus rode into town on a donkey. They cried for a cross when He didn’t deliver. On Pentecost, the 12 didn’t seek a crowd eager to hear them, the crowd heard a great noise and went to add to it. Pentecost wasn’t the sanctioned and safe beginning of an enthusiastic church we imagine.

We know the miracle of Pentecost, that tongues of fire danced over the apostles’ heads while they preached in languages they never knew. Each devout Jew gathered from every nation, heard in his own tongue the mighty works of God. The thing is, these same devout men spoke with one voice all on their own. No miracle necessary. Together, they cried, “Crucify!” The disciples were brought out of quarantine by God. He didn’t bring them out to preach to those who gathered together cheerfully after making all the right choices in the middle of it. They preached to the sinners who cried out for the death of God. They preached to the terrified. They preached to the confused who did their best and second guessed it every step of the way. They preached to those who hear what God would call good and mocked it then called the messengers drunk for it. They preached to us.

We can go back over the last couple months and wonder, second guess our choices, and attack each other for doing what we thought was best. The thing is, that doesn’t seem to be fixing anything. As it turns out, trying to feel better by making someone else feel worse doesn’t help. But this is the crowd God sends preachers to. Peter preaches hope, not in an action plan for the future. Not in being on the side that made the right choices. He preaches to the ones who put Jesus to death. He tells them Jesus didn’t die because of them, and for them. Of of the sins of all of the sinners gathered that day, the selfishness, the arrogance, the anger, the idolatry, are covered in the blood of God which pays the price for the evil they work. The sinners are forgiven. The path forward is, “Repent and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.” Which is good, because God speaks a warning through him too. As weird as it is right now, it’s only going to get weirder.

“‘And in the last days it shall be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit on all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams; even on my male servants and female servants in those days I will pour out my Spirit, and they shall prophesy. And I will show wonders in the heavens above and signs on the earth below, blood, and fire, and vapor of smoke; the sun shall be turned to darkness and the moon to blood, before the day of the Lord comes, the great and magnificent day. And it shall come to pass that everyone who calls upon the name of the Lord shall be saved.”

Christians and unbelievers alike get caught in the same mistake. We’re all in this together. We see the same signs and marvel at them. It’s all the world talks about. We live in uncertain times. Look how weird it is. The internet says this all started when a gorilla named Harambe got shot in 2016. The political parties just blame each other. The preppers bought all the toilet paper. Sinners sinned. I don’t think it was any less weird a generation ago, we just didn’t have facebook to point it out. Wars and rumors of wars. Blood. Fire. Disaster. Fear. These have been the air we breathe since the crowds were gathered on Pentecost. And in all of it we miss the most important part. When all you look at are the signs, everyone can tell it’s weird, but nobody can hope in the middle of it. Even the world can see it’s weird down here, but it’s been weird so long we call it the new normal.

The crowd saw the sun blotted out from the sky when Christ was crucified. I’m pretty sure they didn’t mock the disciples and call them drunk for talking about the signs. Everyone was talking about them. Nobody gets filled with new wine and speaks perfectly in languages they never knew. It was what they promised that seemed so ridiculous. Everyone who calls upon the name of the Lord shall be saved. That’s greater than any sign and wonder you see here. There’s salvation for the crowds of belligerent sinners because God rode into Jerusalem to die for them. There’s salvation in the middle of uncertain times when nobody knows what to do but we’re pretty sure everyone else is doing it wrong because God doesn’t reserve salvation for the ones who navigate the signs, but promises it to those who call upon His name. There’s salvation not in finding a safe place to wait out the dark days or fighting on the front line of whatever thing happens next, but in the God who chose to dwell in this mess to bring you through it. There’s salvation in His death and resurrection, because He died and rose for you. Don’t just look at the signs of the world. Look at the promise. Look at the greatest miracle done on Pentecost, because it’s still going on today. Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.

Peter preached that the church was never founded on safety. It was never founded on things being normal. It was founded on Jesus, who gives salvation to every sinner who calls upon His name no matter what was happening. It’s what you see in our kids today. Confirmation isn’t a graduation. It isn’t a promise that our kids will grow up in a world free from scary things. They won’t. We point blank ask you. Do you intend to continue steadfast in this confession and church and to suffer all, even death, rather than fall away from it? But again, don’t look to the signs. Look to the promise. It’s in the answer. We don’t answer yes. We’re still afraid. It can’t stand on us. We answer yes, with the help of God. God helps you. God saves you. It stands on that. Even for crowds like the sinners who gathered then. Even for crowds like the sinners that gather here today. Even in a world that looks like that. Even in a world that looks like this. Confirmation isn’t the end. Not just because you have more to learn. It’s because God has more help to give.

Pentecost wasn’t the sanctioned and safe beginning of an enthusiastic church we imagine. It was an illegal gathering of belligerent sinners, called, gathered, enlightened, sanctified and kept by the Holy Spirit through the power of God’s word. The church still stands in dangerous times, full of forgiven sinners, and sustained by the same promise. Everyone who calls upon the name of the Lord will be saved. This promise is for you, for your children, and for your children’s children. It gives a new identity. Every nation gathered to in Jerusalem was given a new identity that joined them together. Baptized. Christian. Those that saw the signs and still dared to hope. Those who called upon the name of the Lord and were saved.

John 17:1-11

The hour has come for the Son to be glorified. He just seems to use the word differently than we do. Our glory days were back when things were better. When life was simpler. When all you had to worry about was the stuff you made look easy. When life seemed pretty doable and everything seemed under control. We were seen as mighty. We were admired. Respected.

The problem with those glory days is you don’t really know that’s what they are until they’re gone. We had problems back then, but todays are bigger. Glory days all worked out, but you’re not sure today will. We remember them as brighter days. A time before suffering. The problem with glory days is that we get so caught up in the power of them we gloss over not just the problems that worked themselves out, but all the sins we committed in the middle. The way we see those days shows how easy it is to be unbothered by what the Lord calls sin as long as it came without consequence to you. And maybe even worse, it leaves with a bad taste in our mouths for the God who would call suffering a blessing.

Jesus lifted up his eyes to heaven, and said, “Father, the hour has come; glorify your Son that the Son may glorify you. The hour has finally come for the Son to be glorified. Apparently that wasn’t when 5000 folks were willing to follow Him days out into the middle of nowhere just to listen to Him talk. Or in feeding all of them with 5 loaves of bread and 2 fish. Or in the water turned into wine that made Jesus the hero of the party. Or in the walking on water. Or in the calming the storm. Or in the healing the desperate and the sick. Or in resisting the devil in the wilderness in a 40 day trial of wills. Jesus wasn’t glorified in making everything look easy. He wasn’t glorified in power. The hour where the Son of God was glorified was about the third hour, as the sun was blotted out from the sky, as He hung from the cross to be mocked by His enemies. Not in strength, but weakness. Not in being admired, but humiliated. Not in the things the world respects and we sinners covet, but as He was despised and we esteemed Him not. When He was stricken, smitten, and afflicted for you. There, He won for you eternal life. There He reveals something of God we’d never otherwise see. Because that’s what glory really means.

Glory is a loaded word in the bible. It doesn’t just mean cool stuff. When the bible stays glory, it’s a word for God’s presence. It means God is actually there. The glory of the Lord is the presence of the Lord. So when angel choirs sang “glory to God in the highest” to shepherds, it was because God was present on earth, laying in a manger. When the glory of the Lord dwelt on Sinai and a cloud covered it and Moses entered the cloud, it was to talk to God who was present there. Where God locates Himself, His glory shines. God can work everywhere and anywhere, but that His glory shines in certain places means these are where He works with purpose for you.

The Son was glorified on the cross, and the word glory takes new shape. This is where God wants to be present, not just everywhere, but for you, anywhere you find yourself. Not just in power, but in mercy. This is where the fullness of His will is revealed. Look at the Son of God suffer for you. He bears your sins. He bears the things you did in the name of your glory days. He bears your covetousness for days gone by. He bears your weakness today. And He wins for you a victory that none of these things can rob from you.

It changes how we see the weaknesses and darker days we wish we could go back in time to hide from. The glory rested on Sinai and a cloud of darkness concealed the Lord. Moses went up on the mountain to talk to God. So the closer Moses went into the darkness, the closer he came to God. The hour of glory was revealed in the Son, suffering for you on the cross. Jesus prays, “And now, Father, glorify me in your own presence with the glory that I had with you before the world existed.” The presence of God is found on the cross. So the closer we come to suffering, the closer we come to Him. God doesn’t reveal Himself in power, but mercy. Mercy isn’t given to folks who don’t need it. Glory doesn’t exist apart from crosses, He hangs on them for you and with you.

So the Son does not pray for the might of the world. He prays for you, who suffer in this life. He prays for you, who sin and cause suffering to others. He prays for those given to Him, the baptized. He gives us words of truth so we can pray too. Learn from Him how to do it. We pray like we already belong to the Father. It’s even in the first two words of the prayer He teaches us. Our Father. Even in darkness. He cares for us as a dear Father cares for His dear children. He brings us out of it. Jesus isn’t afraid to go into the darkness if that’s where you are. It’s His to bring you out of it. He isn’t unwilling to be present on the cross to save you. Here He manifests God’s name. He manifests God’s glory. He saves sinners. He shows mercy to you.

He prays, “keep them in Your name.” and the glory is revealed again where God’s name was given to you. You are baptized. You wear God’s name. You bear His glory. You are baptized into His glory, into His cross, but also into His resurrection. Don’t look back to the days you had no problems. Look right into the dark of today, and then look at the cross and remember your baptism. Know the God who makes Himself present in darkness, who bears it unto death, and who rises again on the other side is with you now and evermore.

“Now who is there to harm you if you are zealous for what is good?” For some reason we read that and assume there should be no answer. If we really love God, how could He let us suffer? Peter wrote that line to a church in martyrdom. He’d die a martyr himself, crucified upside down. He made his defense for the hope that was in him upside down. On a cross. I don’t think he’s trying to make the point we think.

We imagine Christian witness is about power, intellect, charisma. Look how he found Jesus and got his life together. We imagine a witness apart from lowliness, humiliation, suffering. Nobody signs up for that stuff. We want a Christianity that makes our lives easier. It leaves us in the awkward position of trying to witness about a religion who’s symbol is the cross. When we imagine a Christianity apart from suffering, we imagine a Christianity apart from the cross. When you flee from suffering you flee from the cross. Peter calls suffering for righteousness’ sake a blessing. As someone who hates paper-cuts, that’s discouraging. I don’t want to hurt.

The thing is, “I don’t want to hurt” can become a religion to itself pretty quick. It has one great commandment. “Thou shalt not hurt”. To be fair, it sounds more appealing than any of God’s 10. The thing is, it offers no more hope. A religion that’s afraid to deal with suffering is a fragile thing. A religion that can’t explain it apart from a vengeful deity offers promises but never hope. If you don’t believe me look around. All the world bows to the goddess corona. I’m not saying we shouldn’t be terrified. I’m not saying the disease isn’t real. I’m asking how much hope do you really find in masks made from old tshirts? A religion that can’t deal with suffering leaves you always running, away from pain, and toward a promise that if only you do the right stuff, you won’t hurt.

Peter doesn’t promise a religion apart from suffering, but He doesn’t speak of a God apart from it either. Christ also suffered for sins, the righteous for the unrighteous. Our God works through suffering, not apart from it. He doesn’t stand on the other side of glory and dangle hope. He dives into the flood and bears the sinners lost to it. If your hope is in not suffering, there’s no hope until you get there, and you’re looking over your shoulder even there. If your hope is in Jesus, and Jesus wades into the suffering for you, you can even hope down here.

You will not find God in a place with no suffering. You find Him on the cross for you. That doesn’t just change how we see suffering. It changes how we see ourselves. Jesus didn’t bear the cross for those who were zealous for what is good. He bore the cross for the people who got what they deserve, who suffer for doing evil, for the sinners. For us. And that cross names you good. Forgiven. Righteous. Not by what you did. Not by what you earned. By the God who suffers for you and on that cross works a good so powerful if changes who you are.

You’re not just innocent, someone who can self-righteously insist they don’t deserve what happens to them. You’re someone who can stare at the suffering and say that’s where my God works. He isn’t on the other side as a prize for making it through. He’s at the center of it to work mercy and love as He carries us through it. That cross is a source of hope now, even if it hurts. Hate that it hurts. But don’t think hope waits on the other side of that pain. Know God dwells in the midst of it to carry you. You’re someone who can look into the suffering and know that if God is there, it can’t destroy you. You’re baptized. The mark of hope isn’t a future promise. It’s a now reality. Baptism now saves you. Through water. Through the flood. Through all that’s wrong and evil and still washed away in the victory over death by Him who conquered it for you.

God saved Noah through the ark. God works through means. He used an ark for Noah. He uses the font for you. It gives you something to hold on to in the middle of storms and suffering. You are baptized. Today you are saved. Today you are with God. Today you have victory. Today you are blessed. Have a good conscience in the midst of it. Not because you made the right choices in the face of danger, but because God bore that for you to cleanse you from shame and guilt and fear.

I don’t know if Peter had courage or cowardice upside down on that cross, but I know he’s baptized. I know that afraid or not, God had already saved him. The upside down cross they put him on became a joke we tell each other. The world calls it satanic, but the petrine cross is an ancient Christian symbol. A reminder that salvation is ours today no matter what they call us. God bore the cross first, so that ours would be like His. We are the baptized. We don’t stay dead. You are being carried safely through water.

Jesus speaks to troubled hearts. “Stop that. Let your hearts not be troubled.” It didn’t work. It’s not just you. The disciples are still anxious too. Remember where they are. Jesus isn’t talking to them on a sunny day in a scenic field. This is the great speech right before Gethsemane. Jesus is going to be arrested. Crucified. Murdered. It’s called the last supper. That’s at least a little ominous.

Sorry. It’s what we do when we can’t just believe away our troubled hearts. We hide behind jokes and memes. We hide behind anger. We hide behind vice. All of it’s easier to feel than the pain.

Troubled hearts. It’s almost a kind way of talking about the anxiety and fear and shame and guilt and worry that eat away at us bite by bite. When your heart is troubled, it hurts and it doesn’t just go away. Even Jesus can’t get you to just knock it off. And it’s easier to hide from pain behind sarcasm or anger or vice. It gives us the chance to pretend we don’t hurt.

“Believe in God; believe also in me.” We know it’s supposed to help, but honestly it doesn’t. We believe, Lord, but everything’s still pretty messed up down here. And that contrast has lead us to do some pretty weird stuff with religion. We start to connect belief with the lack of troubled hearts instead of hearing that hope is medicine for troubled hearts. We start to measure how much we believe by how troubled we feel instead of recognizing that Jesus is talking to a group of disciples who are freaking out and sinning. Religion can’t be measured by your troubled heart. Religion is for your troubled heart.

That matters because if I’m being honest the only time my heart isn’t troubled is when it doesn’t have reason to be. Lord, I’ll stop worrying when You stop giving me a reason to worry. If believing means not hurting, the only ones who really believe are the ones who have no problems of the world, no sins of the flesh, and no devil to harass them. In other words, if belief and inner peace are the same thing, the only people who believe are the ones who need nothing from God because they already have it.

It leaves us talking about Christianity in the future tense, not the present. Everything might be awful, but there will be a big house for you one day though. It’s supposed to help. It doesn’t. Because I need help now, not someday. Thomas gives words to the disciples’ anxiety. Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way? I want to go to there. But I don’t think I can get from here to there anymore than I can make my troubled heart go away. The best we can do is fake it, just like we do behind the jokes and the anger and the vice. In other words, the more we keep Jesus in heaven away from our troubled hearts, the more we fall into doubt and sin, the things that threaten the very salvation He promises.

In all of it, our troubled hearts miss the point. This isn’t about what or how or when or where. It’s about who. This isn’t about what’s wrong or how to fix it or when it’s going to get better or the where Thomas begs for. It’s about who. Who is your God? Jesus said “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” We usually stop here, the rest gets confusing. It isn’t just a diatribe on the doctrine of the trinity. It’s Jesus pointing disciples with troubled hearts to the truth about God we’d otherwise miss. Our hearts are troubled because we try to measure God in power, not mercy. When we measure God in His power to give us what we want so our hearts won’t be troubled. We miss why He’s there in the first place.

He’s there to be merciful to sinners with troubled hearts. He’s there to bear our sin and worry and vice upon the cross. No one goes to the Father expect through me. But Jesus is not a generic coloring page of a God left for you to fill in the lines. He is not the God of politic or self improvement. He is not the God of fixing all your problems so you won’t need Him anymore. God reveals Himself in action. God shows us who He is by what He does. And Jesus came into the world not to exercise power but mercy. He came to die for sinners that we would live. To say “no one goes to the Father expect through me” is to say No one goes to the Father expect through the cross. We get to the Father only through death and resurrection. Not having no sins and no problems, but having a God that forgives our sins and works mercy and life even in the face of everything that has our hearts so troubled in the first place.

Jesus is the way to the Father. The cross and the empty tomb unite us with God. You are baptized. Not someday. Today. Now. Christ is risen! “Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life. For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we shall certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.” How can we know the way? How can we fix our hearts? It’s not about you. It’s about to Jesus for you . Look to the empty tomb. rejoice. It’s already done. Not someday. Now.

See the love of the Father who draws you to His side. See the God who works through crosses, not sunny fields. See the God who is glorified in mercy, not just power. See the God who promises you will do works you could never do on your own. You will even rise from death. Let not your hearts be troubled. That doesn’t mean shut off worry. That doesn’t mean God will fix all your problems and that’s proof He loves you. That means even your problems and your sins cannot divorce you from the love of the Father. Your sins are forgiven you and your problems won’t keep you in the tomb. On the last day you will rise in your body free from all of them. Free from the pains of the world. Free from death and all it’s ugly symptoms. Free from the devil. Free to live. Until then, when your hearts are troubled, stop looking to what or how or when or where. It’s about who. Remember who your God is. Not someday. Today. He is the Jesus who conquered death for you. He is the way and the truth and the life, and He is the way and the truth and the life for you.

John 10:1-10

It’s really easy to create a religion. Really, we’ve been doing it since the fall. The Norse gods promised to keep us safe from ice giants. So far so good. Muhammad claimed to take the moon from the sky, put it between his legs, then put it back into the sky so quickly nobody could see it done. He’s right. I missed it. An atheist told me this whole creation is a cosmic accident, never mind the odds of it happening are so slim that you need to imagine an infinite number of parallel universes to make the idea that this was chance seem like even a possibility. Clearly if there was such a thing as God, He’d be at our beck and call to do parlor tricks whenever we demanded it. That He doesn’t do what we tell Him is obviously proof He’s not real. Just like when my puppy won’t come when I call him, he ceases to exist. That’s how things work…sure.

I’m not advocating for these beliefs. I’m just saying by all accounts the circular reasoning stands. It’s really easy to make a religion that makes sense. The measurement of the faith is always something I’m in control of. It’s easier to trust the things you’re in charge of. The standard for my religion is what I say it is. The gods I invent clearly want to do things my way. Everyone else is wrong, and you can tell by the lack of ice giants.

The problem arises because all of your religions disagree with each other. They don’t just have different standards. They contradict. They can’t all be right if they disagree. And if you’re going all in on one of them, how do you know which one to choose?

It doesn’t help our cause that when folks look around the sheepfold, it’s a lot easier to find the robbers than the Lord. Jesus says “the thief comes to steal and kill and destroy.” That part I see. That part we can’t miss. The death. The destruction. The evil that doesn’t just persist in a world of chance where storms and plagues come and go. There’s the evils men do to each other. Sometimes even in the name of religion.

Christianity promises life and peace. It’s real honest about how things are supposed to be. How we’re supposed to behave. It’s a tougher sell when everything promised so clearly doesn’t match up with what we see, and the people who claim to represent it fail to live up to the law’s demands. At least I don’t see any ice giants. It’s dark in the fold, and when all you want to look at is the thieves, it gets darker. That might be why God tells us to look to something else.

Our Lord never contends the robbers being present. He warns us about them. Expect them. They’re actually a sign you’re in the right place. That He won’t chase them out is the cause of all kinds of frustration, but He promises something even more peculiar. He promises that God speaks, even to the sheep.

“The sheep hear his voice, and he calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes before them, and the sheep follow him, for they know his voice. A stranger they will not follow, but they will flee from him, for they do not know the voice of strangers.”

You have a God who actually speaks. You don’t have to wonder. His will is not hidden. It’s spoken. It’s something you can recognize. It’s the scriptures. They teach you the voice of the shepherd, and that leaves every other religion exposed for what it is. There are only two real religions in this world. There are only two voices. One says do these things, and you will be rewarded. Call it karma, a cosmic scale, or Odin’s reward. It’s the law. It paints a wonderful picture of how things are supposed to be. It does nothing to get us there. Because I may not see ice giants, but I still see death, and even if you blame it on men not appeasing the gods, it does nothing to help.

So our God speaks words of the other religion. The sheep hear the voice of our Shepherd. We hear Jesus. He preaches the gospel. The bible is not about us. It’s about Jesus for us. The whole of this speech is about Jesus. He is the shepherd. He is the door. He is the one who cares for the sheep. He leads us through the only door to salvation. He leads us from the cross to the empty tomb. And He does so by going there first.

Jesus doesn’t stand back from what’s wrong. He doesn’t demand we earn His favor to fix it. He doesn’t promise a perfect world. He promises the cross. He promises to come to the sheep. To rescue them. To carry the lost and bind up the wounded. He comes to make the dead live. He comes to bear the cross, not for the righteous, but for sinners. He came to die for you and for me. He came to be the lightning rod for everything wrong so we could finally stop pretending things were fine, blaming each other for what’s wrong, and desperately trying to fix it without success. We cast each sin and evil upon the cross where God bears them to the bitter end for us. And we hear the voice of the shepherd. It is finished. Your sins are forgiven you. Death is destroyed. And Jesus is risen from the grave.

There are plenty of thieves in the sheepfold, but the shepherd isn’t gone. Look to where He promised to be. Everyone has trouble with the Christian church because it seems like it’s easier to find the robbers than the Lord. But what if Jesus wants them there too? He dies between two of them. He dies to forgive them. The measurement of the church is not the presence of the robbers but the voice of the shepherd. He speaks from the cross, hung between sinners. Your sins are forgiven you. Christianity isn’t being better than the world. Christianity isn’t building a perfect sheepfold. It’s the Shepherd who sacrifices Himself for robbers and sheep alike. It’s the voice that death can’t silence.

Understand what the resurrection means. It is an apologetic of hope. Stand firm against the evils of the sheepfold and call them what they are. Evil that Jesus died for. Evil that raged as hard as it could and still failed to keep Jesus dead. The apologetic of Christianity is the resurrection, not wealth or success, not the sheep but the shepherd. This is a religion carried forward on the backs of martyrs not afraid to die because they saw someone prove it’s not so permanent. They died alone and afraid. They saw what the robbers and thieves could do. And they sang hymns about the shepherd while they died at the hands of the thieves. And even here, Jesus lead them through the door. From the cross to the empty tomb. He rose. They live. And that’s beautiful. And it’s something that we can still hear today. The shepherd still speaks. He sends his undershepherds. He promises them something strange enough we should be used to it by now. If you speak beautiful things, you would be as My mouth. Preach the gospel. Speak of Jesus, the door to the sheep. There will still be others. Robbers. Don’t hear them. They speak of not Jesus. But we’ll sing hymns to them no matter what, because the beauty of the sheepfold is the love and the life that’s found in it, even for sinners. Even for you.

Christ is risen! He is risen, indeed. Alleluia!

Somewhere down the line we changed what Easter was. We never meant to, and it happened with the best of intentions, as all foolish things usually do. We wanted to build Easter up. This day matters more than any other. Paul says it’s our everything. If Christ has not been raised from the dead, your faith is in vain. If Jesus didn’t rise, we need a new religion. So we wanted to point out how important it was.

We put extra flowers here. We decorate the church. We all actually showed up for once. We even dressed up. Even the people who swore they could love Jesus just fine without ever being in His house put on their best and came to hear the good news. Christ is risen! He is risen, indeed. Alleluia! Let’s hide eggs and make kids find them. Don’t ask questions. There’s candy in there. None of it makes the holiday, but it shows we think it’s important.

The problem comes in when all of that stuff becomes the measurement of the thing it all points to. If there are no lilies, can it really be Easter? If you don’t get to sing I know that my redeemer lives? If you can’t echo the refrain, He is risen, indeed. Alleluia? If the sanctuary is empty? If you’re wearing sweatpants and watching from your phone and everything feels wrong, is it actually Easter? We act like the things that point to Jesus rising from the dead can put Him back in the tomb if they’re taken from us by someone eating an undercooked bat.

We try to laugh it away, but the feeling lingers. The things that point to Jesus are good. When they’re missing, that’s bad. When you feel alone, that’s scary. When the world’s a scary place full of too much about today I don’t like and too much about tomorrow I don’t know, that’s paralyzing. Even when you secretly feel relieved you don’t have to put on your best, most uncomfortable, clothes and spend time with family you don’t get along with and pretend everything’s amazing when you’d rather just dig a deeper hole to hide in under the guise of self-quarantine and you’re actually more afraid of having to go back to normal than you are of the corona virus because you’d rather wear a mask made out of an old t-shirt than the one made out of a fake smile, you’re allowed to acknowledge you have problems that eggs with chocolate in them can’t fix.

But if any or all of these things are true, you’re also allowed to hear the real story of Easter. Two women go out to the tomb of their greatest hope. He was murdered in front of them, but they have to anoint his body. They’re alone. They’re afraid. They’re lost. They don’t know what’s gonna happen tomorrow. They’d rather stay in hiding, but they have an obligation. They have to anoint the body of Jesus, even though they never even thought about how they’d move that big stone. There are no Sunday bests, crowds to sing, or eggs. But there’s no dead Jesus either.

An angel of the Lord descends from heaven, rolls back the stone, and makes a case for shorter sermons everywhere. “Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified. He is not here, for he has risen, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples that he has risen from the dead, and behold, he is going before you to Galilee; there you will see him. See, I have told you.”

Do not be afraid. Christ was crucified and He is risen. This is Easter. Every year, with or without the trappings. This is Easter. Every Sunday, with or without the extras. This is Easter. Every day, with or without the grocery list of everything wrong. Easter and the words our risen Lord echo as angelic sermons cry out, Do not be afraid. But even if you are, it’s still Easter, because Christ is still risen.

We do the whole thing backward. Easter isn’t a chance to check off a list of extra nice things to prove He’s risen. It’s a chance to grab the list of everything wrong, hold it up to the tomb, and ask a real simple question. Can anything that’s wrong today put Jesus back in the tomb? If Christ has not been raised from the dead, your faith is in vain. But if He is still risen, then the only vain thing left is fear.

So take the corona virus, the fear of tomorrow, the secret sins and insecurities, and the building anxiety and hold them up with all your sins against that empty tomb where Angels preached to terrified women and dare to ask, “can any of these things change the world so profoundly that they build a time machine, travel back 2000 years, and put Jesus back in the tomb?” Because if they can’t, everything’s going to be ok.

This is the Easter joy. This is the thing all the extras point to. Death itself has been destroyed. The seal of the tomb was rolled away by the angels who watch over you today. You will see your Lord again. He is here. He is for you. To bring forgiveness so real you can bathe in it in the waters of your baptism. Touch it. Taste it. Eat and drink it in body and blood. Come alone and afraid today and receive it. If you’re not ready to face the world yet, that’s fine. Hear it and know it. None of this can put Jesus back in the tomb. The risen Jesus heals, forgives, strengthens, and renews. He delivers the peace He promises in word and sacrament. He brings them through time and space just for you, so when everything feels wrong, when you feel scared and ashamed, when everything’s falling apart, we can lay it all out there and ask a simple question. Can any of this put Christ back in the tomb? Do not be afraid, because none of it can. Christ is risen! He is risen, indeed. Alleluia!

Jesus washes the disciples’ feet. Peter actually tries to stop it. It’s super uncomfortable for everyone. Still is. It’s uncomfortable to try to avoid doing it because Jesus flat out says we should. It’s even more uncomfortable if I actually get a bowl and do it. That might be the thing it has most in common with what tonight is all about. The thing Christianity argues about so often. Communion.

It’s super uncomfortable. It’s uncomfortable if we try to avoid the plain and clear words of scripture. They’re right there. But it’s even worse when we actually do what they say. This is actually the true body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ under the bread and wine, instituted by Christ Himself for us Christians to eat and drink. Like…really. Jesus’ blood. Same blood that flowed down from His hands and side on the cross. For you. Drink it. Seriously. We have to admit that’s offputting. When the funny looking pastor in funny clothes holds it up and says “the peace of the Lord be with you always” he’s showing you where peace comes from. It’s not in the air. It’s not in each other. It’s in the bread that is His body.

These words “Given and shed for you for the forgiveness of sins” show us that in this sacrament forgiveness of sins, life, and salvation are given us through these words. If you eat Jesus’ body and drink His blood your sins will be forgiven and you will have life and salvation. Not symbolically. The cardboard-tasting thing called bread and bottom shelf wine are the most precious gifts in all of creation. Eat and drink them and you’ll have everything God has to give you. It’s so hard to believe that the Holy Spirit has to do it for you.

Whether you believe it or not, though, is means is. When God speaks, stuff happens. ‘Let there be light.’ Good. ‘This is my body.’ Very good. God is actually here in church. The same God who demands holiness. So people have gotten hurt communing wrong. God doesn’t deal well with unclean. Anyone who does not believe this is unworthy and unprepared, for the words “for you” require all hearts to believe. So we only give it to people who will benefit from it. That’s never a “no”, but sometimes it’s a “not yet”.

It still leads people to recoil. This can’t be the way it works. It’s ridiculous. It’s mean. I have a better idea. Do we really even need this? You shall never wash my feet, Lord. So we make excuses. Because the only way to fight about communion more than trying to get around what it says is to actually do it and watch everything explode. I really get Peter’s concerns. Sometimes the whole thing feels like more of a burden than a gift. We become Judas’ guilt and John’s jealousy and Peter’s Ego. the darkest things in us take over. We insist we can fix it by avoiding the problem.

But Communion is not an excuse. It’s not a burden. It’s not something we need to reason away or struggle to justify. It’s an answer. A gift. A hope given for us to cling to in the darkest of days for the worst parts of us. When we make it an excuse, a rational, we lose sight of that. Above all else, we miss the whole point. This is for sinners. This is for you, full of jealousy, guilt, shame, rage, and sin. We don’t get fixed by ignoring reality, cramming in a room for a meal and pretending everything is OK when it isn’t. We’re saved by the God who washes feet. This is what He does. Owns our humiliation, carries our shame, our guilt, and our sin. He serves us. He bears the cross for you. This is God. He is the hope and the life. This God is the forgiveness that binds and heals. He washes Judas’ guilt, John’s jealousy, and Peter’s ego. He joins them together in forgiveness. They’re bound together in this. They are the body of Christ. It’s not about who is greatest, but who eats and drinks.

Peter suddenly gets it. Lord, don’t just wash my feet. Get my hands too, and my head! He wants more. I rolled my eyes until self-quarantine. We’re so quick to take shots at Peter that we overlook the fact that Jesus doesn’t. Jesus literally called him satan when Peter asked Him not to go to the cross. When Peter just asks for more grace, the Lord doesn’t rebuke him, but simply reminds him of an identity. A promise. You’re washed, already. You’re baptized. No. You don’t get more of what you want tonight.

Peter wants more grace than what’s needed, but why’s that so bad? Why’s it so bad to feel bummed about not being able to actually be in church to take communion on the night Jesus institutes it? Of course you’re baptized. Of course you’re washed already. You’re still allowed to feel like something’s missing. You’re still allowed to want more. Faith in Jesus goes to Jesus. To actually believe He’s in that chalice bearing promises like forgiveness, life, and salvation and then not drink is a gut punch. It’s still not no, but even being told “not yet” is a struggle. We can call it what it is. A fast. A chance to reflect on what’s missing. It will do one of two things. To those who see the supper as a law, and thus a burden, not having communion is either a relief or a hurdle to overcome by our own clever works.  To those who see it as a gift of the gospel, the time away from the supper only sharpens our hunger for it.  Skip lunch and dinner always tastes good.

Recognize that fasts end. Peter got more than his hands and head washed. He ate and drank. Recognize that same promise is for you. The answer still isn’t no. Just not yet. The fast will end. And when it does, you will eat and drink too. Recognize He is truly present FOR YOU. Not just generically everywhere. But here. For you. To answer. To forgive. To save. You will get to commune again unless our Lord comes first. And when you do, it actually does something. That’s the difference between foot washing and communion.

Footwashing is a symbol. It brings to light everything ugly. Communion forgives it. It is a meal that answers every bit of baggage we drag in here, every argument, pain, burden, guilt, & sin. It becomes source of our unity, bond of our church. Chance to see each other how God sees us. We can see each other receiving grace. This is the call to wash each other’s feet. This isn’t just about showing outward humility. It’s a call to see your neighbor as someone Jesus died for. Fed and made holy. Someone loved and worth loving. That’s why He serves you, not just by washing your feet, but cleansing your soul and feeding you with His body and blood. We have a place with Him. He is about to carve it out of wood from a cross and rock from a tomb. He is about to open the gates with Holy Blood.

Today, we wait, but we are washed even now. We have His life even now. Today we wait for the heavens to come, but tonight, it’s so much ours we can almost taste it, and soon we will.

Jesus rode into Jerusalem Palm Sunday. He sat on the donkey. No one came to lay down palms. The crowds were social distancing. The disciples wore masks, and 3 had to stay home to meet city ordinances. It doesn’t quite work.

Self quarantine, even with the best of intentions, leaves us feeling hollow as the crowds gather to meet the Lord who enters into the city to cries of “Hosannah!” We’ve been away for too long already. It’s tiring. It’s harder to sing hymns at a screen. You still should, but it feels weird. It’s harder to listen to a sermon when social media is a click away. At least during regular church, I can see who’s gotten bored of listening to me. The longer this goes on the more the frustration builds.

But what’s it say about us that we literally covet the freedom of the crowd who would cry ‘crucify!’ in a week? At least they got to sing together before they rose up together to cry for the murder of our Lord. As the frustration builds, so does the temptation to think our problems would go away if we could just be near each other again. We’re wrong.

Freedom’s a funny thing. Everybody wants it. We treat it like the greatest of treasures, a sacred thing, an inalienable right. But we can’t actually describe it. Ask someone about freedom and they’ll skip right over it every time to tell you about what they really want. Freedom only means being able to leave the house again. Let me sit in a pew again. Let me see my friends and family. We describe it in a way that always goes hand in hand with control. Of wanting for nothing.

The thing is, Jesus is God almighty. Presumably, He has control. God should lack nothing. He’s free, but He can do nothing but ride into Jerusalem on a donkey to die. At the same time, the people want freedom so badly they’ll trade the cloaks off their own backs and throw palm branches for kings to get it. They shout Hosanna, save us. But anger, fear, and pride will grab hold of them so tight they’ll yell ‘Crucify!’ in a week. Same crowd. They have what we covet, the freedom to meet, but as it turns out, that doesn’t cure their disease. Sin still flows out from the heart. It still breaks stuff. They have the same problems we have. Bottled deep inside their hearts are the idols they bow to in the name of freedom. Each has a nice label on it. Covetousness. Lust. Hate.

I keep all the same idols bottled on the shelf in my heart. They make us stupid. We end up choosing things that don’t make sense. We bow to those idols in the hope of finding peace, but only end up hurting because of sin. Not just each other. We hurt ourselves. In all of it, no matter how much control we have, or how happy we feel, peace just seems to elude us. We aren’t as free as we like to think.

So our Lord rides free into Jerusalem to die for those worn down and exhausted by sin. He preaches to the sinners, not just about the ridiculousness of our bottled up idols, but of hope. He fulfills the promises of the prophets. He sustains the weary with a word. He preaches of life that death cannot destroy, of freedom not rooted in control, of hope not steeped in idolatry. He preaches Himself, then He answers the cry of the crowds. Both of them. Hosannah. Save us. Crucify. He gives His back to those who strike. He bears our disgrace. He carries your sin. He helps, and in doing so, He shows us what real peace is.

He submits to arrest. He sacrifices control. He stands before pilate under all the pressure in the world. He’s the only one at peace. The Pharisees are in a rage. The disciples are terrified. The crowds cry in anger. Pilate’s hands are tied. And Jesus is glorified. Through short quiet cadence He answers Pilate. Through gritted teeth He promises thieves life. Through agonizing pain he cries it is finished.

But even in the midst of His trial and His pain and His death He talks like He’s free. He could come down from the cross anytime, but He doesn’t. He can’t, but He’s still at peace. He dies for you that you might have a measure of the same. He dies for you and me and all the world that the prayer of a lost and sinful people would finally be answered. Hosanna. Save us. From all evil. From all tyranny. From what we do to ourselves and each other in the name of freedom. It is finished. Your sins are forgiven you. Death is destroyed. You are free.

Freedom is a funny thing. It doesn’t look like running far enough from the things that scare us or even steamrolling over them. It doesn’t even always look like control, but it always looks like peace. Freedom is the chance to hold your head high in the face of every enemy because the God who loves you so much He would yield His freedom to grant you your own will save you from whatever you face. Set your face like flint. The Jesus who saves sinners is your help today.

That’s where real peace is. Because now, it isn’t ours to build through control. It isn’t ours to measure by having every desire met. There’s peace in that because now we don’t have to figure out how to get happier when we don’t feel fulfilled anymore. We don’t have to be afraid of every enemy that threatens to take what’s ours. We don’t have to covet control. We have a comfort in the face of evil, torment, and sin. We have the victory over death. We have a God who promises that He will defend us, save us, and grant us peace.

Today we stand apart, yet still together. We are united by the God who frees us from sin and death. We are united with the crowds who cried Hosannah. We are united by the cross. Their cross. My cross. Jesus’ cross for you.