The 11am service at Memorial Lutheran Church in Houston began with Pastor J. Bart Day baptizing his fourth son. How cool is that!
The solos went pretty well. I recorded them on my digital video recorder, but Memorial has much better recording equipment. I will check back to see if they recorded the service and I can get better recordings.
I’m told I can’t put one of the solos on NR because of copyright issues, and I need to check to see if I can post the other. I can, though, publish the Verse. The verse is bracketed on each side by a TLH Triple Hallelujah, but I had to leave the Hallelujahs out because the organ overwhelmed my recorder. If the church recording is better, I’ll replace this and note an update. The tune was written by the Cantor, and the text is as public domain as you get, based on Deuteronomy 30:14, NIV:
“The word is very near to you; it is in your mouth and in your heart so you may obey it.”
Have your finger near your volume button before you play this. 
[display_podcast]
Pastor Day gave the sermon, from Mark 8:1-9.
The sermon is transcribed as follows:
In the name of Jesus, Amen.
The word of God to which we give our attention this day is St. Mark’s Gospel, the eighth chapter. It is the appointed reading this Sunday in the historic one year series.
In those days, when again a great crowd had gathered, and they had nothing to eat, he called his disciples to him and said to them, “I have compassion on the crowd, because they have been with me now three days and have nothing to eat. And if I send them away hungry to their homes, they will faint on the way. And some of them have come from far away.” And his disciples answered him, “How can one feed these people with bread here in this desolate place?” And he asked them, “How many loaves do you have?” They said, “Seven.” And he directed the crowd to sit down on the ground. And he took the seven loaves, and having given thanks, he broke them and gave them to his disciples to set before the people; and they set them before the crowd. And they had a few small fish. And having blessed them, he said that these also should be set before them. And they ate and were satisfied. And they took up the broken pieces left over, seven baskets full. And there were about four thousand people.
So far our text.
So exactly how is it: how is it that the multitudes who came to hear Jesus found themselves to be so utterly and completely unprepared for their most bodily needs? How is it that this crowd can be drawn out three days without food and then suddenly unable to return home, lest they perish along the way? They seem to be a bit like a boat out on the high seas that never bothered to fuel up. They drive out into the center of the ocean until all their fuel is nearly gone, then not close enough to land, they find themselves without any relief or refuge. They’re stranded, helpless.
The world, of course, would call a boat and its crew fools, and so how did it happen in our text? How is it that the multitudes who follow Jesus suddenly found themselves here? Jesus was certainly well aware of exactly what was happening, and yet he did absolutely nothing for them. He gave them no lectures that day on earthly wisdom or on worldly preparation. It’s not as if Jesus stopped along the way to say to someone, “Perhaps you might buy a generator. Stock up on dry goods. Pack a few bottles of water. Make sure you look out for yourselves.”
Oh, no. It was not simple pride nor was it self-reliance that caused this situation at all. These people were caught, caught because he feeds the birds of the air and the fish of the sea. He, Jesus, had purposely drawn them out in the wilderness. It was his word. It was his teaching that caused them to forget about such worldly things.
It is his word and his teaching which were responsible for that now (unintelligible), seem to be completely helpless. So it is into that very context, being the responsible party, our Lord Jesus did speak these words to his disciples, “I have compassion on the both of you.”
“Well, how so, O Lord Jesus? Why, Jesus, did you not tell us before it was too late? For even now a hundred denarii could not begin to buy enough bread for all those who are here. O, Jesus, how could such a crowd ever be satisfied now?”
Yes, but the wisdom of God often times turns the wisdom of the world on its head. Jesus’s compassion is not a sappy bleeding-heart sympathy for his children. No, Jesus’s compassion is a sincere everlasting love. His compassion is real concern for the ongoing reality and even the eternal welfare of his children. As so it was this very compassion that caused our Lord Jesus to place the hearers in such dire straits. Now Jesus has them right where he wants them, but, the truth be told, they would be just as helpless if they were at home snuggled, tucked away safely in their beds with food in their bellies and food in their cupboards. But then they might not know it. They might even think that they were in control of their lives, but out there in the wilderness with nowhere to go, with growling bellies, too far to make it to the next town, they know the meaning of helplessness.
And make no mistake about it the hunger that gnaws deep inside the belly of the four thousand is the mark of death. They must eat, or they will die. Now there is no place left for them to turn. They suddenly realized that they cannot provide for themselves. They are utterly helpless.
So it is ironic that these words of Jesus that just moments before had so lifted them out of their mundane existence that they had forgotten completely about all of the bodily necessities of life in this world, those words now seem to turn upon them. Now more than ever the crowd seems to realize their own frailty, their inability, their weakness. In stark contrast of the serenity of Jesus and his perfect obedience in all things, their guilt begins to shine forth like a beacon in the dark world. And yet, our Lord Jesus provides. He does that as he always does, by his grace and in his mercy, and they begin to realize it. They begin to give thanks to God for it.
But the reality is this: we are the frailest and weakest of all God’s creation. We cannot eat raw meat or the grass in the field in order to survive. We are the only animals on the earth that require clothing in order to survive, and despite all those weaknesses and frailties we are without doubt the proudest of all his creation. All too often we rebel against the goodness of God. We like to think ourselves to be wise and true, good and decent, but we are really nothing of the sort. We boast in our supposed street smarts and our extra measure of common sense. Just like the Pharisee that day in the temple, we quickly scan the room and think that I am more than equal to anyone here. I am smarter. I am stronger. I am better, and all should honor me and see me for the great person that I am. I am faithful.
But you know how it goes. Our street smarts quickly evaporate in the middle of the night when our car breaks down on the wrong side of town, and suddenly the cell phone battery is dead. Our common sense we’ve shown to all the world in our failed marriages, our disobedient children, our large indebtedness, and our pettiness. What if your neighbors could hear you yelling at your children, fighting with your spouse, lusting after their children, coveting their possessions? It is a very thin veil of respectability that we hide behind. None of us has kept the law. None of us can stand before God on our own.
Repent. Repent, O pompous fools and arrogant braggarts, sinners one and all. Repent. On this day be emptied of yourselves and feel the hunger pains that food and drink can never fulfill. Turn instead to the God of compassion, the God who provides the ram in the thicket that takes away our sins, the spotless lamb who burns in our stead on the spit of God the Father’s holy wrath. Find in him alone satisfaction that the world can never give. Find in him the peace that passes all understanding and rest in the forgiveness of sins in the justification of your soul, because you are precious and adorable in the Father’s eyes for the sake of his son. O, you should never feast upon trinkets or the dirt of this world that will be offered to you by Satan. Nor should you feast upon your feeble (unintelligible).
But this day you should feast instead on the true bread of heaven, his body, his blood, given and shed for you for the forgiveness of sins. For your savior comes to you this day as he always comes, meek and lowly, riding in our sanctuary on ordinary bread and wine. His reward is with him, and he freely bestows that reward on you, his dear children. That reward, of course, is himself, the Bread of Life, the living water. His righteousness, innocence, and blessedness, it is now become yours.
So what do you do? Well, you do absolutely nothing. We simply now bask in his presence. In his compassion you are served by him who is the servant king. And so perhaps the only thing that you can do is let go of the wheel and enjoy the ride of life. Feast in the desert on bread that you could never provide, nor could you ever earn. Lose yourself time and time again in his holy word, in his promises and be drawn outside of yourselves. It is only there, O Christian, that you will find a true calling as the Bride of Christ, the bride on whom he ceaselessly dotes and fusses, because for his bride there is absolutely nothing that isn’t good.
We are here this day the Holy Supper and his own body and his own blood, his true bread to eat. Let this be your sustenance and your joy all the days of your life. For this is his glorious compassion.
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
iggyantiochus on 
Dan
