Lent 6 – Palmarum April 2, 2023
Matthew 27:11-54
“Can I Offer You a Drink?”
v.48 “And one of them at once ran and took a sponge, filled it with sour wine, and put it on a reed and gave it to Him to drink.”
Dear friends in Christ, there was a pastor who once lived in California. During his time there he developed a passion for hiking, especially around the area of Mt. Diablo, approximately 20 miles east of San Francisco. Featuring breathtaking, panoramic views in virtually every direction and, at the same time, picturesque streams, meadows, and cliffs, nestled in the countless nooks and crannies, it is a hiker’s paradise. A good day of hiking starts around 7 am when the fog has barely lifted and the grass is still moist with the nightly dew. One day, however, this pastor forgot his water.
He had only gone for about half an hour when he realized his water container was missing. “No matter,” he figured. He could handle it. That same day he got a little lost. His 6.4 mile loop turned into a 9.4 mile loop. And the additional three miles were not level. He had deviated from his regular path into a charming little valley. Well, it was charming, but not so little. The path took him deep into a ragged gorge, dry as a lecture on medieval monasteries. The August heat had long since deprived this natural oven of anything even remotely resembling water, and the hoped for aquatic gurgling was replaced with a tunnel of wind that howled in concert with the groaning of his empty stomach. He began to realize why they had named the mountain “Diablo.” It was suited only for the devil and his spawn.
The word parched would not adequately describe his lips and mouth as the long morning dragged on. Withered, scorched, desiccated—gaping cracks void of life and moisture—such were his lips. In the hot California sun you don’t really sweat because the water evaporates as quickly as you perspire. On that day, however, the pastor did not sweat because there was nothing left in his prune-like body to emit. He was thirsty.
When he finally made it back to his car he realized that he had not even brought any water in the vehicle. It was at least 6 miles to the nearest drinking establishment, and no rural Lutheran pastor ever drove so fast. He got to the bar—and he got a drink—fast.[1]
We can safely assume that the bartender, witnessing his dehydrated estate, quickly offered him a drink. Just as any good host would. Not too many people would offer a drink of sour lemon juice or vinegar to a thirsty person. Especially as hosts, when we have invited people into our homes, we take special care to not just get them any drink, but something that they will truly like and enjoy.
However, as we see in our text for this morning, this was not the kind of treatment Jesus received. He thirsted during His crucifixion. He had been up for well over 24 hours straight. He had suffered brutal beatings and long hours of questioning by the Jews as well as Pilate. All with no respite. Now, in a cruel twist of irony, He who gives springs of living water to those who have faith in Him, is Himself now thirsty.
The Romans soldiers appear quick to oblige Him. However, they are not really being kind. In mockery they offer the cheapest of wine vinegars, something that will not really satisfy His thirst, but just might strengthen Him enough so that He might endure more hours of gruelling torture. And so, in a terrible kind of glee, one of the soldiers races to offer this final insult to the “King of the Jews.”
Herein Jesus is again linked to OT prophecy. In psalm 69:21, the psalmist speaks of how his enemies have given him wine vinegar to increase his pain and affliction, while he suffers from thirst. Such is Jesus’ situation here. Yet He is not only linked with the sufferings of the long-dead psalmist who gave witness of the coming Messiah. But He is also joined with our sufferings, our sins. For on the cross He has taken them to Himself. He knows our deepest need—our thirst for God—for He who is our righteousness.
And yet, we sinful people often wander don’t we? As the pastor in the opening story wandered futilely on the devil’s mountain with no source of water, so we oft have wandered far from the Lord’s grace and mercy in the waters of our own baptism. We don’t want to drink of Christ and the Christian life which can so frequently be filled with bitterness, pain, and suffering. We don’t care that these sufferings help to conform our lives to Christ.
Rather we grow angry and resentful. We despise the freely offered gift of the springs of everlasting life in Jesus Christ, and instead drink deeply of the sinfully delicious sights, smells, and tastes of the inmost desires of our sinful selves. We’d much rather drink of the glory, success, and pleasures of this world than the burden of carrying our crosses. In fact, we greatly dislike the very thought of ever suffering like Christ on the cross. Which, for many of us, is rather ironic, since we often pray to be made more like Christ. Yet when God answers our prayers—we reject the sufferings that would do just that.
Yet thanks be to God that Jesus didn’t turn away from His own sufferings—from bearing the burden of His cross—which was really ours. He didn’t choose to drink from the wells of power and glory and honour which were rightfully His to begin with as King of kings and Lord of lords. Rather, He drank the fullness of the cup of God’s wrath—all of it—every last drop—He drank our death, our condemnation, the punishment for each and every sin of every sinner—the cup of Almighty God’s eternal wrath—the drink that His own Father offered Him.
Jesus prayed the night in which He was betrayed to have that cup removed from Him—indeed, He longed for another way—any other way. But His Father’s response was that there is no other way for man to be saved—for you and me to live, not die. So, Jesus took the cup of deadly poison that rightly belonged to each of us—filled to the brim with pain and suffering—the sour, bitter taste of death—and He drank it. He drank and He drank and He drank. Until there was nothing left. Until God’s just wrath for sin was poured out completely—upon His own beloved Son. Which is why through His suffering and death Jesus was given the greatest honour and glory—as our epistle reading stated—the Name that is above all names.
As the Roman soldier filled up the sponge with sour wine, so Christ on the cross was filled with the sour, bitterness of all human sin. He who was the Highest, became the lowest of the low—as Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 5:21, “For our sake He made Him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God.” Indeed, as Paul notes in Galatians 3:13, “Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us—for it is written, ‘Cursed is everyone who is hanged on a tree.’”
So we can see that it was necessary for Jesus to suffer God’s mighty displeasure and fury over our sin. Christ drank deeply from the depths of the wells of our sin and death—yours and mine—so that we might become the righteousness of God and enjoy the sweet taste of His eternal blessings of forgiveness, life, and salvation—all purchased with His own precious blood. Make no mistake, we needed Jesus to suffer for us, lest we be eternally condemned—and we need Him still.
We daily need to drink the draught of His mercy and righteousness that is poured out for us in Word and Sacrament. For it is the Gospel of Jesus—that Good News of His suffering and death on our behalf—that causes the well-spring of eternal life to bubble up within us and come pouring forth.
In the waters of our baptism we have been bathed with the sweet blood of the Lamb slain for sinners. We have drunk deeply of His death and life—so that both have now become ours. In baptism we have the assurance of the water of life. This is not some special water found in the ground or in a special mountain lake. This water of eternal salvation is found anywhere and everywhere God’s Word of promise is combined with any kind of water and applied to sinful, penitent people—be they the tiniest of newborn babes—to the largest of grown adults. This water is yours. This promise is yours. So that His assurance and steadfast love and mercy may always be yours.
In the OT sacrificial system, strong drink was often used for drink offerings. These offerings were never drunk, but rather were poured out upon the ground before the altar of God. Beloved in the Lord, Jesus’ blood was outpoured on the cross—on the altar of Calvary—as the final drink offering to God for the penalty of our sins. And now this sweetest of all blood, this strongest of all drinks, is freely offered to all believers in the Sacrament that we partake of this day around this altar.
As His Word of promise is combined with the wine in this very cup, God comes to you. He comes to you not to offer you a cup of woe (though if taken without faith, that is precisely what it becomes), but rather to you, His faithful and beloved children, He comes to bring you the cup of joy and blessing. A cup brimming to overflowing with forgiveness, grace, mercy, love, salvation, and life. A cup filled with the precious blood of Christ.
Indeed, as Jesus is both true God and true man, just one drop of His sweet blood would be enough to forgive the sins of the whole world for all time—yet in His infinite compassion—He offers you the entire cup—over and over again. As you gather round this altar—receive His cup of blessing, drinking deeply of His forgiveness, with joy and thanksgiving—for in it He offers and gives you—life, salvation, and all the blessings of His eternal kingdom. Freely He offers—freely drink. Thanks be to God in Christ Jesus. Amen.
[1] Klemet I. Preus, The Fire and the Staff: Lutheran Theology in Practice (St. Louis: CPH, 2004), 69-70.
Matthew 27:11-54
“Can I Offer You a Drink?”
v.48 “And one of them at once ran and took a sponge, filled it with sour wine, and put it on a reed and gave it to Him to drink.”
Dear friends in Christ, there was a pastor who once lived in California. During his time there he developed a passion for hiking, especially around the area of Mt. Diablo, approximately 20 miles east of San Francisco. Featuring breathtaking, panoramic views in virtually every direction and, at the same time, picturesque streams, meadows, and cliffs, nestled in the countless nooks and crannies, it is a hiker’s paradise. A good day of hiking starts around 7 am when the fog has barely lifted and the grass is still moist with the nightly dew. One day, however, this pastor forgot his water.
He had only gone for about half an hour when he realized his water container was missing. “No matter,” he figured. He could handle it. That same day he got a little lost. His 6.4 mile loop turned into a 9.4 mile loop. And the additional three miles were not level. He had deviated from his regular path into a charming little valley. Well, it was charming, but not so little. The path took him deep into a ragged gorge, dry as a lecture on medieval monasteries. The August heat had long since deprived this natural oven of anything even remotely resembling water, and the hoped for aquatic gurgling was replaced with a tunnel of wind that howled in concert with the groaning of his empty stomach. He began to realize why they had named the mountain “Diablo.” It was suited only for the devil and his spawn.
The word parched would not adequately describe his lips and mouth as the long morning dragged on. Withered, scorched, desiccated—gaping cracks void of life and moisture—such were his lips. In the hot California sun you don’t really sweat because the water evaporates as quickly as you perspire. On that day, however, the pastor did not sweat because there was nothing left in his prune-like body to emit. He was thirsty.
When he finally made it back to his car he realized that he had not even brought any water in the vehicle. It was at least 6 miles to the nearest drinking establishment, and no rural Lutheran pastor ever drove so fast. He got to the bar—and he got a drink—fast.[1]
We can safely assume that the bartender, witnessing his dehydrated estate, quickly offered him a drink. Just as any good host would. Not too many people would offer a drink of sour lemon juice or vinegar to a thirsty person. Especially as hosts, when we have invited people into our homes, we take special care to not just get them any drink, but something that they will truly like and enjoy.
However, as we see in our text for this morning, this was not the kind of treatment Jesus received. He thirsted during His crucifixion. He had been up for well over 24 hours straight. He had suffered brutal beatings and long hours of questioning by the Jews as well as Pilate. All with no respite. Now, in a cruel twist of irony, He who gives springs of living water to those who have faith in Him, is Himself now thirsty.
The Romans soldiers appear quick to oblige Him. However, they are not really being kind. In mockery they offer the cheapest of wine vinegars, something that will not really satisfy His thirst, but just might strengthen Him enough so that He might endure more hours of gruelling torture. And so, in a terrible kind of glee, one of the soldiers races to offer this final insult to the “King of the Jews.”
Herein Jesus is again linked to OT prophecy. In psalm 69:21, the psalmist speaks of how his enemies have given him wine vinegar to increase his pain and affliction, while he suffers from thirst. Such is Jesus’ situation here. Yet He is not only linked with the sufferings of the long-dead psalmist who gave witness of the coming Messiah. But He is also joined with our sufferings, our sins. For on the cross He has taken them to Himself. He knows our deepest need—our thirst for God—for He who is our righteousness.
And yet, we sinful people often wander don’t we? As the pastor in the opening story wandered futilely on the devil’s mountain with no source of water, so we oft have wandered far from the Lord’s grace and mercy in the waters of our own baptism. We don’t want to drink of Christ and the Christian life which can so frequently be filled with bitterness, pain, and suffering. We don’t care that these sufferings help to conform our lives to Christ.
Rather we grow angry and resentful. We despise the freely offered gift of the springs of everlasting life in Jesus Christ, and instead drink deeply of the sinfully delicious sights, smells, and tastes of the inmost desires of our sinful selves. We’d much rather drink of the glory, success, and pleasures of this world than the burden of carrying our crosses. In fact, we greatly dislike the very thought of ever suffering like Christ on the cross. Which, for many of us, is rather ironic, since we often pray to be made more like Christ. Yet when God answers our prayers—we reject the sufferings that would do just that.
Yet thanks be to God that Jesus didn’t turn away from His own sufferings—from bearing the burden of His cross—which was really ours. He didn’t choose to drink from the wells of power and glory and honour which were rightfully His to begin with as King of kings and Lord of lords. Rather, He drank the fullness of the cup of God’s wrath—all of it—every last drop—He drank our death, our condemnation, the punishment for each and every sin of every sinner—the cup of Almighty God’s eternal wrath—the drink that His own Father offered Him.
Jesus prayed the night in which He was betrayed to have that cup removed from Him—indeed, He longed for another way—any other way. But His Father’s response was that there is no other way for man to be saved—for you and me to live, not die. So, Jesus took the cup of deadly poison that rightly belonged to each of us—filled to the brim with pain and suffering—the sour, bitter taste of death—and He drank it. He drank and He drank and He drank. Until there was nothing left. Until God’s just wrath for sin was poured out completely—upon His own beloved Son. Which is why through His suffering and death Jesus was given the greatest honour and glory—as our epistle reading stated—the Name that is above all names.
As the Roman soldier filled up the sponge with sour wine, so Christ on the cross was filled with the sour, bitterness of all human sin. He who was the Highest, became the lowest of the low—as Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 5:21, “For our sake He made Him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God.” Indeed, as Paul notes in Galatians 3:13, “Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us—for it is written, ‘Cursed is everyone who is hanged on a tree.’”
So we can see that it was necessary for Jesus to suffer God’s mighty displeasure and fury over our sin. Christ drank deeply from the depths of the wells of our sin and death—yours and mine—so that we might become the righteousness of God and enjoy the sweet taste of His eternal blessings of forgiveness, life, and salvation—all purchased with His own precious blood. Make no mistake, we needed Jesus to suffer for us, lest we be eternally condemned—and we need Him still.
We daily need to drink the draught of His mercy and righteousness that is poured out for us in Word and Sacrament. For it is the Gospel of Jesus—that Good News of His suffering and death on our behalf—that causes the well-spring of eternal life to bubble up within us and come pouring forth.
In the waters of our baptism we have been bathed with the sweet blood of the Lamb slain for sinners. We have drunk deeply of His death and life—so that both have now become ours. In baptism we have the assurance of the water of life. This is not some special water found in the ground or in a special mountain lake. This water of eternal salvation is found anywhere and everywhere God’s Word of promise is combined with any kind of water and applied to sinful, penitent people—be they the tiniest of newborn babes—to the largest of grown adults. This water is yours. This promise is yours. So that His assurance and steadfast love and mercy may always be yours.
In the OT sacrificial system, strong drink was often used for drink offerings. These offerings were never drunk, but rather were poured out upon the ground before the altar of God. Beloved in the Lord, Jesus’ blood was outpoured on the cross—on the altar of Calvary—as the final drink offering to God for the penalty of our sins. And now this sweetest of all blood, this strongest of all drinks, is freely offered to all believers in the Sacrament that we partake of this day around this altar.
As His Word of promise is combined with the wine in this very cup, God comes to you. He comes to you not to offer you a cup of woe (though if taken without faith, that is precisely what it becomes), but rather to you, His faithful and beloved children, He comes to bring you the cup of joy and blessing. A cup brimming to overflowing with forgiveness, grace, mercy, love, salvation, and life. A cup filled with the precious blood of Christ.
Indeed, as Jesus is both true God and true man, just one drop of His sweet blood would be enough to forgive the sins of the whole world for all time—yet in His infinite compassion—He offers you the entire cup—over and over again. As you gather round this altar—receive His cup of blessing, drinking deeply of His forgiveness, with joy and thanksgiving—for in it He offers and gives you—life, salvation, and all the blessings of His eternal kingdom. Freely He offers—freely drink. Thanks be to God in Christ Jesus. Amen.
[1] Klemet I. Preus, The Fire and the Staff: Lutheran Theology in Practice (St. Louis: CPH, 2004), 69-70.