Sermon: "Jesus gives Himself in a way that offends the proud, but comforts sinners."

28. January 2026
Wednesday of Transfiguration
Mark 6:1-16a

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

“Your lightnings lighted up the world; the earth trembled and shook” (Psalm 77:18). That’s not a Hallmark card. When God shows Himself as God, the world doesn’t clap politely—it shakes. And yet, in the same breath, the Church dares to sing, “How lovely is Your dwelling place, O LORD of hosts!” (Psalm 84:1) and “Blessed are those who dwell in Your house” (Psalm 84:4). That’s the tension: the God who can’t be handled is the God who invites you to live with Him.

Now the temptation is to think this is mainly “God showing off.” But the Gospel today is not a fireworks show. It is the Lord of glory walking into His hometown synagogue, opening His mouth, and being dismissed as ordinary. “Is not this the carpenter…?” (Mark 6:3). That sentence is toxic. It’s the sound of people shrinking God down to fit their categories.

And if you want the truth: this is one of the chief ways sinners protect themselves from the living God—by familiarity. Not the familiarity of faith (“Abba, Father”), but the familiarity of contempt. “We know this guy.” “We know his family.” “We know where he’s from.” “I’ve heard it all before.” So they can avoid the only real question: What if He is speaking God’s Word to me right now? What if He is calling me to repent? What if I am not the judge here?

Mark says it plainly: “They took offense at him” (Mark 6:3). The word is scandal—He is a stumbling block. Not because He is obscure, but because He is too close. Too normal. Too local. Too unimpressive. A Messiah you can bump into at the market is not the Messiah the old Adam wants.

So here is the first thing the Gospel exposes in us: we do not merely have “doubts”; we have pride. We want a God we can manage. A God we can analyze. A God we can keep at arm’s length. We prefer a God who stays safely in the realm of ideas, where we remain in charge. But Jesus refuses to be managed. He doesn’t show up as a concept. He shows up as a man with a mouth, and He speaks with authority that demands a decision.

That’s why the hometown reaction matters. Nazareth is not “those people.” Nazareth is the human heart on display. The heart says: “If God wants me, He should come in a way I approve of.” The heart says: “If God wants my trust, He should entertain me.” The heart says: “If God wants my obedience, He should first explain Himself to my satisfaction.” And when God does not submit to our conditions, we call it unreasonable.

But Christ is not unreasonable; He is Lord. The problem is that we do not want a Lord. We want a consultant or coach. So Mark gives a line that should sober a congregation: “He could do no mighty work there… and he marveled because of their unbelief” (Mark 6:5–6). Unbelief is not just “I’m not sure.” Unbelief is a refusal to receive what is being given. It’s a closed fist. It’s rejecting the Physician and then complaining that your sickness remains.

Now let’s hear Romans alongside the Gospel. St. Paul will not let you hide behind “at least I’m not like them.” He says, “Therefore you have no excuse, O man… For in passing judgment on another you condemn yourself” (Romans 2:1). A surgical sentence. You condemn others to prove your virtue, but what you really do is testify that you know the standard. And because you know it, you are accountable to it.

And Paul twists the knife: “Do you suppose… that you will escape the judgment of God?” (Romans 2:3). Most people live as if the answer is yes. They assume God will grade on a curve, ignore private sins, overlook excuses, and reward our effort. But Paul destroys that illusion. “God shows no partiality” (Romans 2:11). No hometown advantage. No “good person” discount. No “I’m sincere” exemption.

Then comes the terrifying line: “It is not the hearers of the law who are righteous before God, but the doers of the law who will be justified” (Romans 2:13). If you read that and immediately try to soften it, you didn’t hear it. The Law does not ask for your intentions. It demands actual righteousness.

So where does that leave us? It leaves us exactly where God intends. Silent. Guilty. Done with self-justification.

Because here’s what we do in our hearts: we build a little courtroom where we are the defense attorney, the publicist, and—most of the time—the judge. We compare ourselves downward. We excuse ourselves upward. We call sin “weakness” when it’s ours and “evil” when it’s theirs. We want God to be impressed by our opinions about the world’s problems, even as we ignore our own.

But Paul says your conscience is not your savior. It is a witness. “Their conscience also bears witness, and their conflicting thoughts accuse or even excuse them” (Romans 2:15). You can hear the courtroom language. Accuse. Excuse. That is your inner life. And the fact that you excuse yourself proves you know you’re guilty.

So Romans and Mark are doing the same thing: they strip you of your preferred posture—standing over Jesus as an evaluator and over your neighbor as a judge. The Word of God turns you around so you stand under God’s judgment. That’s the Law’s proper work. It kills the fantasy that you can negotiate with God.

Now the Gospel begins right here, not in sentimental comfort but in the sheer honesty of what God has done about your guilt. If “the doers of the law will be justified” (Romans 2:13), then only one man qualifies. Jesus Christ. He is the Doer. Not theoretically. Not “generally.” Actually. Completely. From the heart. In public and in private. With perfect love of God and perfect love of neighbor.

And what does that Doer do? He walks into Nazareth and lets Himself be despised. He puts Himself under sinners who presume to judge Him. He stands there as the One righteous man in the room—and they act like they are doing Him a favor by listening. That’s not just rude; it’s demonic. It’s the creature trying to put the Creator in the dock.

Yet Christ does not retaliate. He does not call down fire. He keeps going. Why? Because this is not about winning an argument. This is about saving people who hate being saved. The righteousness God demands is the righteousness God gives—by giving you Christ. Not advice. Not inspiration. Not a new religious project. Christ.

And He gives Himself in a way that offends the proud, but comforts sinners: through the preached Word and the concrete gifts that carry His promise. That is why the Church’s life is not built on spiritual performance, but on reception. Faith is not an achievement; it is an empty hand that receives.

To be blunt: if you keep yourself away from the Word, you are starving your faith and calling it “busy.” If you treat preaching as optional background noise, you are training your heart to be Nazareth—familiar enough to yawn, proud enough to scoff. If you refuse to repent because you’re busy condemning others, Romans 2 has you in its sights: “In passing judgment on another you condemn yourself” (Romans 2:1).

And if you try to make Christianity into “be a better person,” you will either become smug (because you compare downward) or despairing (because you know your own filth). Both roads end in unbelief. Smugness rejects Christ because it doesn’t think it needs Him; despair rejects Christ because it doesn’t think He can be for me. Both are lies.

So, where is the way out? Not in you. In Christ’s mercy.

The Church prays for adoption, and that’s exactly the point. You do not climb into God’s family. You are brought in. You do not earn an inheritance. You receive it because the Son shares it. The living God makes sinners His household—by putting His Son in our place and then putting us in His Son.

And it changes how you see God’s kindness. Paul says God’s patience is meant to lead you somewhere: “God’s kindness is meant to lead you to repentance” (Romans 2:4). Not to complacency. Not to presumption. Repentance. The kindness is not permission to continue; it is an open door back home.

So hear what is actually being offered to you: not a God who flatters you, but a God who forgives you. Not a Christ you can control, but a Christ you can trust. Not a religion of self-improvement, but the absolving Word that declares you righteous for Jesus’ sake.

And now the Introit makes sense. Yes, “the earth trembled and shook” (Psalm 77:18). It should. God is real. But for those who are in Christ, God’s nearness is not destruction—it is refuge. “The LORD God is a sun and shield” (Psalm 84:11). A sun, if you insist on meeting Him on your terms; a shield, because He meets you in mercy through His Son.

So don’t be Nazareth. Don’t reduce Jesus to “the carpenter” in contempt. Don’t domesticate Him into a harmless religious icon. Receive Him where He gives Himself. Listen when He speaks. Repent when He exposes you. Believe when He absolves you. And live as an adopted heir—not prancing, not despairing, but held in His loving forgiveness.

Because the last word over you is not your judgment, nor is it your neighbor’s judgment. The last word is Christ’s. And His word to sinners is not “prove yourself.” It is “I forgive you.”

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie
St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center
Random Lake, Wisconsin