5 August 2026 • Friday of Trinity 9 (observed) • Luke 11:37–46 · 1 Peter 4:12–14
In the holy name of Jesus. Amen.
The Pharisee has invited Jesus into his own dining room, and the first thing Jesus does is break protocol and not wash His hands. He reclines as they do. He keeps the customs that are only customs. But this one He will not keep, and He sits there with dirty hands where the host cannot help but see them.
The man marvels, of course. Even we wash our hands first — right, children? So the Lord tells him what the hands meant. “Now you Pharisees make the outside of the cup and dish clean, but your inward part is full of greed and wickedness” (Luke 11:39). The dirty hands are the object lesson. Then the line I cannot get out from under.
“But woe to you Pharisees! For you tithe mint and rue and all manner of herbs, and pass by justice and the love of God. These you ought to have done, without leaving the others undone” (Luke 11:42).
The mint was never commanded. Grain, wine, flock. That is what God said to tithe. Moses never told a man to count leaves. They went beyond what God asked for, to the point where it was cheap, and they were admired for doing so. They could tithe the mint and rue, but without leaving the others undone. They major in the minors.
Mint is a receipt of their righteousness. And justice they stepped over on the way to the herb garden. Justice is not a principle. It’s real, and it’s difficult. Standing in front of the man who is being wronged, or alongside him, with your mouth open, defending him, is going to cost you something. A little mint doesn’t.
But when push comes to shove, I do not stand there. I have my reasons. Maybe it is not my place. Maybe I do not know the whole story. There are two sides to it. Maybe He will only get defensive, and then it is worse for everybody. Somebody closer to the situation should handle it. It is not the right time. I will pray about it. Many such excuses.
And I have my list of good deeds to cover for my failure. On time. In church. Did my job. I do not swear, I do not drink too much, I give what I said I would give. Those are good. God gave them, and He does not mind receiving them back. But I am not sorry for avoiding justice, not really. That one costs me something.
But you and I know what my list is for. It is what I hold up when the accusation comes near, mine or God’s. And the true commandments, the Ten Words — you know them — those cost something to keep. They are hard. So we stack up other religious things, observances and disciplines, useful enough in themselves, and then call the actual commandment of God unrealistic. Without leaving the others undone. I left them undone. Every one of God’s Word that costs anything.
“Woe to you Pharisees! For you love the best seats in the synagogues and greetings in the marketplaces” (Luke 11:43). That is what the counting was for. A tenth of a mint plant is worth nothing. But being seen as the man who tithes the tenth is worth a great deal of spiritual reputation. Look at him! So pious!
And then a lawyer says, Teacher, you are insulting us too. And he is right, and Jesus does not soften it. “Woe to you also, lawyers! For you load men with burdens hard to bear, and you yourselves do not touch the burdens with one of your fingers” (Luke 11:46). They work the cheap end too, in their own way. It is easy to make rules. It is much harder to keep them. They wrote judgments to create heavy burdens for others. But they carried none themselves. You know, for sinners, not them.
But Jesus does not cancel the mint or the burdens. Do both, He says. Tithe your herbs. Only stop buying your way out of justice with them. Stop avoiding the weightier matters. Stop majoring in the minors. And nobody at that table could do it. Neither the Pharisee nor the lawyer. I cannot do it. There is no cure for me in that sentence, only the size of what I owe. What we all owe.
But Jesus hints at the cure in the same breath. “But rather give alms of such things as you have; then indeed all things are clean to you” (Luke 11:41). He is not talking about carrying more to the altar. He is talking about giving what you have for the good of your neighbor. Turn outward, in God’s name, instead of counting up what you have done for God. He speaks of a heart so transformed that where there was grasping before, there is now giving. Now everything the man touches is clean.
Nobody at that table could produce a heart. Not a Pharisee, not a lawyer. No amount of mint tithing could.
But Jesus can and does. Look at what He does with men who cannot. He goes to the man’s house. He eats the man’s food. He tells him the truth in words hard enough to end the dinner — not the kindest words, by our estimation. He was a guest. He could have washed, had a pleasant evening, and left him as He found him. Every reason to keep the peace lay on the table between them. But Jesus is not like us. When He sees the chance to speak the truth in love for the good of His neighbor, He does not shy away. He would not set aside His mission for an hour just to be a good guest.
And that is love. It is the only kind there is for a man who is dying and does not know it, so busy with mint and rue that he has lost the weightier matter. He has not stopped. He came into this house tonight to do to you what He did at that table. Maybe He has upset you tonight. I told you it would be a hard text. He will not leave you undisturbed to keep the evening pleasant, and He will not be finished with you when you walk out. He repents you and washes you clean.
Justice is fulfilled in Jesus. He is the one standing in front of the one being wronged, mouth open, when it costs — and it cost Him His life. I was the one being wronged, held down by a debt I signed and an accuser who was not lying about me. But He did not send help. He Himself became the help. He stood in front of me, and what was coming was put on Him. He took the accusations and the flaming darts into His own body, and suffered them, and died of them.
This is the love of God, whole heart, all of it, every day. He had it. He kept the great commandments, and He did not leave the little ones undone. Not one. Not one jot or tittle. Not the small ones. Not the cheap ones. Not the hard ones. Nothing skipped. Nothing counted out and called enough.
And the most astounding thing? He kept none of it for Himself but for you and me! The hands He would not wash at that table are the hands they nailed down. Unclean, they said. Numbered with the transgressors, hung on a tree. “He made Him who knew no sin to be sin for us, that we might become the righteousness of God in Him” (2 Corinthians 5:21). He takes the uncleanness. He hands over the righteousness. He makes you clean. The clean heart He required at that table, He does not require of you here. He gives it. Create in me a clean heart, we will pray. He already has.
Peter tells you what it is like to belong to Him. “Beloved, do not think it strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you, as though some strange thing happened to you” (1 Peter 4:12). A religion of mint leaves is never a burden. Nothing in it costs anything. If all we had were the lighter things — the herbs, the small kindnesses — what would that cost you? How would our life together be any different from the Lions Club? But the real one burns. Dr. Luther says it cannot work any other way: “It is a Word of life. Therefore it must exercise all its power in death.” It costs you and me everything.
“If you are reproached for the name of Christ, blessed are you, for the Spirit of glory and of God rests upon you” (1 Peter 4:14). Rests. On you. Now. Even under hard words from others, when you have spoken like Peter or Paul. You said it yourself a few minutes ago. Confessing what you have done, and what you have left undone. You left the Law, the real Law, undone. You agreed with Jesus. And He said it straight back to you, out loud, through a man standing where Christ put him: I forgive you all your sins.
And in a moment He puts it into your mouth. His Good Friday body, with the bread. His blood, under the wine. Crucified for you. The weightier matters, done, and handed over. For you. It is finished.
In Jesus’ name. Amen.
Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie
St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School — Sherman Center
Random Lake, Wisconsin