Date: October 26, 2025
Festival: Reformation Day (Observed)
Text: Matthew 11:12-19
Preaching Occasion: Bethlehem Lutheran Church, Lewiston, MI
Appointed Scriptures: Revelation 14:6-7; Romans 3:19-28; Matthew 11:12-19
Sermon Hymn: LSB #657 A Mighty Fortress Is Our God
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Beloved in Christ, they said it as an insult. “Look,” they sneered, “a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!” [Matt. 12:19]. To them, that title—friend of sinners—was scandalous, an accusation. But to us, it’s the sweetest title ever given to Jesus. He speaks these words in a moment of tension. John the Baptizer, His forerunner, is in prison for preaching the truth. The crowds are confused. Some followed John for a time but now doubt whether Jesus is truly the promised Messiah [vv. 2-3]. Others criticize both men—John for being too severe, Jesus for being too gentle. The Lord looks at them and sighs: “To what shall I compare this generation? It is like children sitting in the marketplaces and calling to their companions, and saying: ‘We played the flute for you, and you did not dance; we mourned to you, and you did not lament’” [vv. 16-17].
He’s describing a world that refuses both Law and Gospel. When John preached the Law, the people called him demon-possessed [v. 18]. When Jesus brought the Gospel, they called Him a hedonist—an anarchist against God’s Law. The human heart, left to itself, doesn’t want either the axe at the root of the tree or the feast at the wedding of the Lamb. It resists the Law’s rebuke and despises the Gospel’s grace.
That’s the violence Jesus speaks of when He says, “The kingdom of heaven suffers violence, and the violent take it by force” [v. 12]. The world tries to take hold of God’s kingdom on its own terms. Some try through power, others through moral pride. Still, others through religion that seeks to control God rather than receive Him as He’s revealed Himself to be. We see the same in our age, where people fashion gods in their own image, where morality is self-defined, and where sin is repackaged as self-expression—and you’re a bigot or some kind of phobic if you reject that self-expression. Ours is a generation that says, “I’m spiritual but not religious,” which really just means I believe in a god who looks exactly like me.
But Jesus came for those who can no longer pretend, for those weary of performance, for those who’ve tried to storm the Kingdom and failed miserably. He came for sinners—not respectable sinners, not reformed ones, but actual sinners. He ate with them, spoke to them, and touched them. And in doing so, He revealed the heart of God, which is not a distant judge waiting for you to improve, but a Friend who draws near even in your ruin.
Jesus calls Himself “the Son of Man” [v. 19], which means He came into our dust and darkness to be with us—not as an observer, but as one who walks among us. He doesn’t call us servants or subjects, but friends—friends for whom He would lay down His life. “What if God was one of us,” goes the song. But He was—He is. His name is Jesus.
And yet, the world mocked Him for it. The religious leaders couldn’t stand the sight of grace sitting at a table with the unworthy. They wanted a Messiah of the strong, not the Savior of the weak. But wisdom, Jesus says, “is justified by her children.” The children of wisdom are those who see in this Friend of sinners their only hope.
This is why the Reformation still matters, which we celebrate today. The medieval Church had turned Christ from a Friend into a taskmaster, from a Savior into a supervisor. The Gospel was buried beneath layers of fear, satisfactions for penance, and performance. People were told that the Kingdom could be entered by force—by indulgence purchases, pilgrimage, or some other kind of payment. The Church became the marketplace Jesus compared His generation to, where people danced to the tune of works and mourned to the dirge of guilt, never hearing the melody of grace.
But then, in God’s mercy, that melody broke through again. A monk trembling under the Law’s thunder heard the Friend’s voice in Romans 3: “But now the righteousness of God apart from the Law is revealed… through faith… being justified freely by His grace through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus” [vv. 21-22, 24]. In those words, Luther found not a distant judge but a gracious Savior—one who loved him, not because Luther was worthy, but because Christ is merciful.
And that same eternal Gospel still flies through the heavens today. It still declares that the hour of judgement has come, and that the Judge Himself has borne the judgement. It still cries out to every nation, tribe, and language: “Fear God and give Him glory” [Rev. 14:6-7]. But not a fear that runs away; it’s a holy fear that bows in awe before the Friend who hung upon the cross to turn sinners into His saints.
That’s the Gospel our world still needs to hear. Our culture is lonely, and it’s desperate for friendship—but not the kind it finds. Our digital age offers followers but not fellowship, likes but not love, and connections but not communion. People curate identities but never find themselves truly known or loved. And into that loneliness, Jesus speaks: “I no longer call you servants, but friends” [John 15:15].
Jesus is the Best Friend you’ll ever have. Like a good friend, He tells you when you’re sinning; and He actually forgives you. He knows you—every fear, every secret, every sin—and He still wants you to sit at His table as His friend. That’s what makes His friendship unlike any other. Our friendships are conditional, based on shared interests; His is covenantal, based on His promises. Ours fade; His endures forever. Ours depend on mutual compatibility; His depends on compassion. The Friend of sinners is the One who befriends us at our worst and stays until we’re made whole.
That’s why we still preach the same Gospel that set the Reformation ablaze over 500 years ago. For “we conclude,” as Paul writes, “that a man is justified by faith apart from the deeds of the Law” [Rom. 3:28]. The Law silences every mouth, including our own. It shows us the truth we try to hide—that we cannot earn God’s favor. But the Gospel opens our mouths again, filling them with praise: Christ has done it all. It is finished.
Thus, the Reformation is not about revisiting old arguments; it’s about communing with our old Friend, Jesus Christ. It’s about hearing again the song that sets captives free: Jesus Christ is still the Friend of sinners, the One who forgives prodigals and restores doubters, the One who justifies the ungodly [4:5] and raises the dead.
So when that old Accuser whispers that you’ve failed too many times, you can say to that vile serpent: “Yes I have. What of it? All you’re telling me is that I am a friend of Jesus, who bore all my sins and griefs. What a privilege I have, then, to carry all this to Him in prayer!”
On this Reformation Day, let’s rejoice that our faith is not a philosophy to master but a friendship to receive. The Kingdom of Heaven is not taken by force; it comes to you in grace. It comes in the Word that absolves, in the water that gives you citizenship in Heaven, and in the Supper where your Friend meets you again, still saying, “This is for you.”
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
The Lutheran Column 