The Liturgy of a Resilient Life
Theme: “Liturgy and Life – Living liturgically from Sunday to Saturday.”
Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God our Father and our
Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ. Amen.
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ,
Our synod has given us a beautiful and challenging theme:
“Liturgy and Life – Living liturgically from Sunday to Saturday.” When we hear
the word “liturgy,” our minds often go to what we do here, on a Sunday. We
think of the order of service, the hymns, the prayers, the sacraments. And that
is right! The Divine Service is the source, the fountain from which we drink.
It is where God serves us with His gifts, forgiving our sins, strengthening our
faith, and sending us out.
But the theme pushes us further. It asks: What happens when
the final hymn is sung, the benediction is given, and we walk out those doors?
Does the liturgy end, or does it simply change location? The assumption is that
our life from Monday to Saturday is to be a living liturgy—a
continuous act of worship offered to God in the everyday.
This is not a new idea. It is precisely the concern of the
Apostle Peter in our reading today. He is writing to Christians scattered
across the Roman Empire, people facing suspicion, social pressure, and the
threat of outright persecution. Their Sunday worship was a refuge, but their
Monday-to-Saturday life was a battlefield. How were they to live faithfully in
between Sundays? Peter gives them, and us, a pattern for the liturgy of a
resilient life.
First, the liturgy of humility.
Peter begins, “Clothe yourselves, all of you, with humility toward one another,
for ‘God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.’” Humility is the
foundational liturgical garment for the Christian life. It’s not something we
put on just for church; it’s the daily uniform we wear in our families, our
workplaces, and our communities.
Think of the liturgy here. We begin by confessing we are
poor, miserable sinners. That is an act of humility. Living liturgically means
carrying that posture into the week. It means being quick to listen and slow to
speak; to consider others not better than ourselves, but equals; to serve
without demanding recognition. When we are tempted to assert our rights or
nurse our pride, we are called to the liturgy of humility—to bend the knee, not
just on a Sunday, but in a conflict on a Tuesday afternoon. This is how we
receive God’s grace, not just at the altar, but in the midst of our daily
struggles.
Second, the liturgy of casting cares.
Then Peter gives what might be the most practical liturgical instruction for
the week: “Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that
at the proper time he may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on him, because
he cares for you.”
This is the daily Offertory. In the service, we offer our
prayers and gifts. In the daily liturgy, we offer our anxieties. The worry
about a child, the stress of a job, the fear of an uncertain future, the pain
of a broken relationship—these are not to be carried alone. They are to be
liturgically cast, thrown, upon the Lord. This is not a one-time event, but a
constant, disciplined practice. From Sunday to Saturday, the rhythm of our life
is to be a rhythm of release: handing over our burdens to the One who cares for
us. This is the heart of a life of faith—a continuous transaction of trust.
Third, the liturgy of vigilance.
Peter then shifts the tone: “Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the
devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.” If our
life is a liturgy, it is also a pilgrimage through enemy territory. The worldly
wisdom would love to convince us that our faith is a Sunday-only affair, that
what we do here has no bearing on what happens “out there”, that liturgy ends
as soon as we leave this premisses.
Living liturgically means living alertly. It means
recognizing the temptations that come not in a church pew, but at an office
desk, in a social media feed, or in the solitude of our own thoughts. It means
being aware of the lion’s roar of discouragement, despair, and doubt. Our
Sunday worship equips us for this vigilance. We hear God’s Word, we receive
Christ’s body and blood, we are fortified for the battle. We leave this place
not to escape the world, but to stand firm in it, from Sunday to Saturday.
Finally, the liturgy of hope.
The week can be long. We grow weary. We stumble. And so, Peter concludes with
the great doxology of the daily liturgy: “And after you have suffered a little
while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ,
will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you. To him be the
dominion forever and ever. Amen.”
This is our hope! Our living liturgy does not depend on our
own strength. The God who begins His good work in us on every Sunday promises
to complete it throughout the week and for all eternity. He Himself will
restore us when we are broken, confirm us when we doubt, strengthen us when we
are weak, and establish us on the solid rock of Christ.
So, my friends, what is the liturgy of your life from Monday
to Saturday? It is the humble serving of your neighbor. It is the daily casting
of your cares upon your caring Father. It is the vigilant resistance against
the evil one. And it is all undergirded by the certain hope that the God of all
grace is with you, perfecting His strength in your weakness.
The liturgy we celebrate here is the source of our life. The
life we live out there is the liturgy of our thanks. Sunday feeds Saturday. And
Saturday’s struggles bring us running back to Sunday, to be fed once again.
Therefore, let us live liturgically. Let our whole lives be
an act of worship, a continuous “Amen” to the grace of God, from Sunday to
Saturday, and forever.
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy
Spirit. Amen.
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