Proper 29C (Last Sunday of the Church Year 2025)

Text: “28 But turning to them Jesus said, “Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children. 29 For behold, the days are coming when they will say, ‘Blessed are the barren and the wombs that never bore and the breasts that never nursed!’ 30 Then they will begin to say to the mountains, ‘Fall on us,’ and to the hills, ‘Cover us.’ 31 For if they do these things when the wood is green, what will happen when it is dry?”” (Luke 23:28–31)

When the Church’s year draws to its close, Scripture puts a question before you that you cannot avoid:

What do you expect the Day of the Lord to be like?

The prophets warn against approaching that day with casual confidence.

“Why do you long for the Day of the Lord?” Amos asks.

“It is darkness, and not light.”

And Jesus echoes the same warning as He walks the road to Golgotha.

“Do not weep for me,” He tells the daughters of Jerusalem.

“Weep for yourselves and for your children.”

They see injustice being done to Him.

They weep over what is happening to the innocent One.

But Jesus knows that a far greater tragedy is coming upon them.

Rome’s cruelty is not the true danger.

The true danger is the Day of the Lord—the day when God Himself confronts the hardness and unbelief of His people.

That is why Jesus speaks of barren wombs and mountains falling.

That is why He warns that if the green wood—the Innocent One—suffers like this, then the dry wood—the guilty nation—will face a far more severe judgment.

The women mourn what they rightly see as a tragedy—an injustice.

But they do not yet see the judgment that they themselves deserve, the judgment soon to fall on Jerusalem.

Nor do they see that Jesus is already stepping into that judgment—suffering God’s wrath in their place, bearing it for them, dying to spare them from the day that would otherwise consume them.

So He gently redirects their sorrow.

He acknowledges their tears for His sake,

but He turns their eyes back upon themselves—

calling them to repentance,

and inviting them to trust that everything He is suffering

He is suffering for them.

And that is the point Jesus presses upon you today.

You want God to fix the world. And He will.

But do you want Him to transform you?

You want Him to bring judgment on what is wrong around you. That judgment is coming.

But do you want Him to confront what is wrong within you?

You want the world to be different, renewed, made whole.

But do you want your own heart to be different—

repentant, softened, reshaped by His mercy?

The women see what is being done to Him, but they do not yet see what is coming upon them.

And you see the world’s problems clearly, but your own need for mercy less clearly.

You mourn everything except the one thing Jesus says must come first:

your own need for repentance, your own need for renewal, your own need for His mercy.

But thanks be to God that Jesus does not leave you there.

For the King who confronts your heart is the King who gives Himself for your salvation.

He does not avoid the Day of the Lord—He steps into it.

He bears the judgment that you could not bear.

He receives in His own body what your sins deserve.

The green wood is cut down so that the dry wood might live again.

And this is how His kingship is revealed—

not in escape, not in power, not in coming down from the cross,

but in mercy.

“Father, forgive them,” He prays.

He reconciles all things by the blood of His cross.

He establishes a kingdom that is not built on strength or fear, but on peace.

And when the repentant thief turns to Him—

a man who sees his own sin clearly,

a man who makes no excuses,

a man who asks simply to be remembered—

Jesus gives him the entire kingdom.

“Truly, I say to you, today you will be with Me in paradise.”

That is what this King gives to sinners.

Not escape from trouble, but the promise of life.

Not a different world, but a new heart.

Not a throne made of gold, but a cross that saves.

And that is what His reign looks like now—quiet, hidden, but real.

Sons and daughters of Unionville, weep not for your Savior—

weep for yourselves, and be renewed.

For if such things were done when the wood was green,

what hope would any of us have when the wood is dry?

Yet your King has taken that judgment into Himself.

He has borne the day that would have consumed you,

and He now calls you to live in the mercy He has won.

He renews you—not for pride, but for love.

The more He teaches you your own need for mercy,

the more patient you become with the weaknesses of others.

The more deeply you receive His forgiveness,

the more readily you forgive.

The more He confronts your heart,

the more your life reflects His compassion.

This is true holiness—not a self-righteous stance of “I do not do that,”

but a life shaped by Christ’s love.

A life where repentance leads to kindness.

A life where His mercy toward you becomes mercy through you.

And so, when you look toward the Day of the Lord—

that day that Amos said would be darkness,

that day Jesus said would be filled with shaking and fear—

you do not dread it.

You look for it.

Because the One who will appear on that day

is the same One who died for you,

the same One who forgives you,

the same One who promises,

“Today you will be with Me in paradise.”

The King who confronts your heart now

is the King who will claim your life then.

Amen.