"Are You the Worst Sinner?" (Sermon on 1 Timothy 1:12-17) | June 7, 2026

Sermon Text: 1 Timothy 1:12–17
Date: June 7, 2026
Event: Proper 5, Year A

1 Timothy 1:12–17 (EHV)

I give thanks to the one who empowered me, namely, Christ Jesus our Lord, that he treated me as trustworthy, appointing me into his ministry. 13He did this even though formerly I was a blasphemer, a persecutor, and a violent man. But I was shown mercy, because I acted ignorantly in unbelief. 14The grace of our Lord overflowed on me along with the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus. 15This saying is trustworthy and worthy of full acceptance: “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners,” of whom I am the worst. 16But I was shown mercy for this reason: that in me, the worst sinner, Christ Jesus might demonstrate his unlimited patience as an example for those who are going to believe in him, resulting in eternal life. 17Now to the King eternal, to the immortal, invisible, only God, be honor and glory forever and ever. Amen.

Are You the Worst Sinner?

“Ugh, that is the worst!” Perhaps you’ve heard that said or you’ve said it yourself. I’m most familiar with using it or hearing it used in the context of some relatively minor inconvenience. Like, a paper cut or forgetting you’re out of milk and having to run to the store when you’re already in your pajamas. It’s a phrase that we often use to describe how annoying something is, but how often is what we are talking about the actual worst? I’d guess probably never. No matter how bad something is, we can probably come up with some way to one-up it, to make it worse than it already is.

No, the superlative "worst" is extreme, and we usually don’t use it in its full sense unless we’re comparing a few things. For instance: forgetting to charge your phone, slipping on a wet floor, and starving to death. Like, all of those are bad to some degree, but one is clearly the worst. But to contemplate the worst of all life experiences, the worst of all situations, the worst of all hardships? That seems a bit impossible.  

But Paul makes an observation about himself in our reading from his letter to young Pastor Timothy that probably makes our eyebrows rise in surprise or concern: “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners,” of whom I am the worst. Is Paul the worst sinner? Is the champion of spreading the good news about Jesus to the Gentiles the worst person to ever live? And if so, by what metric? Number of sins? Severity of sins? And even if he is, Paul is writing about 2,000 years ago; has someone surpassed him since then? Have you? Have I?

Paul establishes some bona fides for this claim: formerly I was a blasphemer, a persecutor, and a violent man. We know from the history of the book of Acts what Paul is talking about here. The first part of Paul’s life was lived as a devout and zealous Jewish believer. He was a member of the group called the Pharisees, who we are pretty familiar with from Jesus’ ministry. The Phraisees were a highly spiritual group, but they also had very misguided notions about where their spiritual security should come from. They most often looked to their own works rather than to God’s mercy for their eternal confidence, a path that Jesus made clear, over and over again, would lead to their spiritual downfall.

But Paul’s zealousness as a Pharisee went beyond centering himself on works righteousness. We are first introduced to Paul in the biblical narrative as he guards the belongings of those murdering Stephen, making Stephen the first Christian martyr. And lest we think that was just a passive mistake, after that, he took a very active role in trying to squash out the fledgling Christian church. In Acts chapters 8 and 9, Luke describes Paul’s actions this way: [he] was trying to destroy the church by going into one house after another, dragging off both men and women, and putting them in prison. … [He] was still breathing out murderous threats against the disciples of the Lord. He went to the high priest and asked him for letters to the synagogues of Damascus, so that if he found any men or women belonging to the Way [that is, Christianity], he might bring them to Jerusalem as prisoners (Acts 8:3, 9:1-2). It’s in the act of this region-trotting hunt that Jesus appeared to Paul, made clear to him how misguided he was, and eventually called him to be an apostle, a messenger of the gospel, especially for the Gentiles, for people who were not Jewish.

But Paul did not—probably could not—forget his past. He knew what he had done, the offense he had committed against his God and Savior, and the grace and mercy that had been shown to him to spare him and then even to be privileged enough to serve in the gospel ministry.

Paul’s situation is not radically different from Matthew’s in our Gospel. Matthew was a tax collector, a traitor to his people who served Rome and then likely lined his own pockets by overcharging his countrymen (as was common for tax collectors of that day). He deserved to be punished, and yet what did he hear? “Follow me” (Matthew 9:9). I doubt that Matthew ever forgot his old way of life before he became Jesus’ disciple, but he probably would have echoed Paul’s sentiment: I give thanks to the one who empowered me, namely, Christ Jesus our Lord, that he treated me as trustworthy, appointing me into his ministry.

Now, what about you? What about me? I’m not aware of any of us ever having been a traitorious tax collector (although, have we always been honest in every bit of business we’ve ever had—even with the IRS?) nor do I think that anyone here is actively persecuting other Christians or any other group for that matter (although, have we always treated all people with the respect and love that we should?), but truly none of us have been perfect, which is what God demands. So how should we view ourselves?

There are a lot of people out there doing clearly sinful things. Some people are vicious, some are greed-fueled, some seek their own pleasure above all else and at all costs. And these things lead to horrible outcomes, making headlines in news articles and serving as subject matter for “true crime” shows. At least I’m not like them. At least I’m not one of the bad ones.

Except, by whose standard am I finding comfort in that? My own? I have judged that I’m better than someone else; therefore, everything is ok? Why kind of biased, subjective judgment is that? How could that bring any real comfort? This pull toward comparative righteousness, trying to see myself as better than others, is a dangerous game.

If I look at other people and see those who are worse than I am, that probably points to a really serious spiritual problem inside of me; I probably lack almost any self-reflection. True, someone may have done something sinful (even reprehensible) that you would never do, but what sins have you committed that they would never dream of doing? What depravity oozes up from the depths of your heart that that other person would never consider? And just how many of their sins are you aware of compared to how many of your own?

Why did Paul call himself the worst sinner? I don’t think it was the types of sins he committed (although that surely didn’t help). It seems far more likely that Paul is looking at an honest numbers game. He might have known one, or ten, or a hundred, or even a thousand of the sins that another person had committed. But no matter how big that number was, no matter how many sins he knew someone else had committed, it was minuscule compared to the number he knew he had committed.

No matter who we might compare ourselves to, no matter how well we know them or how close we are to them, be they a spouse, or parent, or child, or sibling, or friend, we know an infinitesimally smaller amount of their failures—their sin—than we know of our own. And it’s good and healthy for us to sit with that, examine that, just let it breathe and exist within us and around us. It’s uncomfortable dwelling on how great a failure you are in God’s sight. God demands zero sins in your entire life; how many have you committed this year so far? In these early days of this month? Today? Since you got to church? Since this sermon began?

Sit with it for a moment. Marinate in the reality that you are the worst sinner that you know. And if you would dispute that reality, that’s just further evidence that this is true. See yourself as you are by nature. It makes me sick to my stomach to think of my mountain of failures, and yet I need to see that sin in all its horrid mass, lest I start to think too well of myself.

So, again, sit with that for a moment, but my goodness, don’t stay there. Dwelling on sin and only seeing the sin, only seeing the failure, is the surest way to hopelessness and despair. It’s healthy to dwell on it to a point—to see how great your need is and to put to death the impulse to compare yourself favorably against other people—but beyond that, it is spiritually toxic. Beyond that, it leaves you looking to yourself for comfort or direction that you won’t find in you and I know I will not find inside me.

No, like Paul, like Matthew, like Moses, there is one place for us to look for comfort, despite being the worst sinner we know. The grace of our Lord overflowed on me along with the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus. This saying is trustworthy and worthy of full acceptance: “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners,” of whom I am the worst. Paul’s words are just as true for you as they were for him. The “worst sinner” part, yes, but also the Lord’s grace and Jesus’ salvation mission.

Jesus came to save sinners, even the worst sinner, even you. Even me. Remember what he said to his critics in our Gospel: “The healthy do not need a physician, but the sick do. Go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, and not sacrifice.’ In fact, I did not come to call the righteous, but sinners” (Matthew 9:12-13). Jesus didn’t come for the really good people; he came for the broken, the wayward, the disobedient, the proud, the unforgiving. That is, he came for you, and he came for me.

Paul didn’t earn his status as an apostle; that was God’s undeserved love for him. Matthew didn’t earn his status as a disciple, apostle, and evangelist; that was God’s undeserved love for him. Moses didn’t earn his status as a prophet and nation-rescuer; that was God’s undeserved love for him. You and I have not earned anything good from God, least of all forgiveness or eternal life. No, we have not earned it, but like Paul, Matthew, and Moses, that is God’s undeserved love for you and for me.

Jesus came into the world to save sinners, and he accomplished that work. His death was the payment we owed that we could not pay. His resurrection is the proof that it is all truly finished. The world’s sins—every single one of them, be they big or small in our eyes—are paid for. That means, dear Christian, that your many sins are included in that number. Yes, you, the worst sinner, have been completely and fully forgiven. Whether they are sins of ignorance or choice, sins you can recount, or sins you aren’t even aware of, all of them are gone.

Being the worst sinner is not a contest to be won. I already know that I meet that criteria, as you already know that you do as well. But forgiveness was a mission to be accomplished, one that cost the blood and life of the perfect Son of God. But he did it. He did it willingly, lovingly, and gladly, because that’s how much he values you and me.

Are you the worst sinner? Yeah, unfortunately, you are. But, are you the most dearly loved child of God? Well, he’s removed every single sin you’ve ever committed against him. So, yes. Worst sinner to dearest child; it doesn’t get any better than that. I was shown mercy for this reason: that in me, the worst sinner, Christ Jesus might demonstrate his unlimited patience as an example for those who are going to believe in him, resulting in eternal life. Now to the King eternal, to the immortal, invisible, only God, be honor and glory forever and ever. Amen.

Soli Deo Gloria

Sermon prepared for Gloria Dei Lutheran Church (WELS), Belmont, CA (www.gdluth.org) by Pastor Timothy Shrimpton. All rights reserved. Contact pastor@gdluth.org for usage information.

"Jesus Ascended for You" (Sermon on Ephesians 1:15-23) | May 17, 2026

Sermon Text: Ephesians 1:15-23
Date: May 17, 2026
Event: The Ascension of Our Lord (Observed), Year A

Ephesians 1:15-23 (EHV)

This is why, ever since I heard about your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love for all the saints, 16I never stop giving thanks for you, remembering you in my prayers. 17I keep praying that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the glorious Father, will give you the Spirit of wisdom and revelation in knowing Christ fully. 18I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened, so that you may know the hope to which he has called you, just how rich his glorious inheritance among the saints is, 19and just how surpassingly great his power is for us who believe. 20It is as great as the working of his mighty strength, which God worked in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly places, 21far above all rule, authority, power, and dominion, and above every name that is given, not only in this age but also in the one to come. 22God also placed all things under his feet and made him head over everything for the church. 23The church is his body, the fullness of him who fills everything in every way.

Jesus Ascended for You

Have you ever had to do something for someone who didn’t understand why you were doing it? The clearest example I can think of occurs around animals. If you have a pet—especially one that exhibits some sort of separation anxiety—they might not understand why you need to leave them to go someplace like work or the store. If you could reason with them and explain how the economy works, you might be able to explain that you need money to purchase food so they can eat. But, since you can’t, what are they often left seeing? You left them alone while they wanted you to stay.

If we take that picture and apply it to our spiritual lives, we are the pet, and Jesus is the owner. We wish we could see Jesus, be with Jesus, have him right here in front of us all the time, but that’s because we often have as good a grasp of what we really need as a sad dog has of exchanging money for food. It’s why we need to always pray, “Your will be done,” because we know that God’s will is better than ours, his understanding is more complete than ours, and we know his promises that he’s going to work all things out for our eternal good, whether we “get it” or not.

Sometimes we are left just having to trust that God knows what he’s doing, while other times, through his Word, God does reveal why he’s doing what he’s doing. And we have that before us in our Second Reading this morning as God speaks through the apostle Paul to explain why Jesus ascended and what he’s doing now.

Paul’s relationship with the Christians in the city of Ephesus was very special. Ephesus was one of the places where Paul spent the most time during his ministry—years rather than weeks or months. If you look at his farewell to the leaders of the Ephesian church in Acts chapter 20, you see the immense love as their final departure brings with it intense emotions of thankfulness and sadness at Paul’s goodbye. These Ephesians are fellow believers whom Paul dearly and clearly loves. And so very early in his letter to them, he lets them know that he’s praying for them and then is specific about what he is praying: I never stop giving thanks for you, remembering you in my prayers. I keep praying that… (Perhaps there is a lesson here in making it so that telling someone, “I’m praying for you,” is not just an empty platitude. Be specific with them! What is it that you are praying? Even if you don’t know what exactly to pray about, but you’re entrusting them to God’s care, what a comfort it is to hear that as the person being prayed for!)

But on this observation of Jesus’ ascension, let’s focus in on what specifically Paul is praying about. He is pleading with God to give the Ephesians the Spirit of wisdom and revelation [to know] Christ fully. In other words, Paul is praying for God to increase and strengthen their faith. “Lord, let them know who you are, let them know what you’ve done, let them know why you’re doing what you’re doing so that they are confident of your unending grace.” I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened, so that you may know the hope to which he has called you, just how rich his glorious inheritance among the saints is, and just how surpassingly great his power is for us who believe. Notice how so much of what Paul is praying for is that they may be able to see what they cannot actually see, that they may be able to see how things actually are, not as they appear.

And that is the “trouble” with Jesus’ ascension. He’s gone. Well, not gone-gone, but we can’t see him anymore. The disciples stared up into the sky until the angels asked them what they were doing. “He’ll be back,” they assured the group; they promised that he would return exactly the same way that he left, with the clouds. But until then? They couldn’t see him. We can’t see him. The ones who had traveled the dusty roads of Judea, Samaria, and Galilee with Jesus would now walk alone. And so would those who believed through their message—like the Christians in Ephesus, like you and me.

We look around us, and we wonder where Jesus is. Perhaps we’re not staring into the sky waiting for him to appear, but we probably look around and wonder just what his plan is. Look at what’s going on in the world. Look at what’s going on in our country. Look at what’s going on in your city, your neighborhood. My goodness, look at what’s going on in your home among your closest family. If you spend enough time thinking about it, it’s enough to make you want to cry, or give up, or just scream at the top of your lungs. But where, in all of this chaos, hardship, suffering, and pain, is Jesus?

Sin darkens our ability to see the true joy in Jesus’ ascension. We can’t see him physically because his earthly work is done. And yes, it’s done despite the sorrows and suffering of this life because Jesus never came to solve that—at least, not now. Jesus’ goal was, is, and always will be eternity; he wants to rescue us from the here and now and bring us to that place of never-ending peace with him.

That’s what his work was all about. His perfect life was lived not as an example for us, but to substitute for our lives that are caked in sin. His death was not an illustration of patience under trial and suffering, but the actual payment for your sins and mine, the sins of the entire world. His resurrection from the dead was proof that death had no hold on him (because he had no sin) and that his work was complete—finished. As we’ve seen over and over again throughout this Easter season, his empty tomb means that our tombs will also be empty. He will raise us from the dead just as the Father raised him. And Jesus’ ascension is the cherry-on-top of this salvation sundae. Because at this point, his work is truly complete. He had made clear over the past 40 days that he had, in fact, been raised from the dead. The disciples knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this Jesus, who had died, was in fact alive. And the Holy Spirit would bring them extra clarity in just a few days so that they could begin their work as his witnesses to the world.

Which brings us back to Paul’s prayer for the Ephesians. If any of the members of this congregation in what is now far-western Turkey had actually seen Jesus with their physical eyes, they would have been in the vast minority. No, for most, if not for all, Jesus was not someone they met, but someone they learned about. They found him in the promises God had made in the Hebrew Scriptures and in the testimony of those who, like Paul, went out to share the good news of sins forgiven in Jesus.

That means that you and I have a lot in common with these first-century Christians. Because we, too, have not seen Jesus in the flesh, yet we know him, love him, and believe in him as our Savior. Why? Because just as God answered Paul’s prayer for the Ephesians, he has answered that very prayer for us as well. We have had our eyes opened as God has created faith in us. So amazing is that faith that trusts Jesus as our Savior that Paul says that the same power that created this faith is the power that raised [Jesus] from the dead. And it would have to be because it’s a miracle no less amazing to raise the Messiah from the dead than it is to raise us from the spiritual death of unbelief to the spiritual life of faith; faith so powerful that it, as the writer to the Hebrews describes it, makes us sure about what we hope for… convinced about things we do not see (Hebrews 11:1).

And yet, while we don’t see him, he is not far from us. He is not some distant, absentee God and Savior. No, Jesus promised to be with us to the end of this age, throughout this life (Matthew 28:20), and so he is. What is he doing? Working everything out for your eternal good. Paul said that God also placed all things under his feet and made him head over everything for the church. Jesus rules everything for us. That means those horrible things going on in global events are, in some way, being worked out for the good of those who believe in him. That heartache and frustration that you feel is in service of the end-goal of eternal life in heaven with your Savior.

And Paul underscores that by describing us as members of Jesus’ body. His love for us is so great that the one who is the fullness of him who fills everything in every way made himself incomplete without us. It’s very much like his own observation at creation before he made Eve, “It is not good for the man to be alone” (Genesis 2:18). Jesus himself says, “It’s not good for me to be alone, it’s not good for me to not have my people, my loved ones, my family with me.” And that explains all of his work for us. Why would the divine set aside that glory and power to take on our human nature? Why would God suffer and die for the sins that people, that you and I, committed against him? It was not a requirement. He could have been God and remained God, perfectly just, without ever doing any of that, all the while rightly condemning each of us to hell. No, it wasn’t need that drove him, it was love. His love decided that he was incomplete without us, so he created us. His love decided that he was incomplete without us, so he saved us when we sinned. His love decided that he was incomplete without us, so he now prepares a place for us to spend eternity with him face-to-face.

So we are not far removed from Jesus—quite the opposite! We are members of his body, the finger on his hand, the toe on his foot, the rib in his side. We are so close to him that we are one with him by grace through faith. His blood that purifies you from every sin unites you to him. His love that sacrificed everything for you rules the universe for your eternal good —all things are under his feet! And his strength for you is so great that he will return in the same way we’ve seen him go—with the clouds—to pluck us out of this world of misery, sin, and death and bring us to the eternal safety of his visible presence forever. There we will find a clear reunion with the rest of our body—his body—all of our fellow believers.

Until that day, my dear brothers and sisters, try to see the trouble in your life like the pet owner going to work. Even if you don’t understand why God is allowing this or that, trust that the one who loves you has only love behind it, that he’s going to work all things out for your good, that your Savior is literally ruling the universe to make sure that you are safe with him in eternity.

Christ is risen! He has gone up with a shout! Alleluia! Amen.

Soli Deo Gloria

Sermon prepared for Gloria Dei Lutheran Church (WELS), Belmont, CA (www.gdluth.org) by Pastor Timothy Shrimpton. All rights reserved. Contact pastor@gdluth.org for usage information.