O Come, O come, Emmanuel. Amen.
What
an absolute joy it is to be back in this pulpit, in this worship space. After
three years of planning and five months in the Parish Hall, we are back home.
The organ sounds amazing, the altar is stunningly beautiful, the Baptismal font
can be seen in all its grandeur, the duct work has been replaced, the ceiling
structure is now structurally sound. What a glorious morning this is!
Jesus,
would you like to make a few comments on this spectacular morning? “There will
be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among
nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint
from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of
the heavens will be shaken… Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will
not pass away.” Hmm, Jesus, this is the first Sunday back in our worship space,
perhaps something a little more cheerful? Maybe something from earlier in
chapter 21? “As for these things that you see, the days will come when not one
stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down.” Al Wilson’s and
Roger Colby’s crews have done a splendid job on this worship space and this new
organ. Many generous donors have made this all possible. We’ve all been
thinking about the legacy of this building, and Jesus, like Debbie Downer,
reminds us “it’s going to fall apart one day.”
You
see, this Gospel text really isn’t the one I would have chosen for today, which
is probably why it is exactly what we need to hear. Today is a day of new
beginnings: it is the first Sunday worship in our renovated church and Advent
is the beginning of the Church’s liturgical year of readings and seasons. But
yet, Jesus seems to be talking not about the start of things, but rather their
end. This text from Luke comes from the apocalyptic genre. “Apocalypse” is a
word that means “revealing;” it’s that moment when you get a glimpse at what is
behind the curtain. And what we see in this apocalyptic vision isn’t so much a
prediction about the future, as much as it is a commentary on precarious nature
of the present.
What
Advent does for us is to reorient our sense of time. The theological word for
this is “eschatology.” Eschatological theology focuses on the culmination of
all things, and then works backwards. That is why at the beginning of the Church
year, every first Sunday of Advent, we have an apocalyptic reading. TS Eliot
once wrote “in my beginning is my end;” well, eschatology says that “in my end
is my beginning.” The Church, in her wisdom, has discerned that the best way to
start Advent isn’t with an angel coming to Mary to announce the coming of the
Christ-child. In order to set the tone for the rest of the year, for Advent,
Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Easter, and Pentecost, we need to always hold in
mind the way things will one day conclude.
Some use analogy of the
time between landing at Normandy on D-Day and V-Day when Nazi Germany
surrendered nearly eleven months later. Once the Allied forces landed, eventual
victory was ensured though there was still fighting and loss of life to endure.
But what a difference is must make to give your strength and perhaps even your
life to a cause that you know will be victorious. And so, no, life is not
perfect; there is still pain, and evil, and loss, but victory is assured.
During the Eucharist, we proclaim this mystery of faith: Christ has died.
Christ is risen. Christ will come again. As we embark on our journey, both in
this new space and in the new liturgical year, we are reminded that all will
find its end in Christ’s coming.
So, what do we do in the
meantime? I doubt that very many of us spend much time at all worrying about
the return of Christ and the end of time and space. There are though, many
other things that we anxiously await: the safe return of a deployed family
member, a job offer to come through, a house to be sold, a college acceptance
letter to arrive in the mail, the results of a medical test, the outcome of an
election. We are all preoccupied with some future event over which we have
absolutely no control and no promises for positive outcomes. And so up against
this uncertainty, Advent presents us with the final outcome of all things: the
Son of Man coming in power and great glory. As the 14th century
mystic, Julian of Norwich, heard God say to her: “all shall be well, and all
manner of things shall be well.” What this looks like, I honestly don’t know.
But I trust the love of God to, indeed, ensure that at the end, all shall be
well.
Our Christian faith
doesn’t eliminate anxiety or waiting, but it does transform it. Faith allows us
to bring that future reality into present reality. That love will one day
conquer evil, that light will overtake darkness, that all will be perfected in
God shapes us. We tend to think of time as something that is chronological –
moving in one direction from the past toward the future. But this sort of
eschatological thinking forces us to rethink that. And, in fact, many modern
day physicists also question our understanding of time as something that is
foundational to the universe. It’s not that the past shapes the future, but
rather that the future shapes the present.
This Coming of the Son of
Man is not a bad thing. Have you ever noticed that anytime these apocalyptic
passages are portrayed, it’s never a good thing? The Left Behind series of books could be considered to be, at least
somewhat, in the horror genre. Hollywood portrays the end of the world as a
time of violence and sorrow. Even Michelangelo, when he painted The Last Judgment in the Sistine Chapel,
portrays a scene full of lament. History is full of pastors who mislead their
congregations into believing that the end of the world will come on a certain
date, and it’s always fearful sort of thing. We have an entire industry of
“doomsday preppers” who anticipate the worst – that when met with a crisis,
humanity will respond not with love and compassion, but with selfishness and
violence. When the words “final judgment” come up, often we would rather not
have this happen during our lifetimes and we begin to feel afraid. Isn’t it
interesting that we assume that judgment is a bad thing? What does that say
about us? Perhaps we worry that our actions don’t speak as loudly as our words,
or perhaps, our actions speak too loudly and we’d rather not have to give an
account for them.
But this terror is to
misunderstand judgment. Eschatology helps us to see the present through the
lens of the future. And not just this present moment, but every moment of time.
Christian hope proclaims that you have already been judged, and you have been
found to be loved. That’s what the Cross is all about. We tend to think of the
Crucifixion and Resurrection as things that happened in the past; and in a
sense, they did. But they are events rooted in the future, in that time and
place where “all shall be well.” You have been judged, and you are enough, you
are chosen by God, you are redeemed, you are loved.
These are things worth
keeping in mind this Advent season. Though we know the end of the story, that
doesn’t mean this chapter is always “the most wonderful time of the year.”
Jesus says “There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the
earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves.”
Written nearly 2,000 years ago, but still resonant today. With all that is
happening right now in Syria, Turkey, Russia, Iran, Israel, and Palestine, we
are very aware of the “distress among nations.” I truly hope that we are not,
but we may well be on the brink of war. In our own country, we are going
through the painful process of unresolved race relations. And as far as the
“roaring of the seas and waves,” climate change is a very real threat. Tomorrow,
leaders from over 190 nations will meet in Paris, France for the Paris Climate
Conference with the goal of creating an international climate treaty. As Jesus
encourages us to do, look at the fig tree. Without changing our course, the end
of the world, or at least human existence on it, will come; but it won’t be
because of the Coming of the Son of Man, but rather environmental destruction.
So I invite your earnest prayer for the leaders of the nations at this
conference – that we might have the will to work together, the courage to make
difficult changes to our lifestyles, and a deep reverence for the Earth as
God’s Creation.
If our expectation of
judgment and Christ’s coming is negative, then perhaps we need these Advent
texts to reorient ourselves. Jesus proclaims “Now when these things begin to
take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing
near.” The time in which we live as Christians is often described as the
“already, but not yet.” Already has God acted to save, but not yet has Christ’s
reign come fully on earth as it is in heaven. So how do we live in this
in-between time? Do we live with fear, envy, injustice as our companions? No!
As Jesus says, “lift up your heads.”
The Prophet Jeremiah
conveys God’s words: “In those days and at that time I will cause a righteous
Branch to spring up for David; and he shall execute justice and righteousness
in the land.” Through an eschatological lens, we know that that day has already
come and will continue to come. It is not our job to be Savior, but we can work
to prepare the throne of justice and righteousness for his coming. Instead of
being downtrodden with worry and weariness, we can stand tall, lifting up our
heads, knowing that though heaven and earth may pass away, God’s love will not.
Opportunities to live in
the future reign of Christ are with us today, as there is much to do in terms
of justice and righteousness. Our community longs for a time when no child goes
to bed hungry and when racial strife has ended. Our economy yearns for a time when
no one has too little and no one too much and our political system hungers for
the common good to be put ahead of our selfish interests. The nations hope for
peace. The earth thirsts for us to be humble and faithful stewards. How we live
and how we hope speaks to our faith and our trust in God to ensure that all
shall be well and all manner of things shall be well.
Advent shifts our
understanding of time and urges us to read the present through the future. God’s
judgment has already happened – and it is very Good News, as love wins. The
coming of Christ is not something to be feared, but rather a current reality to
be embraced and lived out. And that is why I’m so excited and thankful to be
back in this worship space. This place is a reminder to us of God’s promises
and victory, even amidst the strife of the world. Here, God’s eternity meets us
in our temporal journeys. In this holy place, we gather around the altar to
partake of meal that takes place at the end of time. In this earthly temple, we
are Baptized into the future promises of God. In this sacred space, we join our
voices with saints and angels across time in singing praises to God. The
project that we have completed is a testament to the fact that we trust in the
future that God has already prepared for us – our time, our money, our talents
have built a sanctuary for this community to come together and proclaim that
all shall be well. There will come a day when not one brick will remain, and as
much as we pray for that day, there is work to be done while we wait.
Our prayer this season is
“O come, O come, Emanuel.” Lord Jesus, as you once did, come again into our
world and into our hearts. Transform our anxious waiting into faithful service
around your throne. Help us to remember that at the end, love endures, we have already
been judged to be loved, and you have already made all things well. O Come, O
come, Emmanuel. Amen.
