Coming

This sermon was heard at the First Presbyterian Church in Berryville, Arkansas on Sunday November 29, 2009, the 1st Sunday in Advent.

Jeremiah 33:14-16
Psalm 25:1-10
1 Thessalonians 3:9-13
Luke 21:25-36

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable to you, O Lord, our rock and our redeemer. Amen.

I don’t know if you heard the starter’s pistol on Friday morning, but it went off signaling the official beginning of the Christmas shopping season. The square is buzzing with activity. Wal-Mart is flooded with shoppers. The highways to Springfield and Branson; to Fayetteville, Springdale, and Rogers are burning up with drivers on their way to the malls.

If you missed this activity, I commend you and the rock you were living under. The sheet metal nativity is up on the square. The Christmas lights on the highway have been up for quite a while. Andy Williams is gracing the television calling this the “Most Wonderful Time of the Year.” Maybe the worst part of all of this is that the Christmas advertising season began before the football season this year.[1] It’s one thing to start getting ready for Christmas before Thanksgiving; it’s quite another thing to start getting ready for it before Labor Day.

So as we prepare for the coming of the Christmas season we are met with one of the most Christmassy images in Holy Writ, the people fainting from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world followed by the Son of Man coming in a great cloud with power and glory. Yep, nothing says “Christmas” like the gory and the glory.

During this season of Advent we celebrate the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. A tremendous amount of our economy is tied around the litany of things holy and human wrapped into this season. So it just seems unusual that we begin this Advent season with the images of Second Coming, this isn’t the usual path to the first Christmas. But really, that, as much as any other, may be the point of selecting this reading to start the season.

We are accustomed to the coming of a little baby like the one in the sheet metal crèche on the square. This time, this expectation is turned on its ear. We read instead about what all Christians anticipate, the next coming of this same Christ with power and glory. We expect a baby; we get something we don’t expect.

A theologian once wrote:

Our time is a time of waiting; waiting is its special destiny. And every time is a time of waiting, waiting for the breaking in of eternity. All time runs forward. All time, both history and in personal life, is expectation. Time itself is waiting, waiting not for another time, but for that which is eternal.[2]

We wait. We wait for what has all ready come. We wait for what is coming. Especially during this time of year, our waiting and anticipating are of his joyful and glorious arrival. We will sing songs of great joy celebrating our Lord’s birth and the promise of his life. But here, in this text, while we anticipate the wondrous joy of a season still coming, we are confronted with a more shocking image.

A couple of weeks ago, we read from the beginning of this chapter of Luke. Today, we read from nearly the end. Remembering the beginning of Luke 21, we are warned of wars and rumors of wars. We are warned that nation will rise against nation. We read of famines and plagues. We read of earthquakes then of dreadful portents and great signs from heaven.

Before this happens, yes before this happens we read that we will be arrested and persecuted; handed over to religious and civil authorities. We will be betrayed by our friends and our families; and some of us will be put to death for what we believe in and for whom we believe in. We will be accursed, hated for proclaiming the name of Jesus the Christ.

Returning to the horrors of our passage, there is one thing missing that I imagine we would like to hear. As for me, I would love to hear Jesus say, “Just kidding, phew! This is the stuff that will happen to unbelievers. You get a free pass on all of this horrible stuff. Yes I said you will be hated by all because of my name, but that’s just me pulling your leg.” I would really like to hear that.

Marie is so cute, when someone pulls her leg she often says “Pull the other one, it has bells on it.”

Good Lord in heaven, I would love it if Jesus promised that from the moment I first believed that these fears would be a part of my past and not of my future. I would love the “and they all lived happily ever after” ending, but that is not the promise Jesus makes for us in this world.

Instead, we are warned and we are encouraged. We are not told this will not go away, on the contrary, we are told to be on guard that our hearts are not weighted down “with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life.” FYI—We have a handle on drunkenness and the worries of this life, but dissipation may be a new word for us. It means, “The nausea that follows a debauch.”[3] The passage is a warning not to worry so much about this life that we get so drunk so we become physically ill. Sage advice for any situation.

We are then told “Lift up your heads and be alert at all times praying that you may have the strength.” We are told to prepare. A hard rain’s gonna fall and there won’t be time to get an umbrella once it starts. Get prepared. Be alert and pray for strength.

There is a darkness which has, is and does come upon creation. But even the darkness, even the horror of a sin sick creation broken far beyond any intentions of our loving God, even this darkness has a value. Catholic theologian John Navone writes:

Darkness provides us with a therapeutic limit-experience, illuminating the meagerness of human resources for experiencing, understanding and communicating the divine. It reminds us that God alone has an adequate idea of who God is and that even our most successful efforts at understanding God are inadequate. When darkness induces modesty, humility, faith and trust, it leads to a communion with God as God really is; it frees us from the self-deception of worshiping Gods of our own making. Only the real God saves; not the illusion. The true Israelite is the wise person who makes a home ‘in the shadow of the Shaddai’[4] (the Almighty).

We are not promised the end of trials. We are not promised that our earthly tomorrows will be filled with peace and joy. On the contrary, this passage seems to promise that even after the day of our dear Savior’s birth there will be what I call “days like this.” The world will be filled with pain and strife. The world will continue to be a very scary place. As with every day since the first coming of the baby Jesus upon his creation, for better or for worse, people will continue to act like people. For better is the prayer, for worse is the expectation.

There is a darkness in our lives that is terrible, but can in Navone’s words be therapeutic. We are not to delude ourselves into believing that Jesus is a magic potion. Jesus is Lord, and it is when our darkness induces faith and trust that we are freed to be with and serve our Lord.

Our call is to not get tied into knots. Our vocation is to be watchful and pray for strength. We are to do this so that we may escape all of the things that are about to happen. We are not promised that the terror of life on earth ceases.

Instead we are promised that by the strength of Jesus, we may be able to escape these things and may be able to stand before him. We are to lift up our heads, be alert, and pray for strength so that we may escape the terror and stand before the Son of Man. This is how we live, and this is how we are to live, making our home in the shadow of the Shaddai.

There is terror in this world. We don’t have to look beyond these very walls to see the ravages of war and sickness, of natural disasters and economic calamity. There is uncertainty in this sanctuary over one and many matters. We all come with our individual worries and we come with our corporate worries.

And we come to the throne of grace. We come to the throne of peace. We come in the darkness created by the sin of generations before us and continuing in the sin of our own. We come seeking strength to escape the terror of life.

Now and forever, let us remember that the wolf is at the door, but it is by Christ’s power and glory—the glory that is coming and continues to come until he comes again in power—by Christ we may stand in his strength and not be laid low by the world.

[1] Easterbrook, Gregg, Tuesday Morning Quarterback, ESPN.com Page 2, http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=easterbrook/090818&sportCat=nfl, retrieved November 29, 2009.
[2] Tillich, Paul, “The Shaking of the Foundations.” Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1948.
[3] A. T. Robertson, “Word Pictures in the New Testament.” Vol. 2. The Gospel According to Luke. New York: Richard R. Smith, 1930, page 262.
[4] Navone, John, “The Jesus Story, Our Life as Story in Christ. Collegeville, Minnesota: The Order of St. Benedict, Inc., The Liturgical Press, 1979.

What Have You Done?

This sermon was heard at the First Presbyterian Church in Berryville, Arkansas on Sunday November 22, 2009, the 34th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Christ the King Sunday.

2 Samuel 23:1-7
Psalm 132:1-12
Revelation 1:4b-8
John 18:33-37

May the words of our mouths and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable to you, O Lord, our rock and our redeemer. Amen.

I love the written word. I love the Word of God written, I love good theology written, and I love a good novel. I love little messages on facebook and Twitter. I love sharing wisdom through email. I even love composing and sending the pastoral letter every month for “The Epistle.” There is one thing that is difficult though, things that are obvious in the spoken word get lost in the written word.

In some forms of writing, there is often a presumption of shared experience. The shared experience allows the writer to tell the reader something in fewer words because there is a presumption that the set-up is known to the reader. After reading the first James Bond novel, we know who Bond is, so we don’t have to go through a detailed introduction in each novel. Because of shared experience, a few words is all it takes.

But this presumption is not always valid. One of the places where it is least valid is in social networking websites, tools like facebook, Twitter, and email; and in these settings, misunderstandings can quickly make their way around the world between breakfast and lunch. In the church it is true, with implications in the work of the Kingdom of God.

It is with this that I restate Pilate’s question to Jesus, “What have you done?”

The way we often read this, the way I have always read it, is that Pilate stands as judge and asks Jesus for a recitation of the charges. Pilate is asking a question the way a judge asks an accused. There is no reason to think this is a misinterpretation of Pilate’s question. After all, Pilate is the Prefect of Judea. Jesus was brought to Pilate for judgment by the Sanhedrin. This tone, this way that Pilate asks this question is valid, but I want us to consider something else.

Consider this, consider this little bit of the historical and cultural setting as well as the passage’s setting. First, let’s remember that Pilate was a politician. As any good politician, he knew what was going on in his district. He knew who the players were. He knew who had power, both formal and informal power. He knew the movers and shakers, and he knew the blowhards and stuffed shirts. He would have his finger on the pulse of the countryside, especially right before the Passover.

Pilate would have gotten the news that there was a prophet in the Judean hills performing great and miraculous signs and wonders. He would have been told about the healings. He would have heard that this prophet had bested the Scribes and Pharisees in several battles of wits.

Pilate would have heard about the crowds that had gathered around him, and were continuing to grow around him. He absolutely would have heard of this prophet entering Jerusalem on the back of a colt. Even if Pilate had no idea about the prophetic implications[1] of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem, he would have known something big was happening because of the crowds and the shouts of “Hosanna.”

As the Prefect, Pilate was appointed by the Emperor to oversee Judea. The first thing he did was push the Judean leaders so that they would push back in one of those lovely “big dog” moments. The Judeans got a good look at how hard Pilate would push and Pilate saw how Judeans would push back.[2] It became known quickly that Pilate was a firm, but not a brutal ruler. The first dance soon ended and the administration of Judea by Pilate had begun. As with any occupying force, Pilate was not loved by those whose homeland was occupied.

So let’s reset the scene. Pilate is Prefect. He is a firm foreign ruler over a proud nation. He is not despised, but he is not loved by those he rules. In the verses just prior to this scene, the Sanhedrin had come to Pilate asking him to crucify Jesus. When Pilate asks them why, they say, “We wouldn’t bring him to you if he didn’t deserve it.” It’s like the old expression that only the guilty get arrested.

The story goes that the Sanhedrin turned Jesus over to Pilate because the Jewish leaders could not execute prisoners, but this may not be true. At least one source says that the Sanhedrin may have had the authority to execute prisoners for breaking religious law.[3] If this is true, they would have been able to execute Jesus for (by their account) his blasphemy. If they tried to do this, there surely would have been rioting in the streets; the disciples of Jesus taking on the religious rulers. This would have been no good at all for any of them. Any civil unrest, especially at the Passover would have forced Pilate’s firm hand against the entire nation.

So yes, they could have executed Jesus for breaking religious law, but they were so nervous over the fallout that they were willing to go to the ruler they did not like asking him to do what they themselves would not do.

As a politician shrewd enough to gain this post, Pilate was able to put one and one together and come up with two. In this case, it meant that he knew what Jesus was doing; and even if Pilate didn’t know the theological and prophetic ramifications of what he was doing, he knew that it was making the Jewish ruling elite very, very nervous.

So here’s how I choose to rephrase this question, Pilate asks Jesus, What have you done? What have you done to make these guys so upset that they come to me? What did you do to turn the entire countryside on its ear? What did you do to earn this level of spite from your own people? What have you done to make these people think I was less of an enemy than you?
That’s the question. What did Jesus do?

The glorious images that make up the answers to this question have been with us since we began reading the Gospels of Mark and John at Advent last year. The images of the Baptism of the Lord, the miracles, the healings; these things help answer the question, “What did you do.” But more than all of these things, more than these wonderful and glorious things, we are given an image from John the Revelator about who Jesus is and what he did and about what he continues to do.

He is the faithful witness. Jesus is the Christ, the select, the anointed; he is the one who was elected to come and bring the Word of the Lord to life in the world. He is the one who does only what he sees his Father doing. He is the one who in eternal relationship with the other persons of the Holy Trinity has seen and participated in the works of God since before the beginning. He is the one who came to earth, fully human and fully divine, teaching us through his words and actions.

He is the firstborn of the dead. He is the one who died and rose again. As we testify in the Apostles’ Creed, he descended into hell and rose again from the dead. As the firstborn of the dead, He is the Son who leads his brothers and sisters who too have died and will too die. He is the one who conquered death so that we will no longer know the sting of the cold hard hand of mortality.

He has freed us from the power of sin by his own blood. As the Lamb of God, there is no other sacrifice that can be made that will be able to do what God has done now and forever through His Holy Son Jesus. There is no other priest that can make a sacrifice like the one the high priest of God makes of his own body, his own blood, his own life. By the power of his blood, we are freed. This we celebrate today and as often as we share the plate and the cup.

He is the ruler over the kings of the earth and has made us to be a kingdom of priests to serve him now and forever. Amen.

The question is not just what did Jesus do, it is what does Jesus continue to do. Pilate’s question is almost rhetorical. The answer he wants isn’t about the charges; the politician in him knows all he needs from the Pharisees who bring Jesus. The question Pilate wants answered is much deeper than just a recitation of the charges; Pilate wants to know the truth about Jesus. The truth Pilate wants to hear is the truth we testify to on this Christ the King Sunday is that the Lord is King and for this he was born. In this we rejoice in God’s triumph on behalf of all creation.[4]

The King of Kings lives and breathes and remains with us. We are to share this glorious hope not as people in pews, not as a fat man in the pulpit, not as mere mortal beings, but in the words of the Revelation, “as priests serving his God and father.”

[1] Zechariah 9:9
[2] Pilate, Pontius entry, The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. Vol. 4. Katharine Doob Sakenfeld, General Editor. Nashville: TN, Abingdon Press, 2009, page 526.
[3] Ibid.
[4] This is a nod to “Rejoice, the Lord Is King” (Lyric by Charles Wesley, Music by John Darwall). This was sung as the Hymn of Response following the sermon.