Luke 21:25-36
Truth-Telling, Grief, and Hope
James Sledge December
2, 2018
There
is a social media meme that makes the rounds every so often. It has a picture
of Walter Brueggemann at some speaking engagement. Brueggemann is professor
emeritus of Old Testament at Columbia Theological Seminary, and one of the more
respected and influential Old Testament scholars of our time.
On
this picture of Dr. Brueggemann is a quote from him, the same one that is on
the front of the bulletin. It reads, “The prophetic tasks of the church are to
tell the truth in a society that lives in illusions, grieve in a society that
practices denial, and express hope in a society that lives in despair.” Perhaps
those are good words to keep in mind on the Sunday when we enter Advent, listening
to the prophetic words of Jesus.
Truth-telling,
grieving, and hope initially strike me as odd companions, perhaps even more so
in this time of year. Advent has more and more been absorbed into the
celebration of Christmas, and at Christmas many people do not want anything to
distract them from the joy and spirit of the season. People who are grieving
often find Christmas a very difficult time and church a difficult place to be.
A
few years back I preached a sermon I called “Keeping Herod in Christmas.” I borrowed
the title from a chapter in Brian McLaren’s book, We Make the Road by Walking. McLaren talks about how Matthew’s
gospel tells of the slaughter of innocent children in reaction to Jesus’ birth,
and he says that our celebration of Christmas gets off track when it forgets
that Jesus comes into a broken world that resists the newness he brings.
My
sermon shared the upset I unintentionally created in the Columbus church I
served. I leaned a cross against the manger that sat in our sanctuary chancel
during Advent and Christmas and learned that many did not want the cross to
intrude on their Christmas cheer. Perhaps that’s what Brueggemann is talking
about when he speaks of our society’s denial.
Of
perhaps he’s talking about the 85,000 children in Yemen who have starved to
death because of Saudi Arabia’s intervention there, a campaign supported by the
US. You would think that such appalling, and totally preventable, killing of
children would be front page news day after day. Surely is deserves to be told
and should wrack us with grief, yet it scarcely gets noticed. And with the
coming of Christmas, our society has even less interest in truth-telling or
grief about such things.
But
the gospel reading for the first Sunday in Advent won’t help us maintain a
façade of Christmas cheer. It features no angel choirs or heavenly visitors to
Mary or Joseph. Instead it finds Jesus in Jerusalem just days before his arrest
and execution, and he clearly understands the sort of prophetic voice Dr.
Brueggemann wishes for the church. Jesus speaks of hope, of redemption drawing
near, but it does not come in the midst of Christmas cheer. It comes amidst
warnings of Jerusalem’s eminent destruction, of wars and insurrections,
persecution of Jesus’ followers, and frightening signs in the heavens.
Much
of what Jesus says is in the language of prophetic, apocalyptic speech. Such
speech is by its very nature poetic rather than descriptive, using vivid
imagery to paint a picture, to draw the hearer in and open them to new ways of
seeing. There are no timelines, no formulas for figuring out when anything will
happen, despite seemingly endless fascination with such things by some
Christians. Instead there is an invitation to discover a new perspective.
One
writer suggests that Van Gogh’s The
Starry Night captures the apocalyptic mood of our text.[1] It
not only has signs in the heavens, but a flame-like cypress tree, associated
with graveyards and mourning in Van Gogh’s day, reaches up toward the heavens. And
I wonder if we would not do well to hear the apocalyptic words from today’s
gospel more in the manner we might take in Van Gogh’s painting. So I invite you
to close your eyes, and let Jesus’ words paint a picture for you. Even when
Jesus begins to give instruction following the apocalyptic vision, continue to
think of it as art, as another layer or image in the painting. Let the reading
impact you emotionally rather than trying to figure out what it means.
"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. 26People will faint from fear and foreboding
of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken.
27Then they will see 'the Son of Man coming in a cloud' with power
and great glory. 28Now when these things begin to take place, stand
up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near."
29Then he told
them a parable: "Look at the fig tree and all the trees; 30as
soon as they sprout leaves you can see for yourselves and know that summer is
already near. 31So also, when you see these things taking place, you
know that the kingdom of God is near. 32Truly I tell you, this
generation will not pass away until all things have taken place. 33Heaven
and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.
34"Be on
guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness
and the worries of this life, and that day catch you unexpectedly, 35like
a trap. For it will come upon all who live on the face of the whole earth. 36Be
alert at all times, praying that you may have the strength to escape all these
things that will take place, and to stand before the Son of Man."
In
my mind, the canvas is filled with terrifying sights. The earth, the very sky
itself seems to be coming unmoored. Some are in panic. Others collapse, stunned
and in shock. Others huddle together, weeping. But there are some who do not
look terrified, who do not panic or weep. They are fully aware of all that is
happening, but in the midst of all that swirls around them they seem focused,
even purposeful, their faces lifted upward.
As
I look at them, I think I can hear them speaking, reciting a psalm together. God
is our refuge and strength… Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should
change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea; though the waters
roar and foam.
They
are acutely aware of the terror around them. They do not hide their faces from
fires or floods or mass shootings or racism or children starving. They do not
attempt to drown it out with Christmas music. They are deeply pained by the
hurt and injustice in the world, but they trust that Jesus is indeed Lord of
all, that the future belongs to God. And so they continue to hope in and to
work for God’s coming new day, praying that the Spirit will continue to renew
their strength.
Because
of their faith, they can see beyond the moment and glimpse what is coming. By
the Spirit’s indwelling presence, they are joined to God’s work of redemption
and do not lose hope. By faith and the Spirit, they are like Martin Luther
King, Jr. who despite fire hoses, police dogs, hatred, and death threats could
nonetheless proclaim, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends
toward justice.”
That
moral arc bends toward justice because it is God’s arc, and those who are in
Christ, who know the God who defeats hate with love, the God whose greatest
power is a cross, can trust and hope in that arc even with the bend is so
slight it can hardly be seen. They can hope and speak as Dr. King did on the
day before his assassination when he said, “So I'm happy, tonight. I'm not
worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the
glory of the coming of the Lord.”
Glory hallelujah! Amen.
[1]
Kathy Beach-Verhey in David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors, Feasting on the Word: Year C, Volume 1:
Advent through Transfiguration (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press,
2009) Kindle Location 937
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