November 13, 2016 – The 26th Sunday after
Pentecost: Proper 28C
© 2016 Evan D. Garner
Audio of this sermon as written below and as preached at 8:00am is available here. As sometimes happens, I wasn't satisfied with the sermon I wrote or preached at 8:00am, so I preached a somewhat different sermon at 10:30am. If you'd like to listen to that one, click here.
This morning, I’d like to start the sermon with a little congregational participation. I will say a word, and then I want you to say the opposite. Sound easy enough? Let’s give it a try.
Up. Down.
Left. Right.Hot. Cold.
Black. White.
Good job so far. Those were
the easy ones. Let’s keep going,
Protestant. Catholic.
Liberal. Conservative.Rich. Poor.
Faith. ???
What is the opposite of
faith? Is it doubt? I don’t think so. I believe that doubt is a healthy part of
faith. Doubt keeps faith honest. Without the questions and the hesitations of
doubt, faith becomes meaningless. It becomes blind, thoughtless agreement—believing
in something without really meaning it. Anything worth believing in comes with
a healthy dose of doubt. I think the opposite of faith is fear. And I think
Jesus wants us to have the kind of faith that can handle moments of doubt but
that puts all fear to rest.
“Do you see this temple?”
Jesus asked. “All these beautiful stones and precious ornaments—the time is
coming when not one of them will be left upon another. Everything will be
thrown down.” Isn’t Jesus just the sort of conversationalist one would want at
his Thanksgiving table? The temple was the symbol that held God’s people
together. To predict its destruction was to predict the destruction of their
homeland. They were already under Roman occupation. How much worse could it
get?
“When will this be?” they
asked him. “Tell us what sign we should look for as a warning that this is
about to take place.” I don’t blame them for asking. Wouldn’t you want to know how
long you had until the Statue of Liberty or the Capitol Building—each a symbol
of our national identity—was destroyed? But Jesus didn’t really give them an
answer. “Many will come and say, ‘I am he!’ and ‘The time has come!’ but don’t
believe them…because things will get even worse.”
Jesus said, “When you
hear of wars and insurrections, do not be terrified. This must happen first,
but the end will not follow immediately. Nation will rise against nation, and
kingdom against kingdom. There will be earthquakes and famines and plagues. And
there will be dreadful portents and great signs from heaven. But, still, that’s
not all.
“Before any of this
occurs, you will be arrested. You will be persecuted. You will be
imprisoned…You will be betrayed even by your own parents and brothers, your
relatives and your friends. Some of you will even be executed. All of you will
be hated because of my name. But don’t worry. Not a hair on your head will
perish.”
Up until that last part,
this sounded like some sort of deranged pep talk. It seemed like Jesus was
telling them not to worry because, even though the whole world was going to
come crashing down on top of them, he had plan for their escape. But, when
Jesus told them that some of them would be executed yet not a hair on their
head will perish, we knew that the jig was up. That’s the kind of otherworldly rabbi-speak
that lets us know that Jesus wasn’t talking about being saved from the
catastrophes of this world but being saved through them. “By your endurance,”
he told them, “you will gain your souls.”
But how does that work?
How could Jesus tell his followers that terrible things would happen to them
yet encourage them not to worry? How were they ever going to make it through
arrest and persecution and betrayal and execution without even a hair on their
head being lost? How are we supposed to face wars and insurrections and famines
and plagues without losing hope? How do we say to someone whose life is falling
apart, “Don’t give up; everything will be ok?” Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t
know how that works. I just know that it does.
What is it that we are
really afraid of anyway? Is it death? Is it financial ruin? Is it political
turmoil? Is it isolation from our family and friends? Is it a massive, public
failure? Whatever it is, I’ll suggest to you that the part that really bothers
us isn’t what might happen but when and how. We all know that there will be
another financial crisis even bigger than the last one. And there will be
political divisions even more rancorous than this one. There will be wars more
devastating than any we’ve ever seen. There will be famines and plagues like
nothing we can imagine. We will experience hurricanes and earthquakes more
devastating than any in history. All of that will happen—maybe not in our
lifetime, maybe not in our children’s lifetime. But, if you wait around long
enough, it’s going to happen. It’s the when and the how that keep us up at
night.
Just like the people who
were speaking to Jesus, we want him to tell us when. We want to be able to
prepare ourselves. We want a head start. We at least want to be able to brace
ourselves. Even when everything is falling apart, we want some modicum of
control. But doubt means living with those unanswered questions, and faith
means letting go of that need for control.
When will it happen? I
have no idea. Somedays I think it’s right around the corner, and other times I
think that it won’t come for ten thousand generations. How will we survive?
What will happen to our families? What will happen to the church? I don’t know.
Can we prepare for it? Probably not. And that’s the point at which faith and
fear collide. We don’t know when it will happen, and we can’t know how we’ll
make it. We have to live with those unanswerable questions for the rest of our
lives. The question Jesus is asking us is will we let that uncertainty define
us, or will we believe that, no matter what happens and no matter when it
comes, God will be with us?
Faith means believing that God is with us no matter what happens. It doesn’t mean believing that tragedy will not come. Being a Christian doesn’t get you out of trouble. If anything, following Jesus means more trouble, more hardship, more heartache. But those of us who follow Jesus know that we are not alone on this journey. We may not know exactly when or how we will get where we are going, but we believe and trust that we will. We believe because in Christ we have seen God transform death into life. In the cross and empty tomb, we see that God is with the forsaken one—that in God no one is ever lost. Even if everything we have and everything we are is taken from us, we cannot be taken away from the love of God. That hope shatters all fear. Doubts may linger, and that’s ok. But will we believe that no matter what happens God will always be with us? Will we trust that in him we have no reason to fear?
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