FIRST SUNDAY IN ADVENT

Jeremiah 33:14-16

Psalm 25:1-10

1 Thessalonians 3:9-13

Luke 21:25-36

Prayer of the Day: Stir up your power, Lord Christ, and come. By your merciful protection alert us to the threatening dangers of our sins, and redeem us for your life of justice, for you live and reign with the Father and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

“Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.” Luke 21:28.

“These things” about which Jesus speaks include “on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves.” Thousands living throughout the southern United States can relate directly to that. This last September Hurricane Helene hit Florida with 140 mph winds, torrential rains and was accompanied by a record storm surge inundating Tampa Bay. Of course, storms have been with us from the dawn of time. Still, the increasing number and severity of hurricanes are reminders of a larger looming crisis of global proportions. The steady warming of our planet, due in large part to increased human generated carbon emissions, has resulted in rising sea levels, more extreme weather events, disrupted ecosystems, reduced biodiversity, food insecurity, water scarcity and potential mass migration from areas of the world that will soon be unable to sustain their populations.

Our responses to these effects of climate change run the gamut. Some of us are angry over the destruction of our planet and the consumptive economy that continues to drive it. Some of us are overwhelmed with the complexities and difficulties involved in addressing the issue. Some of us are in a state of despair, convinced the destructive forces unleashed by our exploitive behavior are already beyond prevention or mitigation. Some of us are in denial, refusing to believe that there really is a threat to our global environment. “Distress among nations,” “fear,” “foreboding of what is coming upon the world.” That seems to fit the description of our time.

In times like these, the wise keep their heads low, maintain a subdued profile and hunker down. But Jesus tells his disciples to “stand up and raise your heads.” What can be the rationale for such an irrational response? Just this: “your redemption is drawing near.” That was hardly evident in the first century when the Romans were sacking Jerusalem, burning its temple and erecting a virtual forest of crosses bearing writhing victims.  It is no more evident in the twenty-first century as we face not only a global climate crisis, but also the demise of democratic institutions worldwide and the rising threat of catastrophic world wars. Nevertheless, says Jesus, there are signs of the inbreaking of God’s just and gentle reign to be seen for those looking for them.

Jesus tells a parable of trees budding in early spring to make his point. The seasons change no matter who is in power, which nations are on the ascendence and regardless the legislation passed by governments. Like the onset of Spring, so the reign of God comes with or without human involvement. We cannot make it come any sooner, nor can we finally stand in its way. That is liberating news. Establishing the the reign of God is not our responsibility. It is a slow process involving infinite patience and infinite time that only God possesses. Redemption is a long game-too long for any one lifetime or the lifespan of any nation.  An impatient humanity has done a good deal of harm to the world by its misguided efforts to establish the reign of God-or some secular version of it. The classless society; the thousand year Reich; “civilization” of “primitive” societies; manifest destiny-what is all of that but an effort to impose God’s reign (or some twisted secular facsimile) on a world that is not yet ready for it. Such efforts, born of our insufferable impatience, invariably end in violence and injustice.

To an anxious and impatient people, the Advent message is this: wait. That does not come easily. We have grown used to having the answers and information we want at a keystroke. The latest news pops up on our smart phones. The state of the markets appears in real time at the lower corner of our computer screens. Weather forecasts for every time zone and locale can be found online twenty-four/seven. Every household product, food item and digital doohickey can be ordered from Amazon and delivered within a day. We are a people used to getting what we want when we want it. Jesus tells us, however, that God moves at God’s own leisurely pace. God’s kingdom will come when God is good and ready for it to come, not a moment sooner. And there isn’t a damn thing we can do about it.    

None of this should be taken to mean that what we do does not matter or that human agency is nonexistent. The way we live matters precisely because God uses our actions, small and inconsequential as they might appear to us, in forming God’s new creation. Our faithful action is never simply our own. God’s Spirit works “in, with and under” what we do to accomplish God’s own purposes. For that reason, our small acts might turn out to be more consequential than we could have imagined. How do you know that the refugee child you sponsor will not someday discover the vaccine for AIDS? How do you know that teenager you befriended and mentored might otherwise have turned to violence against his classmates in loneliness and despair? The reality is that we will all die, leaving behind a lot of unfinished business, loose ends and unmet goals. But, as Saint Paul reminds us, “the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ.” Philippians 1:6. Or, as a rabbi preaching at an interfaith Thanksgiving service reminded me today, “we cannot expect to finish the great work of saving our planet, but we cannot abandon it either.”

Though the arrival of Spring is inevitable, the blossoms acting as its harbingers are fragile signs. Like the grass of the field, they are destined to wither and fade. So, too, the signs of God’s coming gentle reign are delicate, vulnerable and subject to damage, loss and reversal. The hard won civil rights achieved under the leadership of Martin Luther King, Jr., Ceasar Chavez and John Lewis have sadly been reduced and undermined by a hostile Supreme Court. The progress made in this country toward reducing dependency on fossil fuel is likely to be reversed by the incoming Trump administration. The church in which I was baptized and grew up, a lively and vibrant center of ministry, closed its doors a few years ago. Nevertheless, though the blossoms fade, Spring is still bound to come. With that assurance, I lift up my head and look to the eastern horizon with hope, dark though the sky seems to be at the moment. I continue to do my daily work of care giving, pick up the plastic bottles I find as I walk on the beach, make my communion visits and write articles like this. None of this is likely to change the world, but I do it just the same, offering it up for whatever use it might be to the One who makes all things new.  

Here is a poem by Keith Leonard speaking about what it looks like to do justice, love kindness and walk humbly with God-in small but faithful ways that are signs pointing beyond themselves.

Boléro

From the kitchen, I catch the neighbor

cross the street to switch off my car’s interior lights.

He returns to his house without announcing the favor.

For the last three years, a friend has woken early

and walked the beach, combing for bottle caps

and frayed fishing line. She mentions this

only casually at lunch, after I’ve asked

what she did that morning.

Care has a quiet soundtrack: the sycamore’s

rustling leaves, your nails tracing my shoulder blades.

A melody that repeats—a bit like Ravel’s Boléro.

When it was first performed, a woman shouted,

Rubbish! from the balcony. She called Ravel

a madman. I think I understand. I wish I didn’t.

I’ve been taught that art must have conflict,

that reason must meet resistance.

Source: Poetry (December 2023) Keith Leonard is the author of Ramshackle Ode (c. 2016; pub. by Ecco/Harpercollins). He has been awarded grants from the Sustainable Arts Foundation, the Greater Columbus Arts Council and the Ohio Arts Council. He has been awarded fellowships to the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference, the Sewanee Writers’ Conference and Indiana University where he earned an MFA. Leonard’s recent poems can be found in Poetry, American Poetry Review, the Believer and elsewhere. He lives in Worthington, Ohio. You can sample more of Kieth Leonard’s poems at the Poetry Foundation website.

TWENTY-SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Daniel 12:1-3

Psalm 16

Hebrews 10:11-25

Mark 13:1-8

Prayer of the Day: Almighty God, your sovereign purpose brings salvation to birth. Give us faith to be steadfast amid the tumults of this world, trusting that your kingdom comes and your will is done through your Son, Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birth pangs.” Mark 13:7-8.

It was back in the Fall of 1982, my first year of parish ministry, that a parishioner asked me whether I thought the events foretold by Jesus in today’s gospel were taking place today. Then, as now, there were potential and actual military conflicts on the horizon, natural disasters occurring and talk of the “end times” among popular media preachers. I responded in the affirmative then. Forty years later, my response is the same. People in Gaza, Haiti and South Sudan are caught in the clash of military conflicts and civil strife. Famine threatens the Horn of Africa. The effects of global warming are having injurious effects on the health and safety of millions. In all of those places the church is present and disciples of Jesus are witnessing in word and deed to God’s love for the world and God’s determination to redeem it. What many “end times” preachers refer to as the “great tribulation” is not a prediction of distant future events. The tribulation has always been among us. Black youths who experience police violence, indigenous peoples robbed of their land, their culture and sometimes their children, LGBTQ+ folk and their families facing judicial obliteration of their hard won rights and undocumented families fearing deportation and separation know well the nearness of the great tribulation. Only those of us privileged to have been born white, American/Northern European and reasonably well off perceive it as remote.

I am guessing that most of you reading this article share my dismay at the outcome of last Tuesday’s election. I spent a good deal of Wednesday in a blue funk wondering how a majority of my fellow Americans could imagine that a six time bankrupt could be the best manager for the national economy, how a convicted felon could be trusted to instill law and order, how a sexual predator could be trusted to “protect women.” I felt the urge to draw back the curtains, crawl back into bed and curl up into a fetal position. I’m past that now. If you are still there, I have just four words for you: Snap out of it.

Jesus never promised his disciples a rose garden. He challenged them to take up the cross for the sake of God’s just and gentle reign. He calls us to stand with him among the poor, naked, strangers, imprisoned and sick. That entails facing tribulation head on. Saint Peter would say to us, as he did to the first century believers in Asia Minor, “[b]eloved, do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal that is taking place among you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you.” I Peter 4:12. Dealing with set backs, defeats and hostility are occupational hazards of discipleship. So, let’s put on our grown-up pants and, as one of my mentors was fond of saying, “get to gitten.” We are not yet dodging bullets, facing arrest or struggling to care for injured children in a war zone with inadequate supplies-as are many faithful in many parts of the world, who are seeing the great tribulation up close and personal.

That said, it seems that the tribulation has drawn a good bit closer. It remains to be seen how much of Donald Trump’s bellicose rhetoric is hot air and how much will translate into violent and repressive policies. In the meantime, we can hope for the best and be prepared for the worst. How can I possibly hope for the best? Because I believe in the power of the Holy Spirit to melt the hardest of hearts. I believe that there is hidden in every historical transaction a “God factor” that can turn events in surprising and unanticipated directions. Prayer enables us to enter into that divine struggle and open our hearts and minds to the Holy Spirit’s transformative power. I believe that human agency is real and that what we do, fail to do or refrain from doing makes a difference. So, in the words of our second lesson from the Letter to the Hebrews, “[l]et us hold fast to the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who has promised is faithful.” Hebrews 10:23.  

Equally as well, I believe that disciples of Jesus in these United States need to be prepared for the use of government power to impose the worst acts of oppression, bigotry, racial hate, homophobia, misogyny and xenophobia we have seen in over a century against the most vulnerable among us. To that end, our ELCA bishops need to put teeth into our sanctuary guidelines by urging congregations to move forward with and supporting their pastors in implementing outreach to migrants, networking with sibling congregations, faith communities, advocacy groups and other agencies providing housing, sustenance and legal support for immigrants. There is also an urgent need for training in non-violent resistance, a must for confronting directly a massive deportation effort threatened by the incoming Trump administration. Bishops should be consulting with and referring their congregations to the many organizations and persons skilled and experienced in these techniques-like yesterday. In short, dear bishops, what you wish the Lutheran Church in Germany had done in the 1930s, do now.  

Those of us who pastor congregations need to speak the truth about the Republican Party clearly, unequivocally and without apology. No doubt there will be objections that we are being “political” and “partisan.” But this is not about politics. We can disagree in good faith over what needs to be done to fix our broken immigration system and manage our border. But when it comes to splitting up families, spewing lies about racial minorities and referring to immigrants as “vermin” who “poison the blood” of our nation, there is nothing to discuss. From a Christian perspective, politics are the means by which we love our neighbors-whether white, black or brown, whether gay, straight or nonbinary, whether documented or not. Politicized hate is not legitimate politics. It is simply terrorism and state sponsored violence the likes of which organizations like the KKK, Proud Boys and Aryan Nations routinely advocate and employ. By any metric you can devise, the Republican Party is a hate group every bit as much as the aforementioned. We need to say so to our members. And to those support Donald Trump, we need to say “Look, you are no doubt good people. You are loved by God and a treasured part of our community. But whether through ignorance, indifference or malice, you are participating in a terrible, hurtful and destructive movement with a hateful political organization. For that you should be ashamed. You need to repent of your sin before it devours you.” That our churches and their leaders have too seldom spoken this truth is, I believe, a failure of prophetic nerve.  

More important, however, than anything bishops and pastors can do is for each one of us to speak up, stand up and testify in our own daily lives against hatred and in defense of the most vulnerable among us. That is how change happens. We need to be speaking up at family barbeques, beauty parlors, bowling alleys, mall walking clubs, Bible studies, book clubs and wherever we find ourselves situated. You never know where the opportunity will pop up to push, however incrementally, a seemingly closed mind in a new direction. You never know whether your words will embolden someone else, who thought they were all alone, to speak up as well. You never can tell when children or impressionable young people might be watching, wondering whether the MAGA loudmouth in the room speaks for the whole adult world. You might be the one whose speech opens the ears of a young gay, lesbian or non-binary person, who has heard from the church only words of judgment and condemnation, to hear a good word of love, acceptance and hope from Jesus. So speak, even if your voice is shaking, even when you are struggling to find the right words, even when it seems unlikely that speaking up will make a difference. Trust me-or rather, trust Jesus. It will.    

I do worry that the American church has become so accustomed to being the nation’s chaplain that we cannot imagine our existence apart from that role. I worry that our faith has become so symbiotically bound up with patriotism and American values that we cannot imagine ourselves as a countercultural community. I worry that we sometimes wade so deep into the political fray as to get lost in the weeds and forget that our job is not to reform America, save democracy or elect the candidate we believe capable of performing these tasks. Our loyalty is-or should be-to the reign of God before all else and to the exclusion of every loyalty demanding of us attitudes, actions and commitments contrary to that reign. Nations like ours, as the prophet Isaiah reminds us, are a “drop in the bucket.” Isaiah 40:15. As the grand old hymn reminds us, “crowns and thrones shall parish; kingdoms wax and wane.” Democrats might be fretting over how they need to reformulate, reshape and repackage their message to do better in the next election. For the church of Jesus Christ, the message remains the same and let polls, focus groups and election results be damned.    

There is some good news in Sunday’s otherwise dark gospel lesson. Jesus tells us that the tribulation we are experiencing is not the death throes of all God has made. Rather, it is the birth pangs of new creation. To be clear, I do not believe for one moment that God wills wars, famines or earthquakes. But I do believe that God takes whatever we and the world throw at God and turns it toward God’s own redemptive intent. It has been said that the arc of the universe bends toward justice. If that is true, then that arc is imperceptibly gradual. It appears to me that the way of the universe is a disjointed path along which we crawl forward and get thrown back repeatedly. Progress is ephemeral and likely to evaporate at any point. That God is leading the universe to its end in God is not evident in the ebb and flow of history. It is only glimpsed in Jesus’ resurrection. Faith in the Resurrection is the only way to make sense of a people who persist in putting their trust in God and loving their neighbors, enemies included, in a world so thoroughly hostile to God and infected with hate. Disciples are the people who forgive whether forgiveness is requested or not. They are the people who care for the planet, speak up for its most vulnerable residents and bring healing to its deepest wounds-even when their efforts appear too feeble, too late, ineffective and hopeless. Yes, it’s dark out there with no sign of dawn anytime soon. But God does some of God’s best work in the dark. After all, nothing is darker than a tomb.

Here is a poem by Arthur Hugh Clough calling for faithful and persistent struggle for the good, not unlike Jesus’ call for endurance in the midst of tribulation.

Say not the Struggle nought Availeth

Source: This poem is in the public domain. Arthur Hugh Clough (1819-1861) was an English poet, an educationalist and an assistant to Florence Nightingale. He was the brother of suffragist Anne Clough and father of Blanche Athena Clough, who both became principals of Newnham College, Cambridge.  Clough was born in Liverpool, England, but his family moved to the United States in 1822. Clough’s early childhood was spent mainly in Charleston, South Carolina. In 1837 he won a scholarship to Balliol College, Oxford. Thereafter, he won a fellowship with a tutorship at Oriel College, but resigned in 1848 because he was unwilling to teach the doctrines of the Church of England as required. He traveled to Europe where he witnessed the revolutionary movements of the time which, in turn, inspired several of his poems. In 1852 he traveled to Cambridge, Massachusetts where he lectured for several months. He returned to London in 1853 where he worked as an unpaid secretarial assistant to Florence Nightengale, his wife’s cousin. In 1860, his health began to fail, but despite this turn of events, he took an extended tour of travel throughout Europe during which he wrote several of his longest poems. He died in Florence in 1861, having contracted malaria in Switzerland. You can read more about Arthur Hugh Clough and sample more of his poetry at the Poetry Foundation website.