sermon by Carrie Eikler
Luke 21:25-36, Jeremiah 33:14-16
Advent 1
The end of the world is near... At least, I thought it was. As a child, I was terrified that the end of the world was coming. I don’t know why. I didn’t have parents who spouted on about end time destruction. The “Left Behind” series wouldn’t be out on bookshelves for another 10 years or so. Somehow, this well adjusted, positive child was terrified. I guess I saw a lot of those black and white tabloids in the grocery line: The predictions of Nostradamus pointed to doomsday on January 5 1988…then March 13, 1990…then September 2, 1993. Prepare!
Those were frightening enough. And then I would catch bits and pieces of Christian radio. They would overlay world events on top of Old Testament prophecy and New Testament revelation and tell us again, to prepare. The end is near. Needless to say for me, those bumps in the night weren’t just bumps in the night. It was Jesus. He was coming back.
The only thing that brought me momentary comfort was my mother laying in bed with me and reciting Matthew 24:36: No one knows about the day or the hour. Not even the angels. Not even the Son. Only God. In her estimation, as long as people were predicting a specific end, it wasn’t going to happen. And that helped…for a while.
I don’t think that end of the world anxiety scarred me for life, but I still get nervous when apocalyptic prophecies cross my path. I don’t know if I’m the only one who has been to the theaters lately and squirmed in your seat during the preview for the new apocalyptic thriller 2012. Maybe you’ve plopped down the $10 to go see it. If you don’t know about this movie, or the phenomena surrounding the year 2012, let me break it down. The pre-Columbian Mayan Civilization had a calendar that ends on December 21, 2012. People have attributed many meanings to this, one of which is that this points to the end of the world.
Well, Ronald Emmerich, director of Independence Day, another apocalyptic story (this time alien-induced), saw this as a perfect chance for some major money making and stupefying special effects. It is a movie, essentially about the end of the world. As I sat in my theater seat during the preview, watching tidal waves crush the Capitol Building, the Himalayas Crashing, St. Paul’s Cathedral transformed into a bowling ball as it destroyed the city…I got, in layman’s terms, the heebeegeebees.
The world has seen predictions of end times for ages and ages. Apocalyptic literatures spans time, culture, and religions. But it seems downright depressing to start this season of Advent with Luke’s own 2012 apocalyptic writings.
Now here’s your biblical history lesson for the day: Apocalyptic literature, including that in the Bible, has often come out of communities living in times of crisis, often written by marginalized people. People who had no power, or felt they had no power. Much of the New Testament, including Luke, is a reflection of Jesus’ life, written within the political and religious upheavals of first-century Palestine, definitely a community in crisis. These works were written for at least two main reasons: to show that things as they exist now are not how they are meant to be, and to give hope for those living in difficult times to persevere.
So Luke welcomes us into the season of Advent with frightful images: Signs in the sun, the moon, the stars…distress upon the earth…people fainting from fear…powers of the heaven shaken. But there’s more to this gospel than trying to frighten us. It’s trying to wake us up. Things aren’t the way they should be, things need to change, things will change. And that message shouldn’t fall on deaf ears for us.
As we take our place with those who are fainting and foreboding, it would probably be best if we first wake up to what it is we fear. Because that’s hard to do, isn’t it? It’s not hard to fear, laying in bed wondering if you’ll be left behind, laying in bed wondering if there’s enough in the checking account to pay the bills, or if your fixed income is really fixed, or if your children will have fresh air to breathe in 50 years. Fear comes, uninvited, like a thief in the night. That’s the easy part.
What’s hard to do is to wake ourselves up to those fears: to actually say what those fears are, to name them. What is hard is to take time to look deeply at what is behind our fears, to ask honestly what is at stake. These are questions we avoid asking precisely because we have fears, because we don’t want to think about them. We’d rather faint from all the terror around us and within us than have to look at it in the face.
Then the first light of Advent is lit, and the gospel continues. You may faint, or breakdown, or go on rampages of consumer frenzy or spiraling self-pity or over-scheduling just to stop thinking about it. And then the light shines, and the story continues. In Luke’s words, “now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.” The light breaks in, and the fears burst out.
Marthame and Elizabeth Sanders are Presbyterian mission workers in Palestine. They have been ministering with a small Christian population is the occupied West Bank village of Zababdeh. Their lives are lived in the reality of violence that all their neighbors face, be they Palestinian Christians, Arab Muslims, or Israeli Jews.
Now, Orthodox Christians in Palestine celebrate Easter in a particular way. Yes, I know it is strange to tell an Easter story at the beginning of Advent, but as the Rev. Dr. Susan Andrews reflects, the tomb of death and the womb of life are closer than we think in our Advent story… The tradition in the Middle East is that on Holy Saturday (the day before Orthodox Easter), the Greek Orthodox Patriarch enters the tomb of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerualem. After prayer, he emerges with the holy fire, which is passed on. The flame is spread to churches all over Israel and Palestine, with shouts of “Christ is risen!” echoing through the land.
On Easter of 2002, Palestinian communities were facing tighter occupation. Passing through Israeli checkpoints for the Palestinian Christians of Zababdeh was almost impossible, which would impede the holy light from coming to them at Easter. So Marthame, the mission worker, borrowed a car from the Catholics, some lanterns from the Orthodox Christians, and a robe from an Anglican priest. And he went to get the light. Early in his trip he was stopped at a checkpoint. Because he was American he was let through.
He rushed to Jerusalem just in time to receive the holy fire from the Patriarch. Now… the tricky part began, getting the flame back home, through the checkpoints, before the light went out. Again he was stopped, this time with an M-16 in his face, his baggage searched, the gas tank, trunk, and steering wheel taken apart. Finally he was let through. When he arrived home to Zababdeh he was greeted by a large crowd. And at midnight, the people—who had be living in distress, wars, fear and foreboding—stood up, raised their heads and with joy traveled from church to church bringing the light of Christ.
Marthame reflects, “Everyone agreed that the arrival of the Holy Fire this year paled in comparison to the celebrations of brighter days, but it was the biggest event in years. The days are still dark here. The economy is destroyed. The roads are closed. The army comes to town far too frequently. But for a brief moment, the Christians in the northern West Bank were reconnected with the miracle of Christ—the miracle of incarnation, the miracle of hope.” [Rev. Dr. Susan Andrew, "A God's Eye View," Day 1, November 29, 2003]
I think rather than trying to convey a sense of panic and disorder, a 2012-type apocalyptic mayhem, Luke writes about a hard and perhaps obvious reality: things are not how they should be. Not in the world, not in your life, not in my life, not in our church’s life. To live into Christ’s redeeming promise we must admit that. Where is the world broken? Or harder yet, where are we broken? And as we come to terms with what it is that really scares us in the world, the fears we bring into our relationship and resistance to God, we will likely find that crises and fears are not the final world. This is an unfinished world, waiting to be reborn. From tomb to womb to life.
In a book of essays called Small Wonder, author Barbara Kingsolver has a contemporary, and poetic look, at apocalyptic signs around us: wars, natural disasters, political violence. Much of this, she believes, is not caused by the hand of a wrathful God, but encouraged by human greed, over-consumption, and environmental disregard. It is obvious that we are not only victims of darkness and fear, but perpetrators as well.
But Kingsolver encourages her readers. Rather than feeling hopeless, like a screen door banging in a hurricane, she suggests that we should be the ones to bang and bang on the door of hope and refuse to let anyone suggest that no one is home. She writes, “What I can find is this and so it has to be: conquering my own despair by doing what little I can. Stealing thunder, tucking it in my pocket to save for the long drought. Dreaming in the color green, tasting the end of anger.” She concludes: “Small changes, small wonders. These are the currency of my endurance and my life. It is a workable economy.” [Small Wonder. Harper Collins, 2002.]
It might be the fears of those suffering from a sluggish US economy, or the fears of Christians in Palestine rushing through checkpoints to bring the light. It may be the fear that Kingsolver speaks about that affects the global community, or the fear that causes you to lay awake in bed. In spite of our fears, we are the ones to bring Christ’s hope into the world. But first, in this season of Advent, begin by bringing that hope home, into your soul.
I think that’s the moment of redemption that Luke speaks of: when our knees are clacking in fear, when no answers seem to be found, and yet somehow we stand up and raise our heads. Somehow, someone helps you stand. Somehow, you tilt someone’s head up. Somehow, we recognize we are not alone and the son of man is no longer simply in the clouds, but among us, the incarnate one.
"When these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near. "
***
In your bulletin you should have a cut out of a cloud. As we enter into a time of waiting worship, allow this cloud to be a focal piece for you. What is a significant fear you are facing in your life? Let this cloud symbolize that fear. Dwell on how that fear is doing in your life? what is behind that fear? If you desire, you might actually write that fear on the cloud, or you may just look at it. After worship you can take it home with you, or add it to the pictoral cosmos in back we will be creating throughout Advent. Use it as you wish.
What is a significant fear in your life as you enter into this season of Advent? Let us join in silence.
Prayer
God of tribulation and truth,
our lives are filled with fear.
We don’t want to fear.
We’d be happier if we didn’t have fear
Maybe we’d be better Christians if we didn’t, better bearers of your hope.
But we fear.
So we pray
that this fear not consume us
that we find the strength to stand and raise our heads to your promise:
that this world was made good
that God dwells in us
that we are not alone.
Benediction
Go this day, in expectation that Christ will break into your fears, and strength will burst forth from what terrifies you. Your redemption is at hand. Stand, raise your heads and welcome it in. Go in God’s glorious power and peace.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Truth
sermon by Torin Eikler
Daniel 7:9-10, 13-14 John 18:33-38
On the cool morning the day after my 36th birthday – which you probably know better as Columbus Day – I found myself walking onto the bustling grounds of temple #58 on the 80-temple pilgrimage that circles the island of Shikoku. Whether you realize it or not, most of you have already heard of this temple. It’s the one that Carrie described last week, and 8:00 in the morning or not, people were certainly interested in it. And, that’s not so surprising since this is one of the most popular temples on the circuit, and is often visited by people like us who are not actually going on pilgrimage.
Two things make it a particular draw. One is the temple building called the Celestial Pagoda which looks surprisingly like some of the cathedrals I have seen in Europe complete with a standing, cruciform Buddha. The other is the dark tunnel Carrie described – the one with the little Buddhas along the middle to help you find your way. There is a big rock filled with holes that nearly blocks the far end of the tunnel, and when the wind blows through it, you are supposedly able to hear the sound of monks chanting. The tunnel interested me, and so I made the trek all the way through in the dark … no chanting monks, sadly, but I did get a pretty good crack on the head for my trouble.
What Carrie didn’t mention was that if you squeeze out the other side of the tunnel and cross the street there, you find yourself at the entrance to a very interesting garden. Clearly most people don’t go there on their visits because the place is quite run down. But, the crumbling statues along the path through the overgrown greenery have their own power and mystery.
At the other end of that path is an interesting golf-ball shaped building filled with all sorts of statues of Buddha that look nothing like anything I have ever seen. Weird faces and strange bodies all stretching out of blocks of wood as if they were struggling to get free. It was definitely one of the spookier experiences of my life, but what really stopped me in my tracks was the statue off to the right side of the building. It was, I think, a Buddha sitting in the lotus position.
Now, take a moment to close your eyes and picture the image of Buddha that you have tucked away in your mind. If your experience has been anything like mine, you are seeing a chubby, little man sitting with his legs crossed and either a smile or a look of concentration on his face. But, this was not that Buddha. This one had his eyes open so wide that they looked like they would pop out of his head. His nostrils were flared, and the look on his face was strained in pain or anger (I couldn’t tell). AND, he was nearly skeletal. That is to say that the artist had carved him with all his ribs showing (and some extras added in for effect) and his tummy caved in to the point that you could almost see his spine showing through. Imagine coming across a statue like that, all of the sudden, and you may be able to understand why I actually had to force myself to walk away at no more than a normal pace. Spooky just doesn’t cover it.
Clearly, the experience of seeing of that particular Buddha is well and truly lodged in my head. And, as I have had time to reflect on it over the past month, I have come to understand something of what it might be trying to convey. That realization came as I remembered a question asked by one of you before we left. Well, it wasn’t as much a question as a request: “Pay attention to statues of Buddha you see in Japan. I’m curious how they envision him.” It was a request that grew out of the experience of seeing Buddha portrayed as a thin, austere man in Sri Lanka where he achieved enlightenment and as a that chubby, jovial fella in much of the rest of the world.
Both of those traditions, I think, are trying to present a piece of the truth about Buddha. The thin Buddha speaks of the work of self-denial that goes along with seeking enlightenment in Buddhist thought. The other image represents the love, compassion, and generosity embodied in the life and after-life of the Buddha himself. I have come to think that the statue that I saw strives to represent in a super-real way the pain and struggle that come from receiving enlightenment and realizing how that changes everything we have ever known. The question that rises in my mind when thinking of this conversation in art is, “What is truth?” – the same question Jesus’ answers gave birth to in Pilate’s heart.
In today’s world, at least in the western world, there seems to be an obsession with truth. Whether we are adherents of the philosophy of science or follower of a more spiritual path, we judge all things based on whether they are “true” or not. Facts – absolutely unquestionable nuggets of information – are the currency of truth in our conversations or our arguments, but we tend to overlook that everything we “know” is filtered through human experience. Just because we see something one way doesn’t mean someone else doesn’t see it otherwise. My 12th grade physics teacher taught me that lesson in class when insisted on looking up whenever he dropped the chalk just in case the theory of gravity was wrong.
So, seekers of Truth, what do we make of the words that come to us from the prophet Daniel on this “Christ is King” Sunday? Given the historic aversion to celebrating special days that is embedded in our tradition, we do not often honor this festival, but the vision we heard from the Old Testament is certainly appropriate to the day. Can you picture it? The image of the mighty, shining Ancient of Days sitting, unconsumed, atop a burning throne with thousands serving him and tens of thousands just waiting for the chance is royalty and power embodied – at least in the language of the second century BC. To this raging God comes one like a human (but not) who is given kingship over all peoples and all nations – a rule that will last for all time and never be destroyed. Christ, the King, “sitting at the right hand of God” as the creed proclaims.
With a few variations here or there, that basically sums up the image of Christ enthroned as portrayed by artists of the West in cathedral windows, chapel ceilings, and illustrated texts for centuries. And, I have to say that just such a Christ sits in my head. But, right beside that one kneels another – a figure that takes his form from the statue that stands at the entrance to Bethany Seminaries Chapel. It is a Christ who, kneeling, washes the feet of his disciples – a Christ who humbly endures his trials and peacefully (though not passively) submits to the cross in service to all humanity.
So…. What is the truth? Which of these is the real, true Christ – the real, true king?
(pause)
Since we’re working with metaphor here, I’m happy to allow that both of these images have at least some truth to them just as different statues speak different truths about Buddha. Still, Jesus said in many ways that the Realm of God is marked by a different type of vision than earthly Kingdoms. “The first shall be last and the last shall be first.” “Whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.” And, “If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting…. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.” So, perhaps there is a bit more “truth” to the servant King – at least according to one version of truth.
And there are so many other images and goals that hold sway in our lives – questionable “truths” that speak into our minds. We, all of us, strive in one way or another, to have more wealth, yet Jesus challenged the rich young ruler to sell all he had in order to follow. Many of us plan for and save for the future, yet Jesus said not to worry about the future but trust in God to take care of it. (Or, in the words of one recent book title, “God doesn’t care about your 401K”). Most of us love and cherish our families, holding them as one of the highest values we have, yet Jesus warned us that we may have to forsake mother, father, brother, sister, and child to follow the way of discipleship.
What do you think? What is truth? Or better yet, what truths hold the power to guide and direct your lives?
(pause)
Even with just a few words, and metaphorical ones at that, Jesus said a whole lot there in that room with Pilate. “You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.” And, it is the voice of our King – the slave of all – that should be speaking to us over the tumult of the world. My prayer is that we will be true seekers of Truth – that we who belong to the truth will listen for that voice when it comes, ignoring all the others that clamor for our attention - listen and follow our teacher and our guide to the land where the servant king kneels enthroned before the thousands and tens of thousands that he wishes to serve.
May it be so.
Daniel 7:9-10, 13-14 John 18:33-38
On the cool morning the day after my 36th birthday – which you probably know better as Columbus Day – I found myself walking onto the bustling grounds of temple #58 on the 80-temple pilgrimage that circles the island of Shikoku. Whether you realize it or not, most of you have already heard of this temple. It’s the one that Carrie described last week, and 8:00 in the morning or not, people were certainly interested in it. And, that’s not so surprising since this is one of the most popular temples on the circuit, and is often visited by people like us who are not actually going on pilgrimage.
Two things make it a particular draw. One is the temple building called the Celestial Pagoda which looks surprisingly like some of the cathedrals I have seen in Europe complete with a standing, cruciform Buddha. The other is the dark tunnel Carrie described – the one with the little Buddhas along the middle to help you find your way. There is a big rock filled with holes that nearly blocks the far end of the tunnel, and when the wind blows through it, you are supposedly able to hear the sound of monks chanting. The tunnel interested me, and so I made the trek all the way through in the dark … no chanting monks, sadly, but I did get a pretty good crack on the head for my trouble.
What Carrie didn’t mention was that if you squeeze out the other side of the tunnel and cross the street there, you find yourself at the entrance to a very interesting garden. Clearly most people don’t go there on their visits because the place is quite run down. But, the crumbling statues along the path through the overgrown greenery have their own power and mystery.
At the other end of that path is an interesting golf-ball shaped building filled with all sorts of statues of Buddha that look nothing like anything I have ever seen. Weird faces and strange bodies all stretching out of blocks of wood as if they were struggling to get free. It was definitely one of the spookier experiences of my life, but what really stopped me in my tracks was the statue off to the right side of the building. It was, I think, a Buddha sitting in the lotus position.
Now, take a moment to close your eyes and picture the image of Buddha that you have tucked away in your mind. If your experience has been anything like mine, you are seeing a chubby, little man sitting with his legs crossed and either a smile or a look of concentration on his face. But, this was not that Buddha. This one had his eyes open so wide that they looked like they would pop out of his head. His nostrils were flared, and the look on his face was strained in pain or anger (I couldn’t tell). AND, he was nearly skeletal. That is to say that the artist had carved him with all his ribs showing (and some extras added in for effect) and his tummy caved in to the point that you could almost see his spine showing through. Imagine coming across a statue like that, all of the sudden, and you may be able to understand why I actually had to force myself to walk away at no more than a normal pace. Spooky just doesn’t cover it.
Clearly, the experience of seeing of that particular Buddha is well and truly lodged in my head. And, as I have had time to reflect on it over the past month, I have come to understand something of what it might be trying to convey. That realization came as I remembered a question asked by one of you before we left. Well, it wasn’t as much a question as a request: “Pay attention to statues of Buddha you see in Japan. I’m curious how they envision him.” It was a request that grew out of the experience of seeing Buddha portrayed as a thin, austere man in Sri Lanka where he achieved enlightenment and as a that chubby, jovial fella in much of the rest of the world.
Both of those traditions, I think, are trying to present a piece of the truth about Buddha. The thin Buddha speaks of the work of self-denial that goes along with seeking enlightenment in Buddhist thought. The other image represents the love, compassion, and generosity embodied in the life and after-life of the Buddha himself. I have come to think that the statue that I saw strives to represent in a super-real way the pain and struggle that come from receiving enlightenment and realizing how that changes everything we have ever known. The question that rises in my mind when thinking of this conversation in art is, “What is truth?” – the same question Jesus’ answers gave birth to in Pilate’s heart.
In today’s world, at least in the western world, there seems to be an obsession with truth. Whether we are adherents of the philosophy of science or follower of a more spiritual path, we judge all things based on whether they are “true” or not. Facts – absolutely unquestionable nuggets of information – are the currency of truth in our conversations or our arguments, but we tend to overlook that everything we “know” is filtered through human experience. Just because we see something one way doesn’t mean someone else doesn’t see it otherwise. My 12th grade physics teacher taught me that lesson in class when insisted on looking up whenever he dropped the chalk just in case the theory of gravity was wrong.
So, seekers of Truth, what do we make of the words that come to us from the prophet Daniel on this “Christ is King” Sunday? Given the historic aversion to celebrating special days that is embedded in our tradition, we do not often honor this festival, but the vision we heard from the Old Testament is certainly appropriate to the day. Can you picture it? The image of the mighty, shining Ancient of Days sitting, unconsumed, atop a burning throne with thousands serving him and tens of thousands just waiting for the chance is royalty and power embodied – at least in the language of the second century BC. To this raging God comes one like a human (but not) who is given kingship over all peoples and all nations – a rule that will last for all time and never be destroyed. Christ, the King, “sitting at the right hand of God” as the creed proclaims.
With a few variations here or there, that basically sums up the image of Christ enthroned as portrayed by artists of the West in cathedral windows, chapel ceilings, and illustrated texts for centuries. And, I have to say that just such a Christ sits in my head. But, right beside that one kneels another – a figure that takes his form from the statue that stands at the entrance to Bethany Seminaries Chapel. It is a Christ who, kneeling, washes the feet of his disciples – a Christ who humbly endures his trials and peacefully (though not passively) submits to the cross in service to all humanity.
So…. What is the truth? Which of these is the real, true Christ – the real, true king?
(pause)
Since we’re working with metaphor here, I’m happy to allow that both of these images have at least some truth to them just as different statues speak different truths about Buddha. Still, Jesus said in many ways that the Realm of God is marked by a different type of vision than earthly Kingdoms. “The first shall be last and the last shall be first.” “Whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.” And, “If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting…. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.” So, perhaps there is a bit more “truth” to the servant King – at least according to one version of truth.
And there are so many other images and goals that hold sway in our lives – questionable “truths” that speak into our minds. We, all of us, strive in one way or another, to have more wealth, yet Jesus challenged the rich young ruler to sell all he had in order to follow. Many of us plan for and save for the future, yet Jesus said not to worry about the future but trust in God to take care of it. (Or, in the words of one recent book title, “God doesn’t care about your 401K”). Most of us love and cherish our families, holding them as one of the highest values we have, yet Jesus warned us that we may have to forsake mother, father, brother, sister, and child to follow the way of discipleship.
What do you think? What is truth? Or better yet, what truths hold the power to guide and direct your lives?
(pause)
Even with just a few words, and metaphorical ones at that, Jesus said a whole lot there in that room with Pilate. “You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.” And, it is the voice of our King – the slave of all – that should be speaking to us over the tumult of the world. My prayer is that we will be true seekers of Truth – that we who belong to the truth will listen for that voice when it comes, ignoring all the others that clamor for our attention - listen and follow our teacher and our guide to the land where the servant king kneels enthroned before the thousands and tens of thousands that he wishes to serve.
May it be so.
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