Fear and Redemption

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.