End Times
It’s the second to last Sunday before Advent begins. Advent, as you might know, is the beginning of our church year. We will again prepare our hearts to receive our promised Messiah, who will meet us in Bethlehem, and we’ll read again from the second chapter of St. Luke’s Gospel about how “Caesar Augustus issued a decree in those days that a census should be taken….”
But, unfortunately, we’re not there yet.
No, in these bitter last few weeks of the church year, our lectionary readings invite us to consider the end times. Our reading today is taken from the end of Luke’s Gospel, and we find a very different sort of Jesus than the sweet “8-pound 6-ounce newborn infant Jesus” that Ricky Bobby likes so much.
The end times occupy a significant portion of the modern Christian imagination, or at least it did in the 90s and Early Aughts when I was growing up.
Maybe you remember the “Left Behind” series, which gives us a purposefully gruesome and violent depiction of the end times. Now, I’m not advocating for the Left Behind series; it has some pretty bad theology, but in this 21st Chapter of Luke, what Jesus says sounds a lot like the plot of many of the doomsday movies that so many of us enjoy. I mean, at least, I enjoy them. I assume many of you have much more refined tastes than I have.
But, for those few here who do enjoy them, like me, these stories captivate us because they allow us to indulge our deepest fears about our future. Whether the latest blockbuster is about a rampant new virus, international war, natural disaster, zombies, climate change, or a biblical Armageddon, they all have the same message “be afraid. be very afraid.” (Ah, The Fly–such a good movie) And it’s not uncommon to find preachers who offer a similar sort of message. You might have passed some of them holding signs and yelling about “Judgement Day,” and these preachers are essentially doing what those movies do, except they are hoping to use fear as a means to convert us. They think that if they can scare people enough, they might just believe in God.
That’s not Jesus' message. Unlike the apocalyptic stories our culture produces or the “fire and brimstone” preachers you can find in any downtown area, Jesus gives the disciples this warning, specifically so they won’t fear. “Do not be terrified,” Jesus says.
Although, if Jesus wants to ameliorate our fears, he has a very peculiar way of going about it. It’s pretty common when tragedy strikes someone, we try to get them to see the silver lining, don’t we? Lost your job? At least you have your health, we say. Got a bad diagnosis, at least you have your family, we say. Your family wants nothing to do with you? At least you have your friends. Your friends betray your trust? At least you have your dog, he loves you no matter what, right?
Jesus’ words run in just the other direction. He takes all the things we feebly hold on to, and undermines them.
So, Let’s look together at all the things he takes away.
So, someone looks at the temple and is inspired at the devotion to God shown by the magnificent artistry and craftsmanship. I don’t know about you, but I love a beautiful church building. A few years back, I spent a week in France, and it just so happened to be the week that the fire spread in Notre Dame. I stood on the side of the river Seine with thousands of others, and interestingly enough, next to a large Muslim family as we all stood in tearful, reverent awe at the burning roof. The next day, I visited Sacré-Cœur and spent Easter morning at St. Eustache, where the congregation that usually met at Notre Dame was forced to assemble that morning.
It’s easy to find myself in the gospel text this morning, I’m the guy pointing up to the temple and going, “Wow, how inspiring, what a beautiful testament to God”
We do like to put our faith in buildings sometimes. Village Lutheran church is beautiful, with its high altar and side altars devoted to Saint Michael and the Teenage Jesus–that’s a unique one. When Pastor Hartwell showed it to me, he admitted he calls him “Bar Mitzvah Jesus.”
I think, this church feels the sting of this passage quite acutely as we stare across the lawn and see our beloved Concordia adorned in IONA red. You know more than most how futile it can be to put our faith in buildings.
In Brooklyn, where my wife and I live, it feels like each month, a new historic church building is converted into luxury apartments. In our very own Synod, we hear regularly how congregations are closing their doors and selling their properties.
Buildings are great, but it’s so much easier to raise a building to the ground than to build on in the first place. So, Jesus doesn’t want us to put our faith in them.
But, that’s just the beginning of Jesus's warning, isn’t it? He warns the disciples that war, disease, lawsuits, criminal charges, betrayal, and death are coming. He strips away each of the platitudes we tend to offer to one another in times of trial and tribulation. Ultimately, we can’t put our faith in our health, or our safety, or our financial security, or our families, or our friends, or our lives, or even our reputations. But curiously, he instructs us, “Do not be terrified.” And goes on to say, “not a hair of your head will perish”
If I’m honest, I’m willing to lose all my hair if it means I can keep all the other stuff.
But, the problem with the other stuff is that it will not last. We know that if we are honest with ourselves. It will not make it through the day that is “burning like an oven.” Jesus doesn’t dash our hopes to scare us. He does it to lay us bare, to rid us of distraction, and to help us to see Him. He wants to give us greater hope, a hope that can survive any tribulation and a hope that, like Shadrack, Meshack, and Abednego, can cause us to arrive on the other side, only purified by the intense heat of the crucible. He desires to give us something that will not fade away: himself.
It's common for Lutheran theologians to refer to the various struggles of our lives as crosses. The idea is that the challenges of life are not simply annoying frustrations but opportunities to deny ourselves and take up our cross and follow our Lord. Whether we succeed, in the worldly sense, matters little, what matters more is that the crosses we face help us to see what truly matters.
Many of the twelve didn’t face metaphorical crosses. They faced real ones. Tradition tells us that Andrew, Jude, Bartholomew, Simon the Zealot, and Simon Peter were crucified, and the rest, beside John, were all put to death in various ways. And even St. John didn’t get off easy; he would be exiled to a tiny island in the Mediterranean Sea.
For the Apostles, this prophecy of Jesus would be fulfilled in their time. Prophecy tends to work like this, by the way. It often has an immediate fulfillment and then a future fulfillment. We’ll see that with many of the prophecies we read during Advent.
Interestingly if we keep reading this 21st Chapter, Jesus will tell them precisely about their immediate fulfillment. He says, “Truly, I say to you, this generation will not pass away until all has taken place.”
That’s interesting, isn’t it? It’s almost as if Jesus is saying that the Last Days will happen in their lifetime. That cannot be right, we say. We’re still here. Well, I’m happy to report that the last days did happen in their lifetime.
After Jesus died, there were earthquakes, the stars fell from the sky, the sun refused to shine, the veil in the temple was split, we even hear in one gospel account about old testament Saints rising from their graves like zombies.
Truly, for the Apostles, and for us, the Last Day has already happened. It happened on the day Jesus died on the Cross. The very worst thing that could possibly happen happened. God died, and he died a gruesome, violent death. This is our last day. And It became your last day when you were baptized. You see, you were buried with Christ in the water and came out the other side.
But, of course, it will have a future fulfillment, too. Almost every great theologian thought that Christ would return in their lifetime. St. Paul did, and Martin Luther did. So, if you are reading the headlines and feeling like Jesus might return soon, you might have the makings of a theologian. Also, there’s a chance you are right, but it’s not good to speculate.
But, when it does happen. When our King comes in glory when he returns blazing like the sun to judge the living and the dead, do not be terrified. The fire that Christ brings will be for us flames of healing. He comes to put us back together again, better than we are now, and unite us with all those that have gone before.
Yes, brothers and sisters in Christ, as Arnold Schwarzenegger says, you will be back. We won’t be amorphous blobs in the sky. We will taste, touch, and feel as we never have. Robed in the righteousness of Christ, we will be able to withstand the heat of the last day. We will witness with our own eyes the fireworks. For those of us who have been washed by the blood of the Lamb and who have our names written in the Lamb's book of life, this will be a great and wondrous day. So, do not be terrified.
Ok, well, what do we do now? Now that we stand between these two last days. Well, St. Paul in his letter, has some pretty good ideas. I can clearly tell you what this truth means we shouldn’t do: we shouldn’t do nothing. Knowing the truth of Christ’s coming perfect kingdom shouldn’t cause us to just sit around and wait for it. Rather, it impels us to get working now, to get busy, instead of being busybodies.
The love that Christ has poured out on us through his cross is now overflowing. He has given us the power to face our most vexing crosses. And if we let it, His love will inevitably spill over onto those around us. So, Let’s let that happen.
Even now, as new cracks in our church buildings form, we who know the sun of righteousness rejoice. Because it is through these cracks that the light and love of Christ peers into the world.
And if those cracks start to scare you. Do not be terrified. Instead, Put your hope in Jesus, and his Word. He’ll never let you down, and his Word will never pass away.