Heads Up! - December 3, 2006

Luke 21: 25-36

Wasn’t I reading something to you about the apocalypse the last time I was in this pulpit? In that passage from Mark, remember, Jesus was reassuring his four friends that although it would appear that the world would be going you-know-where in a handbasket, they should not be afraid, but should trust.

Well, things seem a little more urgent this time, don’t they? Luke’s version of the end of the world—or the beginning of all things new—seems a little more scary than the one from Mark we read two weeks ago. It seems that Jesus’ teaching in Jerusalem has taken on even more urgency. Jesus is approaching the end of his ministry, and it seems as though he wants to the disciples to know everything—everything—he can possibly teach them before he must leave them. It seems that there just isn’t enough time, but Jesus is trying to use it wisely.

To more fully understand what the author of Luke is saying, it is helpful to look at Luke from farther back, to take in the whole character of this gospel. The thing to remember about Luke is this: in Luke, God’s redemptive purpose is front and center. In Luke, God’s story has a purpose, and that purpose is the salvation of the world.

There is a new television show this season I have begun to watch, called “Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip”. If you’ve never seen it, the story line is one about the cast and crew of a late night comedy sketch program similar to “Saturday Night Live”, only set on the West Coast in stead of New York City. In the offices of the brand new executive producers, (played by Bradley Whitford and Matthew Perry) on the wall, there is a digital clock that the new producers inherited from the former ones. The digital clock displays the number of days, hours, minutes and seconds until the next broadcast, and it begins ticking down for next show as soon as the current show ends. The clock is featured in every shot that takes place in the producers’ office. It is a constant visual reminder that there is a deadline to very show.

I can relate to that, since every Sunday at about 10:30 AM, my own internal clock starts ticking down the time to the next worship service—6 days, 23 hours until the next sermon must be written.

Another clock gets reset this morning, this first morning of Advent. For those of us who plan worship, Advent means five candle-lighting liturgies to write—one for each of the four Sundays, and one for Christmas Eve—four Sundays in which to spread out the Advent hymns in the hymnal, three more weeks to figure out what this year’s Christmas eve “Theme “ will be, two more Confirmation classes this year, one last communion service in 2006…well, you get the idea.

So, the clock is ticking, the timer has been set. But this is not alarm clock, set to wake us up at the right moment, so we can “be ready for Jesus”. Instead this is a clock telling us how long we have left to get ready. This is a clock that shows much time we have left to be active in our waiting. I have a friend who says it this way:

“We, as Americans, are not really built to wait. We are accustomed to getting what we want when we want it. But there is more going on during Advent than God saying, “You sit there and wait and Jesus will be born when he’s good and ready.”

(But) we already know the story. We know we’re waiting for Jesus to enter the world just as all of us have done: as a baby. We know the story so well that we wait to tell it. We are not shocked like the shepherds or Mary or Joseph or Herod. The birth does not surprise us; we are too often participants in a sort of spiritual C-section: we get to schedule when the Child arrives. And he will look just like his pictures.”1


So, why the apocalyptic passages while we are preparing for Jesus’ birth for the two-thousand-and-sixth time? I believe this particular passage reminds us that to spend Advent with our heads bent down, bowed beneath a crushing load of present-buying, cookie-baking, house-decorating, card-addressing, and the ever-present financial worries that these activities can bring, might not be God’s best plan for us.

Now, hear me carefully: I did not just tell you to not do those things. I really didn’t, and I won’t. Gifting and decorating and baking, and sending cards are all part of the ritual. Those things are parts of what help us to tell the story. And I believe we are called to tell the story, every year—the whole story.

In Luke’s gospel this morning we are reminded that the gospel is not just the Christmas story; that in preparing for the birth we are also preparing for the life and death, for the resurrection, and for the reappearance in the upper room.

While we wait—against every impulse our culture has ingrained in us with its “Doorbuster” sales and its constant barrage of “Jingle Bells”, we await not just the babe, whose birth we have managed to schedule, to squeeze into our otherwise hectic holiday, but we are indeed waiting for the one whose return we cannot adequately anticipate. Just as the ancients had no idea how the Messiah would come the first time, we have no way of knowing how this second appearance will happen.

And so this time makes us squirm a little, and we cannot be blamed for wanting to plunge headlong into Christmas, into something familiar, and comforting. Having to wait out that countdown clock can be nerve wracking.

There is a scene in “Fiddler on the Roof” when Russian soldiers have invaded the village of Anatevka. A villager turns to the rabbi and asks, “Wouldn’t now be a good time for the Messiah to appear?”2

Jesus seems to be reminding the disciples—and hundreds of years later, us—that before the first coming, and indeed before the second, things can look awfully bleak. Christmas will happen for us this year, just as it always does, when we get to the point that we cannot stand another Advent hymn, when we are sick to death of purple, when the idea of shopping for that last perfect gift gets on our last nerve.

But what about the picture Jesus points of the world before the Second Coming? Hear again these words from Luke: “There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in a cloud’ with power and great glory.” What on earth are we to do in such a circumstance?

According to a story that Os Guinness tells, 220 years ago the Connecticut House of Representatives was in session on a bright day in May, and the delegates were able to do their work by natural light. But then something happened that nobody expected. Right in the middle of debate, there was an eclipse of the sun and everything turned to darkness. Some legislators thought it was the Second Coming. So a clamor arose. People wanted to adjourn. People wanted to pray. People wanted to prepare for the coming of the Lord.

But the speaker of the House had a different idea. He was a Christian believer, and he rose to the occasion with good logic and good faith. We are all upset by the darkness, he said, and some of us are afraid. But "the Day of the Lord is either approaching or it is not. If it is not, there is no cause for adjournment. And if the Lord is returning, I, for one, choose to be found doing my duty. I therefore ask that candles be brought."

“Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.” Jesus says. Stand up, raise your heads, share the gospel, one with another, retell the story, proclaim Gods goodness, share the joyful feast of the people of God, baptize in Christ’s name, welcome the stranger. These are the tasks of waiting for a Messiah to reappear, brothers and sisters.

But these are not merely busywork, any more than decorating the Christmas tree is just something to keep our hands occupied. They are how we tell the story—the whole story. They are how we participate in the plan God has for the world—the plan of redemption, as Luke reminds us. And our redemption is drawing near us, at this very moment. It is as near to us as this table, this loaf, this cup. Christ reminds us to hear redemption in the words of Scripture, to taste it in the bread of life and the cup poured out for us, to feel it in the handshake of the passing of the peace, to see it in the eyes of those we meet in our everyday lives. Redemption is all around us. Heads up, indeed.

Thanks be to God!

1 Many thanks to Milton Brasher-Cunningham. This comes from a post dated November 21 to his blog, titled “don’t eat alone”.
2 Again, thanks to Milton’s blog for the reminder of this scene.