Luke 21:25-36

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

Then he told them a parable: “Look at the fig tree and all the trees; as soon as they sprout leaves you can see for yourselves and know that summer is already near. So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near. Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all things have taken place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.

“Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down by dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life, and that day does not catch you unexpectedly, like a trap. For it will come upon all who live on the face of the whole earth. Be alert at all times, praying that you may have the strength to escape all these things that will take place, and to stand before the Son of Man.”

This is always such a great way to enter the holiday season, isn’t it? The first day of a new worship calendar… the first Sunday of Advent… the first day where we light our candles and are invited to begin waiting, preparing and hoping for all that’s born for us, in Jesus at Christmas, and we get “distress, fainting, fear and foreboding.” But we want more, don’t we? We need more, don’t we? And, while all of this doom and gloom matters – I don’t mean to dismiss it – the point of all of this (everything Jesus is up to and all of this waiting and hoping preparing that comes with these Advent days) it that it gets better. And it reminded me of something.

Almost a decade ago, an author and journalist named Dan Savage started a campaign to help combat the sad, staggering suicide rate for young people who struggle with their sexuality – in our country and around the world.

(Did you know that suicide is the second leading cause of death among young people ages 10 to 24, and that LGBTQ youth contemplate suicide at almost three times the rate of heterosexual youth?)

(Did you know that LGBTQ youth are almost five times as likely to have attempted suicide compared to heterosexual youth?)

(Did you know that LGBTQ youth who come from highly unsupportive families are more than 8 (8.4) times as likely to have attempted suicide as LGBTQ peers whose families are more supportive?)

(Did you know that every time an LGBTQ young person is victimized, like through physical or verbal harassment, it more than doubles the likelihood that they will hurt themselves? Every time … which means the effect of that kind of bullying is cumulative in a sad, terrifying way.)

Anyway, the campaign I was talking about – that made me think of Advent – is called, “The It Gets Better Project,” and it is a beautiful thing and a holy work and it’s almost as simple as it sounds. The creators started out by asking celebrities of all kinds to share their own personal “It Gets Better Stories.” Some of them you might expect – or could guess would play along – people like Ellen DeGeneres, Lady Gaga, Neil Patrick Harris and Chaz Bono. Other contributors might surprise you, like Stephen Colbert, President Obama, Drew Brees, Larry King, and Tom Hanks. Even our own Bishop at the time, Mark Hanson, got in on the action.

The point of the project is simply to do what Dan Savage, the creator, wished he could have done for some of the young people he learned had died by suicide after being bullied so much and because they were so desperate. He believed that if he could have had just 5 minutes to bend their ear, if he could have had just 5 minutes to tell them, no matter how bad or how hard or how sad things were, that it would get better for them eventually; that then they might have had hope enough to stick it out.

He believed that if he could point to himself and others like him – grown, successful, happy, fulfilled adults who had struggled and suffered in similar ways – that they could serve as living proof that it really can and really does get better – that your school and your hometown, that your neighborhood and your Church (too much of the time), that your family and friends, even – don’t have to be forever; or bully you forever; or bring you down forever, or break your spirit forever.

And, as beautiful and as needed and as holy and as clever as I think “The It Gets Better Project” is, you and I both know you don’t have to be a kid, or LGBT or Q, or bullied or picked on or suicidal to need a reminder every once in awhile that “It Gets Better.” And I think that’s something like what Jesus is up to in today’s Gospel. I think that’s what these Advent days of waiting and hoping and preparing are all about for us.

Jesus says there will be signs… there will be distress among nations… there will be confusion about the roaring of the seas. He says there will be fear and foreboding and that the powers of the heavens will be shaken. And he promises this to each and every one of us – without exception. And it’s enough to make you wonder, “What’s wrong?” Or, “What’s next?” Or, “What’s the point?” And “Why bother?”

And I think those are good questions. The world around us is a hard, harsh place to be a lot of the time. I’m am actually scared about the roaring of the sea and the waves. I’m worried about the political divide in our own country and the very real distress among the nations of our world. I’m concerned about all of the sickness and struggle on our prayer list. And I know enough to be curious and concerned, too, about all the things that don’t even make that list. It’s tempting to believe that not much has changed since Jesus did his thing on the planet.

But Jesus did do his thing on the planet – and that means everything has changed; everything is changed; everything will be changed by the hope with which we are called to wait in these days. Everything will be changed by the hope for which we are called to wait. And that really is Jesus’ point this morning – and our hope for Advent, in Christ’s coming.

He says, “raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.” Stand tall. Hold fast. And he talks about trees that sprout leaves as signs and reminders that summer is near; as signs and promises that change is coming. And he uses that as an example for us that the same is true for what God is up to in the world. We’re meant to live with hope in the belief that God is always up to something among us.

And with the coming of Jesus we’re supposed to begin waiting and watching and working for God’s purpose among us. We are meant to see just how far God is willing to go for the sake of healing and love and redemption: the Creator of the world would go as far as a manger in Bethlehem; the Son of God would go as far as a cross on Calvary; the Messiah of all things would go as far as a tomb outside of Jerusalem, even – all so we would know, so we would trust, so we would hope, so we would share the news that nothing can separate us from that kind of grace, for us and for the sake of the world.

In these Advent days – in the midst of the darkness and struggle and sadness that may surround us more often than we’d like to admit – we are called to hope and pray and live as though the kingdom of God is just around the corner, that the Kingdom of God is already among us, really … that it has, that it does, that it will always get better, thanks to the new life that comes in Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.

John 11:1-6, 17-44

Now a certain man was ill, Lazarus of Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. Mary was the one who anointed the Lord with perfume and wiped his feet with her hair; her brother Lazarus was ill. So the sisters sent a message to Jesus, ‘Lord, he whom you love is ill.’ But when Jesus heard it, he said, ‘This illness does not lead to death; rather it is for God’s glory, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.’ Accordingly, though Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, after having heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer in the place where he was.

When Jesus arrived, he found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days. Now Bethany was near Jerusalem, some two miles away, and many of the Jews had come to Martha and Mary to console them about their brother. When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went and met him, while Mary stayed at home. Martha said to Jesus, ‘Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.’ Jesus said to her, ‘Your brother will rise again.’ Martha said to him, ‘I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.’ Jesus said to her, ‘I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?’ She said to him, ‘Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.’

When she had said this, she went back and called her sister Mary, and told her privately, ‘The Teacher is here and is calling for you.’ And when she heard it, she got up quickly and went to him. Now Jesus had not yet come to the village, but was still at the place where Martha had met him. The Jews who were with her in the house, consoling her, saw Mary get up quickly and go out. They followed her because they thought that she was going to the tomb to weep there. When Mary came where Jesus was and saw him, she knelt at his feet and said to him, ‘Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.’ When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. He said, ‘Where have you laid him?’ They said to him, ‘Lord, come and see.’ Jesus began to weep. So the Jews said, ‘See how he loved him!’ But some of them said, ‘Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?’

Then Jesus, again greatly disturbed, came to the tomb. It was a cave, and a stone was lying against it. Jesus said, ‘Take away the stone.’ Martha, the sister of the dead man, said to him, ‘Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead for four days.’ Jesus said to her, ‘Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?’ So they took away the stone. And Jesus looked upwards and said, ‘Father, I thank you for having heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I have said this for the sake of the crowd standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me.’ When he had said this, he cried with a loud voice, ‘Lazarus, come out!’ The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus said to them, ‘Unbind him, and let him go.’

Kate Braestrup is a law enforcement chaplain in Maine, a widow, and an author of some books I’ve just added to my pile of things “TO READ.” Her website calls her a “community minister,” too, though I’m not sure what that means exactly.

Anyway, she tells the story of Nina, a 5 year-old little girl, who wants to go visit her cousin Andy, which is only noteworthy because her cousin Andy – who is 4 years old – is dead. Andy was killed instantly when an all-terrain vehicle, driven by a neighbor, rolled over on him.

And Nina wanted to visit him … dead … at the funeral home.

Of course, Nina’s parents wanted to protect her. But Nina was sure and she was certain and she was determined. So Kate Braestrup, the wise, experienced chaplain, suggested that it might just be okay…that she didn’t think it would hurt Nina more to see him. And she was right.

On the day of this last goodbye, Nina’s mother said they drove their daughter to the funeral home where Nina jumped out of the car and marched inside like a little girl on a mission. Mom and dad rushed to keep up with her and stopped to prepare her before she entered the cold room where Andy’s body lay. They reminded Nina that Andy wouldn’t be talking. They explained that Andy wouldn’t be moving or getting up. Nina understood.

And when she got into the room, she walked right up to the dais where Andy lay, covered by a quilt his mother had made, and she walked around his body, putting her hands on him, like she was checking to see that he was all there. Then she put her head on his chest and talked to him. After 10 minutes or so, of what must have been a beautiful kind of agony for her parents, they asked Nina if she was ready to go. “No,” she told them. “I’ll tell you when I am.” And then she sang Andy a song. And then she placed a plastic, Fisher Price telescope into his hand, so that he could see anyone he wanted to see from heaven.

And when she was ready to leave, Nina explained that, since he wasn’t going to be getting up, she needed to tuck him in. So she did. She walked all the way around the table again and tucked the quilt beneath him as she went. Finally, she put her hands on him and she said, “I love you Andy Dandy. Goodbye.”

The chaplain tells Nina’s story – with her family’s blessing and permission – so people will know that we can trust human beings with grief. As she puts it, we should “…walk fearlessly into the house of mourning, for grief is just love squaring up to its oldest enemy. And after all these mortal human years, love is up to the challenge.”

I haven’t heard a more beautiful, hope-filled thing in quite some time. “Walk fearlessly in the house of mourning, for grief is just love squaring up to its oldest enemy. And after all these mortal years, love is up to the challenge.”

Now, remember with me that Gospel story we heard a moment ago… For a long time now, I have read and heard and preached about Jesus back in Bethany, with Mary and Martha, confronting the death of Lazarus, as just a way to show the power of God in the face of death. I think that’s something like what Jesus meant when he told people “This illness does not lead to death; rather it is for God’s glory.” And I’m sure I’ve even acknowledged, too, the power and humanity of Jesus’ grief at the death of his friend. The Jews who saw Jesus were impressed by his tears and weeping and at how “greatly disturbed” he was to have lost his friend.

But when I heard Nina’s story – and with Christmas on the way – I wonder if Jesus’ mission that day in Bethany, wasn’t something like the mission of that little girl, whether she knew what she was doing or not. I wonder if the glory of God that was revealed through Lazarus’ death and in Jesus’ visit to him was as much about his grief as it was about his power to raise him from the dead. Together, the message is the same as Nina’s. And it is the message and comfort and hope of Christmas, too.

Grief is just love, squaring up to its oldest enemy …

and after all these mortal years, love is up to the challenge.

“… Love is patient. Love is kind. Love is not arrogant or boastful or rude. Love believes all things, bears all things, endures all things, hopes all things….”

I never know what brings each of us here on a night like tonight. Maybe it’s the grief of death and dying. Maybe it’s the loss of a job. Maybe it’s the frustration of addiction, a broken relationship, a recent diagnosis, a financial crisis, a struggling faith, an uncertain future. I hope some of you are here simply to stand beside and pray with and love others who need some help squaring up against their own grief.

Whatever the case, the invitation of Christmas is that each of us can walk fearlessly – or with less fear and anxiety perhaps, on our good days – into our mourning and sadness and fear when it comes. And I think our odds of doing that are better if we remember that grief (and whatever comes with it) is the depth of our love squaring up against its oldest enemy.

Grief is 5 year-old Nina walking into the funeral home to let her love for her cousin sing more beautifully than the power of his death.

Grief is Jesus making his way to Bethany, to let his love for Lazarus speak more loudly than his dying.

And it is God, born in the flesh – it is heaven come to earth – it is love come down – to square up against its oldest enemy: death and whatever fear and sadness and grief it brings.

And the Good News of Christmas – our hope in these days – is to remember that love wins … that “after all these mortal years” the love of God in Jesus, when it squares up against whatever grieves or scares or unsettles us most, is always… always… always up to the challenge.

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.