Just Keep Driving

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.”

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A couple of weeks ago, on our way to Ohio for a football game and a college visit, the boys and I took a little detour. After sitting for a while in some stopped and slow-moving traffic on I-70, in the dark, close to midnight, sandwiched between semis and seeing no end in sight, I decided to get off at the next exit ramp, turn on my GPS, and hit the country roads – just to keep moving – until we could find our way back to the interstate, hopefully somewhere up beyond the traffic jam.

Thankfully, as you know, detours these days, with cell phones and Global Positioning Satellites, aren’t what they used to be. We just hopped off the east-bound interstate and kept driving – for a few minutes – until the navigator stopped trying to turn us around, to re-route us, as they are inclined to do, back to the route we were following in the first place.

In other words, we had to get far enough off-track, far enough away from our original route – lost enough, if you will – before our GPS would begin to send us in a new direction and onto a different path toward our destination.

This made me think of Jesus’s words this morning, because I think it’s more than a little bit of what the season of Advent is supposed to be for us as Children of God, waiting on the coming of our salvation, in Jesus, at Christmas.

These Advent days are meant to be a season of darkness; of searching; of lost-ness; of longing; of admitting and experiencing the fullness of our need for direction, our need for salvation, our need for redemption at the hands of God in Jesus.

This morning, we hear Jesus say some pretty ominous thing. “There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars.” He says there will be “distress among confused nations.” He says there will be “fainting from fear and foreboding” about all that’s coming upon the world. And he says that the powers of the heavens will be shaken. It sounds scary…and like a mess…and about as lost or afraid as we might ever expect to be. And Jesus’ words seem particularly on point this time around, it seems to me.

I don’t know what the signs in the sun, the moon, or the stars might be trying to spell out, exactly, but I know NASA launched a rocket into outer space just this past Wednesday, to practice nudging an asteroid enough to change its trajectory in case we ever have to do that in the future to save our planet from an errant celestial body.

And when I think about “distressed nations, confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves,” I think about climate scientists warning that if we don’t do something to maintain or limit or lower the temperature of the planet that, among so many other things, there are islands and coastal cities and whole hosts of living things in danger of destruction when/if “the roaring of the sea and the waves” really does overtake them.

And, as a new COVID variant does its thing, there is fainting and fear and foreboding, for sure, about however it might threaten whatever progress we’ve made where the pandemic is concerned.

And with all of that in mind, Jesus gives us this strange little parable about the trees: “As soon as they sprout leaves,” he promises, “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.”

Another way to say it might be, “when you see these things take place…” “when you’re just about as lost as you think you could be…” “when it’s just about as bad as you imagine it could get…” “when there is distress and fear and fainting and foreboding … new leaves and new life are on the way.” Or, maybe, “You’re lost, but keep driving, because your redemption is drawing near and it might be just up around the next bend.”

See, it’s tempting to – and lots of people do – use this passage to make predictions about the end of times, but I’ve never wanted to go there. I take comfort in the other Gospels where Jesus explains that “neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son” – not even Jesus, himself – but only the Father knows if or how or when all of this “end times” stuff will come to pass. (He says as much in both Matthew’s Gospel and in Mark’s, too, along with very similar language about ‘this generation not passing away’ … ‘heaven and earth passing away,’ but not his words … and all the rest.)

Anyway, I’ve always figured that, if the angels and Jesus can’t make any guesses about all of that, then I surely don’t have to bother – and probably shouldn’t. And I’m suspicious of anyone who does.

So, when Jesus talked about the signs that would come; about the powers that would be shaken; about the fear and foreboding and distress among the nations; I don’t believe he was pretending to look into his crystal ball. Otherwise, I kind of, sort of believe the Son of God would have made a little more accurate of a prediction.

No, rather than predict the future, I believe Jesus’ words are meant to inspire the present. Jesus isn’t predicting destruction down the road, he’s promising salvation now. While it seems Jesus might be reporting the evening news for any given time and place, he’s really proclaiming hope for the ages. And he’s not one to pull punches or sugar-coat the reality of what swirls around us as his followers; as people on the planet; as children of God.

Wars rage. People starve. Children are abused. Injustice wins. There is cancer and Parkinson’s Disease and Alzheimer’s and more.

So, no matter how hard we plan, pretend, or pray, signs are everywhere of our need for grace, mercy, peace and salvation – from somewhere and someone more powerful than ourselves. This is the news we’re called to attend to on this first Sunday of Advent. It’s not meant simply to sadden us. It’s not meant to scare us. And it’s not meant to send us reeling into the darkness, either.

It’s meant to encourage us to keep driving; to acknowledge how lost we can be so much of the time but to not fear that lost-ness – to not let the darkness get the best of us.

I think we’re meant to keep driving because there is a new way coming; a different path is still waiting to be travelled; a light shines into this darkness and we won’t be able to miss it, if we’re paying attention.

I think we’re meant to keep driving – because God isn’t afraid of however broken or scared or lost or alone we might be from one moment to the next. In fact, I think God does God’s best work with what’s most broken, scared, lost or dying in our midst.

So, let’s let these Advent days be a reminder of and practice for us to hope and to wait with patience when we can find it – to stand up and raise our heads, even – to keep driving, no matter how lost we feel, and to trust that our redemption is always near, especially when we need it most.

Amen

Witnessing with Our Wounds

Luke 24:36b-48

Jesus himself came and stood among them and said to them, “Peace be with you.” They were startled and terrified, and thought that they were seeing a ghost. He said to them, “Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.”

And when he had said this, he showed them his hands and his feet. While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering, he said to them, “Have you anything here to eat?” They gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he took it and ate in their presence.

Then he said to them, “These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you – that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled.” Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures, and said to them, “Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. You are witnesses of these things.”

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It’s been awhile, but I’ve had stitches three times in my life. Every incident and accident happened by the time I was in 3rd grade. The first was right smack-dab in the middle of my forehead. I think I was three or four years old, and jumping on the bed with the neighbor kids, when I bounced off and cracked my head on the corner of the desk in my room. The second time was in the driveway of the church parsonage sometime after that. Alan Heinz, who was older than me by a few years, pushed me, I slipped on the ice, and split my chin open. The third time was on a road trip with my grandmother, without my parents, when I fell down the steps on some rickety, rusty old metal swing-set. I sliced the skin near my eye enough that they had to sew me up.

As a kid those stories were fun to tell, once the healing had come. After the doctor visits and the stitches and the healing and what not, the scars were little badges of honor, I guess, with funny stories behind them. They don’t amount to much now – the scars or the stories – but at the time, there weren’t many 3rd graders who’d been stitched so prolifically as far as I knew. And my friends, my brother, my parents, my grandmother, and Alan Heinz, were all witnesses to my wounds.

Jesus was big on showing off his wounds, too. “Look at my hands and my feet.” “See that it is I, myself.”

And he said, “…the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, and repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. You are witnesses of these things.”

“You are witnesses of these things.”

Ugh. “Witnesses.” Haven’t we heard enough from and about “witnesses” these days. “Witnesses” in that courtroom. “Witnesses” in the streets. “Witnesses” inside that school in Knoxville, or near that alley in Chicago, or outside in the parking lot, or inside of that FedEx building, right here in Indianapolis – eye-witnesses, expert witnesses, character witnesses to all sorts of sadness and struggle and death and despair.

So, even though this world does its best to make it so hard, I want to wonder with all of you, with whatever of Easter’s joy we can still muster, what it means that Jesus would call us to be witnesses on this side of his empty tomb: witnesses to a Messiah that suffered and was raised from the dead on the third day: witnesses to the fact that Jesus got up from the grave, showed up for his friends – ate some broiled fish in their presence, just to prove it was true – and reminded them about their call to be “witnesses.”

What does that mean, exactly? To be “witnesses?”

Those first disciples sure had a lot to tell – not unlike some of the “witnesses” I just referred to. The disciples had witnessed a murder. A friend had died. A son had been executed. An injustice had been done. So much pain and fear and frustration and anger and despair were a part of all they had seen, heard, shared, and “witnessed.” So they had a story to tell, for sure.

And I think it’s so meaningful and deliberate that Jesus starts with his hands and his feet. Jesus uses the wounds from his crucified body – following the resurrection – differently than I did as a kid. I don’t get the impression he was proud of them or wore them as a badge of honor, I mean. Or that he enjoyed the story they told, necessarily.

But, remember last week, when he showed up for most of the disciples and then to Thomas? The holes in his hands and the wounds on his sides were evidence of his identity. Today, the same is true, for the disciples who saw him – the holes in his hands and the ones in his feet were proof that he was, indeed, Jesus – their friend, their rabbi, their Messiah, who had been crucified, had died, and had been buried. And who now ate some broiled fish just to prove he wasn’t a ghost.

But I got to thinking that Jesus’ wounds were more than just evidence of his identity or proof of life, even.

I think, in showing his wounds – in revealing where he had been hurt and suffered and struggled so mightily – Jesus was showing his disciples – and us – what it means to be witnesses, ourselves.

“…the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, and repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations … You are witnesses of these things.”

See, we are witnesses, you and I, not just to the resurrection and the forgiveness, the good news and the joy of it all. But we are witnesses to the suffering and the hard work of repentance and the struggle of it all, just the same. And I wonder if being a witness like Jesus invites us to be means showing off our own scars, revealing our own wounds, and not hiding the broken pieces of ourselves from each other or from the world.

And that’s hard. And terrifying. And takes courage and vulnerability and faith. And I don’t know that means for you. I’m not always sure what it means for myself – because the wounds that hurt now are deeper and harder to show off than the stitches that scarred me when I was a kid. Broken bones are like sticks and stones, as they say, compared to the broken hearts that burden us these days, don’t you think?

Our grief is a wound that is hard to lay bare.

The fears that keep us up at night are not always something we want to give voice to.

The sins we confess and long to have forgiven are not easily proclaimed.

The scars of whatever shame we carry are not readily revealed.

But I think that might be precisely why Jesus leads with his wounds. I think maybe Jesus leads with his wounds – boldly, bravely, and by example, so that we might, too, as we try to bear witness to just what God is up to in our lives and for the sake of the world.

I pray those families still reeling from what was lost at FedEx on Thursday will settle into some measure of hope when any of the thousands of families in this country who know their pain reach out to them with their own broken hearts.

 I’ve seen how the family of Daunte Wright has already been buoyed by the broken, but common ground they share with the family of George Floyd.

Parents who’ve survived the loss of a child are a beacon for those who are new to that grief.

Those who’ve endured a divorce and loved well again are a light for those stumbling down that road.

When someone comes out of the closet, finds their self, and thrives – someone still hiding is encouraged that maybe they can do the same.

Those who have been hurt by the Church or doubted their faith to the point of desperation, but have managed to keep it, have a gift to offer others in that same boat.

We have – each of us – suffered or are suffering. We have been frightened or are afraid, now. We have grieved mightily, many of us, or are grieving, still, in ways that someone out there in the world would be blessed to know about.

“See these wounds?” “You are witnesses to these things.” “I’ll show you mine,” Jesus seems to say, “so that you might show someone yours.” Because, Jesus knew what he wants us to share: that God does God’s best work with the wounded, broken, hurting, fearful, desperate parts of our lives in this world.

God takes all of that and redeems it. God takes all of that and forgives it. God takes all of it and breathes new life into it. God takes all of it and heals, comforts and loves it all into wholeness and justice and hope and peace.

And so he calls us to be witnesses, you and me – brave and bold and faithful and persistent, like Jesus. Witnesses – leading with our own wounds to show that what is broken, can be made whole; bearing witness to what is hurting but that can be comforted; bearing witness to what is sinful, but will be forgiven; bearing witness to what is dead, even, but will be raised to new life in his name.

Amen