Fire, Brimstone, and Building Campaigns

Luke 21:5-19

As some were speaking about the temple, how it was adorned with beautiful stones and gifts dedicated to God, Jesus said, “As for these things that you see, the day will come when not one stone will be left upon another, all will be thrown down.”

They asked him, “Teacher, when will this be? And what will be the sign that this is about to take place?” He said, “Beware that you are not led astray. Many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he,’ and the ‘The time is near.’ Do not go after them.

“When you hear about wars in insurrections, not be terrified, for these things must take place first, but the end will not follow immediately.” And he said, “Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be great earthquakes, and in various places, famines and plagues. There will be dreadful portents and great signs from heaven.

“But before all this occurs, they will arrest you and persecute you. You will be handed over to synagogues and prisons. You will be brought before kings and governors because of my name. This will give you the opportunity to testify. So make up your minds not to prepare your defense in advance, for I will give you words and a wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to withstand or contradict. You will be betrayed by parents and brothers, relatives and friends, and they will put some of you to death. You will be hated by all because of my name. But not a hair on your head will perish. By your endurance you will gain your souls.”

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When we decided, years ago, to make financial commitments to the Building and Outreach Fund in November, I neglected to check the lectionary to see that – at least every three years – we’d get this passage about the temple being destroyed on or very near to our commitment Sunday. But I wouldn’t change it – or do otherwise – because I think it’s at least funny, if not faithful and worthwhile, to consider what we’ve built here, and what we hope to build, in light of Jesus’ reminder about how impermanent all of it is in the grand scheme of God’s big picture. And I want to wonder about that together in a minute.

This is one of those Bible passages that gives “fire and brimstone” preaching its identity and inspiration. “Nation against nation.” “Kingdom against kingdom.” “Arrest, persecution, betrayal.” “Earthquakes, famines, plagues.” “Hatred, death, dreadful portents and great signs from heaven.” It’s about everything you could ever want or need if you’re looking to scare someone into loving Jesus. Especially if you watch the news or pay any attention to what’s going on in the world around us.

Ukraine and Russia, Israel and Hamas remind us about what it looks like when Kingdoms rise up against Kingdoms. Civil wars in Sudan and Myanmar – and political divisions in our own country – show us what it looks like when nations rise up against nations.

Have you heard about the Christians being persecuted in Nigeria? Don’t let the Christian Nationalist political rhetoric in our own country fool you. Experts say it’s no better for the Muslims there. And God hates all of it, I’m sure. But it sounds, nonetheless, a lot like Jesus’ prediction that his followers would be handed over, hated, and even killed.

And of course, the storms, the flooding, and the fires that are the result of – or made worse by climate change – seem like they could be “dreadful portents and great signs from heaven,” to some.

All of it is enough to tempt a Pastor to get out of the business, and I know some who have … maybe it’s enough to make a parishioner question the wisdom of contributing to any of this, let alone the latest building project … maybe it’s enough to make a congregation slow their roll, stop their growing, batten down the hatches, and tighten their collective belt. If I were a gambling man, I’d wonder if we should be checking our odds, placing our bets, and readying ourselves for whatever doom and damnation must certainly be coming our way.

But I’m not a gambling man, so much as I am a baptized child of God.

So, what I hear Jesus saying in this morning’s Gospel isn’t what so many of those doomsday preachers have been preaching to too many generations of hungry, hurting, hopeless souls. Jesus doesn’t suggest we lock the doors, batten down the hatches, hold our breath, and brace ourselves for and from the evils that surround us. Jesus doesn’t suggest we open our Bibles and prepare our defense or state our case against whatever evil or temptation or struggle may threaten our status in the eyes of our creator. He says just the opposite.

What I hear, is Jesus acknowledging that life in this world is hard. It can be scary. It hurts a lot of the time. And I hear him saying that even when it may seem like it’s as bad as it ever could be, the end “will not follow immediately.” I hear him suggesting that we not watch the clock or make predictions or get scared by people who do; or that we wring our hands with worry about all of it, either.

I hear Jesus inviting us, above all, to trust him – and to trust the God who sent him for the sake of the world’s redemption. “I will give you words and a wisdom,” is what he says, and that’s a relief to me. “Stop worrying about what to say or how to think or just what to do when the going gets tough.” The going will get tough for us, in as many different ways as there are people in this room – and then some.

But Jesus invites us to know we don’t have to have answers for it all and that the power of God’s grace will carry us through, in spite of ourselves and in the face of whatever struggle surrounds us. And this is all part of what we celebrate as people of grace and of good news and of the gospel we proclaim – all of which we’re promised as God’s people.

I had a text conversation this week about yet another article concerning the demise of the Church in our country and culture – particularly where the closing of mainline congregations like Lutherans, Methodists, Presbyterians and the like, are concerned. And what’s so sad and troubling about that – and what even the nay-sayers acknowledge – is what leaves a community when a faithful church closes its doors: food ministries, disaster response resources, affordable childcare options, hubs for community connection, and other social services and ministries, too.

And don’t forget the simple, holy, necessary, sacred, consistent proclamation to desperate, hurting, hungry people about a gracious God who loves them – all of which is made real in the waters of baptism and in the bread and wine of holy communion, which we do as deliberately and more openly and with a wider welcome than anyone around here.

And it’s all more than an insurance policy against the challenges of life in this world. The promises we offer week after week – don’t pretend to insulate us from the pain and sadness that threaten our lives. No, the blessing of God’s grace, which comes to us here, is a promise that God’s love and mercy and forgiveness – and most of all, that God’s eternal life – hold more power and authority than any bad news we might encounter on this side of eternity; and that it is a promise for all people.

Which is to say, I hope we gather here – and share this ministry – and practice this faith – and grow this community – because nations rise against nations, still; because there are wars and insurrections, still; because there are great earthquakes and famines and deadly portents and diseases, still.

I hope we give our money, our time, our resources; I hope we give our selves to this ministry we share because so many in the world think we shouldn’t and because I’m convinced Jesus thinks we should share the unique, bold, faithful, generous kind of grace that is uniquely ours to offer in this neck of the woods.

So let’s do more than just breeze by the waters of baptism on our way to the table for communion this morning. Let’s touch, feel, and be filled by what we call “the means of grace,” here. And let’s be reminded of – or invited to – our own experience with water, Word, and with the promise that belongs to us all because of it.

Because I’m convinced – and filled with hope – that when we do that, we won’t be able to do anything BUT respond in ways that grow this community – by building buildings, by welcoming strangers, by doing justice, by loving kindness, by walking humbly, by sharing grace in the abundant, generous ways it has already been shared with each of us, in Jesus’ name.

Amen

Zacchaeus and Me

Luke 19:1-10

[Jesus] entered Jericho and was passing through it. A man was there named Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax collector and was rich. He was trying to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was short in stature. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree to see him, because he was going to pass that way.

When Jesus came to the place, he looked up and said to him, “Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today.” So he hurried down and was happy to welcome him.

All who saw it began to grumble and said, “He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner.” Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, “Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.” Then Jesus said to him, “Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost.”

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Most of us know the story of Zacchaeus well. I can’t hear his name without the requisite ear-worm … that oldy, but goody Sunday school classic … “Zacchaeus was a wee, little man; a wee little man was he. He climbed up in the sycamore tree, for the Lord he wanted to see...” Of course, there’s so much more to Zacchaeus than what any of us learned in Sunday school.

He is a pint-sized prototype for the lost and looking. Zacchaeus is the “Mini-Me” for every man, woman, and child who ever had a longing to know – or to know more – about Jesus. Zacchaeus sets a precedent for what it means to know Jesus, to be known by Jesus, and to live differently because of Jesus.

See, it’s important that we’re told Zacchaeus was a chief tax collector – and a rich one at that – because chief tax collectors were first century opportunists who contracted with Roman officials to collect money for the government. It is not a compliment – but more of a comment about the limited quality of his character – when the gospel says Zacchaeus was a wealthy chief tax collector. Because Zacchaeus, as a “son of Abraham,” was a Jewish man, taking advantage of his Jewish brothers and sisters, for his own benefit, and in cahoots with the government that was their oppressor.

And he was short. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that, as far as you and I are concerned. But you can’t help but wonder if that, too, wasn’t a dig or a jab, just like all the rest; that he had to climb trees like a child might, in order to get a better view above the crowds.)

Anyway, because of all of that, it’s easy for us – so many generations later and so culturally and historically removed from Jesus that day in Jericho – to think we don’t have much, if anything, in common with Zacchaeus. People in our neighborhood, in or our congregation; people in our circle of friends or family don’t talk about how rich we are, do they? None of us works for the oppressor, do we? We can’t possibly be any more selfish or self-interested than the average bear, can we?

The easy ways we distance ourselves from the likes of Zacchaeus remind me of a question raised by an ethicist named Peter Singer who asks – almost rhetorically – “If you saw a child drowning in a shallow pond, would you wade into that shallow pond to rescue the child, even if you were wearing your favorite, new pair of shoes?” Most people – and I would suspect everyone of us here – would answer that question with a quick and easy “yes,” myself included. We would enter a shallow pond to save the life of a drowning child without a second thought, no matter what shoes we were wearing.

But Peter Singer suggests that, in reality, truth-be-told, we answer that question in the opposite way, daily – every time we spend our money or use our resources in ways that don’t meet the needs of the world around us. In other words, even though we can’t see them in the water, there are children drowning in proverbial ponds all over the world as I stand here before you in my own favorite new pair of shoes (I have a matching pair in blue, just for good measure); the money from which could have saved any number of children, in any number of ways – be it a simple meal, a dose of medicine, a vaccination, or even a pair of shoes to cover and protect their own fragile, freezing feet, in the coming winter.

Which is to say, I might have a thing or two in common with Zacchaeus, after all. And maybe you do, too.

I mean, Zacchaeus had a home. He had plenty to eat and to drink and to spend. He likely had a sense of security, by way of his connections with the Romans and all. And I bet he had a couple of nice pairs of sandals, too. But apparently, all of that still didn’t matter as much – it wasn’t as fulfilling, perhaps – as he’d hoped. He was still looking for something that made him climb a tree, just to see this Jesus who was rolling through town.

And if you look around – and maybe, even, in the mirror – you’ll see the same is true today. The house, the cars, the boats. The clothes, the toys, the stuff. The school, the degree, the 401K. Our culture works really hard to convince us that there is no such thing as too much money or too many things or enough of our favorite stuff.

Can you imagine an amount of money that would be too much for you and yours? How much is enough before you would feel comfortable giving 10% of it away, as Scripture suggests? And is that likely to happen anytime soon? We could always make more, have more, save more. And we do – or we try.

We try and we try and we try. We run and we run and we run. We climb and we climb and we climb. Until we end up like Zacchaeus – up a tree and still searching. Up a tree and out of tricks. Up a tree and farther away from God and Jesus and faith and purpose than we ever were when we first started to climb.

So today, we’re called to look down – like Zacchaeus did – and to see the answer standing at our feet. Jesus shows up and says “hurry and come down. I must stay at your house today.” “Get down from there. Stop. Come with me. Let me come with you. I know a better way.”

Jesus doesn’t chase after Zacchaeus or hunt him down or shake him out of that sycamore tree. Jesus doesn’t zap Zacchaeus with a bolt of lightening or shame him in front of the crowds. Jesus doesn’t do any of the things the crowd thought Jesus should do to punish the sinner they all saw in Zacchaeus. And Jesus doesn’t do any of that to us, either.

Instead, Jesus invites himself over. Jesus shows up and offers forgiveness, he shows acceptance, he gives love and grace and hope to the one person no one else thought was worthy or capable of receiving it – maybe not even Zacchaeus, himself.

And then Jesus says, “Today, salvation has come to this house.” And he doesn’t say that because Zacchaeus finally antes up and promises to give half of his paycheck away or because Zacchaeus commits to pay back – times four – all those people he’d ripped off in the past. We know too much about God’s grace to pretend Zacchaeus paid for the salvation Jesus promised him that day.

No. When Jesus says, “Today salvation has come to this house,” it’s all about Zacchaeus’ identity as “a son of Abraham.” Zacchaeus, too, was a descendant of Abraham and a child of God. Jesus reminded Zacchaeus … sinful, greedy, tax-collecting Zacchaeus – in his fresh, fancy, favorite pair of shoes … that even he was part of God’s plan for creation; the plan to use his blessings to be a blessing for the sake of the world. And that was life-giving news to the little, first century Scrooge.

We are talking a lot about money around here these days (and making no bones about it) – mostly because we need it to build what we believe God is calling us to build in order to grow our little part of the kingdom at Cross of Grace. But all of this talk about money isn’t just about bricks, mortar, square footage and bigger kitchens. It’s about remembering our call as children of Abraham, to divest ourselves of the things that keep us – and the Church – from fulfilling God’s plan for the world. And it’s about God’s call for us as Partners in Mission in this place; a call to share grace and good news and our resources with all people in ways that are unique in this community.

So, as we pray about and make our commitments to this capital campaign – and I hope each of us will pray about and make a commitment to this capital campaign – let them be made with the same amount of surprise, gratitude, generosity, and joy we hear from Zacchaeus this morning. And let’s do it, not because we have to but because we get to and because we are able. And let’s let the same transformation that came to Zacchaeus come to each of us, as a result.

And when that happens – when we let our lives be changed by God’s grace and by our own generosity – I believe we’ll know something new about salvation, “today,” on this side of eternity. And we’ll get a glimpse of God’s heaven right where we live.

Amen