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.

Mark 13:1-8 (NRSV)

As he came out of the temple, one of his disciples said to him, “Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!” Then Jesus asked him, “Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.”

When he was sitting on the Mount of Olives opposite the temple, Peter, James, John, and Andrew asked him privately, “Tell us, when will this be, and what will be the sign that all these things are about to be accomplished?” Then Jesus began to say to them, “Beware that no one leads you astray. Many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he!’ and they will lead many astray. When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birth pangs.

Pastor Aaron warned us all last week we had a doozy of a Gospel on deck for our Building Fund’s Commitment Sunday this morning – with this talk from Jesus about temples and stones and buildings and more all being “thrown down.” “Not one stone will be left upon another,” Jesus promises. It sounds like bad news for a building program – like Jesus is suggesting what a waste of time and energy, money and resources all of those large stones and great buildings represent.

As your pastor in this place – as a Pastor in the world these days, frankly – it makes me feel like I have to defend what we’re up to around here when it comes to Building Funds and mortgage payments and Commitment Sundays. Why bother? What a waste? If all of these “earthly things” will soon be nothing but dust under the feet of the almighty, what’s the point of it, anyway?

And those are good questions. Great, faithful questions, really. Enough to make any one of us think twice, I hope, about what we’re up to. So with this morning’s Gospel and those questions spinning around in my head, I was tempted today to defend and to justify what we’re up to and why.

I was tempted to explain that, yes, it costs money – sometimes a lot of money – to make a church go, but that I think we do that pretty modestly and responsibly around here; that, just for some perspective, there are single family homes in this community that have mortgages equal to or not far from the mortgage we carry on this facility, for this family of faith.

I was tempted to preach – on yet another Building Fund Commitment Sunday – about how we’re simply called and commanded to give our money and our stuff away.

I was tempted to remind you all that our mortgage payment isn’t just about paying a bill, but that it’s about teaching us to do that – to give our money away, to be generous, to do with less – something most of us – something most people, myself included – need a little encouragement and loving accountability in order to accomplish in this culture of greed where we live.

I was tempted to remind you – and myself – that Jesus taught and talked more about giving away money than he did about anything else, because he knew it could become an idol in our lives.

I thought maybe we could use a reminder that this is an issue of faith for people like us – people with money to spare, compared to most of the rest of the world, I mean. That this is one of the easier ways, frankly – writing checks and giving money – that we can live out our faith. That making financial commitments that are faithful and generous and sacrificial – and honoring them – is a spiritual exercise that blesses us and others.

And I was tempted to simply remind whoever showed up today that our mortgage payments don’t just go to any old bank. But that they go to the Mission Investment Fund of the ELCA – an institution of the Church – which helps to build and grow other communities of faith around our country and out there in the world, too.

And I thought it might be worthwhile to remind us all that we tithe our Building Fund, remember: 5% of it is building homes in Fondwa, Haiti, and 5% of it is helping to build a faith community at Roots of Life, right up the road in Noblesville.

I guess I was tempted to justify and defend all of this by reminding you that our Building Fund is about so much more than the large stones, the large buildings and the bricks and mortar so many see or think about when they consider the Church in the world.

All of that was tempting. But I decided against it. (See what I did there?) Instead, I decided to see Jesus’ words and warnings to his disciples about the temple crumbling to dust as all the encouragement and justification I need for what we’re up to around here – as God’s Church in this place – day in and day out.

Because before the Church – and long before this church crumbles to dust, I hope – there will be wars and rumors of wars. And we don’t need Jesus to tell us that, do we? And that means someone needs to pray about and fight for and work toward peace on the planet. That means there will be soldiers who suffer and plenty of people and places who need repairing and restoring and rescue, too.

And there will be earthquakes, Jesus promises, and hurricanes and tsunamis, droughts, red tides and wildfires, too. And that means someone needs to offer prayers and hands and resources to bind up the brokenhearted, to support rescue efforts, to mourn the dead, to rebuild what is destroyed – and to do what we can to prevent it all in the first place.

There will be famines, too, we’re told. And there already are. And the Church can send food and money and people to deliver it to those who are hungry. And we can support our own food pantries and we can show up like we did last weekend, with youth groups and volunteers, to lend a hand to people who are hungry in our own city. We can sell and shop for and support fair trade coffee, tea and chocolate, too, just for good measure.

And Jesus says we will be tempted to be led astray – that others will come in his name, preaching and teaching something contrary to the Gospel of grace and love and hope he proclaimed for all people. And this is what I think we do best around here, when we get it right. It is not a stretch to say that we – at Cross of Grace and as part of the ELCA (where people of color and women and our LGBTQ brothers and sisters are affirmed and ordained) – we have a uniquely wide, welcome word of grace and acceptance and love and justice to speak into and to practice in our little neck of the woods.

And that’s just the big stuff. Many of the ways we’re called to be the Church are much closer to home, aren’t they? There will be strokes and melanomas. There will be heart attacks and cancers. There will be bullies and suicides; dementia and nursing homes; lost babies, broken relationships, addictions, layoffs and more.

And all of it is why the Church is meant to be in and for the sake of the world. See, we don’t stake our faith or our lives or our hope on buildings – on earthly things like bricks and mortar. But that doesn’t mean we stop using them as the tools – the means to the ends – for which they were designed. And the Church – whether we’re talking about the building or the institution – is nothing more and nothing less than a tool, used for the work of God in the world as we know it.

So we give and we build and we grow. And we do it in ways that are generous and sacrificial and that seem crazy to the world around us – and even to ourselves some of the time. And we do it precisely because all of this will be thrown down one day – not one stone or brick or wall – will be left upon another.

And we will be left with nothing but the abundance of God’s love for us and for the world. We will be left – not with our money or our things or our stuff – but we’ll be left with God’s mercy and forgiveness. We’ll be left with God’s hope, realized. We’ll be left with God’s kind of life everlasting, which is already ours… and already enough… and worth giving to and sharing with each other and the world in Jesus’ name.

Amen