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.”

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

Matthew 6:25-33

“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow, nor reap, nor gather into barns and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? And why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin and yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you – you of little faith?”

“Therefore, do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ for it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all of these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness and all these things will be given to you as well.”

We just need to be reminded, sometimes, right? Reminded to do this, to do that, to say this, NOT to say that. My calendar reminds me 10 minutes before a scheduled meeting is about to begin. I got no less than half-a-dozen reminders that I was supposed to drive my son to a doctor’s appointment this morning. (My family’s faith in me is remarkable.)

Of course, at Thanksgiving I think about how much time we spend reminding kids to say “please” and “thank you,” to send “thank you” notes, to BE grateful, to appreciate what they have, to count their blessings. And none of that changes just because we’re older. We still need reminders and nudges and opportunities to do the same – to count our blessings, to be grateful, and to say so, I mean. Which is what this evening and this week and our lives, really, as followers of Jesus are all about … being reminded about that for which we are grateful, finding ways to share that gratitude, and realizing that it matters, deeply, for us and for the world.

In that first reading in Joel that we just heard, from sometime around 400 BCE (give or take), the prophet could have been talking to you and me, really. The people of Israel had endured a plague – not of COVID-19 – but of locusts that threatened their land, their livelihood, their way of life. And the prophet called the people to hope, called them to patience, called them to a longer view and a greater memory about the power of God’s love for them, in spite of the suffering and struggle they had endured.

I’m not sure what to think about things since last Thanksgiving, where our own “plague” is concerned. Things seem different … better … on-the-mend, in some ways … more hopeful, perhaps. Last year, my family didn’t make our annual pilgrimage to northwest Ohio to be with my in-laws. Instead, we – the Havels on Redbird Trail – stayed in Indiana, and traded food with my parents a mile away. We were still quarantining, so I mean we traded food and went our separate ways. We didn’t actually get to sit down, break bread, pass the food around, or pray together. We’ll do all of that in a couple of days, but we’ll be staying in Indiana, since people are sick with fevers and whatnot over in Ohio.

Still, we have blessings to count. We still have to be careful, but there is science and there are vaccines and boosters, too. We are worshiping this evening, in-person and online, which we couldn’t do last year, and things are better than they were, thanks to all of that. Our God has done great things… Our God has dealt wondrously with us… We shall eat in plenty and be satisfied… the Lord is our God and there is no other.

We need reminders of that from time to time.

And in that bit from First Timothy, the early church was reminded of some things, too. They were called to pray on behalf of – and in gratitude for – all people, all people: leaders and kings, Gentiles and Jesus followers alike, understanding that God is, indeed, the God of all people.

We need reminders of that from time to time, too.

In many of the gatherings I’m a part of lately – especially if they have something to do with racial equity and justice, but not always – it’s becoming a thing to acknowledge the indigenous, native peoples who lived on the land wherever we might be gathering, by naming them.

It’s an effort to honor those people, in spite of how poorly they may have been treated in so many instances. It’s an expression of gratitude, for those who have gone before and for whatever wisdom and relationship may have been shared along the way, or learned about since. And I feel like it’s an act of repentance, too, for whatever hurt and harm was done by one group of people to another over the course of human history, such as it is.

I think it’s something like the “supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings to be made for everyone,” which God’s people were asked to do in that reading from First Timothy.

So, because our national Thanksgiving holiday is so often wrapped up in fictional, warm and fuzzy fairy tales about the early days of our history with the indigenous peoples who lived on this land long before the Europeans showed up, I thought it would be meaningful to acknowledge and give thanks for and name the Lenape tribe of Indians. Indiana means “the land of the Indians,” after all, and the Lenape lived in east central Indiana, in this neck of the woods, from the 1790s into the early 1820s when, under the Treaty of St. Mary’s, they gave up their land and were forced to migrate west to Kansas, and then Oklahoma.

So cheers, gratitude, prayers and supplications to the Lenape – and to the Shawnee and the Miami and the Potawatomi, too – for those who have gone before us; who tended to and cared for and lived on this holy ground; who were and who are Children of God, just like you and me, wherever they find themselves, and wherever they are found by their creator … these days and into eternity.

It’s good to be reminded from time to time.

Which brings us to the Gospel for this evening. In Matthew 6 – with all those reminders about how and why we shouldn’t worry – Jesus is speaking as someone who loves his people – his friends, his family, his followers, and all of creation – and as someone who wants the best for them, for it, for us.

So the thanksgiving we’re called to as followers of Jesus is meant to be more than just a discipline or a chore – certainly not just an annual extravaganza around a table overflowing with our favorite food and crowded with some of our favorite people – or not-so favorite people, if that’s a pickle for you on Thursday.

The thanksgiving Jesus calls us to is meant to be a daily blessing for our lives – one that does a good work through us and for us, by putting our struggles into perspective; by putting our lives into balance; by helping us to see what is good and righteous in our midst, even if we are surrounded by so much to the contrary, too.

Because our thanksgiving, in Jesus, reminds us that we are blessed in spite of what can be so hard in this world. We are made strong through our weakness. We are rich when we are poor. We receive when we give. We are promised new life, even in the face of death. We just need to be reminded of that from time to time – and remember that we are changed for the better, by the thanks we give, when we do.

Amen. Happy Thanksgiving.

Just Keep Driving

Thanksgiving Reminders