Scripture: Luke 21:25-36
I don’t know how I keep getting all the apocalyptic end of the world type texts to preach on but here we go again. It always seems such an odd pairing – as we get ready for Christmas, we hear these earth-shaking, somewhat disturbing texts about the second coming. You expect more baby Jesus, cute and cuddly type texts rather than talk of war and destruction.
Yet, that is indeed what advent is about – awaiting the coming of God into our very tumultuous and frightening world. It’s what Christmas is about – God entering into our world, entering into the human experience and becoming like one of us so that he might save each and every one of us. An unlikely – but true event. A fantastic event that is difficult at times to believe – so much so many continue to reject its validity.
Because it sounds like sheer fantasy. Too good to be true. Beyond our understanding. Yet, we Christians not only believe it, we still wait with the hopeful expectation of the fulfillment of these fantastic and unlikely promises of God.
Today we once again hear about the promise of Jesus’ return. That there will be extremely distressing events and people will react with fear because they do not understand what it all means. We’re actually going to pick up that idea for our Wednesday night mid-week services – talking about how we fight fear with faith so we hope you join us at 6:30 on Wednesdays starting this week.
But Jesus’ point is that while most people will indeed react with fear to such events, it should not be fearful for those who know and trust in God, because it simply means that their redemption is drawing near. Christ’s coming in all his glory will arrive soon.
The problem is, we focus on the disaster element so much because I think it’s hard for us to imagine such a scene. It just seems so… fantastic. So… transcendent and other-worldly. I mean, how do you picture this occurring? How do we envision Jesus arriving on a cloud? As a baby… ok. But a cloud?
Where do our imaginations take us when we attempt to wrap our minds around a miraculous event that defies logic and defies our understanding of how the world works? How do we look at the “fantastic” and say, “yes, it’s fantastic, but it’s also true”? It’s fantastic, but I know I can cling to and hope in it?
We can imagine the trials and tribulations Jesus speaks of. We can imagine the disaster. We know all too well what those things look like. We can imagine what it’s like when the world trembles in fear. We know what distress among the nations looks like. We can envision that. We’ve seen it.
What we can’t fully imagine is what our redemption drawing near will actually look like. Resurrection of the dead. God’s kingdom on earth. It’s beyond our experience. It’s beyond our understanding.
The Bible is therefore a unique and amazing mixture of both experiences that we can relate to, as well as divine, fantasy-like revelations that transcend that experience. And when I say “fantasy,” I don’t mean fictional. I mean fantastic, amazing and wondrous.
This combination is a part of why the Bible is so compelling and engaging for me: the gritty, real-world characters like David and Moses who are faithful people, loved by God, but still subject to all the temptations and problems every human being goes through.
But if the gritty reality of sinful lives was all the Bible had to offer, it would not proclaim anything we don’t already know. People are kinda crummy. We already know that. However, what the Bible does is it joins together our experiences of the real world with the divine promise that transcends beyond our experience – and this is what makes it so compelling. It’s what creates a faith that saves.
God declares throughout scripture many unlikely – but true – things. In Exodus, he says that he actually cares about how we treat one another. Unlikely, but true.
The prophets promise God’s comfort and mercy, even for those who have turned from God. Unlikely, but true.
That characters like David and Moses – imperfect and sinful humans – can not only be forgiven, but be the vessels of God’s divine purposes, carrying out extraordinary tasks. Unlikely, but true.
That he cares about the poor and needy – that he intends to upend social norms, raise up the lowly and bring down the mighty. Unlikely, but true.
That he loves us enough to want to save each and every one of us - no matter what we've done. Unlikely. But true.
In fact, the Biblical story is part of why we, as humans, tend to write fantasy novels and why many of us love fantasy movies. It’s our attempt to capture the “fantastic” nature of these promises. Our attempt to bring the "other worldly" into our lives.
JRR Tolkien, the author of “the Hobbit,” which is coming out in a few weeks, and author of the Lord of the Rings Trilogy, once stated that the gospel story is not only the perfect fairy tale but is actually the root of all fantasy, because it tells the deeply true and ultimately joyful story of humanity – fallen and redeemed – in all of its horror, poignancy, and glory.
We don’t tend to use parables today in the same way Jesus did in our culture, but we have our own way of illustrating lessons and journeys of faith through this “fantasy” genre. Instead we have stories like the Hobbit, Lord of the Rings, Star Wars, Narnia, Harry Potter… whether intentional or not for many of the creators, these “fantasy” stories delve into realms of deep spiritual significance and truths, taking the characters on journeys that are fraught with danger and peril. Something – usually the fate of the world – is always at stake.
Jesus, too, warns his followers that something is deeply at stake when we follow him as well. Following him will mean sacrifice. It will mean being persecuted and possibly killed. It will mean picking up your cross. It will mean being sent out as sheep amidst the wolves. It will mean having no place to lay your head. It may mean losing all your material wealth and belongings. Following Jesus and being a dedicated disciple is a risky and dangerous thing to do in this world. But the salvation of the world is at stake.
Likewise, “fantasy” stories tell of comparable and risky journeys. In the Lord of the Rings, Frodo – an unlikely quiet, and unassuming little hobbit who comes from very humble origins (sound familiar), must face the dangers and armies of middle earth, as well as his own temptations to utilize a powerful ring that could enslave the world under him. Along the way he also shows pity and mercy upon the unfortunate creature Gollum. In an odd twist, it’s that same pity and mercy that eventually winds up saving Frodo’s life – along with all of middle earth.
Or how Harry Potter must face the dangers of an evil wizard and his followers who threaten the world – losing friends and loved ones along the way – and eventually even his own life.
The struggle in Star Wars is much the same – risking one’s own life for the sake of others in an effort to free the galaxy from the forces of evil.
Even books and movies like the Hunger Games, which give us a far more dystopian view of our future world, are still telling the story of how we humans struggle to fight through the problems of this world in an effort to reach something better. It’s the fight against tyranny and oppression to try to bring about that world we can only imagine, because it’s not yet our reality.
They mirror our own journeys. The perils, struggles and tribulations we all face in this world. And while these fantasy stories we use to illustrate our faith and life journeys are not rooted in some historical reality – we know they’re fiction – they are still very, very true. Just like many of Jesus’ parables were not necessarily “real” stories – they were illustrating a deep truth about the nature of God and His Kingdom.
Our more modern "fantasy parables” do the same thing. They utilize the journey and the characters to illustrate and represent in entertaining ways a deeper reality that we all live in. Exposing our own fears while giving us hope in the process. Pulling on the transcendent – whether it’s magic or “the force,” – there is that acknowledgement that we need something beyond ourselves.
Christianity claims - that "other-worldly" need is God.
Because the reality we all know and face is that we will all, one day, die. Nothing known to our reality and world can undo that. It requires the fantastic.
As W.H. Auden writes in his Christmas poem, For the Time Being: “Nothing can save us that is possible: We who must die demand a miracle.”
In the midst of turmoil and upheaval, of life’s dangers and problems, Jesus calls on us to lift up our heads. To have hope and faith in the promise he ushers in, to know that our salvation draws near in a way that is beyond anything we might imagine. That the fantastic is indeed true. That by ourselves, we are insufficient.
And that is why the Gospel has the power to save us. Because it IS other-worldly and because it is something that comes from outside us and our understanding. Jesus ushers in a reality that is beyond our comprehension and our abilities.
We stand, daily, in desperate need of the miraculous and the fantastic. That which is “merely possible” by human standards has no capacity or ability to save us. We need what the gospel offers – the impossible possibility. A promise that transcends the typical, mundane, and everyday.
A fantastic story that stretches beyond us, that encompasses us all. That reaches into every life and every experience and lays out for us the hope and promise of something more.
A vision of Jesus arriving on a cloud full of glory and power – triumphing over the world.
A promise and vision that saves. A promise and vision that starts… in a manger.
Unlikely. But true.
*Special thanks to David Lose whose article "A Promise That Saves Us All" inspired the direction and some content of this sermon.
I don’t know how I keep getting all the apocalyptic end of the world type texts to preach on but here we go again. It always seems such an odd pairing – as we get ready for Christmas, we hear these earth-shaking, somewhat disturbing texts about the second coming. You expect more baby Jesus, cute and cuddly type texts rather than talk of war and destruction.
Because it sounds like sheer fantasy. Too good to be true. Beyond our understanding. Yet, we Christians not only believe it, we still wait with the hopeful expectation of the fulfillment of these fantastic and unlikely promises of God.
Today we once again hear about the promise of Jesus’ return. That there will be extremely distressing events and people will react with fear because they do not understand what it all means. We’re actually going to pick up that idea for our Wednesday night mid-week services – talking about how we fight fear with faith so we hope you join us at 6:30 on Wednesdays starting this week.
But Jesus’ point is that while most people will indeed react with fear to such events, it should not be fearful for those who know and trust in God, because it simply means that their redemption is drawing near. Christ’s coming in all his glory will arrive soon.
The problem is, we focus on the disaster element so much because I think it’s hard for us to imagine such a scene. It just seems so… fantastic. So… transcendent and other-worldly. I mean, how do you picture this occurring? How do we envision Jesus arriving on a cloud? As a baby… ok. But a cloud?
Where do our imaginations take us when we attempt to wrap our minds around a miraculous event that defies logic and defies our understanding of how the world works? How do we look at the “fantastic” and say, “yes, it’s fantastic, but it’s also true”? It’s fantastic, but I know I can cling to and hope in it?
We can imagine the trials and tribulations Jesus speaks of. We can imagine the disaster. We know all too well what those things look like. We can imagine what it’s like when the world trembles in fear. We know what distress among the nations looks like. We can envision that. We’ve seen it.
The Bible is therefore a unique and amazing mixture of both experiences that we can relate to, as well as divine, fantasy-like revelations that transcend that experience. And when I say “fantasy,” I don’t mean fictional. I mean fantastic, amazing and wondrous.
This combination is a part of why the Bible is so compelling and engaging for me: the gritty, real-world characters like David and Moses who are faithful people, loved by God, but still subject to all the temptations and problems every human being goes through.
But if the gritty reality of sinful lives was all the Bible had to offer, it would not proclaim anything we don’t already know. People are kinda crummy. We already know that. However, what the Bible does is it joins together our experiences of the real world with the divine promise that transcends beyond our experience – and this is what makes it so compelling. It’s what creates a faith that saves.
God declares throughout scripture many unlikely – but true – things. In Exodus, he says that he actually cares about how we treat one another. Unlikely, but true.
The prophets promise God’s comfort and mercy, even for those who have turned from God. Unlikely, but true.
That characters like David and Moses – imperfect and sinful humans – can not only be forgiven, but be the vessels of God’s divine purposes, carrying out extraordinary tasks. Unlikely, but true.
That he cares about the poor and needy – that he intends to upend social norms, raise up the lowly and bring down the mighty. Unlikely, but true.
That he loves us enough to want to save each and every one of us - no matter what we've done. Unlikely. But true.
In fact, the Biblical story is part of why we, as humans, tend to write fantasy novels and why many of us love fantasy movies. It’s our attempt to capture the “fantastic” nature of these promises. Our attempt to bring the "other worldly" into our lives.
JRR Tolkien, the author of “the Hobbit,” which is coming out in a few weeks, and author of the Lord of the Rings Trilogy, once stated that the gospel story is not only the perfect fairy tale but is actually the root of all fantasy, because it tells the deeply true and ultimately joyful story of humanity – fallen and redeemed – in all of its horror, poignancy, and glory.
We don’t tend to use parables today in the same way Jesus did in our culture, but we have our own way of illustrating lessons and journeys of faith through this “fantasy” genre. Instead we have stories like the Hobbit, Lord of the Rings, Star Wars, Narnia, Harry Potter… whether intentional or not for many of the creators, these “fantasy” stories delve into realms of deep spiritual significance and truths, taking the characters on journeys that are fraught with danger and peril. Something – usually the fate of the world – is always at stake.
Jesus, too, warns his followers that something is deeply at stake when we follow him as well. Following him will mean sacrifice. It will mean being persecuted and possibly killed. It will mean picking up your cross. It will mean being sent out as sheep amidst the wolves. It will mean having no place to lay your head. It may mean losing all your material wealth and belongings. Following Jesus and being a dedicated disciple is a risky and dangerous thing to do in this world. But the salvation of the world is at stake.
Likewise, “fantasy” stories tell of comparable and risky journeys. In the Lord of the Rings, Frodo – an unlikely quiet, and unassuming little hobbit who comes from very humble origins (sound familiar), must face the dangers and armies of middle earth, as well as his own temptations to utilize a powerful ring that could enslave the world under him. Along the way he also shows pity and mercy upon the unfortunate creature Gollum. In an odd twist, it’s that same pity and mercy that eventually winds up saving Frodo’s life – along with all of middle earth.
Or how Harry Potter must face the dangers of an evil wizard and his followers who threaten the world – losing friends and loved ones along the way – and eventually even his own life.
The struggle in Star Wars is much the same – risking one’s own life for the sake of others in an effort to free the galaxy from the forces of evil.
Even books and movies like the Hunger Games, which give us a far more dystopian view of our future world, are still telling the story of how we humans struggle to fight through the problems of this world in an effort to reach something better. It’s the fight against tyranny and oppression to try to bring about that world we can only imagine, because it’s not yet our reality.
They mirror our own journeys. The perils, struggles and tribulations we all face in this world. And while these fantasy stories we use to illustrate our faith and life journeys are not rooted in some historical reality – we know they’re fiction – they are still very, very true. Just like many of Jesus’ parables were not necessarily “real” stories – they were illustrating a deep truth about the nature of God and His Kingdom.
Our more modern "fantasy parables” do the same thing. They utilize the journey and the characters to illustrate and represent in entertaining ways a deeper reality that we all live in. Exposing our own fears while giving us hope in the process. Pulling on the transcendent – whether it’s magic or “the force,” – there is that acknowledgement that we need something beyond ourselves.
Christianity claims - that "other-worldly" need is God.
Because the reality we all know and face is that we will all, one day, die. Nothing known to our reality and world can undo that. It requires the fantastic.
As W.H. Auden writes in his Christmas poem, For the Time Being: “Nothing can save us that is possible: We who must die demand a miracle.”
In the midst of turmoil and upheaval, of life’s dangers and problems, Jesus calls on us to lift up our heads. To have hope and faith in the promise he ushers in, to know that our salvation draws near in a way that is beyond anything we might imagine. That the fantastic is indeed true. That by ourselves, we are insufficient.
And that is why the Gospel has the power to save us. Because it IS other-worldly and because it is something that comes from outside us and our understanding. Jesus ushers in a reality that is beyond our comprehension and our abilities.
We stand, daily, in desperate need of the miraculous and the fantastic. That which is “merely possible” by human standards has no capacity or ability to save us. We need what the gospel offers – the impossible possibility. A promise that transcends the typical, mundane, and everyday.
A fantastic story that stretches beyond us, that encompasses us all. That reaches into every life and every experience and lays out for us the hope and promise of something more.
A vision of Jesus arriving on a cloud full of glory and power – triumphing over the world.
A promise and vision that saves. A promise and vision that starts… in a manger.
Unlikely. But true.
*Special thanks to David Lose whose article "A Promise That Saves Us All" inspired the direction and some content of this sermon.
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