Sermon 12/1/2024
Luke 21:25-36
Raise Your Heads
Last Sunday, I was guest preaching at a church in New Jersey, and my text was one of the classic lectionary texts for Thanksgiving Sunday - the text from Matthew’s gospel, from Jesus’s Sermon on the Mount where he talks about how we should not worry, but instead strive after bringing about the reign of God on earth here and now, trusting in God’s love and care for us, trusting in how deeply God treasures and values us. It’s a bit jarring, then, to switch from that to this text for the first Sunday in Advent. The same Jesus who tells us not to worry also tells us that the sun and moon and stars will be giving us signs that cause distress on earth and the roaring of the seas. He talks about people fainting from their fear and anxiety about what is going to happen. He talks about how we should “be on guard” so that we’re not caught unaware when Christ returns, as if we’ve been snared in a trap. Instead, we have to “be alert at all times” so that we have strength to escape all the terrors foretold, ready to stand confidently before Christ. Oof. Hearing his words in this week’s text, it’s harder to hold on to Jesus’s “do not worry,” when in fact, it seems we very much should be anxious.
And it indeed, it is hard not to be anxious, isn’t it? I’ve had this image stuck in my head: When I drive to Syracuse, where my Mom lives, from New Jersey, where I study and teach, I drive through the Poconos Mountain region. It’s the place where I first glimpse the colors of falls - the foliage in the region is stunning. And it’s also the region where I’m mostly likely to hit snowy weather in winter. With the increase in elevation, it’s usually significantly colder in the area. My trip this week was no different - it wasn’t snowing, but there was snow on the ground, something we still haven’t seen yet in New Jersey this season. And I noticed another thing - there were so many trees that were bent over, practically leaning into the road. I’m not sure what happened - but they looked like they’d been bowed by a heavy weight - a big snowfall? Ice storm? I’m not sure. But there were dozens of trees along my drive that looked like they might never stand tall again. And there was just something about that image that caught my attention: how weighed down those trees seemed. The load they had been asked to hold was too much, and they looked drooping and defeated.
And I couldn’t help but resonate with them a bit! Maybe you can too. There’s a lot that can be weighing us down as we look at the world around us. I’ve been weighed down by the election cycle and its results and potential consequences, especially for some of the most vulnerable people in my life. There are wars and violent, devastating, indiscriminate loss of life that fill our news everyday and leave us feeling helpless. Perhaps we enjoy less snow to shovel, but we can’t help but have climate change niggling at the back of our mind, reminding us of the price we pay. People have been struggling financially, and the gap between rich and poor is ever growing, both in the US and globally. And none of this speaks to the personal crises we might be wrestling with - illness, anxiety, broken relationships, relentless work and family expectations. Weighed down. I relate to those trees!
And so what do we do with a text like this, at the beginning of Advent when we could use some baby Jesus, prince of peace, but all Matthew has for us is grown up Jesus, full of dire warnings?
This scripture passage belongs to a genre of biblical writing called apocalyptic literature, along with some parts of the book of Daniel, snippets from the prophets like Ezekiel and Zechariah, a stray passage in 2 Thessalonians, a few passages in the gospels, and of course the Book of Revelation. When we hear the word “apocalypse,” we think “end of the world,” and with good reason - apocalyptic texts are full of dramatic, world-changing imagery. But the word apocalypse actually means “uncovering” or “unveiling” - it’s a “revealing” - that’s why the book of Revelation has that name - its Greek name is apocalypsis - the revelation - the uncovering. But what, exactly, do apocalyptic texts reveal?
When I was a child, my mother encouraged me to read my Bible daily, and since I was an obedient child, I did just that - read the Bible cover to cover. I didn’t understand it all, of course, but it shaped my faith deeply and stayed with me. But she told me I shouldn’t read the Book of Revelation - it was too scary, too grown up, too hard to understand, and would just leave me too worried. But in this, I disobeyed. I knew its reputation - that it was about the “end of the world” - and I was curious. I wanted to know - how will it end? And so I read. There was a lot that I didn’t understand of course. Still don’t - the book is highly symbolic, and has been interpreted and interpreted, but of course, we can’t know what was in the mind of its author. But what I did understand was the message that I thought seemed pretty clear: If you are faithful, you don’t have to worry. Everything works out well for the faithful followers of Jesus. Eventually, when I studied Revelation as an adult, I learned that my childish take away held up - Revelation seems to be about encouraging the early Christians to remain firm in their faith despite the persecution they were facing from the Roman government. It’s a dramatic book meant to give hope more than it is meant to scare and alarm.
What if, when we read apocalyptic passages in the Bible, we can interpret them with that lens, with those assumptions about their intent and purpose. Even though the imagery can be overwhelming or frightening, apocalyptic texts are trying to comfort us, not alarm us. They’re trying to bring us hope. And in Jesus’s case, I think he’s trying to remind us: God is coming. That’s not meant to be a threat - not when we’re trying to be faithful followers of God and God’s way. It’s meant to be a promise in which we can put our hope and trust. God has, and is, and will be among us and working among us.
Look back with me at some of the details of the text, and read them again. Jesus says that when these distressing signs of trouble take place, his followers should “stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.” To be redeemed is to be saved. Now, to be “saved” is certainly a loaded theological word, but in context here, we can at least understand that to be redeemed or saved is a desirable outcome. Just when things are seeming particularly ominous, Jesus says, lift up your heads: redemption is coming.
Next, Jesus talks about fig trees. You know, he says, when the trees are about to blossom. There are so many signs that summer is on its way, and you can tell when the trees are ready to blossom. You’ll also know, he says, when the kin-dom of God, God’s reign on earth, is on its way and soon to arrive. You’ll see signs. God’s reign, God’s way, on earth as in heaven. You’ll see glimpses of the fulfillment of those promises all around you.
And finally, when Jesus is talking about traps and escape, what he says more specifically is that the way we prepare is this: “‘Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life.” Jesus is again telling us that it is worry that can make it hard to draw close to God. He’s not asking us to be worried about the future. He’s telling us that the more we can seek not to be overwhelmed by this life, but instead trusting that God’s reign, and God’s way, is drawing near, the more ready we will be for its arrival.
I’m not trying to convince you that apocalyptic language isn’t over the top, or attention-grabbing. It is meant to be! It is extreme imagery for extreme world circumstances. The early Christians, living under occupation, facing threats to their existence, facing obstacles from following Jesus: it felt like their world was ending. And it was, in many ways. The world they knew was changing rapidly. There were threats to Judaism and Christianity, persecution, wars, turnovers in leadership and policies from the ruling Roman Empire, and then, just a few centuries later, the seemingly eternal Roman Empire was toppled, a future that I’m sure none in Jesus’s day could even imagine. And in the midst of that, words like Jesus offer promises. The world is ending - the world we know. Things are changing. But they have to - for unjust systems to be dismantled the world we know has to end. For a world that’s guided by God’s way and God’s reign, the current powers-that-be must be overthrown. For the long arc of the universe to find its way to justice and righteousness, we should be on the lookout for the sign of things bending towards hope.
I think of those trees, bent and drooping, weighed down, on my drive home. Eventually, they’ll stand tall again. Eventually, they will bud and blossom. Eventually, winter gives way to spring, and signs of new life abound. As we wait, as we long, as we hope in this Advent season, let us wait with confidence in the promises, not the threats, that Jesus shares. Raise your heads. The day of redemption is coming. That’s a promise. Amen.
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