24th Sunday after Pentecost Sermon

On Friday, my son Henry and I were talking and I said, “Man, I haven’t even started my sermon this week and – even worse – I haven’t got a clue what I want to say.”

“Well, what are the readings?” he asked.

“That’s just the problem. The gospel reading is the Parable of the Ten Bridesmaids where five of them weren’t ready, so they get locked out of the banquet. And then the New Testament reading says Jesus is going to come down from heaven in the clouds and the dead in Christ will rise from the dead and then be joined by the Christians who are still living and they’ll all meet Jesus together up in the air.”

“Oh. Well, obviously you have to start with the low-hanging fruit,” he said.

“Low-hanging fruit, Henry?”

“Yeah! If you believe in Jesus you’ll get to fly! Who doesn’t want to fly?”

So there’s my good news for you this morning: Believe in Jesus and when the time comes you’ll get to fly.

Then later, when we were sitting down to eat, I said grace and ended with, “And Jesus, when you come again, please let Henry fly. Or at least let it be a good metaphor for whatever good things you have in store for him. Amen.” We looked up from the prayer and Henry said, “No metaphors. I really want to fly.”

And – you know – that’s as good a way as any to enter into these readings. In these last few Sundays of the Christian year before Advent begins, the readings all deal with, what scholars call, “the eschaton,” which means, “the last things.” It’s the whole branch of Christian theology which deals with that which is yet to come: Where is this all leading? How do we expect God to wrap up this human story? It’s a natural concern for any thinking person with any curiosity about the future. And what’s true for us was also true for the Jewish writers of the Old Testament and the earliest Christian writers of the New Testament. There are a lot of scriptures that address these issues.

But let’s be clear – even though it’s an obvious concern, and even though eschatological writings pop up throughout the Bible – that doesn’t mean we actually know what’s going to happen. These scripture passages are often very isolated and very strange (like meeting Jesus in the air). And many are written in a style called, “apocalyptic” which is defined by its use of highly symbolic language. So we can hardly use them to get confident about predicting an actual, literal future.

But they are valuable because they do assure us of certain things.

Now to start with, even without the relevant scriptures, we know there must be an eventual end to this human story as we know it because no species last forever. (Well, except horseshoe crabs; they seem to be making a good go of it). But really, we exist within chronology; we exist within a dynamic creation where all life must reach its end – each individual life (certainly!) – but also each species. There will most certainly be an end for all of us in one way or another.

And the underlying message of scripture is this: We come from God; we will return to God; because we belong to God

And we are no passive creatures within God’s dominion. I imagine every creature has its own particular duty of how to function as part of God’s good world. And we humans are no exception. This is the principal purpose of scripture – to clarify and exhort us humans to do our duty: our duty to seek God as the source and meaning of all reality; our duty to love God; our duty to love one another and our duty to seek justice, peace and reconciliation where there is estrangement.

And when it comes to the eschatological passages in scripture – with all their strange variety – their underlying message is always this: Be ready. Your end will come and when it does, there will be consequences for how you have lived this life. I cannot spell out with any certainty what those consequences will be, and – to be clear – I strongly hope that, with God, there will be a very generous redemption in the end. But even with that, from Jesus and all other Biblical writers, the warning is consistent: Be ready. Be ready.

Which begs the question: How do we get ready for this end? How do we prepare to meet God?

The answer we heard this morning from the prophet Amos is emblematic of the whole prophetic tradition: “[Your worship will mean nothing to me – it will disgust me, in fact – until you] let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an everflowing stream.”

God made this earth and everything in it. God loves this earth and everything in it. We humans have the distinctive ability and duty to affect the wellbeing of this earth and everything in it. So when Christ comes again, what will the standard of his judgment be for us? How well we are doing at caring for this earth and everything in it. And most emphatically from the scriptures: How are we caring for those people who are most vulnerable, who are furthest removed from the potential to live a stable and fruitful life?

So what do you think? How are we doing?

As a species, I’d say: quite poorly. And, as the church universal, I can’t say we’re doing much better.

Throughout the centuries, and into the present, the church has peddled an anemic form of faithfulness and righteousness: Come to church, join in our rituals, affirm the right doctrine, convince other people to do the same, and give us your money. Then, as bonus material: Give a little to charity as well.

Now, in their purest form and ideal intent, these things aren’t bad in and of themselves. But by and large, left unto themselves, they miss wide the mark. I fear, in fact, what they do is to train the faithful to become as the five foolish bridesmaids. They truly wanted to see the bridegroom. But when he came, their oil was gone and they were left out of the banquet.

So what must we do if we want to be as the five wise bridesmaids, with oil in our lamps, ready to see and recognize Christ when he appears among us, and to join him in the feast?

Certainly, at the very least, it is to be tangibly engaged and meaningfully supportive of anything that leads to the betterment of this world, especially for those most estranged from the common good. This involves both immediate relief for those in crisis, as well as systemic change for those institutions that perpetuate injustice. And sometimes, you just need to jump in, no matter how poorly equipped you consider yourself to be. Pick an agency or pick a cause and become part of making good this world. Compassion and conviction will grow – hope and love will grow – when we choose to place ourselves in the attentive presence of those who need our care.

But let me also say this: Though justice and righteousness and the flourishing of the world may be the beacon by which we orient our lives, from day to day, moment to moment, our attention is most clearly given to the one at hand. Universal salvation is beyond any one person’s responsibility (save that of Christ), and the woes of the world can quickly overwhelm us and cause us to despair. So we meet people where they are; we love the ones who are before us. As the motto of the Daughters of the King so aptly says, “For his sake, I am but one, but I am one. I cannot do everything, but I can do something. What I can do, I ought to do. Lord, what will you have me do?”

And to become such a people who can give ourselves away with such compassion requires also a systemic change within us.

I was reading a book this week on the art of pastoring. And the wise insight of the author was that – beyond education – the role of the church is to teach people to pray. It is to help lead people into a deepening and lived awareness of their gracious union with God, and thereby, their union with one another.

I’m still learning what this means for myself. But at this stage of my own formation, here is my best understanding of what prayer is: It is I being fully honest in the mindful presence of God.

I’m not telling God anything God doesn’t already know. I’m not convincing God to do something God wouldn’t otherwise choose to do. I’m simply learning to be honest – with my fears, with my regrets, with my anger, with my yearnings, with my joys – and holding them all before God with the hope (and growing belief) that God cares, and that God is with me in these things.

And how God should choose to affect the wellbeing of this world through this honesty – well – that is God’s responsibility and not my own. It is enough for me to entrust them to God. “Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” But more essentially, what I am discovering in prayer is simply this: I am not alone. Whether flourishing or struggling, succeeding or failing, living or dying – I am not alone. I am in God and God is in me, and if that be, then all will be well.

So with this growing assurance, grows also my conviction that God is likewise in all this world, and all that is within it; and so grows my compassion for this world and all that is within it. I desire the wellbeing of Israel and Gaza and all their inhabitants and I yearn for their peaceful union. I desire the wellbeing of Joe Biden and Donald Trump and the political systems of this nation. I desire the health of starfish and cedar trees and the Great Barrier Reef. And I can hold all these desires before God, trusting that they align with the heart of God and that I am entering more fully into the heart of God.

And I can even hold my deepest “impossible” yearnings before God, trusting that God who knows me better than I know myself, will not mock me or dismiss them as selfish or childish. God knows from whence they come and what spark of God is alive within them. You want to fly? Keep yearning to fly. I mean that quite seriously. Don’t stop. Yearn with God. Who knows? You may yet meet the Lord in the air, and be with him forever.