Pentecost 25 Sermon

When I was in Manhattan this summer, I couldn’t stop craning my head upwards to gawk at the architecture. I loved it. All of it. So it was a good thing Covid had diminished the typically crowded sidewalks. Otherwise, I’d have been forever been running into people. And I imagine that’s something of what it was like for the disciples, gawking at the temple. From all reports, it was magnificent! Truly, Herod’s temple was an absolute wonder, a feat of engineering celebrated throughout the Roman Empire. All that remains today is the foundation and walls of the temple mount – this huge platform, on which the temple itself was built. But the foundation stones alone are extraordinary. In fact, the largest stone is 44 feet long and 11 feet high. Experts calculate that it weighs about 300 tons! How did they move something that big?! I have no idea. But it’s all to say, the disciples were understandably awed by the splendor of this temple. But Jesus doesn’t seem to have been. There’s nothing, anywhere in the gospels, to suggest he was particularly impressed by it. Who knows, maybe he did appreciate the artistry and skill needed to make it. Maybe, over the course of his life, the temple had provided a context of legitimate worship for him and a sense of God’s nearness. But all that’s been recorded of his response comes from his vantage point as a wisdom teacher, a prophet, the Son of God. And from that perspective, what he sees is not its present glory, but its eventual decay. It is not the pride of our human capacity to build, but the sorrow of our human compulsion to destroy. Which is exactly what happened. Just a few decades later, in the year 66, Jewish rebels successfully expelled the occupying Roman force and were able to keep control of Jerusalem for 4 about years. But there was no way they could ultimately withstand the power of Rome and its army. And, sure enough, in the spring of 70 – just three days before the Passover – General Titus initiated a five-month siege against the city. By its end, the temple and all the principal buildings of Jerusalem had been destroyed. Judaism’s centrally defining culture of temple worship and sacrifice was destroyed forever. Biblical scholars generally agree that the gospel of Mark was written around the time of the temple’s destruction – that this momentous current event was the defining backdrop against which it was written. And that may be true. I have no need to question the historicity of that conclusion. But as I read and re-read Jesus’ reaction to the temple and the disciples’ awe of it, what stands out most prominently is how the disciples want a sign (!) they want to know when the cataclysmic event will happen. Like all of us, they want something specific to hold on to, something to help them interpret their fragile experience of living in this threatening world. But how does Jesus respond? When you hear of wars and rumors of war, do not be alarmed. The end is still to come. Nation will rise against nation. There will be earthquakes. There will be famines. It’s a stark admission that destructive forces have been, and always will be, at work in the world. When have there not been wars? When have there not been famines? Or earthquakes? In our anxiety, we’re so quick to interpret every cataclysmic event as some sign of divine judgment or impending doom. And, surely, at some point, there must come an end. That is the way of creation. But the real threat Jesus warns against is not cataclysmic disasters. It’s false messiahs. Beware that no one leads you astray (he says). Many will come in my name and say, “I am he!” And they will lead many astray. So let’s think about this. Where are these false messiahs most likely to appear? It’s not some crazed lunatic on a street corner we need to worry about. They exhibit little authority to lead anyone astray. No. It’s the people who actually have power and influence. They rarely claim to be Jesus in the flesh. But there’s no shortage of people ready to claim Jesus’ endorsement of them and their message. They’re the ones that should concern us. Who are they? It’s the preachers in the pulpits and the politicians on their stumps, waving some banner of Jesus over a message that is anything but the gospel Jesus actually proclaimed. And – if I can be personal for just a moment – it is this threat that makes me most anxious about my job. I’m a priest, for God’s sake. I stand in this pulpit week after week, daring to proclaim who God is and what God cares about. How presumptuous! And so I’ve noticed quite often, I’ll pray in bed on the morning I’m scheduled to start writing my sermon, “God, let me say something that’s true and worth listening to.” So how do we tell if a message in Jesus’ name is trustworthy or that of a false messiah? Well – as a basic principle – it should inspire us to 1) love God, and 2) love our neighbor. But if it’s a deviation on that, such as, “God loves you” with the unspoken implication, “more than your neighbor,” we’re dangerously off track. Or, to put it more bluntly, if the basic message we keep trusting is a justification to protect ourselves and our assets, to preserve the culture and way of life we’ve come to know and expect – in other words – “to save our life,” that’s probably not the voice of Jesus, no matter how many crosses or flags are embroidered on it. But if that message keeps challenging us to “lay down our lives, that the weaker ones are cared for,” well… that does have the authentic ring of Jesus’ gospel. And to be clear, I don’t want to lay my life down. Every impulse in me is to save my life: to keep myself and my family secure, to hoard my assets against some potential crisis, to protect my reputation and my ego, to make St. John’s a successful church so that I can feel like a successful priest. And I’m not alone in this. All of us are driven by those same self-centered impulses. So, beyond the many, legitimately pleasant things that bring us back to church week after week, the essential reason to keep returning, is to keep being reminded, and assured, that God is real, that God is love, that God in Christ has shown us a truer way of living: generously, courageously, and graciously, and that, having been made one with Christ in his sacrifice, we would now participate in Christ’s sacrificial love for this world. This world (!) that will continue to be wrought by wars and rumors of wars, that will continue to suffer earthquakes and famines – famines which, as is typically the case, will be more the result of human hoarding than “acts of God.” And as we face the mounting consequences of climate change (make no mistake!) famines and wars and rumors of wars will only increase. But we are a wealthy nation with a powerful army, which means we and our interests will always be better protected than those of much of the world. Our temptation will be to turn a blind eye, to fuss over minor disruptions in the supply chain, willfully ignorant of how that supply chain is increasingly bypassing poorer nations altogether. And as famines and wars and rumors of war increase, the question we must repeatedly ask ourselves is, “Which Messiah are we following?” Is it the Messiah who loves America best? Because he is a false one. Is it the Messiah who loves Christians best? Because he, also, is a false one. The love of our Messiah, our Christ, is for all the world. His sacrifice was for all people. And what Christ modeled was always to be especially attentive to whomever was most likely to be excluded or overlooked, so that all – together – could be blessed. And it is to that Messiah’s gospel we return again and again. And the good news for us – the truly good news! – is that, as this world stumbles and fractures and hoards, we the church already have exactly the remedy this world needs! Our very reason for existing is to be a community intent on provoking one another to embody the redeeming way of Christ. Compassion, forgiveness, generosity – that’s our bread and butter. That’s what we’re all about. Even if the church is only marginally functioning as it should, we’re so much better positioned to live in this world with hope; to live for this world with purpose and resolve. Our objective is to join God in desiring the well-being of everyone and everything in this entire world. And that kind of universal intent should stand behind and beneath the decisions we make about how we’re living in this world. But (so not to overwhelm you!), let me also be clear that, day to day, our particular responsibility is simply to love whomever God brings before us – with humility, generosity and a kind of expectant attentiveness. I read a story written by an Uber driver recently. (I don’t know if it was true or not. I hope it was.) He’d been waiting outside a house to pick up his last lift for the day. He’d honked a couple times and was ready to give up, but chose instead to go to the door and knock. An elderly woman answered the door, apologetic for her slowness. The house, he observed, was strangely desolate. She asked if he would carry her small bag to the car. And once they were driving, and she’d given him the address, she asked if he wouldn’t mind driving through downtown to get there. “It’s not the fasted route,” he told her. “I know,” she said. “I just want to see it one last time.” And that’s when he discovered he was driving her to a hospice facility, to live out the little time she had left. She had no more living family. And before she died, she wanted to see – one last time – the many places that had hosted her life. Their drive took two hours. Sometimes she told stories. At other times, they just sat in silence before a building, while she remembered. When they finally arrived at hospice, he refused any payment. “You have to make a living,” she answered. “There are other passengers,” he responded. “I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift,” he said. “I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?” Then he concluded, “I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life.” Our call, every day, is to be not “the angry driver” or the one “too impatient to end our shift.” But, rather, to live each day, with the expectation that – even amidst falling temples – God is bringing before us those ready to be loved.