Sermon for the First Sunday of Advent, Year C, "Raise Your Heads," Luke 21:25-36

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. 

A Sung Communion for the Season of Advent - Updated - Come, Thou Long-Expected Jesus

Note: I recently updated my "Come, Thou Long-Expected Jesus" text from Singing at the Table for our Advent Lessons and Carols service at Drew Theological School. (You can hear the liturgy at the end of our service here.)

A Sung Communion Liturgy 

for the Season of Advent/Lessons and Carols

(Tune: HYFRYDOL, 87.87 D, UMH #196)

Text: Beth Quick, 2019, 2023. 

Incorporating phrases from “Come Thou Long-Expected Jesus,” Charles Wesley, 1744,

and “Comfort, Comfort, O My People,” Johann Olearius, 1671, Catherine Winkworth, trans. 

To the table, you’re invited. 

Lift your hearts to God and sing. 

Praise to God, who has created 

All the earth, each living thing. 

God, we lift our hearts in longing

as we trek the Advent road.

Seeking peace, yet still we struggle. 

Crumbling under sorrow’s load. 

Holy, Holy, you are Holy!

Blessed is the One who comes. 

All your works are full of glory.

Join in the unending hymn:

Sing Hosanna! Sing Hosanna! 

Now your gracious kin-dom bring. 

Child of Peace shall come among us.

Let the earth with praises ring!

Come, oh long-expected Jesus. 

Teach us how to work for peace. 

From our fears and wars release us. 

Let us now your justice seek. 

You’re our strength and consolation;

Hope of all the earth you are. 

Source of goodness, well of wisdom:

You’re the joy of every heart.  

On the night he was arrested, 

Jesus shared some bread and wine. 

Thanking God, he blessed and gave it:

Grace for all of humankind. 

“Bread - this is my body given. 

Wine - My life, poured out for you. 

Eat and remember that you are forgiven. 

Reconciled, you are made new.” 

Come, O Spirit, we call on you:

Be poured out upon these gifts 

Take these signs and make them into 

Body, spirit, life of Christ. 

Send us out now to serve your people 

Sharing in Christ’s gracious ways.  

By your strength we work for justice,

God of peace, lead us always. 

Sermon for the Fourth Sunday of Advent, Year B, "Favor," Luke 1:26-38

 Sermon 12/20/20

Luke 1:26-38

Favor

It feels very strange to be dropping in to Advent here at the close of the season, when Christmas Eve is nearly upon us. Already, you’ve been worshipping together and been preparing for the coming of the Christ child, even if virtually, but I haven’t been part of that preparation, even though I’ve been worshipping (online) too with a faith community in New Jersey. Still, the blessings of being connected as siblings in the body of Christ means that in our various places, we have been thinking about the peace, hope, joy, and love of Advent, that we have been singing some of the same tunes, and certainly, we have been about the same work of preparing our hearts and lives for Jesus. 

Today, we’re turning our attention to a familiar text: a passage from the first chapter of Luke when the angel Gabriel tells a young woman named Mary that she will be the bearer of a child, God’s child, who will be the savior of the people. We probably mostly know this story, but it is always good to take another look. The text starts by saying that “in the sixth month” a messenger from God named Gabriel is sent to a town in Galilee, Nazareth, to a young woman named Mary, who is engaged to a man named Joseph. Joseph is a descendent of David, the favorite king in Israel’s history. The “sixth month” that the text mentions refers to the months of Mary’s cousin Elizabeth’s pregnancy with a child we will know as John the Baptist, mentioned just before our text for today.

When Gabriel arrives, he says to Mary, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.” We read that Mary is perplexed by the messenger’s greeting. She ponders, we read, “what sort of greeting” this is that God’s messenger brings. I wonder exactly part of his hello she’s pondering. Is it that he says she’s favored? Or that God is with her? Or maybe both of those things are perplexing to her. At any rate, the messenger senses that part of her perplexed response is actually fear, and he tells her not to be afraid because, as he says for a second time now, Mary has “found favor with God.” And then he drops the astonishing news: Mary will have a child to be named Jesus. And this child will be called “the Son of the Most High,” and he will inherit from God the throne of David, the seat of authority of all Israel. This child will reign over Israel forever, an unending reign. If Gabriel meant to comfort and alleviate how perplexed Mary was, he can only have accomplished the opposite, because of what he says to her! What Mary hears from Gabriel is something that would be blasphemous to claim. To claim your child is God’s child, an anointed one, a messiah, who will reign over Israel forever? Blasphemy. A crime to claim. Punishable words. 

Mary seems to take it in stride. We don’t know anything about her aside from what this passage tells us. We don’t know why she’s able to handle this enormous, life and world-changing news from Gabriel. But Mary asks just one question in response to Gabriel’s announcement: How can this be? Gabriel says that the Holy Spirit will come upon her, the Most High will overshadow her, and her child will be of holy birth, of holy origin. Well, that clears things right up, doesn’t it? He tells her about Elizabeth, that she, too, is expecting a child, an elderly woman thought to be barren. And Gabriel sums up the nature of this news: “For nothing will be impossible with God.” Mary asks no other questions. Instead, she agrees to this whole plan: “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” And with that, Gabriel leaves her to her thoughts. 

Aside from hearing a beloved story, what’s the message for us in this text? I think sometimes that Advent and Christmas are so rightfully special to us - we love the sacred season, and we love telling the story of Jesus’ birth. But I wonder if the story has become so special that we lose sight of our place in the story. As I was thinking about this, my attention was drawn back to the opening lines of our text. Greetings, favored one. God is with you. You have found favor with God. I think we hear those phrases: “Greetings, favored one,” and “You have found favor with God,” and we think of it as, “Greetings, favorite one,” and “You are a favorite of God.” And this makes sense to us, because, of course God would choose a favorite human to be the mother of Jesus, right? Maybe not the favorite, but certainly one of the best of the best? Mary is favored - a favorite - and therefore she’s a good choice to carry the Christ child. 

But - the Greek word in the text that we read as favored doesn’t mean favorite at all. What it means is “one who has been shown grace.” And that changes everything. Because if we’re trying of figure out where we stack up as a favorite of God’s, it is easy to convince ourselves we’re not at the top of the list. But if the question is: to whom has God shown grace? Well, it turns out we have everything in common with Mary. Grace is love that isn’t deserved. Not that we don’t deserve love. It’s just that grace is love that we don’t have to earn - we get it for free. There’s nothing we have to do or can do to be worthy of it. It’s a gift. God’s free gift of love and blessing without price. God’s practice of unlimited second chances. Forgiveness whenever we ask for it. Loving us even when we screw up. And God’s grace extended to all, even when we can’t believe God could love us, and even when we can’t believe God could love the people who drive us crazy, who we can’t stand, who we consider not just unlikable, but enemies. They get God’s grace too. Grace is God’s gift. And to receive God’s favor is just another way to say to receive God’s grace. So, favored ones? That’s Mary. But it’s also you and me. Because I’m quite sure - 100% positive - that you and me - we’re recipients of God’s love, poured out freely over us, in unending abundance. How has God shown grace to you? I want you to think about that, how you would answer that question. Write it down if it helps you think through your answer. Talk to a friend about it, or someone in your family. How has God shown grace to you? I know that God has loved me even when I’ve felt very unlovable. I’ve received God’s forgiveness even when I’ve disobeyed God in the same way I have before and sought the same forgiveness I’ve asked before and committed to do better with the same words I have before. How has God shown grace to you? 

So, if - since - God has shown grace to you, just as God has shown grace to Mary and to all of God’s people, since God favors you and me like God favors Mary and all God’s people - then there’s no difference between you and Mary in terms of who God might pick to do God’s work. In fact, I think God is choosing you to do God’s work. Where the difference might enter in is in how we respond to whatever God chooses us for. Mary listened to Gabriel’s words. She was confused at first, but listened for clarification. She heard God’s vision for the world, and the role she was called to play in it. She asked the question she needed to, but she accepted God’s answer, as improbable as it seemed. And then she said yes to God’s vision. 

What will we say? I think we want to say yes to God, but part of saying yes means believing in the impossible. “For nothing will be impossible with God” Gabriel says. Do we believe that? Really? We do learn to believe the impossibly bad. The impossibly bad seems somehow easy to believe, despite the craziness of it. After all, this year with Covid, which has altered our reality in nearly every aspect - it has a sense of unreality to it, doesn’t it? And yet, at this rate, I think we’d believe nearly any bad news that unfolded for 2020. We make jokes about it, about all the strange things of 2020. So, if we can believe the impossibly bad, can we believe the impossibly good? Do we trust God? Nothing will be impossible with God. And if everything is possible, and if God favors us, shows grace to us, then we can say yes to God with confidence. Mary tells Gabriel, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” She’s saying, “Let it be like you say. Let it happen just as you have said.” Can we say the same? Do you want God’s vision of hope, peace, joy, and love, of justice and righteousness for the world to become a reality? Then let’s answer God: “Yes. Here we are, your servants. Let it happen just like you are saying it will.”  

God has favored you. You are favored by God, because God has shown you grace upon grace. In terms of what qualifies people for service to God - you and Mary, Mother of Jesus the Christ? You’re on equal footing - favored by God. God is with us, just as God was with her. On this fourth Sunday of Advent, the Sunday of Love, let us be confident that we are loved by God without measure. And since we are so loved, we are also chosen, called, and equipped to be God’s servants in the world, called to be messengers of God’s love, each in our own way. Even me, and even you. Because nothing is impossible with God. Here we are! Let it be just like God says. Amen. 

Sermon for the Fourth Sunday of Advent, "The Redemption of Scrooge: The Hope of Christmas Future," Romans 8:18-31

Sermon 12/22/19

Romans 8:18-31, Luke 4:18-19, Matthew 11:29-30

The Hope of Christmas Future

This week we wrapped up our Advent study where we’ve been reading The Redemption of Scrooge by Matt Rawle, and digging deeper into the story of Dickens’ A Christmas Carol alongside our focus in worship. At the start of the class, I asked participants to think about the future - to think about a few hopeful things we see in our futures, and then to reflect on any ways in which we’re anxious, afraid, or maybe just feeling “angsty” about our future. I’m happy to report that we have a lot of hope, and one of the first things that came to mind as we thought about hope for the future was the children of our congregation, and the life and light they bring to us now, that we anticipate shining for years and years to come. But it was also pretty easy to think about ways the future looms with some anxiety, some worry or fear too. As we stand in the middle of a presidential impeachment process, we wondered about our future as a nation. We think of the threat of violence, stirrings of violence around the globe. We think of the planet, of waging wildfires and ecological devastation. Those are some big picture items we might worry about in our collective future. But I wonder about bringing it down to us as individuals, too. What does your future look like? Is it hopeful? Are there things in your own future you worry about? We talked about aging, and health, and death. Maybe there are some other things on your mind. Maybe, when you think about the path you’re on now, the future doesn’t always look welcoming. Are we - can we be - hopeful about our future? In this life, and in eternity - do we have hope? Or, when we look at the state of things now, have we gone too far off course, messed up too much, damaged and broken and hurt too much to look for a future with hope? 

Scrooge wrestles with some similar questions as he is visited by the third Spirit this week. Almost as soon as the Ghost of Christmas Present leaves Scrooge, another Ghost arrives. Dickens calls this Ghost a Phantom. The Phantom is draped and hooded, moves along the ground like a mist, and entirely silent, face concealed. Dickens writes that “in the very air through which this Spirit moved it seemed to scatter gloom and mystery.” Nothing of a body is visible except one outstretched hand. The Spirit fills Scrooge with dread and fear. He trembles so much he can hardly move. Scrooge  names the Spirit as the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. Still, Scrooge is determined to learn from the Ghost. He says, “Ghost of the Future! I fear you more than any spectre I have seen. But as I know your purpose is to do me good, and as I hope to live to be another man from what I was, I am prepared to bear you company, and do it with a thankful heart.”

The Phantom brings Scrooge first upon a group of men talking about someone who has just died. They talk without affection, love, or grief. They try to figure out what will happen with the man’s money, but no one knows. Yet, even still, they agree to attend this man’s funeral, especially if a luncheon might be provided. Eventually the Phantom leads Scrooge away from the busy town into neighborhoods that are “foul and narrow.” They enter a beetling shop - a place where old rags would be made into fresh cloth, and more broadly, a kind of pawn shop. A housecleaner, a laundress, and the undertaker all arrive at the same time. After listening in on their conversation, we deduce that they are trying to sell items they have taken from the home of the recently deceased man. They talk about the man in scathing tones. He always took care of himself. He’s no worse off for the loss of a few things, since he’s dead. If he cared about keeping his things after death, he should have had better relationships in life. One of the women took the bed curtains and blankets off the bed to sell while the deceased was still lying dead. Scrooge is horrified at the whole scene. “The case of this unhappy man might be my own. My life tends that way, now.” Still, though, he’s not ready to connect the dots. In the next blink, the Phantom takes Scrooge to the bedroom, where the body of the dead man lies under a sheet, no blankets or curtains left on the bed. The corpse’s face is covered, and Scrooge both longs to and dreads peeking under the veil. Scrooge imagines that if this man was raised from the dead on the spot, the only things on his mind would be “avarice, hard-dealing, and griping cares.” 

Scrooge wants to know if anyone feels something because this man has died. “If there is any person in the town, who feels emotion caused by this man’s death … show that person to me, Spirit, I beseech you!” The Phantom takes Scrooge to a home where a man is arriving home to his wife and children. He shares that the yet-unnamed man has died - and the wife is immediately thankful, and then asks forgiveness for her gut reaction. Apparently, they owed this man a debt, and he had refused to give an extension. Now, even though their debt will go to a new creditor, they doubt anyone can be as merciless as this now-dead man was. Dickens tells us that this house “was a happier house for this man’s death.” 

So Scrooge says to the Phantom, “Let me see some tenderness connected with a death or that dark chamber, Spirit, which we left just now, will be for ever present to me.” (emphasis mine) And now Scrooge finds himself again at the home of the Bob Cratchit. It is very, very quiet in the once noisy home. From somewhere, Scrooge hears a voice, words we know from the gospels: “‘And He took a child, and set him in the midst of them.” Scrooge can’t place the words though. Bob arrives home - he’s just come from visiting the burial site for Tiny Tim, who has just died. He and his family are grieving, but strong. Bob relays that he ran into Mr. Scrooge’s nephew Fred, who was full of kind words for Bob and his family in their grieving. The family vows not to forget Tim, and they find joy and peace in supporting each other, even in their pain. Bob says, “I know, my dears, that when we recollect how patient and how mild he was; although he was a little, little child; we shall not quarrel easily among ourselves, and forget poor Tiny Tim in doing it.” 

Seeing this all unfold, Scrooge finally finds the courage to ask the Phantom: “Tell me what man that was whom we saw lying dead?” He’s ready to face what he perhaps suspects. So the Phantom takes Scrooge to the church yard, where at last the truth is revealed. The Phantom points to a grave. Before Scrooge will look at whose it is he asks, “Are these the shadows of the things that Will be, or are they shadows of things that May be, only?” The Phantom stays silent, and Scrooge continues, ““Men’s courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they must lead,” said Scrooge. “But if the courses be departed from, the ends will change. Say it is thus with what you show me!” Still, the Spirit is silent. At last, Scrooge sees his own name on a neglected grave: Ebenezer Scrooge. Scrooge falls to his knees, pleading. ““Spirit!” he cried, tight clutching at its robe, “hear me! I am not the man I was. I will not be the man I must have been but for this intercourse. Why show me this, if I am past all hope! Assure me that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me, by an altered life!” The pointing hand of the Phantom seems to pause and tremble. Scrooge makes a final declaration: “I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach. Oh, tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone!” And with that, the Spirit vanishes. When Scrooge awakens, he’s full of joy to learn he hasn’t missed Christmas - and more importantly, he hasn’t missed a chance to make changes in his life. He can do as he said, and keep the Spirits of the three Ghosts with him, keep their lessons with him. But we’ll talk more about the end of Scrooge’s journey in a couple days!

I’m struck by the question Scrooge asks of the Phantom, and the conclusions he draws. “Are these the shadows of the things that Will be, or are they shadows of things that May be, only?” Scrooge asks. And he concludes: “[Our] courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they must lead. But if the courses be departed from, the ends will change.” In other words, Scrooge realizes that he’s seeing what could happen, what will happen if no changes take place in his life. But it isn’t what must happen. The future could still be different. What do you think the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come would show you if you changed nothing about your life right now? 

The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come is like a biblical prophet. Biblical prophets weren’t fortune tellers, but they told people what the future would be like if they continued on the present path. “If you don’t change your course, this is the outcome.” “If you don’t start studying, you will fail the class.” “If you don’t take your medication, the disease will spiral out of control.” “If you don’t stop worshiping other gods, you will feel cut off from God’s love and care.” “If you don’t put God first in your life, you will feel an emptiness that your other priorities can’t fill.” That’s what the Phantom is doing for Scrooge: “If you don’t repent and treat people with care, Scrooge, you will be alone and unmourned when you die.” What is the message from the Ghost to you and me? 

Today we read part of Paul’s letter to the Romans. Paul’s letter to the church in Rome is his most deeply developed theology. It is his most complicated letter, rich in wisdom, and chapter 8 in itself is full of inspiring words. In the section we’re looking at, Paul is talking about hope. And he says, “The whole creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God.” The whole creation is waiting for redemption. Paul says that things are hard now - there is suffering. Sin and death have a hold on us, and the creation suffers and groans right along with humanity. But, Paul says, the groaning we do, the groaning of creation, is like labor pains. It isn’t futile groaning. It is groaning with a purpose, groaning that leads to new life, the groaning of laboring that results in birth. (1) There’s hope in the midst of the groaning, because the promise of new life with God lies before us.

Even as Paul uses language of new birth, he also uses language of adoption. We’re in the process of being adopted by God, he says. We’re awaiting the completion of our adoption - our redemption. And when we’re adopted, that means life for us and freedom for the whole creation. And while we’re waiting, we’re called to live faithfully, patiently, expectantly, and called to be full of hope. (2) We’re at once God’s children already, and being born anew, and being adopted. We’re both saved by God’s grace already, and being saved, as we embrace God’s love. We’re both redeemed already in Christ, and being redeemed as we learn to live in Christ. 

Is the future full of hope? Paul answers a resounding “Yes!” He says, “We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.” For me, that is the best news of hope. I love God, and God is good - so the future God hopes for me - it’s also good. “What then are we to say about these things? If God is for us, who is against us?” Paul asks. And we can answer, “No one that should make us worry, not when God is with us.” (Rawle)  

It takes Scrooge a while before he can face himself. Before he can face the words on the tombstone, face the truth of his life so far, face the truth of the path he’s on. Sometimes we have a hard time facing ourselves, too, and when we can’t face ourselves, we start to feel pretty hopeless about our future, worrying it is too late for us, too late to fix what we’ve messed up beyond repair. But Scrooge realizes it isn’t too late. He can’t change his past. But he has every intention of changing the present, hopeful for a changed future too. I hope we come to the same realization. Let us claim our hopeful future with God, by welcoming God into our hearts and lives in the present, committing to God’s path today. 

Our futures are full of hope, because if God is for us - and God is SO for us! - who can be against us? Our future is full of hope, because God is working all things together for good, even when we’ve been less than careful with what and who God has entrusted to us. Our future is full of hope because God is with us, the promise we celebrate in Advent. Our future might be unknown to us. But we are known to God, and so our futures are full of hope. Thanks be to God. Amen. 

1. Johnson, Elizabeth, “Romans 8:22-27 Commentary,” The Working Preacher, https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=319. 
2. West, Audrey, “Romans 8:22-27 Commentary,” The Working Preacher, https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=1306.