“In the context of eternity”
Revelation 1:1-8 (November 24, 2024)
This sermon was intended for Eternity Sunday. I pray we will hear it this week, in light of all who’ve had a special place in our lives. We grieve when they are gone. We also give thanks for the life we’ve shared.
We listen for God to speak to us – a word that comes from beyond our living. A word that speaks to us of unseen things, bringing healing and hope. Can we hear it?
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Our scripture reading introduces the book of Revelation. In Greek, the title is “apocalypse.” We sometimes think of that as another way of saying “disaster.” We might call a deluge of rain an “apocalyptic” weather event.
The death of a loved one can be a disaster. But apocalypse is not that. Instead, the word means revelation. When all seems lost – God gifts us with a revelation.
Apocalyptic literature in the Bible arises in a time of crisis. This writing is meant not to scare us, or confuse us, or send us down long roads of speculation about its strange symbolic language. No, none of those things! For the early Christian community, the book of Revelation was meant to rekindle hope!
“Blessed is the one who reads aloud the words of the prophecy. And blessed are those who hear and who keep what is written in it. For the time is near,” the writer says. It’s not about something far off and far away. It’s about finding the courage to live faithfully in a dangerous time.
And make no mistake, those early years of the church’s life were dangerous! The fledgling communities of Christ-followers faced all kinds of trial and tribulation.
By confessing that Jesus is Lord, Christians implied that the emperor was not. By refusing to participate in the worship of false gods, they alienated themselves from others in powerful places. I guess you’ve heard what they did to Christians in the Colosseum. It was a terrifying time!
Yet the book of Revelation brought hope, and still does, that all beastly powers, even death, will be defeated. Darkness will not prevail. There is one Lord who is sovereign over all.
And the saints of God – those who remain faithful – will emerge victorious. The loving sacrifice of Jesus will, ultimately, win the day.
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This passage brings us back to where we need to be: In the presence of God, whose authority knows no limit. Whose love will never end.
“Grace to you and peace from him who is and who was and who is to come …”
The words remind me of an encounter that Moses had in the wilderness, years before, when he came across a blazing bush. It was the strangest thing – the bush was aflame yet not consumed! Out of the bush, came the voice of the LORD, calling to him.
When Moses asked who was speaking, this is what God said: “I am who I am.” Tell the Israelites, “I am has sent me to you.” (Exodus 3:14)
That’s a wonderfully cryptic name, don’t you think? “I am” – the power of sheer existence, standing outside of human time and space. We can hardly get our minds around it. Everything, for us, has a past, a present, and a future. But in God’s realm it’s one and the same. “I am who I am. I will be who I will be.”
Faith pulls us into a bigger world, beyond the clouds that darken our temporal sky. Beyond the present moment of hardship or pain or sorrow. The book of Revelation sets the trials of our time against the broader landscape of God’s eternity.
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“I am the Alpha and the Omega,” says the Lord God, who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.”
I guess you know that Alpha and Omega are letters from the Greek alphabet. One is at the very beginning, like our letter A. And the other comes at the very end, like our letter Z.
I picture it this way: like a pair of bookends, with all the chapters of our human lives gathered in between.
God is with us, at our beginning. From the beginning of creation, when God said “Let there be light.” And the beginning of each individual life, as we are born into the world.
And this life-giving God will never leave us!
“Where can I go from your spirit?” writes the Psalmist. “Or where can I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there. …If I say, ‘Surely, the darkness shall cover me, and the light around me become night,’ even the darkness is not dark to you …” (Psalm 139: 7-12)
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God is there at the beginning of life. And God will be there at the end of all our days. This is the hope we cling to as people of faith. The great specter of death does not mean the end of life with God.
Our lives have many beginnings and endings. All through life we start new things. A new program, a new residence, a new job, a new relationship. After a time, many of these run their course. And so we let them go.
But those endings always open doors to new beginnings. We are invited to walk through those doors and experience what waits for us on the other side. Why should death be any different?
Our scripture passage names Jesus as the faithful witness and the first-born of the dead. The power of God’s love raises Jesus from the grave. Jesus has entered a new reality beyond anything we can ever experience in this life. And he invites us to come with him.
This is a classic Easter Icon, a religious image that depicts the resurrection. Notice that the tomb is smashed, the floorboards broken. The risen Christ is pictured grabbing the hand of the original man, Adam. And what is he doing? Jesus is pulling him up, out of the grave, to share his resurrection life.
Jesus is the firstborn from the dead. He is the beginning of a new humanity. Easter is a promise given to us all.
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“I am the Alpha and the Omega,” says the Lord. The beginning and the end.
And also – listen now – the God who is with us in the messy middle. God at our beginning, God at our ending. And this is crucial: God in the hard and difficult days that fall between those two poles.
Grief can be an isolating experience. When we lose a loved one who is close to us, we feel very much alone. Not only do we miss that person, but we sense that no one else in all the world can be feeling the things that we are feeling. And it’s true.
But God is with us in that grief. God knows, as no other human can ever know, the deepest, most secret corners of our heart. God is with us. Everywhere, all the time. There is no place we can be where God is not!
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The Australian theologian, William Loader, writes, “In the beginning: God; in the end: God;
in the midst of life: God.” And then he goes on to observe something: he writes, “These are less statements about time and place as they are statements of hope and trust.” [1]
Remember, I said the book of Revelation is meant to give us hope and trust. In a falling-down world, it invites us to put our faith in a God of never-failing love. A God whose purpose will prevail.
That invitation is always with us, but somehow it becomes even more meaningful when you’re treading a difficult path. “Let me take hold of you.” says the Lord. “Let me be your saviour. Let me lead you to new life.”
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This last Sunday of the church year is sometimes called “Reign of Christ Sunday,” or the feast of Christ the King. Have you heard of that?
It’s a relatively recent innovation. By recent, I mean 1925. The first world war was over but nothing seemed to be resolved. Tensions abounded. Secularism and nationalistic movements were on the rise. Authoritarian leaders were taking hold. In light of all that, Pope Pius XI called the church of his day to direct their attention to the Lord of all lords and King of every king. Worldly leaders may have their time. Politicians come and go, but they do not last forever.
I don’t know how you’re feeling about your life, or the state of the world today. John Pavlovitz suggests that many of us are grieving loss.
“It may be your idea of God or country or family.
It may be your belief in the inherent goodness of people.
It may be a relationship with someone you once felt fully at home around.
It may be your sense of optimism about the future.
It may be the lightness you used to feel when you woke up in the morning.
It may be every single one of these things, and more that you can’t quite name right now.
You are in good company,” he writes.[2]
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Here and now, in the messy middle between the alpha and omega, the beginning of creation and the consummation of all things, we are invited to put our trust and hope in the risen Lord, who sits at the right hand of God, his heavenly father.
He is with us – over all, in all and through all. And of his kingdom there will be no end. On Eternity Sunday we’re called to put our hope in him. And to live each day in the light of his love. Amen.
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[1] "First Thoughts on Epistle Passages in the Lectionary," Easter 2, William Loader, Murdoch University, Uniting Church in Australia.
[2] Quoted in email from John Pavlovitz, Copyright © 2024 The Christian Century, All rights reserved.
“Opening hearts”
Joel 2:12-13, 28-29 (December 8, 2024)
Maybe you’ve heard the story of Jake Martens – don’t worry, no relation to anyone here! Jake was a frugal Mennonite painter. In order to save both paint and profit, he used to thin his paint.
One day he had a big job, painting his neighbour’s barn. (His neighbour was a Baptist, and he wanted to impress him.) He was painting away, and the job was nearly complete. But just then he heard a loud clap of thunder. And before he knew it, the sky opened up and the rain fell down. It washed all the paint off the barn.
Jake fell from the scaffold to the ground. He was no fool. He knew this was a message from the Almighty. He raised his voice to the heavens, “Lord, forgive me. The paint has washed off! What should I do now?”
From heaven, a voice returned: “Repaint, repaint! And thin no more!”
That’s an old joke and you’ve probably heard it before – minus a few of my embellishments. But it’s a reminder that an important theme in this Advent season is repentance. In light of Christ’s coming we are called to turn around, put our lives in order. Live, even now, as though the Realm of God was already here among us.
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On this second Sunday of Advent, we’re used to hearing the voice of John the Baptist: “Repent,” he said, “for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” (Matthew 3:3)
John was a rough and ready kind of guy. A bit quirky with his diet and the way he dressed. He wasn’t afraid to confront people. Remember how he tore a strip off the religious leaders? “You brood of vipers!” he called them, wiping the saliva off his chin. “Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?”
Well actually, it was you, John. But that didn’t stop his rant. “Bear fruit worthy of repentance. Do not presume to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor.’”
Yes, John was quite a character. But his message was spot on!
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This year, we’re following some different readings for Advent. Last week it was Daniel who learned to trust his life to the God who saves. This week we hear from the prophet Joel, about whom little is known. But whose words have echoed down through the ages, and come again to us this morning.
The voice may be different, but the message is familiar. “Repent,” he says. Seems the prophets of God were always having to call us wayward human beings to change our ways. And to return to the God who made us.
My take on the prophet Joel, at least when it comes to this part of his message, is that he has a tender heart and a gentle soul.
(Now if you ever read the whole book of Joel, you’ll discover lots of difficult, disturbing images. But here, in our passage for today, there’s a lovely warmth to what he says. He takes on the loving compassion of the very God in whose name he speaks.)
“Yet even now, says the LORD, return to me with all your heart …”
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“Return to me.” Can you hear this desire, deep desire, in God for relationship with God’s people? There’s nothing God wants more than this. You and me, we are created in love, for love.
And it is love’s very nature to reach out, to embrace. To forgive when wrong is done. To call for return when the one who is loved wanders far, far away.
“Return to me,” says the Lord, with all your heart.
Have you wandered far away? Are you feeling lost, disoriented? Defiant? The path your life is on – is it taking you closer to God? Or is this path leading you farther away?
Joel’s words chase after us, beckoning to our souls, pleading for our return. “Come back,” says God. “Come home, to the place where you belong. That familiar place that maybe you’ve almost forgotten. But not quite.
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I was back in my home town this fall, the city of Guelph, Ontario. I don’t get there very often any more. And it’s a strange feeling when I do.
Like everything in life, there are many changes. I have changed. The world has changed. The city has changed. So it’s all a bit disorienting. “Is this the street where I turn? What happened to that landmark building? Why is everything so much bigger and busier than before?”
Despite the changes, there is also an eery sense of familiarity. I’ll be sitting in a coffee shop, looking across the street. And suddenly there arises a feeling of déjà vu. Like I’ve been here before. Which I have, sort of. Years ago, in a completely different way.
Perhaps it’s like that in our relationship with God. It never entirely goes away – that awareness of God’s generous love, being at one with all that is, a peace that tells me all is well and shall be well to the end of time.
Is it like that for you? What lingers in your memory? Is there a sense of belonging that you feel?
“Return to me,” says the LORD.
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“Yet even now …” I love that phrase because it implies that God has called to us before. Whether or not we have listened, that is another matter!
“Yet even now, says the LORD, return to me with all your heart …” Even now, after all this time. And events and happenings. After days and years have gone by. After marriages and jobs and houses lived in and travels and learnings. And losses. And failings.
“I’m still seeking you,” says the Lord. Still calling you to that place, where I am. Where you may be also.” Won’t you come?
Repentance is our way of coming home. It’s letting go of our resistance. It’s turning back when we’ve gone astray.
It’s making changes, shifting the furniture of our inner lives, re-arranging things, unlocking the door, opening our hearts, so we can receive God’s welcome. Which is always there.
“Yet even now, says the LORD, return to me with all your heart … rend your hearts and not your clothing. Return to the LORD, your God ….”
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Now wait! You didn’t think repentance was a one-time thing, did you? Give your life to Christ and suddenly it’s over – one and done?
As we walk with Jesus, we realize there is more we have to offer, and more that Jesus has to claim. So repentance becomes part of who we are. We are people turning to Jesus, growing deeper in his love.
As I think about this, here’s what I’ve come to realize: There are things about my life that are relatively easy to change, and things that are very difficult.
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Stained-Glass_Image_of_John_Newton_-_Amazing_Grace_Writer_-_St._Peter_and_Paul_Church_-_Olney_-_Buckinghamshire_-_England_-_02_(27656254594).jpg" width="182" height="164" />And those hard things in life don’t get fixed quickly. Attitudes become ingrained! Practices harden into habits. How we do we shift them? How do you teach an old dog, like me, new tricks? Is it even possible?
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I do take heart in the knowledge that others before me have changed. Some really famous people. Like the English slave trader, John Newton, who later in life became an abolitionist.
Talk about “Amazing Grace”! That hymn we sing tells the story of his life. And the story of God leading him to a different place. A better place.
Here's an artist’s depiction of the apostle Peter, a leader of Jesus’ disciples. You can see he’s red-faced, distraught, and maybe terribly embarrassed. After claiming to be Jesus’ most loyal friend, he was brought face to face with the truth of his life: Peter folded under pressure.
Sometimes we have to learn who we really are. “Now Lord, where do we go from here?”
Repentance is a hopeful act, one that opens the door to new ways of life and Spirit.
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“Return to me with all your heart …” Because if any change is going to happen it must happen, first of all, in the heart, the very centre of our being.
With all your heart. Because there are parts of ourselves we tend to close off, not allowing God – or anyone else, for that matter – to enter.
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Palma._La_Porciúncula._Vitralls_(17).jpg" width="149" height="63" />
There are parts of ourselves that hurt. We put up walls of protection. There are parts we try to hide. We don’t want anyone to see or know what’s in those undisclosed places.
I’m reminded of that story of the first humans who ate the forbidden fruit. They thought they could keep it a secret.
When they heard the sound of the LORD God walking in the garden in the coolness of the evening breeze, they went and hid themselves.
They didn’t want to be found. But God sought them anyway. “Where are you?” called the LORD. (Genesis 3:8-9)
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I told you that Joel’s call to repentance is not harsh, but gentle. It’s an invitation rooted in his strong conviction that God is love.
“Return to the LORD, your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing.”
How does Joel know this? It’s not something he invented for himself. One commentator has called it a “creed” of the Hebrew people because, all through history, we find them repeating it over and over again.
When Moses stood before God on the holy mountain, the presence of the LORD passed before him. A voice declared: “The LORD, the LORD, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness …” (Exodus 34:6)
I can remember singing words to that effect in a choir anthem. Music, I think, gives them enduring power. And so they’re with me, and I never forget.
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In a few moments we’ll share communion. We’ll be together in God’s presence in a very special way.
If there are things you need to confess before God, I invite you to do that. If there are parts of your heart that are still closed tight, impermeable, inaccessible, here is an opportunity to open them to grace and mercy, and the transforming power of God’s Holy Spirit.
“Yet even now, says the LORD, return to me with all your heart. … Return to the LORD for he is gracious.” Come back to where you’re meant to be. May it be so!
“In a hard place”
Daniel 6:6-27 (December 1, 2024)
Welcome, everyone, to Advent – this time of year when we learn how to wait for the coming of Christ. And to help us today, we have an unusual reading for the season: from the book of Daniel.
It’s a really great story! A well-known one, for those of us who grew up in Sunday School. Daniel in the lion’s den. What might this story have to say to us, I wonder – living in the world we do, waiting for the Christ to come?
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The story begins with some familiar things. There’s a crowd of people who’ve got it in for Daniel. Why? Because he’s not one of them. He’s a Jew living in exile.
Here, in this story, we see human rivalry. Jealousy, conniving, manipulation. Prejudice and the politics of power. Sound familiar? Turn on the news tonight and see what you think.
There are people who don’t like Daniel. So they devise a scheme to get rid of him.
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One day they sidle up to the king, and say, “O King Darius, may you live forever!” And this king is susceptible to flattery. He likes to have his ego stroked.
They tell him he should issue a command that anyone who prays to any god, or man other than him – should be thrown into a lion’s den.
It pleases the king. He signs a document. And the scene is set.
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How does faith respond to all this turmoil I our lives? How do we live as Christians among others who may not share our values? Who do not follow the way of Jesus?
Do we lash out, push back, try to grab the levers of power for ourselves?
When Daniel heard the document had been signed, he went back to his house. There, in the upper chamber, was an open window that faced toward Jerusalem. It was Daniel’s practice to pray there three times a day.
He prayed to the Hebrew God, not to the gods of the surrounding culture. Not to the gods of the state. And certainly not to a pompous man.
The law declared: “Pray only to Darius.” Daniel determined: “I will pray to God.”
So that’s what he did, knowing full well that someone would be watching. And that when he was reported, there might be serious consequences.
He meant no disrespect. He was happy to serve the king. But there was a line he would not cross. Not even to save his life.
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Now let me stop there and ask, have there been times when you gave in to pressure and compromised your values? Acted to preserve your place or position? It’s a rare one who has never made some accommodation.
Perhaps we allow things to slide a bit, and then a little more. And before we know it, we’ve drifted a long way from being the kind of people we want to be. The kind of people Jesus calls us to be.
“Seek first the Kingdom of God,” Jesus says. But we let other priorities take over. “What will it profit anyone to gain the world but lose your soul?” he asks. But the world has its attractions and it’s not easy to do the right thing.
This story invites us to examine our priorities. What comes first? To whom do we owe our allegiance?
It’s a simple question. But in the real world, at least the one I live in, it can be hard to untangle all the messy threads that weave their way through complicated relationships, difficult decisions, contested areas of life. The choices we have to make are not always simple.
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What did Daniel do?
He shrugs his shoulder and goes home to pray. He does this in plain sight of all. He’s not rattled by threats, but is steadfast in his spiritual practice.
It’s a brilliant response to the turmoil of the world around him! Evil’s lurking, edicts are ordered, chins are wagging. So? What else is new?
I’m wondering if you have a spiritual practice? What keeps you anchored when the world is shaking? What centres your life and holds it firm?
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I was at a funeral, not long ago, for a friend of mine. One of his grandchildren spoke at the service. He told of coming to stay with his grandparents. His grandfather was an avid reader, as was he, and they would sometimes discuss the books they were reading.
When his grandfather came to visit his family, several months later, the grandson noticed he was still reading the same book! “Grandfather, haven’t you finished that yet?”
“No, I’m not finished,” he replied. “This is my Bible, you see.”
The Bible’s not the kind of book you ever “finish” is it?
What is your spiritual practice? It’s hard to stay rooted in the love of Christ without one.
Our habits can be sporadic. In Advent we’re invited to renew these things. If you don’t have a practice, it’s time to begin one.
Lindsay and I have been reading from a devotional book. In the morning we drink our coffee, light a candle, share a reading, and reflect on it.
I guess you’ve heard: we’re having an Advent Bible Study here at the church and also at Bethany Manor. We read, share, sing, pray.
This is one way we can prepare our lives for the coming of Christ. This is how our faith is strengthened.
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But back to the story. Things are getting tense. Daniel is outed by his rivals, who are secretly rejoicing.
The king, however, considered Daniel to be one of his top officials. He realized, now, that he’d been manipulated into passing this ordinance. But what could he do?
He stewed and fretted. As he gave the command for Daniel to be cast to the lions, Darius said, “May your God, whom you faithfully serve, deliver you!”
Did we just hear the king of the Medes and Persians praying to the Hebrew God? It’s hard to say. But I’ll tell you this: there was no one in the kingdom more concerned for Daniel’s safety than Darius. What will happen next?
We’re waiting to find out. What kind of God does Daniel have? Is this God one who saves? When powerful forces conspire against us. When legal systems let us down. Will the LORD come to the aid of faithful souls?
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At the break of dawn Darius arrives at the den of lions. “Daniel,” he cries, “O Daniel, servant of the living God …” Can you hear the anxiety in his voice?
“Has your God whom you faithfully serve been able to deliver you from the lions?” He waits.
And now a voice arises out of the dark den below … proclaiming something about an angel!
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I love this picture on our bulletin cover. Those wild lions look stunned and mesmerized. They don’t seem very ferocious, do they? One of them appears rather playful.
Daniel kneels calmly in prayer while this unseen, lion-taming, angel does its work.
They haul Daniel out of the pit, unscathed. Not a scratch!
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“Do not put your trust in princes,” writes the Psalmist, “in mortals, in whom there is no help. … Happy are those whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the Lord their God.” (Psalm 146:3-5)
Where is our hope? In whom do we trust?
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King Darius rounds up the conspirators and throws them into the den – a rough form of justice, I suppose.
Then he issues a proclamation, that in all his royal dominion “people should tremble and fear before the God of Daniel: For he is the living God, enduring forever. His kingdom shall never be destroyed. … He delivers and rescues, he works signs and wonders in heaven and on earth …”
It's nice to see a humble ruler who knows his place.
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But wait. Does God always save? If you find yourself in a hard place, will God always, always, step in to bring release?
I ask because maybe some of you have been praying and wondering, in the darkness of whatever trial you face, why help has been so long coming.
In a few moments we will pause on this First Sunday of Advent to remember those whom we have lost. People die. Sometimes disease is not cured. And prisoners do not escape.
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I was reminded this week of one of our forebears. But you probably know this story better than I do! Dirk Willems was a Dutch Anabaptist, condemned by the Church of Rome for his beliefs and arrested in 1569.
He managed to escape from prison, using a rope made out of knotted rags. He crossed a frozen moat. But the guard pursuing him fell through, yelling for help as he struggled in the icy water.
Willems turned back to save his life, embodying Jesus’ teaching to love our enemies. As a result of this, he was recaptured and burned at the stake.[1]
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There is much that is unknown in our life of faith. Sometimes God does not save in the way we expect.
One thing I do know is that our world is very much in need of a Saviour. As am I. Advent announces the coming of One who has been through death and returns to us with the gift of life.
Christ is coming! Not only as the little child of Bethlehem, but as the Saviour of the world who brings an everlasting kingdom. May we welcome this coming Christ. Amen.
[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dirk_Willems
