Proper 28, Year C Malachi 3:13-4:2a, 5-6 Psalm 98 2 Thessalonians 3:6-13 Luke 21:5-19 November 14, 2004 The Rev. J. Brian Ponder, Chaplain Church of the Resurrection, Starkville, Mississippi I wonder, what is it about endings that oftentimes sets us on edge? Imagine it. A year ago … November had come and before we knew it would be gone. December was fast approaching with its winter holidays right around the corner, and people were buying return tickets with one thing in mind … the dreaded General Ordination Exams! Now some had been preparing meticulously for these exams since entering seminary two and a half years ago. Others had really hunkered down at semester's beginning or over the summer, organizing notes, practicing from old tests, doing some extra reading and writing. Some rested smugly in their "knowledge" that if we didn't know "it" by now, we wouldn't know it any better by test day. Any of you who have or will prepare for the ACT or SATs know what the process entailed. These were the "biggies," but the thing about them is that you really never know what you're going to get. They're kind of like Forrest Gump's boxes of chocolate in that respect. You can judge from previous years, supposing what you're NOT going to get, but until you open each sealed envelope, you never know what'll be inside. Now these were the exams of which we had heard for quite sometime. These were the exams that many told us "Had a lot riding on them," for ordination purposes, while others simply relegated them to "Just another hoop to jump through before ordination." The fact is, they mean some of both, but the degree to which either gets its significance depends on from which diocese you're being sponsored. That's really just a mere detail, though, because the larger thing that was really hovering over a good number of our heads was what GOEs signaled. They signaled, truly, the beginning of the end for us … the end of seminary … the end of our formal, book education towards priesthood … the end of a particular community closeness we had all shared for almost three years … the end of our time together … all of which were somewhat scary and exciting at the same time. None of us had come to seminary for seminary itself - as an end. We had come together that we might be thrust out to do God's work, having been somewhat prepared, but not completely by any means. We all knew that the inevitable would one day come. GOEs simply made that understanding just the more real for us. A new day was on the not-so-distant horizon. Change. I think that's the answer to the question: What is it about endings that oftentimes sets us on edge? Change. Today's lessons give us a lot to think about change in the context of endings. Indeed here we are today almost at the end of our own yearly liturgical cycle. We have only one more Sunday before the onset of Advent … a new beginning. Malachi, speaks in terms of "now" and "then" … offering a glimpse into the truth of his day and the larger truth of the day to come. Paul's second exhortation to the Thessalonians presents them with an urgency … an urgency with which Paul understood the context of his own life. Paul believed he would truly live to see the end times, and his urgency to keep people "on track" so to speak is clearly evident in his recorded letters within our Scriptures. Even today's Psalm beckons for a sense of "change" encouraging, "Sing to the Lord a new song." Our gospel, also, speaks of change. Jesus' message was and is a hard one to hear. Everything they knew, everything for which they had worked, everything upon which they had placed their hopes and beliefs was to be different. Even the temple would be razed! That which was to stand as a testament to eternal changelessness for all ages, Jesus suggested would be lost. And it would lay in ruin, testifying to the larger truth readied for the whole world. Earthquakes, plagues, hunger, wars, would all point to the closing of the age. Maybe today the images or warning signs would be expanded to things like global warming, dwindling Social Security coffers, stock market and financial insecurity, or raised terror threat levels. Yet the signs point, in the midst of chaos, to God's eternal changelessness. Indeed, these are not easy lessons for us to hear. They shake and shock us. They rattle our comfortable cages and move us from places of contentment and coziness. And the thing is, they're intended to do just that. They are intended to move us towards a place of expected unexpectedness … a place of preparation for the time when peace and God's reign shall be embraced by every corner of creation and not necessarily any kind of peace that we are humanly capable of comprehending. But what does this mean for us, today … in 2004 … in Starkville, Mississippi? As has been stressed more and more in our sermons for some weeks now, Jesus certainly had a way of turning things on end. This is, perhaps, most clearly evident within the parables. And truth-telling is often like that, isn't it? Sometimes the truth is a hard thing to swallow. Sometimes, it's hard to even approach, let alone proclaim! But this is clearly what Jesus is doing in today's gospel. Jesus reminds his hearers that there is a time coming, indeed, a day that has dawned for newness of and wholeness for life. Could they see it? Can we see it? And what does it mean for us? You've heard it before, and I think today's gospel presents another occasion to hear it again. Something of what it means for us is that these walls - the walls of this church and any church - do not exist for us. They do not exist so that they become yet one more hurdle over which the "outside" must jump. They don't exist to protect us from what is out there in a sometimes cruel and harsh world. They don't exist for differentiation of the other. But they do exist for the "other." They exist for those outside the walls. They exist for the world that waits out there for us and for the message of God's redeeming work completed. And I think that this is what's at the heart of today's gospel. Good news that the coming kingdom is already here among us. Good news that the answer to the question, "When will it be here?" is "Now." Good news that the answer to the question, "When will Jesus come?" is "Today." Because we are reminded by Scripture that when two or three are gathered in God's name, Jesus is here and this can be so out there, as well. We are reminded that whenever we proclaim the Word of God, Jesus is here, and this can be so out there, too. We are reminded that whenever we say the prayers and break the bread, Jesus is here, and Jesus can be out there, too. And we are called to be out there, even more so than we are called to be in here. We are called to go forth from this place, knowing all of this, and daily making this happen in our own lives and those of others. And this is both exciting and somewhat scary all at once isn't it? Yet we still wait. We wait as do so many others by holding fast to those things that give us stability. We linger in what we know because it is familiar. We rest comfortably in hopefulness, yet as Paul reminds us, our hope should energize us - get us moving. It should thrust us into that world out there, rejoicing in the power of the Spirit and proclaiming God's reconciliation of the worlds. But do we get the larger picture? Do we fully understand that Jesus knocks on the door to be let in? Perhaps that knocking at the doors is not Jesus knocking from outside, but rather from inside, and inside these hallowed walls, just waiting to burst forth into a world that awaits the Good News of Christ. Dare we fling open these doors - the doors of this church and the doors of our hearts? Dare we risk the reciprocal invitation that opening wide these doors and flinging out the banners might signal? Dare we run forth from this place, spreading a message of hopeful expectation, indeed a message to expect anything, in a world that has become comfortable, stagnant, disenfranchised, yet ever-pining for sweet release from that which entangles it? This is our message of hope and our call. This is our message of expectation, that Christ and we as the Body of Christ, are meant for that world out there - and not for ourselves, but for those who still await the day that has already dawned. May we come to know more clearly at this time which is both the end and beginning of our yearly retelling of our story, that we are called - as church, as the Body of Christ, as Christians living in this world. May we ever know that we often find great blessing in the unexpected, the unfamiliar and the topsy-turvey. May we realize more and more the day that has and continues to dawn upon us, ever-shedding more light into a world which waits in hopefulness for the peace that Christ's message - our message - can offer. Let us pray. O God of unchangeable power and eternal light: Look favorably on your whole Church, that wonderful and sacred mystery; by the effectual working of your providence, carry out in tranquility the plan of salvation; let the whole world see and know that things which were cast down are being raised up, and things which had grown old are being made new, and that all things are being brought to their perfection by him through whom all things were made, your Son Jesus Christ our Lord; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.   _______________ Paragraph paraphrased from: "Pentecost 24C: November 14, 2004" an article found online at http://home.twcny.rr.com/lyndale/Pentecost%2024C.htm as it appeared on 11/10/2004. Page 2 of 3. BCP, page 528.