Sermon: Contemplating Time, Luke 21.5-19

St. Paul’s L’Amoreaux, November 18, 2007

In his commentary on our lesson from Luke, Fred Craddock makes a lovely little observation. ‘Calculating the end of time,” he says, “is not the same thing as contemplating the fulfilment of time.’

‘Calculating the end of time is not the same thing as contemplating the fulfilment of time.’

You probably get the point right off. Our responsibility is to understand God’s purpose in the world through prayer and contemplation and to conform ourselves to it. But trying to calculate when the world will end has had great appeal to people and can serve as a tremendous distraction.

When I was a teenager in the 1970’s, with the cold war, the threat of nuclear bombs, and fears of oil and gasoline shortages, there were many prophets warning about the end of time. There were some scoundrels who made millions of dollars off of books and movies they produced, such as The Late, Great Planet Earth. They frightened, confused and discouraged a many people.

And yet when faced with a similar question, Jesus answers his disciples by focussing their attention on the fulfilment of time, rather than the mere end of time. He does so in two ways.

First of all, he says, don’t be fooled. Wars and natural disasters is the way the world is. It is not a special sign of the end.

Secondly, however, times of tumult are purposeful for Christians.

They are times in which the Christian can be a witness.

They are times in which Christians can serve confidently, because no mortal or eternal harm will come to them.

And they are times in which, through endurance, the roots of the Gospel can go further into the Christians heart and character.

‘You will gain your soul,’ says Jesus.

In other words, don’t be distracted by trying to calculate the end of time. Rather, let your mind focus on God’s purposes in time, contemplate what God has revealed in Jesus Christ, let that take root and, having done so, serve boldly and faithfully, just like Jesus Christ.

A few years ago, Joseph Ratzinger, the man who is now Pope Benedict XVI, was asked an interesting and related question. Christianity promises God’s redemption. But we’re now at the beginning of the third millenium since the time of Jesus Christ. Given the wait, and given, specifically, the horrors of the 20^th century, has Christianity actually brought with it salvation or has it, instead, been quite fruitless?

And I liked his answer. First of all, he emphasized a point that the journalist questioning him had glanced over. The last century was not just one of pure horror. In fact, there are now more people alive on earth than ever before, and living for a length of time and at a level of comfort never before imagined.

Christianity has contributed to this, as, from Christian principles, it has motivated the development of democracy, of the rule of law, the arts, tremendous structures of health care and education, and of science itself.

But secondly, said the Pope, God’s redemption of the world is related to human freedom - and God will not annul human freedom in order to bring about his final purposes.

Humans are part of God’s plan of redemption. And humans have the freedom to cooperate - or to refuse, letting the world fall into darkness.

I admired the candor of the Pope.

Redemption or disaster - both are possible. And when God revealed himself to the world in the man who would be handed over and crucified on a cross, he took a risk on whether or not humans would cooperate.

I don’t know why God has taken the form he did in Jesus Christ, says the Pope. Who gave up the power and authority of heaven, and who will only succeed where men and women respond to him from the heart.

I don’t know why has revealed himself in this way. A way in which God has held back power available to him.

But I do know what the alternative has been in the world. When people have turned away from God and to their own devices. It is to use power and violence and force people into line. And its way, too often, has been one of unspeakable cruelty and death.

Our challenge, says the Pope, is to confront the remarkable powers placed in human hands and to measure what can be done by what should be done. We must confront our enormous physical ability with moral discernment. And this can only occur where God is a force and strength within.

The Pope used as an example the ecological movement which rightly protests the outer pollution of the world. And yet, many within the movement have treated the inner pollution of the soul as a fundamental right to be protected. I quote:

Instead of making it possible to breathe humanly again, we defend with a totally false conception of freedom everything that man’s arbitrary desire produces. As long as we [defend] the freedom of inner spiritual self-destruction, its outward effects will continue unchanged . . .The eighth chapter of the Letter to the Romans says this very plainly. It says that Adam, that is, the inwardly polluted man, treats creation like a slave, tramples on it, so that creation groans under him, on his account, through him. And we hear today the groaning of creation as no one has ever heard it before. Paul adds that creation waits for the appearance of the sons of God and will breathe freely when men [and women] appear in whom God shines through - and who only then will be able to breathe again themselves. (Salt of the Earth, Joseph Ratzinger, Ignatius, 1996, p. 231)

A few years ago the story of Wladyslaw Szpilman was brought to the screen in the movie entitled “The Pianist”. Szpilman was a talented, young Jewish and Polish pianist and composer. He had written quite a number of popular songs, including children’s songs, and many loved to listen to him. But during WWII, Szpilman’s family were sent to the Warsaw ghetto where Jews were being held, and then gradually shipped away, later as it became clear, to concentration camps where they met their death. Wladyslaw Szpilman, his parents and his brother and sister, all valiantly struggled to hang on, knowing that their day to be shipped out was soon to come, uncertain and unhopeful of what would come next.

But when the day came, and as the Szpilmans were being crammed onto the train,

one of the policemen grabbed Wladyslaw by the collar, yanked him out of the throng and refused to let him through to rejoin his family on the journey to death.

Szpilman continued to avoid death’s clutches, surviving against all odds, often half-starved and usually alone, hidden in obscure corners of bombed, burned or empty buildings, intermittently helped by Polish friends risking their own lives to bring him food or find him shelter: helping a Jew automatically brought a death sentence (www.szpilman.net).

The strangest twist of all in Szpilman’s story came at its end. He was discovered by a German officer. Szpilman proved his profession to him by playing Chopin’s C sharp minor Nocturne on an abandoned piano. From then on, the German officer hid him and brought him food and a blanket for warmth. In the end, Szpilman would survive, passing away in July, 2000. And the officer who protected him - died in a communist ‘prisoner of war’ camp in 1953.

And as the movie portrayed matters, in the midst of the stifling darkness of Nazism, a family, a people, a city - and even a Nazi soldier - rose to the defense of a brilliant artist. In a violent time, it was a singular tribute to the beauty of a life, and the beauty of the music that one life was able to create.

How do we live in tumultuous times? I like the answer of Jesus. It is not to be spent calculating exact days and minutes. It is not to be spent interpreting the latest war and calamity. It is to be spent contemplating the Saviour we have seen. It is to let that life take deep root within us. And it is to share the light and life of Jesus Christ in the world.

Sermon: Where to Begin, 4 November 2007

Text: Ephesian 1.15-23
St. Paul’s L’Amoreaux, The Feast of All Saints, November 4, 2007

If you were given great power, where would you start? What would you do?

There was a movie a few years ago entitled Karate Kid. About a kid in high school who moved reluctantly with his mother away from his childhood home to another city, moving into a small and ratty apartment while his mother saved for a better place, entering a school awkwardly at mid-term, with no friends to greet him. He didn’t like any of it. And for the fun of it, bullies picked on the new kid.

Pretty miserable, until one day he met an old Japanese man who chased away some bullies who had surrounded him. “You could use some help,” he says.

No one else was showing any interest, and to his surprise, the old Japanese man knew Karate. “I’ll teach you,” he said. “Come and see.”

So he did. The boy practically bounced to the old man’s home, thrilled at the prospect of lessons in karate. “I’m ready to learn."

“Good,” said the old man. “First lesson.

And picking up a block of wood with sandpaper fastened, the old man moved his hand and arm back and forth precisely, first with one hand, then the next. The boy was asked to imitate.

“No problem,” said the boy, and did just as the old man had done.

“Good,” said the old man. “Follow me.”

And opening the door to a brand outdoor deck, he pointed and said, “Sand the whole thing, just like I showed you.”

The boy raised his eyebrow and looked at the old man suspiciously. Bending down he began sanding furiously.

“No, no, no,” said the old man. “Like I showed you.” And so, imitating the same precise motion, the boy spent his free time for the next week, sanding the old man’s deck.

On Saturday, as he finished up, the old man watched the boy and the motion of his hands and arms. “Good,” he said. “Come back Monday.”

The boy came back Monday, glad to be done with the sanding, eager for his first lesson in Karate. The old man picked up a paint brush. “Watch,” he said. And then, very deliberately, very carefully, first with one hand, then the other, the old man stroked the brush up and down. The boy repeated the motion.

“Good,” said the old man. “Follow me.”

And he opened the door to a beautiful new fence that surrounded his large and spacious backyard. “Paint!” said the old man.

“Oh, now, wait a minute,” said the boy. “Paint!” said the old man, firmly.

Frustrated, the boy began painting, flicking the brush up and down, back and forth.

“No, no, no,” said the old man. “Like I showed you.” And again, the old man repeated the same, careful stroke of the brush and flick of the wrist that he had shown him before. “Like that, and no change.”

So the boy spent the next week painting the fence. On Saturday, as he finished up, the old man watched the boy and the motion of his hands. “Good,” he said. “Come back Monday.”

The boy came back, glad the sanding was done, and the painting, and eager for his first lesson in Karate. The old man picked up a large, soft cloth bundle. “Watch,” he said. And then, the old man demonstrated a deliberate, circular motion, first with one hand, then the next. The boy copied.

“Good,” said the old man. “Follow me.”

The old man took the boy outside to the door of a large shed. Opening the doors, the boy’s mouth fell open and he stared in at a row of beautiful vintage sports cars.

The old man handed the boy the cloth and a large tin. “Wax,” he said.

The boy rolled his eyes, and began pushing the cloth over the hood of the car. “No, no, no,” said the old man. “Like this.” And again, the old man repeated the same, deliberate circular motion. “Like that, and no change.”

So, just like he’d been shown, the boy spent his free time for the next week waxing the old man’s collection of vintage sports cars.

But by Saturday, he was furious. Three weeks wasted doing the old man’s chores. And as he came to inspect, he threw the waxing cloth down on the ground and glared at the old man.
The old man glared back and grabbed his wrist.

“I attack you with a punch from the front - you raise your hand like this,” and instinctively, the boy raised his arm and wrist, just as he done, countless times while painting the fence, and with surprising ease, turned back the punch.

“I come from the side - and you move your arm like this,” he said, and again, the boy fell into the motion effortlessly, repeating what he’d done hundreds of times while sanding the deck.

“And I try to strike with both hands, and you turn me away by doing this,” and as the boy circled his hands, as he’d done waxing the cars, he realized what the old man had taught him, he realized the power in these simple actions and his newly disciplined arms, and a smile of satisfaction covered his face.

“Good,” said the old man. “This is where we begin. And now I will show you more.”

There are two words in our lesson from Ephesians that I’d have you notice: ‘power’ and ‘enlightenment’.

The power of God is a constant theme throughout the Scriptures. But it is power for a purpose.
It is the power God displayed, when he chose Abraham and Sarah, an old and childless couple, and demonstrated his power to give life, and with it, a promise of an eternal line who would bring God’s grace to the world.

It is the power God displayed when he looked down on a beleagured band of slaves, bending back the sea in order to free his people for their mission in the world.

It is the power of God, as St. Paul specifies, to open a grave and empty it, in order that the immeasurable love of God might extend from the furthest depths to the greatest heights.
It’s the power which God has let loose in Jesus Christ. And it is that same power that St. Paul says is let loose in the lives of God’s people.

But where do you start with power like that? It’s an intriguing question. And I like how Bishop Tom Wright answers it.

With power like that, we start with ourselves. We start by dealing with our secret sins and in improving our habits of prayers.

What?

Read through Ephesians. See the great purposes for which the Son of God gave his life. Marvel at the hope being offered for every person, regardless of race, wealth or standing. And then look where it begins.

Scrub up, clean up, and shine up. No more lies. No more filthy thoughts. No more favourite vices tucked away in the corner. You’ve been given Jesus Christ. You wrap his life over your life.
And then, he says, ‘Dear God, I hope you can see it.’

This is the purpose of prayer. ‘May your eyes be enlightened,’ are Paul’s words, so that by prayer you can see the hope, the riches and the power that God is presenting you for his purposes in the world.

Have you ever thought, that these are two prayer to which we know, with 100% certainty, what the answer is? All those unanswered prayers, but to these two we know the answers. To the Christian coming to the Lord, asking that God might offer his power so that our hearts might be more like Christ, asking through prayer that our eyes might see more of what Christ saw, the answer, with 100% certainty, is yes.

It may not be easy. Some of us are stubborn.

It may not come instantly. Some of our selfish ways are deeply ingrained. We may need the help of a Christian counsellor or friend.

Things may not be clear to us all at once. We’re used to looking out for ourselves. It takes a while to see others the way Jesus does.

But we know the answer. And we have been offered the means: the power of God to give life, to turn back the floods, to roll back the stone, to conquer death itself. And for those who will ask, this power is offered to us.

And then, as this prayer is made and is being answered, there may be more. It’s always a little more complicated when we pray for others. Their freedom is involved. But with dirt cleaned up, muscles developed, and eyes sharpened, who knows what God might do with a life that’s been offered to him.

Yesterday in the National Post, as, in their own way, they mark the Feast of All Saints, was a feature on Jean Vanier, a Canadian who has founded a world-wide community of homes for those who’ve come into the world with great physical and mental injury. He has a new book and it summarizes his work the message of his life: the love that God offers in Jesus Christ, discovered first and foremost, right under our eyes, among those who are weakest. He sums it up in a sentence: To be human is to share with those who are weak.

One little thing they mentioned, which has always charmed me. He’s been spending the last week in school assemblies, sometimes in front of one and two thousand young people at a time. He doesn’t try to be clever. He doesn’t quote the lyrics of pop songs he’s never heard. He simply tells them of the love of God that begins with the obvious, and then reaches further.

The rooms are packed and the young people listen quietly and respectfully. He’s filled L’Arche homes around the world with bright young people who want more in life than new shoes and shiny cars and their search summons them to serve the weakest ones on earth. Their search brings them to the place where the power of God’s love begins.

If you were given great power, where would you start? We start here, with our own hearts. With our own eyes.

Where will it take us? We may be surprised, but the love of God has the redemption of the world in view.