Month: December 2024

Jackie Carl Gets a New Name

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Jackie Carl Gets a New Name” Isaiah 9:2-7 and Psalm 22:9-10

for Tillie Blackbear

“Jeezum Crow! That boy has gotten up to a lot of mischief over the years, but this takes the cake.” It was Ruth Underhill. Pastor Bob had gotten an emergency call, summoning him to Ruth’s farm, and it hadn’t taken much imagination to surmise that the “emergency” was related to Ruth’s grandson Jackie Carl. The boy just seemed to be made for trouble.

At the farm, Bob wasn’t surprised to see that Tubby Mitchell had also been summoned to respond to the crisis. Tubby sat at the kitchen table, studying his cup of black coffee, and while Ruth poured Bob his own cup, she launched into Jackie Carl’s latest escapade. It had involved the outside brick wall of the high school gym and a lot of spray paint. To Jackie Carl’s credit, the graffiti was not profane, just rude and wildly inappropriate.

“You name it, I’ve tried it,” Ruth continued, “Counseling, tough love, heart-to-hearts, prayer, bribery.” She threw up her hands. “Nothing works. Nothing!”

Now Bob was studying his coffee cup as assiduously as Tubby was. In the silence that followed, Bob could hear the kitchen clock ticking. Bob thought about all the trouble that Jackie Carl had gotten into over the years. When the boy was only in second grade, Bob suspected him of swiping the special comb that Eugenia Bergstrom used every Sunday to straighten the fringe on the altar cloth. An exhaustive search had eventually found it, tangled in the mane of a stuffed lion down in the Sunday school room. Then, there had been the time in middle school when Jackie Carl had blown out the exhaust system in his school bus by wedging an enormous potato into the tailpipe. Lately, Bob had heard about fights—two black eyes for the boy who had called Jackie Carl a red-headed loser. When Bob thought about it, the only time he’d seen Jackie Carl truly happy in the past year had been on the lacrosse field, the teenager’s lanky, freckled legs dashing down the field at a blistering pace, cradling the ball, dodging defenders, and launching a shot with a fierce intensity that made even the most steadfast of keepers shrink in fear.

Ruth wasn’t done. “I blame it on his father. We haven’t seen hide nor hair of him in five years. Five years! At least when he was in prison, we knew where he was. Why my daughter took up with him I’ll never understand. You know, the one time he did visit, he spent the whole time smoking cigarettes on the front porch and staring at his phone. He may have named the boy after himself, but he has never shown a lick of interest in the child.”

Tubby sadly nodded along. Tubby had been thinking, too. He remembered meeting the six-year-old Jackie Carl, all knobby knees, freckles, and carroty hair. The boy had called Tubby out of his grief for his dead son, and the two had forged a special bond as the boy tagged along to fish, camp, and hunt. Each morning of those trips, Tubby and Jackie Carl would begin the day by praying together the Haudenosaunee prayer of thanksgiving with its beautiful celebration of the unity of creation, “Now our minds are one.” For Tubby and his wife Irene, the boy had helped to heal the hole left in their hearts when Todd died in Iraq.

Tubby thought about himself, too, he’d lost his parents at a young age in a car accident, casualties of those days when addiction had been so prevalent on the reservation. Tubby knew there was a good chance that he would have ended up as wild and unsettled as Jackie Carl if it hadn’t been for his grandfather. The legendary wilderness guide had driven north to the reservation from his cabin outside the village and taken Tubby home with him. Tubby’s grandfather had always made sure that Tubby knew who he was, Tionatakwente of the Kanien’kehaka people, the great eastern door of the Iroquois confederacy, but Tubby suspected that Jackie Carl had no idea who he was. Tubby and Bob locked eyes across the table and an unspoken agreement passed between the two men.

Bob leaned forward, “How can we help, Ruth?”

This unlocked a shower of tears from Ruth, who could run her dairy farm with an iron fist but couldn’t tame her grandson. Between sobs, Ruth stammered, “I don’t know I don’t I don’t I don’t know.”

Tubby sighed and reached across the table to lay his hand on Ruth’s, “I’ve got an idea, Ruth. Let me talk to Irene about it.”

When Tubby opened the door to the cabin, he was greeted by the scent of balsam and baking. He had cut a six-foot Christmas tree and brought it home where Irene had worked her magic, winding it with lights, hanging ornaments, and topping it with an enormous God’s Eye that their son Tod had long ago made in Sunday school—bright yarn was woven around crossed sticks to remind them of God’s watchful care and protection. Irene was pulling a tray of Christmas cookies from the oven. Her cheeks were flushed and her long hair, bound by a red ribbon the nape of her neck, was shot through with gray.

Tubby leaned in to steal a too-hot cookie. He remembered the first time he saw Irene up on the reservation. He had known immediately that she would be his wife. Tubby wasn’t sure what his grandfather had said to the Clan Mother to convince her it would be ok for Irene to marry his grandson, but it worked. Their wedding day, when he had seen her in her ribbon skirt, shawl, and beaded moccasins, had been one of the happiest moments of his life. Tubby blew on his cookie.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, venturing a cautious bite.

Irene raised her eyebrows. “Thinking? That’s always trouble.”

Tubby nodded, “It’s about Jackie Carl.”

Irene smiled indulgently. “Ah. More trouble.”

Tubby started again, “Well, it’s not just about Jackie Carl. It’s about Todd, too.” Irene’s brow creased, thinking about the beautiful son they had lost in Iraq. She waited for her husband to continue.

Tubby searched for the right words. “Irene, maybe kinship isn’t just about blood. Jackie Carl needs us. Maybe in ways that Todd never did. Ruth Underhill, she needs our help. Maybe God is calling us to something new.”

One by one, Irene transferred cookies to the cooling rack, plying her spatula until the baking sheet was empty. Christmas always made Irene think of Todd. Could there be that kind of space in her heart for someone else, especially someone who was so troubled? She thought of her own parents and elders on the reservation. They told long ago stories of the healing of families that followed times of war. Beloved ones lost in battle left a hole that was sometimes filled by others—even prisoners of war—who were adopted into the clan. Still today, it wasn’t unusual to expand families in unexpected ways.

Irene turned the thought over in her mind and picked up a cookie. She took a bite. Maybe the question shouldn’t be why but why not. Why not a hot-headed teen with fiery red hair? Irene put down her spatula, “Tionatakwente, are you asking if we should adopt Jackie Carl into the clan?”

Tubby looked expectant.

Irene nodded, “Well, I’d better call my Auntie. Lord knows, that boy sure could use a new name.”

Jackie Carl was no stranger to the res. As a boy at the Powwow, he had relished eating stew with thick chunks of venison, made tender by slow cooking. His small feet had shuffled along with the men as they moved to the rhythm of the Thunder Dance. Each year right after school let out, Tubby would drive them north to the St. Lawrence to fish for enormous Muskies that lurked in weeds and promised the fight of a lifetime. Jackie Carl had learned to love lacrosse on the res, the beauty of precision passing, the crack of stick against stick, the cry of “Aho!” when the ball swished into the back of the net. Last summer, Jackie Carl had helped Tubby as the firekeeper at the sweat, carefully passing super-heated rocks with a pitchfork from the fire to the pit at the center of the lodge.

Sometimes on the reservation, Jackie Carl forgot. He forgot that his father didn’t love him. He forgot that his mother had left him. He forgot that he felt angry and rootless on most days, despite his grandmother’s efforts to provide what his parents could not.

Jackie Carl had never been on the reservation for the Midwinter Ceremony. The five days of praying, eating, dancing, and games conflicted with school, but this year, Ruth Underhill made an exception, sending him north in the back seat of Tubby’s Kingcab. Irene had been cooking for the feast for days: golden rounds of Bannock, sweet cornmeal pudding, roasted squash mixed with butter and maple syrup, and vats of potato and macaroni salad. Just thinking about it made Jackie Carl’s stomach growl. On that first day, they had pulled up in front of an inauspicious looking ranch house. Tubby put the car in park, and Irene turned to the boy. “This is my Auntie’s house. She’s the Clan Mother. Are you ready?” Jackie Carl nodded, “Yep,” and they went inside.

A teen about Jackie Carl’s age answered the door, showed them where to leave their shoes, and pointed them toward a closed door, saying only, “They’re waiting.” Inside, it took Jackie Carl’s eyes a minute to adjust to the dark. Windows had been covered with blankets and the only light came from a low fire that burned in the fireplace. This must have been what it felt like in the longhouse, Jackie Carl thought. A circle of Kanien’kehaka people sat on the floor, but just enough room had been left for the three of them. Jackie Carl, Tubby, and Irene took a seat.

 At the head of the circle sat the oldest woman that Jackie Carl had ever seen. “Auntie,” Irene spoke up, “we bring you a gift.” She held out a pouch of tobacco, which was passed around the circle to the waiting matriarch. She gave it an appreciative sniff before mixing it with red willow bark and packing it into the bowl of a medicine pipe. The lit pipe slowly passed from neighbor to neighbor around the circle. To Jackie Carl, the silence of that room felt like an eternity, but for Tubby and Irene it felt like they were settling back into the ancient rhythms of their ancestors.

Finally, the Auntie spoke in Mohawk, then in English for Jackie Carl’s benefit. “What is it you seek, my children?”

Irene answered, “We’ve come to claim the right of adoption. The hole that was left in our clan when Todd was killed needs to be filled. We claim Jackie Carl, that he might have all the rights and status that would have been Todd’s.” There were sounds of affirmation around the circle, followed again by an appreciative silence.

At last, with what might have been a twinkle in her eye, the Auntie said, “It’s about time, Irene. What took you so long?”

The Auntie turned her bright eyes on Jackie Carl, “And what do you have to say about it, young man?”

Before she had even finished speaking, Jackie Carl was nodding, “Yes,” so filled with feeling that he could not find the words or trust his voice. Jackie Carl looked to Tubby and Irene, their faces filled with love, their eyes brimming with tears. Tubby placed a hand on Jackie Carl’s shoulder and for the first time in his life, the boy felt like he had a Dad.

“Very well!” the Auntie continued, “You need a name. A real name.” As if the name Jackie Carl had only been a placeholder for the true life that was about to unfold.

They sat once more in silence. The pipe was filled and passed around the circle again. After a long while, the Auntie spoke. Pointing first to the orange glow of the coals on the hearth and then to the carroty color of Jackie Carl’s hair, she said. “You, my child, are Atsila. That means fire.”

An appreciative chorus of “Aho” and laughter greeted her proclamation. “Atsila,” Jackie Carl tried the sound of his new name. It felt like the moment when the Muskie hits your line and you know you’ve hooked a big one. “Atsila.” It felt like the instant your lacrosse shot slips past the keeper and into the cage. “Atsila.” It felt like the sleepy peace that comes when your belly is full of Bannock, venison stew, and cornmeal pudding. “Atsila.” It felt like home.

Isaiah 9:2-7

The people who walked in darkness
    have seen a great light;
those who lived in a land of deep darkness—
    on them light has shined.
3 You have multiplied exultation;
    you have increased its joy;
they rejoice before you
    as with joy at the harvest,
    as people exult when dividing plunder.
4 For the yoke of their burden
    and the bar across their shoulders,
    the rod of their oppressor,
    you have broken as on the day of Midian.
5 For all the boots of the tramping warriors
    and all the garments rolled in blood
    shall be burned as fuel for the fire.
6 For a child has been born for us,
    a son given to us;
authority rests upon his shoulders,
    and he is named
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
7 Great will be his authority,
    and there shall be endless peace
for the throne of David and his kingdom.
    He will establish and uphold it
with justice and with righteousness
    from this time onward and forevermore.
The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this.

Psalm 22:9-10

Yet it was you who took me from the womb;
    you kept me safe on my mother’s breast.
10 On you I was cast from my birth,
    and since my mother bore me you have been my God.

Photo by Cody Hammer on Pexels.com

The Voice from the Margins

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “The Voice from the Margins” Luke 3:1-18

The Christmas preparations have been underway in the village for weeks. First, our lampposts were hung those giant sparkly snowflakes. Then, Berkely Green sprouted a bevy of Christmas trees. Salvation Army bell ringers with their red kettles are stationed at the post office and Kinney’s. Shopkeepers have decked their windows with lights and greens and tempting wares that we just might need to purchase for our beloved ones. Sparkle Village returned to the town hall with those wonderful one-of-a-kind crafts and gifts.

We have been preparing for Christmas at church, too. The Advent wreath has emerged from its basement lair to hang above the chancel and call us to worship weekly. Cherise has done yet another amazing job of greening our sanctuary and doors. Some of us are reading our way to Christmas. Perhaps you took home an Advent devotional, or you are gathering on Thursdays for lunch and book discussion. Scott and the choir have been hard at work on a spectacular anthem for Christmas Eve. The kids, under the direction of Ms. Kim, are preparing to delight us with a special play next week.

I know that there have been plenty of preparations on our home fronts, too. We may be working out final details on travel plans or preparing to welcome guests. Our front doors are sporting wreaths and our eves are dripping with Christmas lights. We are hanging favorite ornaments on our Christmas trees—candy canes, antique glass balls, and golden macaroni wreaths made by little hands long ago. We’ve been shopping, and if we are very organized, we are wrapping. If the baking hasn’t begun yet, it will soon—Christmas cookies, fruitcakes, panettone, stollen, and our favorite family recipes. If you are like me, there is joy in the preparation, a remembering of Christmases past and an anticipation of the holiday to come.

On this second Sunday in Advent, the gospel reading brings us John the Baptist, who gives us an earful about preparing the way of the Lord. When I served the Community Church in Morton Grove, I would tag along with my head of staff Michael Winters to attend a lectionary group. These were seasoned pastors who preached weekly and met to discuss the scripture and work on their sermons. The second Sunday of Advent was near, and we had just read together the reading I shared a minute ago—John the Baptist calling us a brood of vipers and exhorting us to repent. There was a long moment of silence following the reading, then Rev. Debbie spoke up, “Don’t you wish we only had to preach on John once a year for Baptism of the Lord Sunday in January? Who wants to hear about John at Christmas?”

John certainly wasn’t dressed for the holidays and his diet of locusts and wild honey hardly sounds like a tasty Christmas dinner. In 1457, Donatello cast a larger-than-life bronze statue of John the Baptist for the Cathedral in Siena, Italy. In Donatello’s imagination, John has unkempt hair and the burning eyes of a fanatic. He’s impossibly thin, a skeleton with skin, all lean muscle and sinew. He’s clothed in matted furs that part at the side to show bare flesh. His long, bony fingers extend, as if pointing the way to Christ, the stronger one who will follow. The statue is eerie, unsettling, discomforting. There is no bow big enough to dress John up and put him under our Christmas trees. Let’s face it, we would never invite John the Baptist to Christmas dinner because he would be certain to shout, wouldn’t wear a tie, and would probably smell like the wilderness he just rolled out of. No. At Christmas, we prefer the baby Jesus, the holy infant so tender and mild to the disconcertingly wild, wooly, and radical John.

The sermon that John gave doesn’t sound like something you want to read in a Christmas card. Let me channel my inner John . . .

Dear Brood of Vipers,

What is wrong with you?!

Don’t you know that God is coming? That’s right Yahweh, the great I AM. He’s really topped himself this time, dared to wrap himself in flesh and walk among us. He’s on the loose!

And you?! You’re oblivious! You just go on living large. It’s all about you, isn’t it?

And what about this world? God help us! Nation taking up arms against nation. Neighbor trash-talking neighbor. What about the poor, the orphan, the refugee, the folks who struggle to put food on the table or a roof over their heads?

Stop, people! Just stop. Turn it around before it’s too late. You need to remember who is really in charge around here and it’s not you. It’s God Almighty. So straighten up and fly right. Be prepared!

Got it? Good!

Yours truly,

John

On this second Sunday of Advent, the ill-mannered, ill-timed, wild-and-crazy John the Baptist breaks into our lives and throws a big fat monkey wrench into our Christmas customs and timeworn traditions. Truth be told, we need John. We need him to startle us out of our Christmas complacency and call us away from our ordinary lives to a time and place of awareness and anticipation. We need John to urge us to leave, if only for a little bit, our kitchens and Christmas trees, our on-line shopping and office parties, our school books and family festivities. We need John to remind us of the reason for the season and tell us what it really means to prepare the way of the Lord. We need John’s encouragement to repent (metanoia), to thoughtfully and honestly reflect upon our lives, redirect our actions and energies, and re-commit ourselves to God-centered living. We need John to remind us that, no matter what the circumstance of our lives may be, we can be redeemed and renewed. We can come back to God because every year at Christmas, we are reminded that God comes to us with help and healing and love beyond our wildest imaginings.

Our Advent book this year is Season’s Greetings, an imaginative collection of Christmas letters from those who were there at the first Christmas. The author, my friend Ruth Boling, invites us to imagine John as “one of those wacky inflatable air dancers outside a car dealership.” You know those annoying windsocks that rise and fall and gyrate in unexpected ways that captivate our attention? According to my friend Ruth, John says, “I’m here to do that. To get you and everyone else to stop racing around on your Christmas hamster wheels, to get you to take notice and to study what I—wacky inflatable air dancer—am pointing toward. Here, people of God, is the one you want to be chasing . . . Don’t be a hamster, or a lemming, or an idiot. See, here is the one who came to redeem and restore.” It’s Jesus.

In the coming weeks of Advent, the frenzied pace of our Christmas preparations will build to a crescendo. That Kanoodle Ultimate Champion game that we purchased online for our grandchildren will be backordered, and we’ll scramble for a last-minute gift. Grandma’s recipe for authentic German stollen will disappear, and we’ll spend hours trying unsuccessfully to duplicate her kitchen magic through guesswork. Our Christmas trees will dry up and shed boatloads of needles, and we’ll wake up in the middle of the night to worry that our house might burn down. Our children will grow SO excited that they will not sleep a wink on Christmas Eve, and neither will we.

Amid the crazy-hamster-wheel-joy of this Advent season, may we listen for the voice from the margins. The Baptizer still calls out in the wilderness. May the wild one summon us away from the holiday rush to quiet moments with God for reflection, redirection, and renewal. Prepare the way of the Lord, my friends, make his paths straight.

Resources

Troy Troftgruben. “Commentary on Luke 3:1-6” in Preaching This Week, Dec. 8, 2024. Accessed online at Commentary on Luke 3:1-6 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

David Lose. “Commentary on Luke 3:1-6” in Preaching This Week, Dec. 6, 2009. Accessed online at Commentary on Luke 3:1-6 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Audrey West. “Commentary on Luke 3:1-6” in Preaching This Week, Dec. 5, 2021. Accessed online at Commentary on Luke 3:1-6 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Ruth Boling. Season’s Greetings: Christmas Letters from Those Who Were There. Nashville: Upper Room books, 2024.

3 In the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, 2 during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness. 3 He went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, 4 as it is written in the book of the words of the prophet Isaiah,

“The voice of one crying out in the wilderness:
‘Prepare the way of the Lord;
    make his paths straight.
5 Every valley shall be filled,
    and every mountain and hill shall be made low,
and the crooked shall be made straight,
    and the rough ways made smooth,
6 and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.’ ”

7 John said to the crowds coming out to be baptized by him, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath? 8 Therefore, bear fruits worthy of repentance, and do not begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor,’ for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. 9 Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; therefore every tree that does not bear good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.”

10 And the crowds asked him, “What, then, should we do?” 11 In reply he said to them, “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none, and whoever has food must do likewise.” 12 Even tax collectors came to be baptized, and they asked him, “Teacher, what should we do?” 13 He said to them, “Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.” 14 Soldiers also asked him, “And we, what should we do?” He said to them, “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.”

15 As the people were filled with expectation and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah, 16 John answered all of them by saying, “I baptize you with water, but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the strap of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. 17 His winnowing fork is in his hand to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”

18 So with many other exhortations he proclaimed the good news to the people.

Donatello, John the Baptists, 1457, Duomo di Siena.

The Kingdom Comes

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “The Kingdom Comes” Luke 21:25-36

Italian Renaissance painter Sandro Botticelli believed that the end of the world was coming in the year 1504. You can spy his apocalyptic vision in his painting of Jesus’ birth, The Mystical Nativity. The painting has all the usual things we expect in a manger scene—joyful angels, an adoring Mary and Joseph, reverent shepherds, and curious barnyard beasts, but it also bears the disturbing depiction of small winged devils escaping under rocks or shot through with arrows. Botticelli explained his strange vision in an epigraph at the top of his work, “I, Sandro, painted this picture at the end of the year 1500 in the troubles of Italy in the. . . second woe of the Apocalypse in the loosing of the devil for three and a half years. . . we shall see him trodden down as in this picture.”

New England residents thought the end was near on May 19, 1780 when the skies turned strangely dark. According to one witness, “People [came] out wringing their hands and howling, the Day of Judgment is come.” The Connecticut legislature, which was in session when the sky blackened, feared the apocalypse was imminent and moved for adjournment, but one legislator, Abraham Davenport, responded: “The day of judgment is either approaching, or it is not. If it is not, there is no cause of an adjournment; if it is, I choose to be found doing my duty. I wish therefore that candles may be brought.” The “Dark Day,” as it came to be known, ended at midnight, when the stars once again became visible in the night sky. Historians suspect that the darkness was caused by an ill-timed confluence of smoke from forest fires and heavy fog.

When Halley’s Comet reappeared in 1910, it induced an end-of-the-world panic. Chicago’s Yerkes Observatory announced that it had detected a poisonous gas called cyanogen in the comet’s tail. The New York Times reported that the noted French astronomer, Camille Flammarion believed the gas “would impregnate that atmosphere and possibly snuff out all life on the planet.” Panic ensued. People rushed to purchase gas masks and “comet pills.” The Atlanta Constitution reported that people in Georgia were preparing safe rooms and covering keyholes with paper. One man armed himself with a gallon of whiskey and requested that friends lower him to the bottom of a dry well, 40 feet deep. After the comet passed, the headline of the Chicago Tribune lamely announced, “We’re Still Here.”

Our gospel reading on this first Sunday of Advent is downright apocalyptic. Sounding a lot like an Old Testament prophet, Jesus warned his listeners of a coming Day of Judgment. There would be signs in the heavens, chaos among the nations, and tumult upon the waters. Amid the discord and disruption, Jesus called his followers to vigilance, saying: stand up, raise your head, be on guard, pray. 

When Jesus stood in the Temple court sounding so prophetic, he was in the midst of a different holiday season—the Passover. From across the Roman Empire, people had come to Jerusalem to remember that God had once delivered them from the bondage of Egypt. With plagues of frogs and gnats, darkness, disease, and death, God had bested Pharaoh, and Moses had led the people forth to freedom. That Passover week, Jesus and his friends remembered God’s deliverance with the sacrifice of a lamb, the singing of psalms, and the sharing of a final Passover seder.

The courts of the Temple were filled with politically-charged tension as Passover memories faced the everyday reality of Jesus’ listeners. Israel was again in bondage, a vassal state of the Roman Empire. A legion of Roman soldiers had ridden out of Caesarea and up to Jerusalem amid the Passover pilgrims. Any dreams of Jewish freedom would be promptly and brutally quashed. It may have been Passover, but the local leaders served the emperor’s purpose, not God’s purpose. As that week continued, this would become increasingly clear as the Temple authorities conspired to arrest and condemn the Lord.

Given the context in which Jesus spoke, his promise of the coming of the Son of Man with power and great glory took on a hopeful tone for his listeners. Jesus was assuring the people that it was God, not Rome, who had ultimate authority. God, who delivered their ancestors from slavery in Egypt was still at work and would one day bring all things to completion in the Kingdom of God. The people needed to live today as if that Kingdom were coming tomorrow, alert and on guard, standing tall with heads up.

On this first Sunday in Advent, we puzzle over Jesus’ apocalyptic promise. We smile, perhaps a bit condescendingly, at the long history of apocalypticism—Sandro Botticelli’s Mystical Nativity with winged devils pinned to the earth by heavenly bolts, New Englanders terrified on the Dark Day, Americans plying gas masks and “comet pills” to ward off the end that was surely coming with Halley’s Comet. But if we are honest, we’ll admit that we are not strangers to apocalyptic worry.

We fear the end is near. Vladimir Putin will push the nuclear button in his prolonged war against Ukraine, unleashing a tide of atomic death to threaten the planet. Israel, Hamas, and Iran have set the stage for Armageddon, years of unstoppable, unwinnable war in the Middle East. Our addiction to fossil fuels will bring worldwide ecological catastrophe. The bitter divisions and bizarre turns of American politics herald an end to democracy and our nation as we know it. We faint with fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world.

Our apocalyptic worries may be deeply personal. The death of a beloved one feels like the end of our world. A terrifying diagnosis convinces us that Judgment Day is near. Money troubles fill us with cataclysmic worry and woe. Estrangement in our families puts an end to future plans. It feels a lot like the apocalypse out there. We are confused and shaken, uncertain and frightened.

And so, on the first Sunday in Advent, we need Jesus to remind us that God has the last word. When Jesus made that promise, his friends would soon feel that their world was coming to an end. Temple guards would take Jesus into custody. He would be tried on trumped up charges, handed over to the Romans, and condemned to death on a cross. For three days, it would feel like the end of the world, that Rome and death and sin had the last word. Yet on Easter morning, they learned, once and for all, that God’s love is always stronger than death, always stronger than all the apocalyptic fears that our world may wield.

In Jesus’ life, death, and rising, God launched a revolution of self-giving love that continues to ripple through the corridors of time. The Kingdom comes even when the Romans rule the land. The Kingdom comes when Renaissance Italy feels like the devil has been loosed for 3 ½ years. The Kingdom comes on Dark Days. The Kingdom comes when the sky is falling. The Kingdom comes despite the machinations of scheming despots. The Kingdom comes as the bombs fall. The Kingdom comes amid global warming. The Kingdom comes in political chaos. The Kingdom comes even when our lives are wracked by personal pain, grief, and loss. The Son of Man comes with power and glory.

On this first Sunday in Advent, we remember that the Kingdom comes, and we can be a part of it—if we will only stand up, raise our heads, and go forth to love today as if the world were ending tomorrow. Lutheran theologian Philip Hefner, who taught for many years at the Lutheran Seminary in Chicago, taught that humankind is created to be co-creators. God grants us the agency, freedom, and creative capacity to join our purpose to God’s purpose. If Hefner is right, then we have a part to play in the coming of God’s Kingdom. Our choice to stand up, raise our heads, roll up our sleeves, and go forth with love is a choice for the Kingdom. And as we dare to love our God and our neighbors and even our enemies when it feels like the world is coming to an end, the Kingdom comes a little bit in each of us and in those whose lives we touch.

So maybe Abraham Davenport got it right on that Dark Day in 1780, and he said, “The day of judgment is either approaching, or it is not. If it is not, there is no cause of an adjournment; if it is, I choose to be found doing my duty. I wish therefore that candles may be brought.” The world may or may not be coming to an end, but there is work still for us to do. May we stand up and raise our heads. May we love today as if the Kingdom were coming tomorrow.

Resources

Mark Strauss. “Ten Notable Apocalypses That (Obviously) Didn’t Happen” in Smithsonian Magazine, Nov. 12, 2009.

Drew Rick-Miller. “Created Co-Creators” in Science for the Church, July 9, 2019. Accessed online at Created Co-Creators – Science for the Church – Ministry Resources 

David Lose. “Commentary on Luke 21:25-36” in Preaching This Week, Nov. 29, 2009. Accessed online at Commentary on Luke 21:25-36 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Mary Beth Dinkler. “Commentary on Luke 21:25-36” in Preaching This Week, Dec. 2, 2018. Accessed online at Commentary on Luke 21:25-36 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Troy Troftgruben. “Commentary on Luke 21:25-36” in Preaching This Week, Dec. 1, 2024. Accessed online at Commentary on Luke 21:25-36 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Luke 21:25-36

25 “There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. 26 People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken. 27 Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in a cloud’ with power and great glory. 28 Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.” 29 Then he told them a parable: “Look at the fig tree and all the trees; 30 as soon as they sprout leaves you can see for yourselves and know that summer is already near. 31 So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near. 32 Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all things have taken place. 33 Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away. 34 “Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life and that day does not catch you unexpectedly, 35 like a trap. For it will come upon all who live on the face of the whole earth. 36 Be alert at all times, praying that you may have the strength to escape all these things that will take place and to stand before the Son of Man.”

By Sandro Botticelli – National Gallery, London, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=39054778