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Sermon for December 1, 2024
Advent 1 C
Luke 21:25-36
Rev. Karl-John N. Stone
A few weeks ago, my Aunt Dorothy uncovered some old family letters, written by my great-grandmother’s brother; his name was Gus Johnson. He came from Racine, WI and was serving in the Army during World War 1. Gus mostly wrote about how going overseas made him realize how much he loved and admired his family, and how he found comfort and peace through faith in God. He also shared a few details of the troubles he witnessed. For example, the transport ship that took him and his fellow troops across the Atlantic Ocean was fired upon by German torpedoes. He also wrote of watching airplane battles, hearing the boom when the artillery fired the “big guns” across the front lines, and meeting soldiers who’d spent months in the trenches under constant threat of death. On Easter Sunday 1918, Gus was impressed by one of these men who gave a heartfelt talk about how he had “been to hell and come back”.
Even though my great-great-uncle Gus’s job kept him behind the front lines, he was close enough to know what was going on. While he felt safe where he was stationed, he was not naïve to the danger close at hand, and neither was his family. He wrote to reassure his family that they were always close in his thoughts; each night in France he’d look at the stars, and they were the same stars in the same position as they were back home, and this made him feel connected to them. He wrote that he felt hopeful; that whenever he faced any kind of danger, he always felt guided by the unseen hand of God—and that no matter what might happen to him, he had strong faith that God would care for him.
Even though these letters were written over 100 years ago, the emotions and sentiments that Gus expressed feel a lot closer than 100 years. The anxiety and worry, the search for hope in the midst of chaos and troubles, the strength of love, the comfort of faith, the presence of God to hold onto until better times arrived—well, the events may change from generation to generation and from age to age, but what it takes to make it through those things stay pretty much the same. These days we often hear a lot about the differences between the generations—and there are differences—but we’re also not quite as different as we sometimes make it seem. Not when it comes to the core of what makes us human, each created in the image of God.
All of this was true during the time of Jesus, as well. In today’s gospel reading from Luke 21, we pick up in the middle of Jesus talking to the disciples about the future destruction of Jerusalem—which the Roman Army would accomplish in the year 70 AD (so, about 40 years after Jesus’ time on earth). Jesus describes the chaotic environment that will occur and how people will react to it. He talks about “signs in the sun, moon, and stars; distress on the earth; nations confused by the roaring of the seas and waves; people fainting from fear about what the world is coming to.” It actually sounds a lot like the themes my great-uncle Gus wrote home about during World War 1.
But in the midst of it, when all seems lost, “then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in a cloud’ with power and glory.” Jesus was not referring to the end of time here, nor to his “second coming”; he was referring back to Daniel chapter 7 in the Old Testament, when God’s people are freed from suffering and oppression; and Jesus is reassuring us that his ways of peace, love, and forgiveness are more powerful than the forces of destruction, chaos, and death that de-value and dehumanize people.
“When all these troubles take place,” Jesus says, “stand up and raise your heads”—take courage, hold onto to hope—“because your redemption is drawing near.” Christ is present in our suffering. Christ took our suffering upon himself by going to the cross—but he knows the way through suffering, to new life and salvation on the other side, because he’s risen from the dead.
In 1949, Victor Frankl, who was a holocaust survivor and psychologist, coined a term: “tragic optimism”. What does this mean, this mash up of two words that seem completely opposed to each other? Well, Frankl observed that in life, everyone is going to face hardship and hurt; and it doesn’t do us any good to deny the reality of this. But then, after we acknowledge and accept life’s hardships, we can put our energies towards finding a way to move forward anyway—with hope of better times in the future. Embracing this attitude of “tragic optimism” gives you permission to feel happy or sad (as your situation warrants); to live in hope or fear; to grieve your losses or be excited by new possibilities. You can move forward, not getting stuck in what you have no control of, because you are now free to look for even small ways to make a positive difference—either for yourself or for someone else. [https://www.nytimes.com/2024/11/29/opinion/tragic-optimism.html]
What Victor Frankl taught about cultivating the attitude of “tragic optimism” is similar to what Jesus taught his earliest followers—and what Jesus continues to teach us through the gospel. “When you see these things taking place” Jesus reminds us (that is, when you see the tragic hardships of the world or of your own life)—then “know that the kingdom of God is near.”
No matter what the world throws at you, God picks it up and finds some way to begin shaping it into the future that God has promised through Jesus Christ. God is always sending signs of his kingdom into the world. No matter what happens, the kingdom of God is near. And the presence of Jesus keeps showing up—whenever God’s Word is spoken, read, or heard; whenever people are welcomed into the sacraments of Baptism and Communion; whenever people are being cared for and reassured that their lives matter; whenever someone is praying, or serving, or loving. Jesus is always showing up—even in the midst of hardship.
But it’s only natural that we often have trouble seeing the signs God is sending. It’s so easy for us to become overwhelmed or distracted. Therefore patience is the key. The season of Advent, which begins today, is the season of patience. It’s the time that we carve out of the busyness of the holiday season, to practice slowing down and becoming aware of God’s presence. It’s the time for learning how to wait, in hopeful anticipation, for Christ to make himself visible in the world. And it’s the time to ask God to show us: how might we become signs pointing the way for other people to see that Christ himself is near? Amen.