Luke 21:5-19
Nov. 17, 2019
Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood
First Congregational UCC of Manhattan, KS
It’s easy to fool ourselves into believing that there are things in this world that are permanent, unchanging. Anyone who has ever visited the site of a natural disaster soon after the devastation knows how things that seem sturdy can be destroyed in a moment. Trees ripped from the ground, giant structures thrown down and dismantled completely. Floods, earthquakes, fires, tornados...even something temporary like a blizzard can alter the physical world beyond recognition as we look out at the horizon and try to orient ourselves when the world seems to have turned upside-down.
When the cathedral Notre Dame de Paris burned this past April, it was one of those moments where many of us shared a collective gasp because it seemed so inconceivable that something so ...permanent, sturdy, unchanging….could be destroyed at a moment’s notice. My husband, David, told me a story of a friend of his who travels in Europe frequently for work. She had recently been in Paris for a gig and went to visit the cathedral for the first time. The line was long that day and she waited for a bit but eventually bailed out, thinking to herself, “I’m back in Paris all the time. I’ll go next time.”
There are places like that cathedral that seem so permanent, sturdy, unchanging...we assume they’ll just always be there waiting for us if we ever get around to visiting them. But sometimes that’s not the case.
This is how the people in Jesus’s time might have felt about the Temple in Jerusalem. By the time of Jesus it was quite old….having been built in the 6th century before the common era. And it was the second temple to stand on this same hallowed ground, the first Temple was built during Solomon’s reign, in the 10th century BCE. So it was old, like Notre Dame. And grand, too. Most likely the largest building any of the disciples or Jesus had ever seen. And, like Notre Dame, it was special, sacred, holy. A pilgrimage site. A building that stunned not only the eyes but the spirit.
So when Jesus says, nonchalantly, “Oh, this? Yeah, this will all be destroyed. All these stones so neatly stacked together? They’ll all be a pile of rubble one day.” You can bet the disciples sat up and paid attention. Or perhaps scoffed. Or maybe both. The idea of the Temple being GONE was inconceivable during Jesus’s life.
Fast-forward another 60 or so years to the time when the Gospel of Luke was written down and things had changed considerably. Because, as it turns out, the temple WAS destroyed in the year 70 of the Common Era. Not by an accidental fire, but by a very intentional campaign of violence. For the second time in Israel’s history, a foreign power destroyed the most holy building of the Jewish people. The Roman Siege of Jerusalem was all of the things Jesus warned about in the passage we heard today….famine, war, pestilence, violence, persecution. All of the terrible things humans do to one another took place. And the Temple...that building that seemed permanent, sturdy, unchanging….well, it was reduced to a pile of rubble.
It’s clear from the author of Luke that there were other anxieties bubbling up in this period just after the destruction of the Temple. Not only were the people in a time of great political and civil unrest and uncertainty, but there were deep theological questions at play, too. Why all this talk of “many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he!’”? Well, that’s because the followers of Jesus in the late first century were anxiously awaiting his promised return. Anxiety over this can be found throughout the Second Testament. What do we make of the fact that Jesus was supposed to return (and soon!) but he hasn’t been seen in the flesh since shortly after the Resurrection?
Reading this in the year 2019, my guess is most of us don’t quite carry the same anxieties as Luke’s listeners about the return of Christ. It’s not an aspect of our faith that’s typically played up in more mainstream or progressive Christian circles. But I DO think many of us can relate to the anxiety about the chaos of the world. When wars threaten, when things that seem permanent turn out to be flimsy...when temples fall, how does our faith sustain us? How do we endure when the simple reality of being human is that sometimes life is more than we can bear….often for long periods of time?
Jesus’s message to the disciples on the eve of disaster is one of hope. At first glance, it’s difficult to imagine how anything good can come from destruction, but Jesus is certain there are positive consequences even in the midst of terror. For one thing, he reminds the disciples that when they are persecuted, it means they have an opportunity to testify.
Testifying to God’s goodness and the hope of Easter Love in the midst of pain and uncertainly reminds me of my friend Zach. When we lived in Indiana, he was our landlord for a number of years….but we were close in age and he was one of those human beings who just radiated goodness and peace and joy….so he also became a friend. Not long after we met, Zach was diagnosed with cancer. I visited him in the hospital one time when he wasn’t doing well. He was in his early 20s and the cancer was pretty advanced at this point. We talked about God a lot because Zach was a person of deep faith. He told me that as strange as it sounded, he was actually glad that God had given him cancer. (Now, this is an area where I would have disagreed with him because I don’t happen to think God causes cancer, but that’s how Zach understood what was happening.) He said that he was grateful for his trials because it gave him an opportunity to testify to the world. Although he had always been a Christian, he said he didn’t talk about it as urgently to others until he became sick. But now that he was very ill, he couldn’t stop talking about the hope he found in Jesus and the strength his faith provided.
I bet if I had read Jesus’s words to Zach: “by your endurance you will gain your soul” he would have nodded his head and smiled. Somehow through the pain and fear, he grew. As his body became weaker, his spirit became stronger. It’s truly one of the most amazing things about humanity….the way we can persevere in spirit through the most difficult of circumstances. Seeing God work through Zach like that was awe-inspiring. The strength he had was clearly coming from some place beyond him and his life was a witness to God’s care and love even in the midst of despair.
Biblical scholar Joy Moore says, “Whatever chaos is happening in the world, God’s intention goes beyond it.” [1] Sometimes the chaos is global in scale...war, violence, injustice. Sometimes it’s closer to home and borne quietly….relationships that are fractured, chronic illness, deep doubt and uncertainly. God is present in the midst of all of it breathing hope and peace into our lives. No matter what temples fall, God is present as stones tumble and God’s intention is always for the good.
When I started to ponder temples falling earlier this week I, of course, thought of our own beloved Hale Library. I don’t know about you, but I’ve always thought libraries feel a lot like churches. The mix of solitude and quiet human bustling. The feeling of peace I get when I walk into them. Libraries feel like holy places. So when Hale Library caught fire in May 2018, many of us were deeply saddened. We wondered if we’d ever get to curl up with a delicious book in the Great Hall again.
For those who work in the K-State Libraries, the impact was profound and immediate. People left their offices on Tuesday...never to return to them as they were before the fire. We have several people in our congregation who work at Hale and I reached out to them to learn about what their experience of that devastation was like. Carolyn shared with me that through the fire she came to see K-State in a different way. She said that the “family” sentiment preached by K-State was immediately apparent after the fire. The 80+ employees who were without office space or computers were taken into new homes all over campus. They were given everything they needed to continue working….desks, file cabinets, book shelves, chairs, computers, printers. Carolyn and her co-workers ended up on the third floor of Seaton Hall with a window overlooking Bosco Plaza.
Seeing the university through those windows was a different experience for Carolyn. Over the past year and a half she and her officemates have opened the windows for fresh air and enjoyed the sounds of student life on the plaza below. She says it has a “regular carnival atmosphere.” Daily events with ice cream, pop up sales, music. The best part is hearing the marching band practice every Thursday afternoon. By spending this time in the middle of everything, Carolyn has gained a new perspective on campus life and her work there.
When destruction comes, the Spirit is still present in the midst of it all. Drawing our eyes out new windows, encouraging our spirits to endure and grow even in the midst of hardship.
One of the tasks Carolyn has been intimately involved in post-fire has been talking with faculty members about the books they had checked out or on reserve. I bet some of you have even corresponded with her via email over the past year. She told me a story that was so simple and profound, I have to share it with you.
Many faculty responded to Carolyn’s e-mails with kind words of concern, but one interaction really stood out to her. In going back and forth about course reserve materials with this faculty member, Carolyn wrote that it’s truly amazing the things we take for granted until we don’t have them….she said they were still waiting on a lot of basic supplies to be able to do their jobs. Offhandedly, she said, “Like right now, I could really use a rubber band!”
Friends, the faculty member wrote back and offered to bring a rubber band. She said she had two sitting on her desk and would run them over to Seaton that afternoon.
Now, no one ever solved any of the world’s greatest problems with a rubber band. But there is something so simple and profoundly beautiful about a person taking time to hand-deliver a rubber band to a stranger, don’t you think? When you’ve been uprooted, your home or place of worship or place of work destroyed, well, a rubber band might look like water in the desert. Carolyn says this small gesture reminded her, “It really doesn't take much to reach out to someone in kindness.”
I believe God is that whisper within us that says, “take the rubber band.” God is the flame kindled in our hearts that reminds us we are each able to be Christ to one another….a salve for one another’s wounds, a bit of bright joy in the midst of despair. God doesn’t cause the chaos that threatens to overwhelm, but God provides the strength we need to persist through the chaos.
In times of great trial, when temples fall, we are invited to testify to the reality of the Love and Grace which transcend all that is temporary. By our endurance, we gain our souls.
May it be so. Amen.
[1] Working Preacher podcast for Nov. 17, 2019.
