What crossed your mind when you just heard, “Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom.” Perhaps you leaned to your neighbor and whispered in mischievous delight, “Let’s see how the visiting preacher tries to dig out of this dastardly mess?” Or did you simply sigh, “I entered this sanctuary for tranquility and end up bombarded by predictions of famines, plagues and earthquakes!”
Let me tell you what crossed my mind. Pastor Krommes called me a number of months ago to invite me to preach here this morning. I was ecstatic. I have known your pastor for forty-three years—before either of us was a pastor; I have admired her abiding love for you, her exquisite leadership, and her astonishing preaching. I have known Pastor Kochenderfer even longer; he was my wise and supportive neighbor in West Philly when I was fresh out of seminary and barely knew Genesis from Jesus. Given our long-standing history, I was confounded when I first read the gospel reading your pastor tried to saddle me with. I was inclined to call Pastor Krommes right back to say: “I’m so sorry. I forgot. Dagmar and I will be hiking somewhere in the New England woods on November 17.”
Jesus’ words about perilous times give us all pause because…well…because we know they are true. The acrimony between political parties makes us fear that our nation’s noble experiment with democracy might just be grinding to a halt. For this and other reasons, at least a few of you might be feeling these to be perilous times.
There was similar pandemonium in the air when Jesus spoke of dreadful portents and great signs from heaven soon to come. In fact, only days after uttering these dire warnings, Jesus was executed by those who clashed with him.
Don’t you want to ask Jesus when exactly the end is coming?
Many preachers are more than willing to answer your question. One pastor, near where we lived in San Diego, filled his church and made a fortune scaring the pants off people in a number of best-selling books. He confidently asserted who would be swept into heaven and who would be left behind to wallow here on earth.
I’m sure your pastors have told you otherwise: Lutherans, at our best, never finally resort to shock tactics; rather, we hunt for hope whenever life makes our insides feel like carved out acorn squash.
My seminary Old Testament professor, Dr. Brevard Childs, insisted that we never let even the grouchiest prophet’s gloomy predictions be the final word. Our nightly homework assignment was to hunt for hope—in Amos, Hosea, Jeremiah, and the lot. There was always hope to be found, he assured us, no matter how cranky the prophet. Dr. Childs invited us to hunt for hope because that would be our lifetime calling: steering forlorn people to toward hope.
So, it’s time I ask you on my professor’s behalf: did you discover hope in this morning’s gospel reading? How about this: “Not a hair of your head will perish. By your endurance you will gain your souls.” So easy to miss and yet so splendid to find.
Hope-hunting is your calling here at St. John’s—and I know you do it so well. I confess to have watched your pastors and you do ministry for many years now. I have been captivated by—dare I say “envious” of—your vitality, creativity, and devotion. You are always searching for an even more effective way to share the good news of Jesus with those down on their luck—you do it by keeping your church doors open, you do it by going out on the streets of Phoenixville and participating in a host of important community activities, you do it by supporting missionaries in Tanzania and giving young girls scholarships there.
You do it this very day! Quite a few of you are beginning the process of joining this lively congregation. You have lots of ways to spend Sunday morning—you could be on your patio, firing up your barbecue right now for the Eagle’s game or before the fireplace in your comfy L.L. Bean slippers doing the New York Times Magazine crossword puzzle. Instead, you are here and you will soon promise to share the life-giving gifts you have found at St. John’s with others. Others of you will make generous financial commitments; some of you have made such gifts for years and years. You have heard God calling you to be part of this community and once you tasted God’s delicious love in bread and wine you take off running, kicking your heels, and singing in delight: “I have found it. I have found hope.”
You do this in so many ways, in some ways only a few people know about. You run straight to your friend who calls at midnight, lamenting how sick she is of drinking too much cut-rate vodka. You tell her: “Tomorrow, you and I will attend an AA meeting in some church basement with flickering neon lights and coffee a bit too strong. We will hear one of those sometimes-fragile souls tell how she was powerfulness over alcohol until she turned her life over to God. And then she will look straight into your bloodshot eyes and say, ‘Trust me, there is hope.’”
The final and hardest test for discovering hope always occurs at the graveyard. Tears stream down your face; you numbly watch your dear Pastor Krommes lift her hand in blessing, as she has done so many years here, and you hear her say unimaginable and yet comforting words over the casket of your loved one:
“The Lord bless him and keep him.
The Lord make his face shine on him and be gracious to him. The Lord look upon him with favor and give in peace.
These are the hopeful things you do at St. John’s by joining this church and by committing your hard-earned money and precious time so that Christ’s light will shine brightly as the shadows lengthen and the evening comes.
At the end of worship today, you will say to one another, “Go in peace. Set your hope on Christ.” That is another way of saying, “Not a hair of your head will perish.” Congratulations, good people of St. John’s, for accomplishing your homework task and discovering the hope of Christ in this marvelous congregation. Oh yes, and if I might be so bold to speak on God’s behalf, I give you an A+.