The Sermon Mall

 

 

Signs Of God's Coming

Luke 21:25-36
In every generation there have been Christians who thought that they were seeing in eclipses or comets or raging storms or severe international problems the signs of which Jesus spoke. As it turns out, they have all been wrong in interpreting such things as signs of the Lord's final coming. It is not wrong, however, to wonder about the meaning of events and to see in them signs of the Lord's present advent, because between his first coming in Bethlehem and his final coming in glory he is continually invading our lives in ways both large and small. Let the passage from Luke refer today to those strange unpredictable signs of God's coming in the middle of history and in the course of our individual lives.
Think about it. Are there not recurring moments in your life when time seems to stop, when the noise of the world is momentarily stilled, when self-deception is stripped away and there is a sudden clear awareness of yourself?
A simple word or phrase can cause this to happen.
One day when David was at the height of his power and glory as king of Israel, the prophet, Nathan, came to see him and said, "Your majesty, in one of our cities there was a rich man who had many herds and flocks, and there was a poor man who had this one lamb that he and his children loved very much. The rich man had a house guest for whom he wanted to prepare a feast, and instead of using one of the lambs out of his own flock, you know what he did? He took the one lamb which the poor man had." David was shocked and angry at the idea of such a thing and said that the man ought to be punished. Nathan raised his hand, pointed his finger at the king and said, "You are the man. Bathsheba was the lamb." Time stood still. The words echoed in David's head like pounding waves. From his window he had looked down and seen Bathsheba bathing and was filled with desire. "You are the man." He had her soldier husband, Uriah, set up to be killed in battle. "You are the man." He took Bathsheba to be his mistress. "You are the man."
A student received a term paper back with a very low grade on it. Shocked and hurt he went and asked his professor why. His teacher said quietly, "Because you didn't put much work into it, did you?" I remember that moment of clear awareness as his words cut through to the truth.
A parent asks a child, "Why can't you talk to me?" The child responds, "Because you never understand."
A phrase, a word, from an anthem, a hymn, a prayer, a sermon touches your mind and heart in accusation or consolation, and all other awareness is momentarily pushed aside. Can you not recall incidents similar to these when, for you, words have momentarily eclipsed everything else?
The same kind of experience is sometimes produced, not by words, but by the absence of words. There are times when the deafening sound of silence seems to stop the sun, moon and stars in their course.
The silence of God, the terrible feeling of the absence of God at a time of personal need, can prompt the heart to cry out as Jesus did in his loneliness and pain, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"
Or time stands still as one's house reverberates with the silence caused by the absence of one with whom that house was shared.
Or we find ourselves awake in the night when the members of our family are asleep. We think of them lying there and are suddenly aware of how much they need our gentleness and encouragement and understanding and love. And time stands still as we see and hear in the silence of memory our harsh words and rough actions that have bruised and wounded them or our own stony silence which has shut them out.
Or perhaps you have experienced that moment of silence when you realized that there is a core and heart of you which no mother or father or wife or husband or son or daughter or friend or anyone else can ever completely touch and understand, a silent awareness of ultimate aloneness that causes tears to well up.
The "roaring of the sea and the waves" is often very real in silence.
The mere presence and personality and character of some other person can also cause time to stand still and give rise to a kind of unexpected self-awareness.
You came to church that particular Sunday and sat down during the Organ Prelude to prepare for the service. You looked over and saw him sitting where he always does, and you thought again of what a fine person he is--warm, cheerful, magnanimous, with carefully nurtured faith and character--and it made you painfully aware of a shallowness in yourself.
You find yourself staring across the street or across the classroom or across the room at a party at someone whose interest in others makes you more aware of your own self-centeredness, or at someone whose courage in meeting life's difficulties makes you ashamed of your own complaining, or at someone whose forgiving spirit makes you conscious of your own tendency to carry grudges.
If you do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, you will be able to remember experiences in which you were brought up short by seeing in someone else's character and attitudes a challenge to your own. And if, as I am talking, you cannot for the life of you remember any such experience, it might be well for you to reflect upon what that reveals about you.
Those moments when sun, moon and stars seem out of control and when the foundations of life are shaken come for nations and communities and institutions as well as for individuals.
The Israelites thought that no serious national tragedy could happen to them since they were God's chosen people. Their total defeat and capture by the Assyrians was a moment of truth which stripped away their false illusions of security and left them face to face with themselves.
We Americans have experienced a succession of these moments over the past thirty years--the discovery of our limited ability to solve global problems in spite of our military power, the shocking discovery that Asians and Europeans were often our equals and frequently our superiors in business, the dawning realization that there is something about us as a society that is spawning too much anger, despair and violence.
What are all of these moments and times when sun and moon and stars seem to swing into erratic patterns and the waters seem to roar? Well, they are whatever you decide they are. You have several alternatives.
You may decide that they are just poignant or disturbing incidents which do not have any significance beyond the momentary feelings of uneasiness or sadness or guilt to which they give rise. You can just let the moment pass and fade away and forget it.
Or you can decide that such incidents are indeed an occasion of challenge and that you are going to muster the will power and human resources needed to meet that challenge. In response to that word or that silence or that person which brought you face to face with yourself, you can make a resolution that from now on you are going to be more moral, more considerate, more courageous, more conscientious in your personal life. As Americans, we can respond to crises in our national life simply by resolving that we are going to be more resolute or clever in our foreign policy in the future or that we are going to build more and more prisons or that we are going to elect different people. In other words, we can respond to the unexpected moments of truth by falling back on our own resources.
But there is a third alternative. You can interpret these moments as occasions when God has broken through into your life and given you a chance to see clearly, not only the contrast between what you are and what God wants you to be, but also the limitations of your human power and resources. You can react, if you choose to do so, not by simply rolling up your sleeves and applying your hands more vigorously to the building of life in your image, but by putting your hands in God's hands. You can ask yourself how God wants you to respond, and you can rely on God for the inspiration and strength needed for such a response.
The history of Christian experience shows us that this is the way people really change and grow.
When Jesus was arrested, Simon Peter mingled with the hostile crowd outside the high priest's house. Three times he was asked if he were not a disciple of Jesus, and three times he denied in fear that he was. Then, when dawn approached, a rooster suddenly crowed. Time stood still, as Peter remembered Jesus' prediction of his cowardice. Peter interpreted that humiliating experience as a sign of God's coming, and he responded to it with a kind of repentance and commitment which made a new man of him.
Or take the case of St. Augustine, one of the great figures in the history of the church. Until the year 368 A.D., he was a restless, directionless playboy. In that year, when he was thirty-two years old, a crisis occurred. Suffering from emptiness and self-disgust because of his inability to control his sexual desires, he fled one day into a quiet nook in a garden. Over the garden wall he heard a child at play singing what sounded like, "tolle, lege," Latin words for "take, read." Believing it to be a word from God, Augustine found a copy of the New Testament, opened it, and his eyes fell on these words in the 13th chapter of Romans, "not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and wantonness...but put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the flesh, to fulfill the lusts thereof." Augustine interpreted the experience as the advent of God into his life. It precipitated his conversion and the radical change of his life.
John Wesley was a failure as a preacher until one night he attended a worship service at Aldersgate and there "felt his heart strangely warmed" in one of those moments when time suddenly stands still. He interpreted the experience as a sign of the Lord's coming and responded with a new commitment of faith and trust that gave him a power he had never had before.
What will you make of those unexpected moments in your life when the foundations are shaken, when the sun, moon and stars stand still, when the waters roar and the waves rush in? Will you dismiss them with a shrug? Will you try to respond in terms of your own limited capacity? Or will you see in them signs of the Lord's coming to you in the midst of life and respond with repentance, trust and hope?
"When these things begin to take place," said Jesus, "look up and raise your head, because your redemption is drawing near."
Prayer: Your advent among us in the birth of Jesus was so ordinary that only a few wise men and shepherds glimpsed its extraordinary significance. Make us alert, O God, to the possibilities of redemption in experiences which we could easily dismiss. Help us to discern what you are saying to us in the tears which we provoke in others, in the frustration we experience at taking on more than we can handle, in the moment of regret and shame which follows a shoddy deed, in the moment of exhilaration which accompanies a noble one. May we awaken to the reality that you are continuously coming to us and that our challenge is to look up and listen and respond. And grant us God that we may be agents of your advent as we touch other lives with our gifts and our prayers, with loving words and warm hands, with candid words and with patient encouragement. And where we fail to be the agents of your advent to those who need you, grant that others may be so that all of your children in this world may experience at least a little of the hope, peace, love and joy which you desire for us all. Amen.
J. Harold Mckeithen, Jr. Newport News, VA