Sermon: "Swords into Ploughshares," December 1, 2019
First Sunday in Advent
The Rev. Ryan Slifka
“The word that Isaiah son of Amoz saw concerning Judah and Jerusalem.
In days to come
the mountain of the Lord’s house
shall be established as the highest of the mountains,
and shall be raised above the hills;
all the nations shall stream to it.
Many peoples shall come and say,
‘Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord,
to the house of the God of Jacob;
that he may teach us his ways
and that we may walk in his paths.’
For out of Zion shall go forth instruction,
and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem.
He shall judge between the nations,
and shall arbitrate for many peoples;
they shall beat their swords into ploughshares,
and their spears into pruning-hooks;
nation shall not lift up sword against nation,
neither shall they learn war any more.
O house of Jacob,
come, let us walk
in the light of the Lord!
”
“‘But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. For as the days of Noah were, so will be the coming of the Son of Man. For as in those days before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day Noah entered the ark, and they knew nothing until the flood came and swept them all away, so too will be the coming of the Son of Man. Then two will be in the field; one will be taken and one will be left. Two women will be grinding meal together; one will be taken and one will be left. Keep awake therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming. But understand this: if the owner of the house had known in what part of the night the thief was coming, he would have stayed awake and would not have let his house be broken into. Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.”
Today, as you may know, is the first Sunday in the season of Advent. Of course, it’s the season of preparation for Christmas, the coming of Christ as a child in Bethlehem. This may have left you confused by the beginning of the service when we sang songs like “Lo, he comes with clouds descending, see the lamb for sinners slain” and “behold he comes, riding on the clouds, Shining like the sun, at the trumpet's call.” My guess neither of these tunes are on your holiday playlist.
During Advent we get ready for Christmas, the first coming of Christ. But we sing songs like this, and hear readings like this, because in church tradition Advent is also the season of preparation for the second coming of Christ. At the end of time.
And I don’t think it would be much of a stretch to say that many of us are kind of freaked out by these readings. I mean, here Jesus warns of the coming of the Son of Man at the end of time and compares it to the story of Noah. The end’ll come suddenly, he says. Like a flash flood. Some’ll get caught up in the deluge, while others will make it through. “Keep awake,” he says. “Get ready.” In the popular Christian imagination, apocalyptic texts like this are often used as a warning to non-believers. And there is often a sense of delight at the thought of it. Finally, all them sinners are gonna get their just desserts, and we’re gonna get our reward. When we think “end of the world” it’s almost always an image of terror. Fire, flame. Global warming.
Now, there is certainly judgment here. No need to deny that. But when we read these texts as only containing judgment, we miss the true meaning and purpose.
Today’s text from the Old Testament’s book of Isaiah is one of the best known, most compelling portions of the Bible out there. It’s an end-times text. But here, we have an end-times image that is almost exclusively good news.
“In the days to come,” it says. “In the days to come, the mountain of the Lord’s house shall be established as the highest of mountains. Not only’ll the mountain be raised above the hills; all the nations shall stream to it." Isaiah’s talking about the Jerusalem temple, the temple that sits one a tiny hill in the city. This temple is where Isaiah’s people believe they encounter the very presence of Yahweh, the Creator of the universe. Here Isaiah sees this tiny hill, a tiny dot on the world landscape, he sees it extend up to the skies. Bridging the realms of heaven and earth. Isaiah sees the temple become the center of the universe, it says, and he sees all the countries and peoples on earth stream into the city. Imagine an Olympics opening ceremony of statesmen and leaders, and citizens from China, Japan, Canada, Nigeria, Afghanistan and the Caliphate of Isis. Israelis and Palestinians. Indigenous people and settlers, all of humanity lining up at the temple queue. Waiting to get inside.
Everyone’s lined up. But they aren’t camping overnight for the next iPhone. They aren’t chomping at the bit to represent their economic interests in the global market. What they’re gathered for is an education, divine edification. “Many peoples shall come,” says Isaiah. “Many peoples shall come and say, ‘Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord. That he may teach us his ways, and that we may walk in his paths. For out of Zion—the temple mount—shall go forth instruction, and the word of the LORD from Jerusalem.” The nations of the world are making pilgrimage, to get schooled in the ways of the God of Israel. And it’s not just “head knowledge.” Before, their desks were lined up in the classroom of idolatry. They took their marching orders from the idols of war, violence, greed, and human sacrifice. But now they’re showing up at the heavenly dojo to learn how to live rightly at the feet of Yahweh, the divine master.iv
And inside we discover that the temple’s not just a school. In the temple, it says. God “shall judge between the nations, and shall arbitrate for many peoples.” The temple doubles as a court specializing in mediating international disputes, with God sitting as the one and only supreme court justice. And wouldn’t you know—God’s good at that, too. Because as a result of God’s rulings, it says, the nations “shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks.” Based on the Lord’s shrewd diplomacy, Isaiah sees all the world’s weapons are piled in a heap, melted down, and recycled into stuff you can use to grow food. From every nation, from the smallest switchblade of the street punk to the AK-47. From roadside bombs to tanks, battleships, and bunker buster missiles. All tossed in the furnace of Zion. And out the other side pops buckets, combines, children’s toys and MRI machines. And after their munitions are dumped, wouldn’t you know—“nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.” Not only do they melt their weapons in the furnace of divine grace, their hearts are melted, too.
It may be something of a cliché. But Isaiah’s end-times vision is a vision of world peace. You can see why the center piece in the garden of the United Nations building is the statue on the slide above and the cover of your bulletins. This statue “Let Us Beat Swords Into Ploughshares” by Russian artist Yevgeny Vuchetich was gifted by the Soviet Union to the UN at the height of cold war tensions and international conflict. There has to be a better way!
And Isaiah says there not only has to be better way, this way is the ultimate outcome of history. Under God’s guidance, all disputes will be ended while the implements of destruction transformed into tools of creation and reparation. And the very combat instinct itself will be tutored out of the human heart permanently. All at the mountain of the Lord’s house under the tutelage of Yahweh. The crack, the fissure in human nature, the source of war and violence. It will be finally and irreversibly healed. Weeded out, forever and for good.
According to Isaiah, what the bible means by “end times” and “second coming” is far from a spiritual downer of epic proportions. Because it says that the end, the purpose, the final destiny of human life according to scripture and tradition, is what the great poet John Milton called “a perpetual peace.” Human life healed and restored, lived as intended. Not just for individuals, but for peoples, nations, countries and civilizations. It says swords into ploughshares is our future, our destiny. It’s not a bummer for the world. In fact, it might be the best thing about Christianity there is!
Now, one obvious objection to this idea is that if we have this hope for the future, why do anything?
This, of course, was Karl Marx, the great theorist of revolution’s major criticism of religion. That religion is the “opiate of the masses.” The promise of a brighter future, he said, is like a painkiller. It may make the toughness of life bearable, but it ultimately immobilizes us, keeps us from the world better. Because if God’s got it all in hand in the end, why not just kick back and let history run its course?
It could be the case. There’s always the danger. But, you know, that doesn’t happen here with Isaiah. The vision has the opposite effect.
Because after presenting us with this tremendous vision of a world reconciled. He doesn’t say, “don’t worry, be happy.” Or “it’s all too much... stick to your personal spiritual development.” No... “O house of Jacob,” he says. “O house of Jacob... Israel, God’s people—my people! Come,” he says. “Come, let us walk in the light of the Lord.” Isaiah sees God’s future as a light to guide our steps even when the world’s darkness is overwhelming. It inspires when peacemaking seems pointless, when a better world seems like no more than a pleasant dream.
Richard Topping, the Principal of Vancouver School of Theology (who’s preached here on several occasions) likes to say that hope stokes action. Rather than the opiate of the masses, Richard likes to say that hope is the amphetamine of Christian faith. It inspires, it animates. It enlivens. Here Isaiah hands us a spiritual upper. There’s something about Christian hope that energizes, rather than anesthetizes.
There’s a story about Reverend Calvin Butts, pastor of the Abyssinian Baptist Church, a historically black church in Harlem. Located north of 125th Street in New York City, it sits smack dab in a metaphorical war zone of modern civilization. On adjacent blocks sit burned out buildings, pawn shops, boarded up storefronts and empty grocery stores, while a parade of prostitutes and crack dealers process down one end of the street to the other.
Where anyone else would have had the good sense to pack up shop and move somewhere more peaceful, Abyssinian Baptist Church decided to stay put and keep at it. They organized a bank for people with bad credit, and an after school care program for elementary school kids. They founded a redevelopment agency, and they conducted boycotts against overpriced supermarkets. A reporter from the New York Times interviewed Pastor Butts once. “You’re doing some good things here,” they said. “But it’s hard to see what difference any of it is making. What keeps you folks going?” Considering the shape of the neighborhood, it looked like a losing battle. Butts’ answer, however, was pure gospel gold. “We’ve read the Bible,” he said. “We’ve read the Bible and we know how it ends. We aren’t at the end yet.”
We’ve read the Bible. We aren’t at the end, yet.
This is a preacher, and this is a church that has read Isaiah. In a neighborhood overrun by swords, this is a community that keeps hammering ploughshares. They know the ending. And the result is that they haven’t gone to sleep, but have been woken up. Rather than retreating from trouble, they’ve planted their feet firmly in the dirt, continuing to act courageously here and now, even though there’s no guarantee of success. Every Sunday, week after week, they pilgrim to the temple of Lord, to learn the ways of Jesus, the Prince of Peace, so they may walk in his paths. This is a community on whom the light of the Lord has shined. And rather than laying down and giving in, they’ve stood tall. And just keep on walkin’ in the irresistible radiance of its beauty.
Like I said at the beginning of the sermon, we hear “end-times” and “second coming” and see violence and terror. But what God shows Isaiah, what God shows us, is that whatever the second coming’s about, it has something to do with swords into ploughshares, with the transformation of human life and society into the peaceable image of Christ. And the good news is that this is our future, this is our destiny. We are not fated to sin and self-destruction as individuals or as a species. Not through the triumph of the human spirit, not due to the inevitability of progress. But through the hidden power, love, and presence of the living God. A light hidden to the eyes of the world, but one that illuminates the hearts and path of those who believe.
It’s this hope that drives Pastor Butts and the dogged determination of Abyssinian Baptist Church.
It's this hope that fuels our own soup kitchen, outreach ministries, and our hunger for social justice, reconciliation and peace between the nations
It’s this hope that propels forgiveness over retribution, mercy over sacrifice, love over hate and our still-firm conviction that transformation of the human heart is possible. Even in the face of all evidence to the contrary.
And maybe this hope might even draw you out of the darkness of fear and despair into that same marvelous light. This very day.
Because we’ve read the Bible. We know how the story ends. And it’s not done yet.
So friends, brothers and sisters, let’s do what the man says. Let us walk in the light of the Lord.
Let us walk in the light of the Lord, indeed.
AMEN.