Sermon: November 13, 2022

Preacher: Rev Ryan Slifka

Scriptures: Luke 21:5-19

This past summer Cheyenne and the kids and I made the great trek to Alberta, where I’m from (don’t hold it against me). We made many stops, visiting friends and relatives. One thing that struck me on that trip is that no matter who we were visiting, there was always a conversation on the state of the world.

One morning particularly sticks out to me, though. We were sitting down for coffee with a couple of Cheyenne’s relatives. Very kind, generally positive people. But when we got to the subject of the news, things got down. One said that ever since he was thirty he’d wake up, turn on CBC Radio, and curl up with a cup of coffee to see what was happening in the outside world. Not anymore. Since COVID, he didn’t even bother with the radio or T.V. news. “The world’s going to hell,” he said. “But I’d rather wake up and not be depressed.” He’d just started tuning it out entirely.

What did he find so depressing> COVID was one, obviously. Homelessness, the addiction crisis, political division. Climate. It was all there in some way or another. Like I said, the conversation on that trip wasn’t unique. Recent studies show that more and more Canadians are intentionally switching off and tuning out for the same reasons.[i] Neighbours have said it. You’ve said it. I’ve said it. Many of us feel like the world is spinning off its orbit. Falling apart in front of us. And it really does have an effect on our souls. We fear for our future, and the future of our children. When the future looks bleak, we go into fight or flight mode. It’s easier just to tune it all out. Rather than wake up depressed. Lest we fall into despair.

So how do we deal with stuff like this?

The thing about this is that our culture has very few resources for dealing with this kind of thing. Most of us who’ve grown up in Canada only experiencing life after the Second World War, have more or less seen life get progressively better and better. For all of the advances we’ve made in science, and technology and psychology, we don’t really have much to say.

One answer is that “it’s not so bad” or all in our heads. But what if it isn’t? Or “don’t worry, we’ll innovate our way out of these messes.” That’d be great. But what if we don’t? Or, “we just have to do more to fix it.” Which may be true. But what if we don’t? Or what if we don’t do enough? Or what if we already are, and it doesn’t seem to be making a difference? Or what if it’s the wrong thing? Or what if the problems are so big that it just adds another shovel-full on the pile of despair? What then? We don’t really know what to do when the future ain’t so friendly.

I was thinking about this whole radio episode a few weeks ago while reading Like a Burning in the Bones, the autobiography of the late Eugene Peterson. He’s best known for The Message, his modern paraphrase of the Bible that I’ve already quoted from a couple times in this sermon. He was an acclaimed author, pastor and taught for a brief period at Regent College in Vancouver. Peterson was renowned for his spiritual groundedness. His calm sense of God’s presence in all places in life. There’s this little snippet in this biography of his daily routine that shows how he dealt with a world that thinks it falling apart. And the way he dealt with it was rather traditional.

After Peterson retired, he and his wife Jan settled into a cabin in the Montana woods, a cabin that his own father had built when he was a child. Every morning, Peterson would follow the same routine thing is that every morning, Peterson would make the two of them a cup of coffee. Then, wouldn’t you know—he’d turn on NPR, National Public Radio. Every morning he’d listen to the news.

“The so-called news,” he says. “The so-called news is fairly predictable: the death of some world leader or celebrity; war casualties; political scandal or infighting—conspicuously deficient in person, in beauty, in goodness and truth. There is,” he says, “no sign of transcendence.” Everyday the world always sounded like it was falling apart, with no transcendence, no sense that there is something deeper, greater, or better going on.

Sounds pretty depressing, doesn’t it? Nothing new there. If it was the same every week, why did he even bother pressing the “on” button?

“I turn on the radio,” he says. “I turn on the radio to orient myself to the world’s idea of what’s going on.” Not to “orient myself to what’s actually going on,” but to what the world thinks is going on.

And then after hearing what the world thought was going on, he’d then settle down with his coffee, open his Bible to the Psalms, and meditate on the presence of God. After hearing what the world thought was going on, he’d open his Bible to beauty, goodness and truth, that missing and transcendence. And there he would hear what was really going on.[ii]

Culturally, we don’t quite know what to do during times of deep uncertainty and despair. But Eugene Peterson did. He turned to a rather ancient, archaic one. Like the ancient peoples who passed it down to us faced all sorts of obstacles, traumas, heartaches and uncertainties in their lives, the scriptures were his source of strength. His guide in troubled times. He had something that not everyone else has. Our guide in troubled times. Something to tell us what’s really going on. When we’re able to hear nothing but anguish and despair.

Today’s scripture is exhibit A.

Jesus predicts the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple, the beating heart of Jewish faith and life. Last time that happened, the Babylonian invaded, raped and pillaged and leveled it to the ground.

Not good.

He predicts that false Messiahs will appear on the scene to take advantage of everyone’s fear. They’ll offer answers, and security. But will ultimately lead people astray.

Also not good.

There will be extreme political strife: wars, and insurrections, he says. Nation will rise up against nation, kingdom against kingdom. And there will be natural disasters, signs in the heavens. Earthquakes, famines and plagues.

Also also not good.

But before all that happens, Jesus says, his followers will be arrested and persecuted, handed over to the religious and civil authorities all on account of their association with him. And, even woest, they will be betrayed even by parents and siblings, and best pals. They’ll be hated by all on account of their association with him. And some of them will even find themselves put to death.

Still, not good. Not good at all.

Political violence, armed conflict, Messianic figures. Nature out of control. Food shortages, and pandemics. Persecution, betrayal, and death. This sort of stuff was already in the air. An atmosphere of revolution, fear, dread, uncertainty. But his predictions put the icing on the cake. And you know what? He ended up being kinda right. Many Messiah’s rose up. The temple was knocked down after an insurrection against the Roman occupiers. Plagues and portents. And the book of Acts, the sequel to Luke’s gospel does—in fact—testify to the fact that his some of his followers were persecuted, tortured, and executed.

So all in all the future Jesus paints here for his followers is a bleak one. To say the least. The whole world’s falling apart. You can imagine a lot of fear. A lot of anxiety. Maybe a little panic. The future is not friendly. At all.

But notice Jesus’ words within it all.

When he warns against false Messiahs, he says “don’t go after them.” When folks come along prophesying the end of the world, or promising safety and security. When the doomsday deceivers, as Eugene Peterson calls them in his Message translation. He doesn’t say they won’t come. But when the doomsday deceivers inevitably come, we’re to pay them no mind.

When we hear of wars and rumours of wars. If nation rises up against nation, if tsunamis hit, grocery shelves are bare, pandemics abound. Even if the stars fall from the sky, Jesus says, it’s not the end of the world. Rather it’s just “routine history,” again in Eugene Peterson’s words. It’s not the end, just the world being the world. So we have no need to be terrified.

Even if we find ourselves persecuted. If we find ourselves arrested, on the witness stand, it’s not the end, either. But we’re to see it as a chance to speak the truth. If we end up betrayed and abandoned by family and friends all on account of him—or not. Even if we face death itself. Even if we’re hated by absolutely everyone, still there’s no reason to be afraid.

Why? Because. Because, whatever might seem like the end to us is never the end with God.

Because in the end—the real end—Jesus promises that not a hair on our heads will perish. Now, clearly he doesn’t mean that we’ll be protected from all suffering, or pain, or that we won’t be harmed at all. Because he says some will die. After all, Stephen was stoned to death, Andrew was crucified upside-down, and Paul perished in Rome. No. Here, he’s talking about the resurrection of the dead. He’s talking about the completion of history. About the coming together of heaven and earth at the end of time. He doesn’t mean that that we’re going to be shielded from suffering. But he means that even if we’re to lose everything in life, in the end, the true end, we’ll gain our souls. Anything we might face pales in comparison to the beauty of our eternal destiny.

This is the foundational promise of the gospel. This is the bottomless resource that Eugene Peterson tuned into every morning. The precious jewel, the inexhaustible well that our grandparents in faith have passed down to us. To help us deal with our fear for the future. God promises to keep us into every suffering, every hurt and pain, and every fear, even into death, it means that with God we can endure anything. We can face anything. No matter what bad news might be broadcasting, there is an alternative wave-length for those with ears to hear. To hear the truth past all the noise. To help us to hear what’s really going on underneath the world’s brokenness. And to help us to be faithful. To bear witness. To be steadfast in our love of God, and love of our neighbours, in the face of it all.

What does it mean? Well it means, dear friends. That you don’t have to listen to the false promises of doomsday deceivers. You don’t have to despair or be afraid. You don’t have to give up. You don’t have to let the world get you down. We belong to Jesus, we’ve got a God who promises life. Meaning that we don’t have to live like others without no hope.

Every time you find yourself burdened with the weight of the world, fearful of the future. There’s no need to resign yourself, give in, or retreat. The next time it happens, remember Eugene Peterson’s advice. When you hear what the world thinks is going on, tune yourself into the good news of God’s grace and God’s presence. Remember the sweet sound of salvation, and everlasting mercy of the living God. That on account of this God you will endure, the world will endure, not a hair on your head will perish. Because the end ain’t the end until Jesus says it is end. And in the end is music.[iii] Amid all the doom and gloom and violence bombarding our ears, above earth’s lamentation we can hear that sweet, though far off hymn that hails a new creation.[iv]

Every morning pour your cup of coffee (or tea). Pour it and praise the Lord.

Amen.

[i] https://www.tvo.org/video/is-consuming-news-bad-for-us

[ii] Win Collier, Like a Burning in the Bones: the Authorized Biography of Eugene H. Peterson (Colorado: Waterbrook, 2021), 249.

[iii] Robert Jenson.

[iv] Robert S. Lowry, “My Life Flows On,” Voices United #716.