Sermon: November 27, 2022

Preacher: Rev Ryan Slifka

Scriptures: Isaiah 2:1-5; Matthew 24:36-44

The Christian year is weird, to say the least. It begins here, late November, with Advent near the end of the secular year, yes. But the Christian year doesn’t begin at the beginning of the story. It doesn’t begin with the book of Genesis, or the creation of the world. Instead, our reading from the book of Isaiah is all about “the days to come.” And our reading from Matthew is all about “the coming of the Son of Man.” Which we often refer to as the “Second Coming” of Christ. The Christian year doesn’t begin at the beginning, but the future. It begins at the end.

                Our passage from Isaiah is a vision of the future: “the word that Isaiah son of Amoz saw concerning Judah and Jerusalem.” I love that. A word that Isaiah saw, a vision, a revelation. The curtain’s been drawn back. “In the days to come,” he says, “the mountain of the Lord’s house shall be established as the highest of mountains, and shall be raised above the hills.”

In this vision Isaiah sees the temple of Jerusalem, the most holy of places, the place where God is uniquely present, the place where the divine world and the human world intersect. And in this vision, the mountain it sits on grows. And it keeps growing, reaching higher and higher. Until it punctures the clouds of heaven. Two things are going on here. This mountain is where God is enthroned as king of the universe. The fact that this holy mountain rises above all other hills and mountains means that God’s will and God’s care covers all creation. The world is the way God wants it. And the second thing is that this mountain is a conduit between heaven and earth. The holy, unseen spiritual reality beyond our perception. The world beyond the one we can taste, touch and observe. “In the days to come,” says Isaiah. These worlds are now intimately connected. Bound together permanently.

Heaven and earth, God and humanity, God and creation, are finally coming together. In an everlasting embrace. And when this happens, it says that “all the nations shall stream” to it. Not just one nation, but all of them. “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.” Canadian. Congolese, Japanese, North and South Korean. Sunni and Shia. Indian and Pakistani. Russian and Ukrainian. Turkish and Armenian. Israeli and Palestinian. Taliban and American. An endless parade of multi-coloured flags, different races and nationalities, dialects, cultures and customs. Friends and enemies. “In the days to come,” says Isaiah. All people of the earth shall stream to this holy mountain. Above all other mountains.

All people will gather at the mountain of the Lord. And they’ll gather for a particular purpose. The purpose says, Isaiah, that God 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.” All people will gather finally to learn how to live. To take the Way of life God intends for us seriously. Eugene Peterson in his Message translation of the Bible says the people will gather “so we can live the way we’re made to.”

The nations will learn God’s ways. A Way of life that leads not to emptiness and death. But to life. And human flourishing. Life as it’s always intended to be. Here God’s acting as a teacher, a sensei, yes. But also a judge, and a diplomat between the nations of the world. “He shall judge between the nations,” says Isaiah. “And arbitrate for many peoples. They shall beat their swords in to plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore.” Weapons of war will melt, but so will human hearts. By the power of divine love.

People will no longer oppress each other, nor will they find reason to fight.  Suicide bombers who live in despair and humiliation, seeing no other way will trade in their vests for bags full of wheat and barley seeds. The barbed wire encasing Uyghur Muslims in Chinese prison camps will be torn off the wall and spread along the countryside for herding cattle. Machine guns used by child soldiers in the Sudan will be melted down for rakes, shovels and garden hoes. Drone bombers will be salvaged for tractor parts. Swords into ploughshares. Even Comox Airforce Base will be put up for lease because it won’t be needed any more. Because we shall study war no more. Human conflict will be resolved by God’s diplomatic intervention. God’s mouth will shine forth with instruction, humans will actually hear, and will finally learn the Way of the Lord. “In the days to come,” says Isaiah, we’ll finally shut down our inborn inclination towards domination and bloodshed. For good… And forever. “In the days to come.”

It's an incredible vision. I don’t know about you, though, but I have a lot of trouble believing in it. Why? Simply because the world doesn’t look like it’s going that way. The world feels less peaceful than it did a year ago. More swords and spears being pounded into existence than yesterday. And day after day new crisis after new crisis seems to pile up. I have trouble believing that Isaiah 2 is anything more than a vision. Anything more than a lovely thought. Anything more than a beautiful dream. Simply because there is no evidence in our world to suggest otherwise.

And yet, of course, I am a Christian. One of the Christian things is that Isaiah’s vision is—indeed—more than an outburst of moving creativity on behalf of the prophet. This vision is, in fact, a promise. Not that one day this could happen. If we’d just get our acts together, write the right proposals, post the right opinions on social media. No. It’s a promise that one day, in fact, Isaiah’s vision will be reality. That life will imitate art. This life will imitate this art.

That the Creator of the universe, the one who came to us as a little child at Christmas. The one who came proclaiming peace, who came healing the broken, feeding the hungry. The one who came forgiving his enemies and blessing the persecutors, dying on a cross for the sake of the world. A promise sealed in blood, and guaranteed in resurrection. That this same God will one day return to complete the work that he began in Bethlehem. That the glory of God shining in the face of Jesus Christ was a foretaste, a glimpse, a sneak preview of a future so blindingly bright that no inch of darkness will ever remain. A future that is guaranteed to one day come to us. Not by our own doing, but by the grace of the living God. It can’t be brought on. But it also can’t be stopped.

It’s not just a vision. But this this vision is a promise from the very mouth of the Lord of heaven and earth. That’s how the story ends.

When will it come? When will this promise come true? We neither know the day or the hour, Jesus says. Neither the angels of heaven nor the Son of Man know the ETA for the kingdom of God. Such a mystery is beyond us. Buried deep within the heart of God.

Out of the blue, he says, justice will roll down like waters, and righteousness a mighty stream, like Noah’s flood. Some will be working the fields and get washed away, while others are left. Some will be grinding grain for dinner and get washed away, while others are left. Like a flash flood it’ll come suddenly and unexpected, and cleanse creation of all sin, violence, hatred and war. As much the earth as the human heart. We don’t know when, but when it does, the Prince of Peace will bust into the human heart like a thief in the night, casing the joint. To steal it back. To save it permanently for the purpose of eternal love.

In the meantime, Jesus says that we’re to simply “keep awake.” Seeing as how the day could be tomorrow, or it could be whenever, it’s easier said than done. It’s understandable that we might be tempted to fall asleep. Not to literally fall asleep. But to become apathetic. To become complacent. Tired, weak, living for ourselves and not for others. Weary of waiting. Wondering “how long, O Lord?” Prone to doubt that the promise is true.

It's understandable. But the good news is that we have a Lord who understands. Who understands our weariness, our fear, our demoralization. We have a God who understands just how easy it is to lose heart. How easy it is to give up, and give in to hopelessness. You could say we need a supernatural stimulant to keep us going. This is why we’ve been gifted with the Bible, and the church, and the presence of the Holy Spirit. He has promised to be with us, and to strengthen us through them. To shine a light in our darkest days. We gather together today as every Sunday to be awakened to these beautiful promises, week after week after week, because we know how easy it is to fall asleep.

So friends, hear the Good News of the Gospel: The day is surely coming, says the Lord. The day is surely coming, when the mountain of the Lord’s house shall be established as the highest of the mountains, raised above all the hills.

Surely the day is coming when all the nations shall stream to it, and the Lord shall shine forth instruction, and shall arbitrate among the peoples.

Surely the day is coming when swords are beaten to ploughshares, spears into pruning hooks, when nation will no longer rise against nation.

Surely the day is coming when we will study war no more. Surely.

Surely, the day is coming. We know not the day, nor the hour, but surely, the day is coming. Surely. Surely as the day is long, and the sun’s to rise tomorrow. And on that day, may he find us, eyes wide, hearts open, and hands in service.

Christ has died, Christ has risen. Christ will come again.

Surely, the day is coming. Come, let us walk in the light of the Lord.

AMEN.