A Sermon Preached at St. Stephen’s on December 1, 2006, by the Rev. Cork Tarplee

            The annual search through the catalogs for new and unusual Christmas gifts turned up a tee shirt imprint which I take to be a sign of the times.  The shirt reads:

“Where are we going? And why am I in this handbasket?”

            I think this is funny because the world does so often seem to be going to hell in a handbasket.  There are, as Jesus seems to be saying in this morning’s Gospel, “signs” everywhere.  They are cosmic: tsunamis, the destruction of New Orleans in hurricane Katrina, floods in New England and mudslides in California .  The signs are historical: civil war in the Middle East, genocide in Darfur , street crime and horrendous domestic violence.  And the signs are personal: for example, our inability to behave with civility even on our morning commute.

            I, for one, get depressed by the sheer weight of all this unhappiness and paralyzed by a sense that there is too much to be done.  If you do, too, we can all take some comfort in what Jesus had to say about disaster in the Gospel.  Jesus pointed to all this mess and said, “Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near….Be on your guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with…the worries of this life, and that [Judgment Day] catch you unexpectedly.”  Over the years, there have been many who have used these words as a prediction that the end of the world is coming any minute.  This promotes a kind of passive—if stoic—approach to life. In this view, Jesus is saying something like, ‘just hang on, it all be over with soon.’ But I think there is more to Jesus’ words than that.

            First of all, Jesus reminds us that the sorrows and disasters of life are a wake up call—a great warning. Far from making us passive, these things might well wake us up.  Historians note that there was more than one wake-up call before the start of the second World War.  Most notable was a gaff around the invasion of Poland .  Hitler planned a lightening attack in several places, originally scheduled to happen on August 26, 1939.  But there were problems and at the last minute he sent word to the troops by radio that the invasion was postponed.  One unit didn’t get the message and invaded Poland anyway, capturing a rail line and taking prisoners.  When the message got through that they had jumped the gun, the unit released their prisoners and withdrew until the official invasion date—almost a week later.  Amazingly nobody in the world took note of this first invasion.  Some historians have written that when the real invasion took place on September 1, the Poles were caught by surprise.  In retrospect it is hard to understand how this could have been a surprise—the invasion of August 26 was surely a wake-up call.  And I think many of the disasters and sorrows of life also serve as wake-up calls. We can shake our heads about the disastrous violence between neighbors in Iraq or we can wake up and pay attention to our behavior toward our own neighbors.

            Second, I think Jesus reminds us that the meaning of the disasters of our present time is to be found in what we do about them. I am always struck by how many of our prayers ask God to change the past.  “Please, God, let me have passed my exam.” “Please, God, don’t let the pain in my side be a dread disease.” Even God can’t change the past, but all of us have the god-given power to influence the future. Much of the weight of sorrow for the war in Iraq or the genocide in Darfur, or the conditions in the City of Newark is that we wish it were not so, and that wishing is passive and debilitating. It might be more energizing to pay attention to Jesus’ words, “When these things…take place, stand up and raise your heads for your redemption is drawing near.”  It is too late to change the decision to go to war in Iraq , but it is not too late for diplomacy and far from too late to work for religious tolerance.  It is too late to keep the dikes in New Orleans from breaking, but not too late to work for safe housing for all of God’s children and far from too late to ask our government to spend money on infrastructure rather than bombs. The meaning in the sorrows and disasters around us can be found in what we do about them.

            Which reminds me of another true story from history:  In colonial New England , an eclipse of the sun caught the local legislature off guard.  There was panic in the streets because people were sure the world was coming to an end. When the panic hit the floor of the legislature, there was an immediate move to adjourn.  But what carried the day was the sort of response to disaster that I think Jesus would have approved of.  And it is a kind of response that we ought to try to fit onto our personal tee shirts.  One legislator stood and said, “Mr. Speaker, if it is NOT the end of the world and we adjourn, we shall appear to be fools.  If it IS the end of the world, I choose to be found doing my duty.  I move you, sir, let candles be brought.”

            Week by week, we light these Advent candles.  We light them in a season that grows progressively darker every day.  Some would say we light them in a world that gets darker every day, too.  May they be to us signs that our redemption is at hand. And let us raise our heads and do the works of love and justice we were put here to do.                                                                                            AMEN