The Coming of Christ

Isaiah 2:1-5

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 plowshares, 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!

Matthew 24:36-44

“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.

Here we are this beautiful morning, gathered together as people whose stomachs are a bit bigger due to Thanksgiving and Iron Bowl food and Advent breakfast food, as thankful people who have spent the last few days surrounded by family and friends and loved ones, as people who love the beauty of this sanctuary decorated so tenderly for the Advent and Christmas season, as people ready to hear the stories and sing the carols of our Christ coming into the world as a child bundled up in the warmth of swaddled clothes. But we are greeted instead with these words from Matthew’s gospel, strange upon their first hearing, these words of Biblical apocalyptic literature where we are not reminded of a baby being born into a stable in Bethlehem, but instead given the image of a grown Christ coming back into the world to judge, to take, to steal, to break in.

We are given the images of Christ’s second coming into the world, a Christ who is coming back to “judge the quick and the dead,” as we will soon remember and proclaim again as we recite the Apostles’ Creed together. These images of Christ are not quiet and peaceful as we commonly expect and hope our Advent images to be, but they are instead harsh and scary, hard for us to hear and understand. Jesus says that the promised day of the Lord, the cataclysmic ending of the old world and the beginning of a new one, will steal in among and through us like a kidnapper in the day and a thief by night. Jesus begins these images by sharing an Old Testament reference to Noah’s story, not just the part of the story we like to talk about with cute animals coming in two by two, the story that ends with a covenant rainbow, but a story of death where a flood comes in to wash away the lives of people who are celebrating, going about their everyday existence, but people who are not taking care of each other or their world. Noah and his family are spared, but God comes in in the midst of the rain and floods and steals everyone else away like a thief, without even giving them an opportunity to repent and seek forgiveness. And then we hear about two people going about their lives and working hard in a field; about two women grinding their meal together. Jesus says that God will come in and take one life away, leaving the other worker wondering what in the world happened to her friend, wondering why she is the one left standing. Finally, Jesus talks about God breaking into a home into the middle of the night, prompting us to think about our own homes, our own safe havens, where most of us are sleeping peacefully and not expecting anything bad to happen—but like a thief, Christ breaks in and takes livelihoods away, our peace away, leaving us scared and insecure and feeling violated as our most personal space has been invaded.

“Keep awake,” Jesus warns, for none of us knows on what day or in what hour our Lord will be coming. We must stay awake and always be ready for the Son of God will always come in an unexpected way, in a way we could never imagine, at an unexpected hour we could never set our alarms on our phones for. We are not given the image here of God as a prodigal parent running to welcome us home, not given the image of Jesus opening his arms wide to welcome the little children and bless them. We are not given the image of Jesus eating at the table with a sinner or healing a person who has been bleeding for years with no relief, and we are not given the image of a God who lovingly and painstakingly creates the world. Matthew has Jesus saying that, like it or not, we should be prepared to meet a kidnapping, thieving God, a God who has little regard for the feelings or fears of the ones left behind. No doubt about it—this is a shocking and disturbing call for us to be ready, to be watchful, to be alert for Jesus’ return and the inbreaking of the kingdom.

Jesus’ words and images here are strange for us to hear, shocking to hear, but perhaps they need to be that way in this season. During these days, we so often find ourselves so busy running around and scurrying, making sure our children are ready for their Christmas plays, making sure that we have the perfect gifts for the people in our lives, making sure our tables and hearths and homes are decorated perfectly. We are so busy, too busy, that we so often get lost in all of the hurrying and we forget, or ignore even, who we are to be and who we are to be about—the Christ child who is being born into our world again. Perhaps we need these words and images Matthew gives us to shock us out of the normalness of our routines and the busyness of what we think we need to be ready for, to remind us that the only thing we truly need to ready for is Christ’s birth in the Bethlehem stable.

You know, it can be dangerous thing for two preachers to be in the same house for several days over Thanksgiving because we share our words and ideas and sermons, driving everyone else around us nuts—if we try hard enough we can even make someone else roll their eyes and find an excuse to get our of the house like my mom is so tempted to do. As we were sharing ideas this week, my dad shared one of his sermons on this passage with me. I love one of the things he says:

Advent is…a time of staying alert for something that has yet to happen, something totally new and different, something that will only happen in the fullness of God’s time. It will be a time like no other, and the images used to describe it are not [truly] troublesome at all. On the contrary, they are full of hope for something that threatens like a storm brewing on the horizon but that somehow brings peace, justice, and security to this world of war, earthquakes, famine, and disease.

I love how my dad says that—that the return of Christ has to be clothed in shocking words and images because we need shocked in order to truly open our eyes, awake to what is happening in our world. Look around us—in our world there is a long raging war in Syria where the last hospital is being bombed and nurses are being forced to make the decision whether to take babies off of breathing machines to search for cover or leave them where they are, breathing until they get bombed, still uncovered; in our world, there are families just 3 hours away from us who are mourning the loss of their babies in a horrific school bus accident; in our world, we are trying to understand the implications of our recent election and the words we have said to each other, the things we have done to each other; in our world, there are so many people who are mourning and lonely and sad, so many people suffering from depression, especially as we journey through this long holiday season. But in the midst of all of this chaos and confusion in this world, God promises a Son who will break into the darkness and chaos, a Son who will be born to us once again, who will come into our world to make things different, to make things new again.

Advent is a reminder that Christ comes into our world again, and this Advent season teems with the promise that the world will be renewed and made whole again. As the prophet Isaiah shares with us: “In the 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; and the nations shall stream to it.” Advent will dawn and Christ will come and the people “shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.” Christ will return and we will walk and live and love in his light. Maybe we need shocking words to shock us out of our world and to shock us into a world where Christ breaks in with no notice so that we can revel in his life and in his light, revel in the new world he is creating for us and calling us to. We need to stay awake, to be ready, to be hopeful, to be watchful.

During each Advent season, I turn to the beautiful poetry of the writer Ann Weems during my devotional time. Her very first devotional poemi is called “The Coming of God.” Let us listen to her words:

            Our God is the one who comes to us in a burning bush, in an angel’s song, in a newborn child.

            Our God is the One who cannot be found locked in the church, not even in the sanctuary.

            Our God will be where God will be with no constraints, no predictability.

            Our God lives where our God lives, and destruction has no power and even death cannot stop the living.

            Our God will be born where God will be born, but there is no place to look for the One who comes to us.

            When God is ready God will come even to a godforsaken place like a stable in Bethlehem.

            Watch…for you know not when God comes.

            Watch, that you might be found whenever, wherever God comes.

Amen. Advent is a reminder that we don’t need to know when Christ will come into our world again, but that we need watch. Advent is a reminder that we are called to revel in the promise that Christ will come again to change the world and make all things new. Let that be our hope. Let that be our light. Thanks be to God. Amen.

           

Salvation Has Come to this House

¹⁸A certain ruler asked him, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” ¹⁹Jesus said to him, “Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone. ²⁰You know the commandments: ‘You shall not commit adultery; You shall not murder; You shall not steal; You shall not bear false witness; Honor your father and mother.’” ²¹He replied, “I have kept all these since my youth.” ²²When Jesus heard this, he said to him, “There is still one thing lacking. Sell all that you own and distribute the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” ²³But when he heard this, he became sad; for he was very rich. ²⁴Jesus looked at him and said, “How hard it is for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God! ²⁵Indeed, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.”

Luke 18:18-25

He entered Jericho and was passing through it. A man was there named Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax collector and was rich. He was trying to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was short in stature. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree to see him, because he was going to pass that way. When Jesus came to the place, he looked up and said to him, “Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today.” So he hurried down and was happy to welcome him. All who saw it began to grumble and said, “He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner.” Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, “Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.” Then Jesus said to him, “Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost.”

           

Luke 19:1-10

"Salvation Has Come to this House"

We preachers often get a little too comfortable with our lectionary cycle, prescribed each week for us with four readings—an Old Testament reading and a reading from the Psalms, a Gospel reading and a reading from other parts of the New Testament. In many ways, the lectionary is a lovely way to preach throughout the year. Each year takes us through a Gospel, which helps us all understand the cadence and deep layers of each one. In giving us an Old and New Testament reading as well, the lectionary helps us see how the testaments and the story of God and God’s people build upon each other. And I’ll be perfectly honest—if I didn’t have prescribed readings for each week, it would be overwhelming as a preacher to pick Scripture each week! When we have this lovely Bible with so many rich texts and people and stories, there is so much to choose from that it would be overwhelming each week to pick just one. The lectionary is great and helpful in so many ways, but what often gets lost in the lectionary cycle is the idea that stories, particularly in the Gospels, are meant to be read together, meant to be read side by side to compare and contrast what is happening as Jesus preaches and teaches.

I think this is the case for our lectionary reading today—we are given the story of Jesus and Zacchaeus from Luke’s Gospel. It is a great story all on its own, but I think it’s so important to read it side by side with the story of the rich young ruler that is given to us in the previous chapter. In chapter 18, Luke tells us about a young ruler; we aren’t given a huge description of the ruler in the text, but because of the title the ruler was given, we can infer a few things about him. Because he was a ruler, part of the royalty class, we can assume that the young man had everything given to him in life—money, power, and prestige. We can assume that he never had to work much for his money, that he had servants at his behest, wore the finest clothes with the richest and most lush linens available. He was an insider by birth, and he hung out with the well-known and well-to-do. It is safe to assume that everything about him was big and large—the amount of money he had in his bank account, the home he lived in, his inheritance, the luxury that came with his lot in life.

In contrast to the young ruler, Luke then shares the story of Zacchaeus with us in the next chapter. The Gospel describes him as the chief tax collector, a man who was rich, but became so by acting small. He was also literally small, short in height, so short that he couldn’t see over the crowd and had to climb a tree to see what was happening. As Nick reminded us last week, tax collectors in this time were despised because they were able to take and steal whatever they wanted from anyone, especially the poor people who needed every penny they could get. Tax collectors were thieves who kissed up to the rulers, seeking power and prestige in any way they could find it. And Zacchaeus was the chief tax collector—the biggest thief of them all, the worst one imaginable. Although the text doesn’t give much more description, we can infer some things about him just like we did the rich young ruler. Because Zacchaeus was a thief, because he had to beg and steal for all the money he had, he was the ultimate outsider. He had to steal to earn any sense of power and prestige from the rulers, and people hated him as a result. We can imagine that Zacchaeus was not often welcomed because he was a thief, never welcomed into anyone’s home because they didn’t want him there, that he never had a meal with anyone in his own home because they wouldn’t be caught dead with him. Zacchaeus was literally short in height, but also short in stature because of his reputation and his morals. That shortness of stature left him unloved and unwelcomed, broken down and desperate for something more.

The contrasts between the rich young ruler and the short chief tax collector are fascinating to me. The ruler never had to want or work for anything in his life because of his birthright, because of his position. And Zacchaeus had to work for everything he ever had—it wasn’t good work, mind you, in fact, it was dirty and negative and unscrupulous work. The ruler was big and lived a large life in so many ways, while all of the stealing and swindling Zacchaeus did left must have him feeling small to himself, small to everyone else. The young ruler felt like he had the position and the birthright to just walk right up to Jesus and ask him questions, while Zacchaeus had to wind his way through the massive crowd and climb up a tree to even be recognized. They were so different in so many ways, the large ruler and short Zacchaeus, but they were alike in one important way—they both knew that they weren’t doing everything they were supposed to be, and they knew they were ignoring and not caring for others like they were supposed to be doing.

Most importantly, the rich ruler and Zacchaeus both knew that something—SOMEONE—was missing from their lives. So what were the rich ruler and Zacchaeus willing to do about it? Exactly how far were they willing to go to change what was missing for them?

Jesus was coming through town, and the rich ruler took his chance as he approached him: “Good teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

And Jesus answered him, “’No one is good but God alone. You know the commandments: “You shall not commit adultery; You shall not murder; You shall not steal; You shall not bear false witness; Honor your father and mother.” ’

His reply? “I have kept all these since my youth.”

Jesus listened, and knowing that listening wasn’t enough, challenged the rich ruler with the hardest thing of all for him to hear: ‘There is still one thing lacking. Sell all that you own and distribute the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.’

The text tells us that the ruler became sad when he heard this because he was very rich—we can imagine that his head hung low as he skulked away from Jesus as Jesus said to him: “How hard it is for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God! Indeed, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.” Although we do need to give the rich ruler a bit more credit than he usually gets for realizing something was missing from his life, for approaching Jesus and really asking him about it, we have to hang our heads low with him as we hear his response—and then we have to ask ourselves what we would do in the same situation. Would our response be a life-altering one of gratitude and giving, or would we simply turn and walk away in shame like the rich ruler? On one of our lesser days, we would turn away in shame like the ruler.

But, perhaps, on one of our best days, we would turn toward Jesus like Zacchaeus did, listening to him, responding with thanksgiving, changing our lives in response. Zacchaeus made his way through the crowd and climbed his way up the tree because he knew something, someone in his life was missing. He desperately knew he needed to change his life, so he did whatever he could to get Christ to notice him. And Jesus did notice Zacchaeus hanging from the branches, and he did the most unexpected thing imaginable—he said, “Come on down, friend. Let’s go to your house and talk and share a meal together.” For so long, only one chair at Zacchaeus’ table had been used, and now Christ was using the other, sending a message to Zacchaeus and to all of us that he was loved and welcomed and worthy of sharing a meal with. That one moment signaled to everyone who stood in disbelief that Jesus would eat with a sinner, that Jesus would eat with any one of us. It signaled that Zacchaeus was a created and loved child of God, and so are we. In a single moment, Zacchaeus was forgiven by Christ for all he had done, and his life was affirmed. He was given hope that life could be very different than it had been, and he gave himself back to God with great gratitude. The rich ruler couldn’t bring himself to change his life and give it to God perhaps because, for whatever reason, he couldn’t admit to himself that he needed forgiveness and restoration, but Zacchaeus did. And in doing so, Zacchaeus gave his life to Christ by giving to everyone else. In gratitude to Christ’s extravagant and life-giving grace and love, Zacchaeus promised to give most of what he had away and repay fourfold what he had stolen from others.

If we really stop to think about it and examine our own lives, I’d be willing to bet that each of us could see a bit of ourselves in the rich ruler, and could see a bit of ourselves in Zacchaeus. There are so many times when we are so tempted to hoard and keep what we have away from others—that, although we might realize something is missing, we aren’t quite ready or willing or able to give ourselves to Christ or anyone else. But for all of those times, there are just as many times—hopefully more, when we offer ourselves and our money and our gifts and our lives to Christ and to each other because we have been affirmed and challenged and welcomed and forgiven, given such extravagant grace and love by our Lord. It is in those times when it doesn’t matter whether we are big or small because we are whole. And the best news of all is that Christ loves us in all of those times, good and bad, big and small. No matter what, Jesus never gives up on us. Jesus didn’t give up on saving Zacchaeus, and my hunch is that he didn’t give up on saving the rich ruler either. And he never gives up on saving us.

I’ll end with a marvelous reading written by theologian Frederick Buechner. His book Peculiar Treasures is a book about lots of Biblical characters, treasures in so many ways, written in alphabetical order of them from A to Z. Naturally, Zacchaeus comes last. Buechner writes this about Zacchaeus—it’s long, but it’s worth it:

“Zacchaeus,” Jesus said, “get down out of [that tree] in a hurry. I’m spending tonight with you,” whereupon all Jericho snickered…to think [Jesus] didn’t have better sense than to invite himself to the house of a man that nobody else would touch with a ten-foot pole. But Jesus knew what he was doing. Zacchaeus was taken so completely aback by the honor…that before he had a chance to change his mind, he promised to not only turn over fifty percent of his holdings to the poor, but to pay back, four to one, all the cash he’d extorted from everybody else. Jesus was absolutely delighted. “Today salvation has come to this house,” he said, and since that was [Jesus’] specialty, after all, you assume he was right. Zacchaeus makes a good one to end with because in a way he can stand for all the rest. He’s a sawed-off little social disaster with a big bank account and a crooked job, but Jesus welcomes him aboard anyway, and that’s why [Zacchaeus] reminds you of all the others, too. There’s Aaron whooping it up with the Golden Calf the moment his brother’s back is turned, and there’s Jacob conning everybody including his own father…There’s Saul the paranoid, and David the stud, and those mealy-mouthed friends of Job’s who would probably have succeeded in boring him to death if Yahweh hadn’t stepped in just in the nick of time. And then there are the ones who betrayed the people who loved them best such as…poor old Peter, such as Judas even. Like Zacchaeus (and I would add the rich ruler, too), they’re all of them peculiar as Hell, to put it quite literally, and yet you can’t help feeling that, like Zacchaeus, they’re all of them somehow treasured too. Why are they treasured? Who knows? But maybe you can say at least this about it—that they’re treasured less for who they are and for what the world has made them than for what they have it in them at their best to be because ultimately, of course, it’s not the world that made them at all. “All the earth is mine!” says Yahweh, “and all that dwell therein”…presumably, that goes for [Zacchaeus and the rich ruler and] for you and me too.

 Amen, Mr. Buechner. Thanks be to God.