Pentecost 23 Sermon Year C
November 17, 2019
St. Michael’s Episcopal Church
The Rev. Canon Michael J. Horvath
Malachi 4:1-2a; Luke 21:5-19
If there is one thing that I learned about having lived in New York City for 11 years, it’s that it is not the same city I moved to in 2006 when I left it in 2017. During my 11 years there, the very landscape of the city dramatically changed. Once crowded with factories, Long Island City has transformed into a booming residential neighborhood; in recent years, it’s seen more new apartment construction than any other place in the US. Hurricane Sandy came and went, destroying buildings and landmarks that had dotted the skyline and groundline for over a hundred years or more. During these years, innovative architects and landscape designers took the old abandoned West Side railroad and created a park full of plants and trees now called the Highline (and now the most visited park in NYC after Central Park). Iconic eateries and restaurants like Carnegie Deli and The Four Seasons Restaurant have closed. Although Katz’s Deli, my favorite Lower East Side deli, is still alive and well and I recommend everything on their menu, especially the hot Reuben sandwich and sweet potato knish. Hair salons, nail salons, bookstores, houses of worship, subway tunnels and subway cars have come and gone and come and gone again.
This is all to drive home the point that the only thing that doesn’t change about New York City is that it is always changing.
And this state of constant change is universal. What is one of the things Rhode Islanders are famous for? Giving directions based on landmarks or businesses that haven’t existed in years! And even now I catch myself referring to “where the Dunkin’ Donuts used to be” and I wasn’t even living here when the Dunkin’ Donuts was there to start with!
We may not like it, we may deny it, we may resist it but the reality is that change is inevitable. Our world is changing, the church is changing, and our lives are changing. Sometimes changes are welcome and life giving. But there are days when change is the last thing we want, a harbinger of loss or the threat of loss.
There are days when our life is forever changed, the world is different, and nothing is like it used to be. We know those days, and each of us has a story to tell about that life-changing day. From the book of our lives we can tell each other stories about the death of a loved one, the diagnosis we didn’t want to hear, the loss of a job that meant the world to us, the business that failed, the divorce that you didn’t see coming. We can share stories about the day you realized that something needed to change in your life, the day someone confronted you with your addiction, the day you became the parent and caretaker to your own parent. And there are stories of hopes and dreams that vanished into thin air.
These stories are all temples that we have built up in our lives, or in our minds. Narratives that have had to change, because, just like any good story, the narratives of our lives must change in order for us to move forward. We can probably list all the temples we have erected in our lives – people, dreams, values and beliefs, ourselves, and institutions, to name a few. All elevated with the expectation that they will never fail or fall, that they will forever cement our identity, our reason to live, and our worldview of how things must be. But eventually these temples do fall; they crumble, in some way or another.
In today’s Gospel Jesus is speaking about a particular temple, but he is also speaking to the very temples we raise. As he looks up at the Temple of Jerusalem (built by Herod, and very much a monument to the builder as it was to God), Jesus reminds his disciples that even these stones won’t stand the test of time. And when they ask Jesus when temple will fall, Jesus seems to double dip. First he says that there will be wars and insurrections. But wait, the end will not follow immediately! You still need to live through nations rising against nations, great earthquakes, famines, plagues and dreadful portents from heaven. But wait, the end will not follow immediately even after that! Before all this occurs you’ll also have to withstand being arrested and persecuted all in my name! It is easy to hear this and simply pack up and run. If this is what will happen to us simply because we follow Jesus, I doubt he’s going to get a lot of volunteers who will stick it out.
But stick it out is the point of what Jesus is saying. We are already living all of these things out in our lives. Think about it - global armed conflict, famines, plagues and earthquakes are already present. But remember what John said to the Thessalonians last week – “stand firm, hold fast” even as all these things happen around you. Even as each and every temple that you have created and are trying to hold on to falls apart before your very eyes – your relationships, your health, your reputation, your wealth, your status – because all those things are made of and for this world. Stand firm, hold fast, Jesus says, but have faith.
Malachi promises that those who stand firm, even as the world around them is up in flames, will see the sun of righteousness rise before them. By our endurance and faith, Jesus promises, we will gain our souls.
God calls us to be present, faithful, no matter how uncomfortable life may be. No matter what the changes, chances, and chaos of life are; no matter what the pain, loss, and disappointments are; and no matter if it is our temples that are being destroyed.
There may be sadness in the destruction of our temples, but it would be sadder still if we are not able to find God in the rubble. A God who will help us piece ourselves back, stone by stone. And when we allow God to rebuild us, we will not be rebuilt to our former specifications, like for like. If we allow God to rebuild us, we can be something new, something dynamically holy, and transformed to serve others by the same faith and love God has for us. We ourselves can be temples in which only God is served, and where only God is served by serving others.
There are always voices that remind us that the Episcopal Church is dwindling or irrelevant. To be fair, decline in “traditional” Sunday morning church attendance is dwindling across all denominations and faiths, but those same people look only at the Average Sunday Attendance figures, a not very creative critique by usually not very creative commentators. They only see the “church” as the institution that gathers at 8am and 10am on Sunday mornings. What they don’t understand is that they cannot confine or distill the true Church, the body of Christ, to a simple Sunday morning experience. That temple – the one we love to reminisce about; the one where there are a hundred or so children in Sunday School; where there were three packed services a day; where Sunday attendance was consistently well into the hundreds; where there were always more volunteers available than were needed - that temple has already fallen down. It has fallen down around the world, in the Episcopal Church, in the Diocese of Rhode Island, and here at St. Michael’s Bristol. But it doesn’t mean that God is done with us – as a church or as the Body of Christ.
From Monday to Saturday, I listen and hear stories of how all of you in these pews now, listen to one another, care for one another, or care for others outside our community, and, most importantly, love one another. It is you who give others shoulders to cry on, as well as arms of support. It is you who work to bring about justice for those whose voices can’t be heard and who find themselves pushed to the margins. And it was you who filled this sanctuary and our parish office with bag upon bag of food that will be distributed to those in need at Thanksgiving. If that is evidence of a church in decline, indeed, if that is evidence of a church that is irrelevant, then that is exactly the church I want to be a part of. That is a church I need to be part of.
Change is inevitable and this is God’s opportunity to change us into a new thing, a new temple, if we let Him. Let these walls tumble down and step out as the Church you are meant to be. Let God rebuild you into the Church that this world so desperately needs. Let the ghosts of this sanctuary remain right where they are, in the past. You and I have living, with a capital “L”, to do here in the present. And in that Living, Jesus says, we will gain our souls. Amen.
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