"Not the end of the world, but we can see it from here..."

Sermon for Sunday 8 October 2017

Lutheran Church of the Redeemer, Jerusalem

The Rev. Carrie Ballenger Smith

Philippians 3:4b-14

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

I once made a quilt that took me twelve years to finish.

Twelve. Long. Years.

I started sewing it when I was pregnant with our firstborn son in 1998, and finished in 2010, when he was in middle school. I saw the pattern in a quilting magazine and was in love with it at first sight: 

It is a 1930’s vintage design called Grandmother’s Flower Garden, sewn using the traditional “paper-piecing” method. Basically, this entailed cutting out roughly 1,000 tiny fabric hexagons, then basting them to 1,000 paper hexagons, then hand-sewing those 1,000 fabric-covered paper hexagons together to make one queen-size quilt.

Yeah, it was nuts.

But for some reason, it sounded like just the right project for the last few months of pregnancy. I thought: surely, this won’t take too long! And I need something to help get through these last days of feeling as big as a house. So I purchased all the necessary fabric, and imagined placing this beautiful handmade vintage-inspired quilt on the bed, along with my precious newborn baby, in just a few months.

That didn’t happen.

Those 1,000 hexagons took me roughly 6 years to complete by themselves. Then there was the long quite period while I went back to graduate school, when the pieces sat in a box in a closet. Then it took a few more years just to summon the energy to begin the actual hand-quilting process.

Over those twelve long years, the unfinished quilt became quite a joke in my family, with Robert often asking if I planned for it to be Caleb’s wedding quilt, at the rate I was going.

And to be honest, at some point I asked myself: Why exactly am I doing this? Stubbornness was one factor, to be sure. I started, so I was going to finish, by hell or high water!

But there was also the fact that I believed in it. I believed in that picture I saw years ago. I believed that one day, my very own handmade 1930’s vintage-inspired Grandmother’s Flower Garden Quilt would be gracing my bed, and keeping me warm at night, and that’s what made me move 1,000 pieces of fabric from Minnesota to Nebraska, back to Minnesota, to Texas, to Chicago, and then to my first call in rural Capron, Illinois. I pressed on towards the goal, because I just knew it was worth it. I never did lose the vision! I knew there was hope. I just knew there was beauty at the other side of the chaos.

Now when the Apostle Paul spoke to the Christian community at Philippi, he also hoped to remind them that the struggle is worth it. He wanted to encourage them that although things are hard now, there is life, and beauty, and redemption, on the other side of the chaos.

What we know about the Philippians is that they were often persecuted for their beliefs, being a minority religious community. And like any group of humans gathered together as a community, they also struggled with chaos from the inside. At this particular time, it seems they were battling one another—and Paul—over the question of whether Christians needed to be circumcised and whether they needed to follow the Jewish purity laws.

Adding to the chaos and uncertainty was the fact that their teacher, Paul, was in prison, and could not be present with them. 

It may not be so easy to imagine being a 1^st century Christian, but surely we can understand how uncertain the Philippians were feeling at this time. Was this new-found faith really worth it? Is this struggle worth it? It’s one thing to hang a sign that says “Keep Calm and Carry On” on one’s door, or to train for a charity marathon, or even to persevere towards the goal of sewing a ridiculously massive quilt, by hand. 

It’s quite another thing to press on in faith and in hope when your savior has died, when your teacher is in prison, and when it seems everyone is against you, from within and from without.

It was into this context and situation that the Apostle Paul—from prison!—wrote his very personal and encouraging letter, saying:

“Beloved…this one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.”

Hear it again:

“I press on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.”

The message is clear: Paul, facing persecution and possible death, was not giving up hope, and the Philippians shouldn’t, either.

Earlier this week, I had the chance to talk with a good friend in the US, and during our conversation I enumerated my long litany of grievances about the world today:

1 1. Friends and colleagues are dying far too young, and far too often. 

22. World leaders seem intent on dragging us into nuclear war, cold war, or maybe a new world war

33. My Muslim co-worker was barred from entering Jerusalem for work this week (although he’s worked here at the church for 40 years!)

44. There is no autumn in Jerusalem, and I am missing fall colors, fall sweaters, fall apple cider donuts...and, well, FALL.

55. And last but not least, I shared my grief and disbelief that a lone shooter possessed the firepower to kill 58 people and injure 500 all by himself, and my country seems unwilling to do anything about it.

I was really lamenting all this terrible news, and my friend listened patiently. I guess I was sounding overly negative, because after a silence she said, “You know, Carrie, you gotta have hope. What’s the use of being a Christian if you don’t have hope?”

Which, of course, is exactly right.

A Christian always has hope, even in the midst of chaos.

A Christian always has hope, even after 18 years in prison.

A Christian always has hope, even after fifty years of occupation.

A Christian always has hope, even after the most recent “Largest mass shooting in American history.”

A Christian always has hope, even when, by all outside evidence, all hope is lost—even on Good Friday.

The thing is, sometimes Christians—and even preachers—get stuck on Good Friday. 

The cross of Jesus Christ is so integral to our faith, and we want to proclaim to all who are suffering that God is with you. We want all to know how Jesus knows your suffering and is in solidarity with you even in the chaos of life. God is with you, and knows your struggle, even when the patchwork quilt of life is in 1,000 pieces.

But it can be hard to remember the hope and joy of Easter morning when chaos reigns, when everything is falling apart, when walls surround you,and when a stone blocks the entrance to the tomb.

For this same reason, Paul writes to the Philippians, and urges them to remember that the cross is not the end of the story. 

This struggle will not last forever. This chaos is not how the story ends.

It’s interesting to notice how, in his writing, the Apostle Paul moves very quickly from Easter to Good Friday and back to Easter. 

He writes:

“I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection

and the sharing of his sufferings by becoming like him in his death,

if somehow I may attain the resurrection from the dead.”

For Paul, the cross and the empty tomb cannot be separated. Good Friday does not exist without Easter Sunday, and vice versa. 

For me, this is a reminder that it is not enough to know Jesus was born, to know his teachings, or even to know of his suffering (with us and for us) on the cross.

The fullness of Christian faith and hope rests in the blessed assurance that on the third day, Christ was risen from the dead. 

Alleluia, Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed, Alleluia!

The Philippians knew this on one level, of course. They had already heard the Good News of the resurrection! But Paul understood that sometimes, we need to be reminded.

Sometimes we need to be reminded that violence and the cross are not the end of the story.

Sometimes we need to remember that the world does not end in a mass shooting.

Dear friends in Christ, there are so many who are suffering in the world today, so many who know the reality of the cross, so many who need our prayers, our advocacy, our hands to help: Las Vegas, Spain, Puerto Rico, North Korea, India, Bangladesh--and this is just the start of the list.

Closer to home here in Jerusalem, we don’t have to look far to see the chaos, the drama, and the suffering of Good Friday. We don’t have to look far to see how a wall blocking entrance to Jerusalem, and to work, feels no different from the stone blocking the entrance to the tomb.

So it can often seem that we are living in—and perhaps are stuck in—a Good Friday world.

But my sisters and brothers, though it may seem to be a Good Friday world, we are an Easter people.

I know this phrase has been used many times, by many preachers. And perhaps it has lost its power!

But really, at Redeemer, we are an Easter people. I mean it! 

Let me explain:

Have you ever visited the archaeological site below our church? It’s actually quite interesting, in that it shows how the outside wall of Jerusalem ran just underneath our present-day church building. And this is of interest to many scholars, because it adds to the evidence that the Church of the Holy Sepulcher could truly be the location where Jesus was crucified, died, and was buried (as opposed to the Garden Tomb, for example, which has no real archaeological backing, but is undeniably quite beautiful!)

This archaeological evidence is cool, but even more interesting is the fact that this spot, where our church resides today, is thought to be the place where the women watched the crucifixion.

We often forget, but Scripture says “Many women were also there.” 

The Gospel accounts of the crucifixion vary a bit, of course. Matthew says “Many women were also there, looking on from a distance.” (Matthew 27:55)  Mark and Luke concur. (Mark 15:40 and Luke 23:49). John, as usual, changes things a bit, saying that Jesus’ mother, and the other two Marys, were standing “near the cross of Jesus.” I suppose I would ask: Is Redeemer Church near the Church of the Holy Sepulcher or at a distance from it? It depends on who you ask! It depends on your perspective.

When I lived in Nebraska, there was a joke that went, “Nebraska isn’t the end of the world, but we can see it from here.” Actually, that same joke was told in Waco, Texas, and in Stillwater, Oklahoma,  and in my first call in Capron, Illinois!

Well, at the time of the crucifixion, this spot, where we sit today, wasn’t the end of the world, but you could see it from here. 

You could see Jesus’ suffering. You could see Jesus giving up his last breath, for the sake of this broken and sinful world. You could see him being taken down from the cross, and laid in the tomb of Joseph of Arimathea.

This wasn’t the end, but the women, who were also there, could see it from this very spot.

And that means, this is a Good Friday church.

But listen, dear friends, that means that from this spot, you could also see the resurrection. 

From this very spot, one could see the rising of the Son,

you could see the dawning of a new day,

you could see the stone being rolled away,

From this spot, you could see Jesus walking out of the tomb.

From this spot, you could truly know Christ and the power of the resurrection.

Therefore, this is an Easter church, and we are an Easter people.

This morning, as we together struggle under the weight of the cross and the sufferings of this broken world, I hope you will hear this as a word of encouragement. Do not be afraid. Do not be discouraged. We are an Easter people! We are an Easter church!

From here, from this vantage point, if we remember to open our eyes, we will see the Lord. 

We see him, crucified and risen. 

We know, because we have seen, because we have heard, that Good Friday is not the end of the story. Death does not have last word. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

And so, together, we press on towards the goal. We press on in faith, and in hope. We press on, with the saints of every time and place, for we never lose the vision. We never forget the promise of the kingdom of God—which we are called to inaugurate on earth as it is in heaven—

where all are welcome at the table,

where all are safe from guns and from bombs,

where all receive mercy and forgiveness,

where peace reigns over all the earth,

where reconciliation is not just a word, but is a lived reality,

where there are no mass shootings,

no forgotten islands,

no police states,

no walls,

no checkpoints, and no friends who die too soon.

Dear friends in Christ, hear the Good News: 

Christ has died. Christ is risen. And Christ will come again. Amen.