November 25, 2007

Thank you for being here on this holiday weekend. This is kind of an extra Sunday, did you know? As I mentioned last week, the Sunday of Thanksgiving weekend is usually the first Sunday of Advent, but with five Thursdays in November this month, Thanksgiving is early this year, and therefore we get to wait until next Sunday to begin Advent.

Which is nice. It means we can dwell upon Thanksgiving, and not rush right to the next holiday.

Thank you for spending your "extra" Sunday in church. For you big game hunters, I hope you have had a successful season and are here to offer thanks. If not, then the big game are offering thanks. So someone ought to be happy!

This "extra" Sunday also happens to be the Last Sunday of Pentecost. Our longest season of the Christian year, Pentecost stretches from 50 days after Easter, which is the Day of Pentecost, until Advent. Today is the 26^th Sunday of Pentecost, if you are counting. And if you are doing the math, you will calculate that Pentecost as a season is one-half of our calendar year.

The Christian year begins with Advent, and ends with Pentecost. So today is the New Year's Eve of Sundays in the Christian year, so to speak. Thank you for spending New Year's Eve in church. Aren't you glad you are here?

And I'm not done yet. Oh, the things you learn in church, and can take to work, which I hope makes a difference for you. The Last Sunday of Pentecost is also called "Christ the King" Sunday, ah, and I can see some of you good Catholics nodding, or the "Reign of Christ" Sunday.

Thank you for spending "Christ the King" Sunday in church, especially those of you of the Grizzly Nation for whom a good word is in order.

"Christ the King" Sunday. And now we are warming up to our theme for this morning. Think about it. Isn't our religion great? Here we are about to conclude our Christian year, and we are going to end it with an exclamation mark. Christ the King! Which sure beats a question mark, doesn't it? As in, say who?

As we prepare to lay another year to rest, to file it for better or for worse into the annals of history, and as we dare to peak forward to the year which is to come, beginning with our season in anticipation of the birth of the Lord, we ring out one more time the proclamation of our faith, "Christ the King!"

And if this sounds a lot like the Apostle Paul's Easter proclamation, "O death, where is thy victory? O death, where is thy sting?...thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through Jesus Christ our Lord!" It should. For this is the high note upon which we conclude our Christian year. Thanks be to God!

Will Willimon, the former Dean of the Chapel at Duke University, now a Methodist Bishop, is a much sought after preacher and prolific religious writer.

I read an article a bit ago in which Willimon relates being asked by a student group at Duke to speak to the student body. He asked what topic they preferred, and he received what he says is a standard reply, "Well, whatever subject you like." "OK," he said. "What if I speak to the topic, ?Current critical problems on campus that absolutely must be addressed.'"

He says there was a long silence, and then the student responded, "Dean Willimon, could you consider something else? Frankly, we are overwhelmed with problems. And we are exhausted hearing about them. Do you have any good news to tell?"

English theologian David Ford calls our age the "age of overwhelmedness." He maintains that our age is so exposed to tragedy, terror, and despair, that we are overwhelmed. From the newspaper on the breakfast table to the late night news on television, we are bombarded with daily disasters and staggering statistics. And we are overwhelmed.

With the Cold War comfortably concluded, where distinguished Yale psychologist, Robert Jay Lifton, said we suffered from "Nuclear Numbness," where our ability to absorb information, to reason, to plan ahead, kind of froze in the face of nuclear proliferation and the possibility of nuclear disaster, we have now moved on to the next phase which might be called, "Psychic numbness." Which is not quite the "peace dividend" we had anticipated when the Berlin Wall came tumbling down, is it? The "age of overwhelmedness."

The young prince in Shakespeare's Hamlet muses to himself, what ought he to do in response to the sin of his mother and his uncle who murdered his father and now have married one another? Young Hamlet wonders, is it better to take up the sword against "a sea of troubles," or is it better to simply pull the covers over his head, to sleep, and even contemplate suicide?

How do we respond to the "sea of troubles" that flood our times. Wars continue as usual in the Middle East, with no prospect for peace in sight. The threat of terrorism grows, it does not diminish, despite huge capital investment as well as human sacrifice. Drought and civil war devastate regions in Africa, where life expectancy declines, with more than one million children HIV-positive, ten million children orphaned, and in some countries up to 40% of the young women have Aids.

Water becomes increasingly insufficient in areas of China and around the world, which is a rapid recipe for panic. And now we get to worry about global warming, as our layers of denial grow thin and we begin to believe the scientists.

I don't know, oil is up, stocks are down, do you feel overwhelmed? How do you respond to the current "sea of troubles"? And why are some of you wearing pillow cases over your heads?

This is the last Sunday of the church year, where year after year, good year or bad, the church concludes with the same proclamation, "Christ the King." In spite of conditions to the contrary, we declare the "Reign of Christ." We've been doing this for two thousand years, and we'll continue to do so until the world gets it right and/or Christ comes!

The church was born, Pentecost #1. By the power of the Holy Spirit, believers were being baptized, and this new-born movement was incredibly picking up momentum.

In a world of caesars, who would believe "Christ is King"? They crucified him! Yet, this is what the believers said, and it threatened the stability of the society in which they lived, as the followers taught and healed and performed miracles in the name of this Christ.

So the Hebrew leaders, the chief priests, the elders, and members of the Jewish High Council, called the Christians on the carpet. "Drop it with the exclamation point," they said. "The Romans are watching. Cool it with Christ." (Acts 4:16-21) The authorities to the apostles.

In response, the church, in its earliest infancy, not even yet walking, prayed. It prayed, not for protection against overwhelming odds. It prayed, not for survival. It prayed, not for bigger numbers and more members, or a better stewardship drive. It prayed for - "boldness." "And now, Lord, look at the threats against us, and grant us, your servants, to speak your word with all

boldness." (Acts 4:29)

With tongues of fire the church prayed for boldness, that they, the believers, might continue their proclamation, concluding not with any ol' exclamation point, but with a bold exclamation point, "Christ is King!"

You heard it read this morning in Acts 4, "When they finished praying, the place in which they were gathered together was shaken, and they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and they spoke the word of God with boldness." (4:31) Their prayer was answered! This is called Pentecost #2. And now, of course, the church was not only born, but it was born into trouble.

Take a look a little later. The Book of Revelation arises out of troubled times. The church is still a toddler, relatively speaking, and the Roman parents want to discipline it, if not drown it. Their affection is like Herod toward the baby Jesus.

And the approach is similar. Caesar Domitian has declared it a capital offense to be a Christian in Asia minor, modern day Turkey, a territory he controls. You worship Christ as King, as opposed to Domitian, who insisted his subjects address him as "Lord and God," and you get the guillotine.

The bishop of the churches in Asia Minor has been banished to a rock island in the Aegean, called Patmos. Some of you have been there, with me. We rather liked it. I have thought it would be a nice place to spend a sabbatical.

But back then it was the Alcatraz in the Roman repertoire of prisons. And there sits John, the banished bishop. Though not without vision.

John writes for his persecuted churches the Book of Revelation out of a "sea of troubles." Though without pulpit, he is not without pen. See if this doesn't sound like the infant church praying for boldness at the second Pentecost. Or, see if this doesn't sound like the prayer of the church has been answered in John.

John could be, should be, gnashing his teeth with "overwhelmedness." Certainly he will get into describing the beasts of his day, in symbolic and overwhelming imagery. But beginning and end, this book is about hope. It is a lifesaver cast into the "sea of troubles."

The book begins with a doxology, a hymn of praise, as read this morning, "Grace to you and peace from the God who is and who was and who is to come..." In other words, kings and empires come and go. God alone is forever. Forget Domitian.

And the book ends with a marvelous vision of a new heaven and a new earth, with Christ defeating every dragon, serpent and seven headed beast in the kingdom. What a fitting benediction to the Bible, and what a wonderful testimony to the new born church that prayed for boldness. No "overwhelmedness" here.

Chris Somerville is a biology professor at Stanford University. He is also director of the Carnegie Institution's Department of Plant Biology. He is one of the world's foremost plant biologists. In an interview addressing the gloomy subject of global warming with a certain amount of cheeriness, which has the reporter taken aback, so he, the reporter, comments, "You sound pretty optimistic." To which Somerville responds:

"I've been deeply involved in the technical aspect of this for some years (meaning biofuels), and everywhere I look, I see opportunity. It doesn't require any miracles. There's still time for us to achieve improvements or implementation of alternative energies before the problem becomes really a crisis. But there is a crisis coming if we don't do something."

This is a scientist who sounds like he goes to church. I know Steve Running, co-winner of this year's Nobel Peace Prize along with his fellow scientists on the Intergovernmental Panel of Climate Change, who gave us a sobering presentation on the subject at our Western Association meeting, does, for he is a member of our UCC church in Missoula. He, too, concluded with a note of hope, saying the technology is here or near, including cellulosic fuel, which could include harvesting the dead fall of our forests, now wouldn't that be sweet, to defeat this present challenge.

May we be not overwhelmed in our "age of overwhelmedness." For as overwhelming as the many challenges appear, as we lament the list, the power of God is greater.

For our God is not some distant, aloof, uncaring deity, nor some empathetic, but essentially powerless being.

Our God is the God who in the last words of King David made "an eternal covenant with us, an agreement that will not be broken, a promise that will not be changed." (II Sam.23:5) The promise came to us in the person of Christ. Now, as in the beginning, it is the church's role to give continued testimony to the grace and triumph of God in Christ. In this way, we keep the covenant.

So it is that on this last Sunday of the Christian calendar year we proclaim "Christ the King!" What a way to wrap up the old year, and what a way to ring in the new, as we point to the "reign of Christ," with the boldness of the historic church. For Christ is our beginning and Christ is our benediction. Now is our time to make a difference, and to be bold for God.

AMEN