Discussion Questions:

1. Preparing the Way

• In what ways is Advent like the quiet morning before a great feast? How might slowing down and reflecting help prepare your heart for the coming of Christ?
• What practices—spiritual or otherwise—help you enter into the kind of preparation John the Baptist calls for?

2. John’s Voice in the Wilderness

• John the Baptist is described as a disruptive voice calling people to honesty and change. Where do you hear modern echoes of that prophetic voice?
• What voices today are calling attention to injustice or spiritual complacency? How might God be calling you to be a truth-teller?

3. Hope and Honesty

• The sermon reminds us that Advent allows space to say, “It’s okay not to be okay.” What does that mean for your life right now?
• Who are the “hope bearers” in your life—those who carry light in dark times? How can you become a hope bearer for someone else this season?

4. Repentance as Readiness

• John’s message of repentance isn’t about shame but about readiness. How do confession and truth-telling make space for grace and growth?
• What is one small step you can take this week to “make straight” a path for God in your life?

5. Being Voices of Advent

• The Advent season reminds us to use our voices rather than remain silent. What truth do you feel called to speak right now?
• As a church community, how can we be a prophetic voice—like John—helping prepare the world for love, justice, and the coming of Christ?

The post Sermon Discussion Guide: Voices of Advent: John the Baptist appeared first on Roland Park Presbyterian Church.

Now King Hiram of Tyre sent his servants to Solomon when he heard that they had anointed him king in place of his father, for Hiram had always been a friend to David. Solomon sent word to Hiram, saying, “You know that my father David could not build a house for the name of the Lord his God because of the warfare with which his enemies surrounded him, until he put them under the soles of his feet. But now the Lord my God has given me rest on every side; there is neither adversary nor misfortune. So I intend to build a house for the name of the Lord my God, as the Lord said to my father David, ‘Your son, whom I will set on your throne in your place, shall build the house for my name.’ 

Then Solomon assembled the elders of Israel and all the heads of the tribes, the leaders of the ancestral houses of the Israelites, before King Solomon in Jerusalem, to bring up the ark of the covenant of the Lord out of the city of David, which is Zion. All the people of Israel assembled to King Solomon at the festival in the month Ethanim, which is the seventh month. And all the elders of Israel came, and the priests carried the ark. So they brought up the ark of the Lord, the tent of meeting, and all the holy vessels that were in the tent; the priests and the Levites brought them up. King Solomon and all the congregation of Israel, who had assembled before him, were with him before the ark, sacrificing so many sheep and oxen that they could not be counted or numbered. Then the priests brought the ark of the covenant of the Lord to its place, in the inner sanctuary of the house, the most holy place, underneath the wings of the cherubim. For the cherubim spread out their wings over the place of the ark, so that the cherubim made a covering above the ark and its poles. The poles were so long that the ends of the poles were seen from the holy place in front of the inner sanctuary, but they could not be seen from outside; they are there to this day. There was nothing in the ark except the two tablets of stone that Moses had placed there at Horeb, where the Lord made a covenant with the Israelites when they came out of the land of Egypt. And when the priests came out of the holy place, a cloud filled the house of the Lord, so that the priests could not stand to minister because of the cloud, for the glory of the Lord filled the house of the Lord.

Then Solomon said,
“The Lord has said that he would dwell in thick darkness.
I have built you an exalted house,
a place for you to dwell forever.”

For the Word of God in scripture,
For the Word of God among us,
For the Word of God within us,
Thanks be to God.

***

Seven years. That’s how long it took. The same approximate time it takes for every cell in your body to replace itself. Seven years. You can earn a Ph.D. in that amount of time. Raise a human being. Seven years. That’s how long scholars think it took to build the temple. It could have been more but probably not much less. Seven years from foundation to roof.

Today it would probably take closer to 7 months. More effective tools. Better materials. A crane alone would have cut a few years off the project, but Solomon and his contemporaries had only manual labor, perhaps some crude machines to build the temple.

This past week cranes and bull dozers tore down the east wing of the White House. Built in 1902 and significantly upgraded in 1942, it took less than 7 days to tear down a significant portion of the so-called people’s house.

We have had front loaders and jack hammers tearing up the front yard of our church this week. Tuesday, I pulled up to the church and there was a toddler sitting in his toy truck watching the workers in awe.

I imagine that the Israelite kids would have loved watching the Temple go up. Though after 7 years it would have just become part of the backdrop. Imagine living nearby and waking up to the sound of construction every morning for seven years.

Scripture tells us that God gave Solomon rest on all sides, which is what allows him to turn his attention to this monumental project. It is hard to attend to such things when you are at war or in conflict with neighboring nations. Not to mention that they may have some natural resources that you need. Such seems to be the case with Solomon and King Hiram of Tyre. Hiram had been a friend of David, but David was a war time king. He didn’t have the time or resources to dedicate to such a massive project. Or so we are led to believe.

Solomon hopes to succeed where his father had failed. To have his name associated with such an accomplishment will surely secure his legacy. Solomon the wise. Solomon the generous. Solomon the builder.

It all seems to be falling into place. There is only one problem. Solomon’s version of things is a bit self-serving. He says that God wanted David to build the temple, but that is not really true. It wasn’t that David was busy with all of his battles and drama, though he was. He was more than willing to build a temple nonetheless. So why didn’t he? Because God told him not to. And for all of his faults—and David had many—he did try to be faithful to God.

The truth of the matter is that God never asks David or Solomon for a temple. They want to build one, but God prefers more of a mobile home. God doesn’t want to be pinned down, shut in. God wants to be loose and fancy free to mingle amongst the people. It is we who want to keep tabs on God. We want God to stay put. To be tame. In other words, we want to be in control.

Seven years is a long time. Long enough to build a temple. Long enough to earn a Ph.D. Long enough for every cell in your body to regenerate. Long enough to become a completely different person.

According to biblical scholar Alphonetta Wines, “The temple was a seven-year joint project of Solomon and Hiram, King of Tyre…Like much of today’s construction, temple walls and objects were created elsewhere and brought to the building site where they were assembled and installed. Gold was everywhere, inside and out. Rich furnishings and decorations were made of the finest materials.”

Just after our passage ends today, there is a ceremony to dedicate the Temple. Dr. Wines writes, “[Solomon’s] dedicatory speech and prayers are some of the most exquisite passages in the entire Bible. His speech makes it plain that even with all his work, he recognizes that God is beyond physical space. His prayer beautifully requests that God hear and answer not only the prayers of the people of Israel, but also the prayers of foreigners as well.”

It would seem as though in the time it took to build the temple—7 years—is enough time for Solomon’s own spiritual renovation as well. Not that he is a finished project at the end, but he seems to have matured in his faith quite a bit. At the beginning, Solomon assumes God is as vein and shallow as he is. By the end, Solomon realizes that even the most elaborate and exquisite dwelling cannot contain the Holy One. The only temple fit for God is the human heart.

To the people of God in Ephesus, Paul writes “I pray that…you may be strengthened in your inner being with power through his Spirit and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love. I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.”

There is not a structure on this earth that can contain the fullness of God. No building. No belief system. No religion or church. No state or politician. No country or nation. No temple. No ballroom. No sanctuary.

The only dwelling place God wants, the only the sanctuary God desires is the dwelling, the sanctuary of the human heart. The only temple God wants is the temple of you. Amen.

The post Rest on Every Side appeared first on Roland Park Presbyterian Church.

We are skipping over a whole lot to get from where we were last Sunday, which was Moses and Aaron had led the people of Israel out of Egypt and out of slavery, out of Pharaoh’s grasp. And they escaped through the Red Sea, and they find themselves in the wilderness.

And after just a short amount of time, they begin to wonder what they’re doing out there—where their next meal is going to come from—and they begin to question the plan. And Moses and Aaron reassure them: “No, God will take care of us. We just have to trust each day in our daily bread.”

Well, as I mentioned last week, that was at the beginning of their forty-year journey in the wilderness. We are on the other side of that journey—and through the time of the Judges, where local authorities were more in charge—and now to this time where they’re trying to consolidate power, consolidate government under kings and prophets.

1 Samuel 3:1–21
Now the boy Samuel was ministering to the Lord under Eli. The word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread.

At that time Eli, whose eyesight had begun to grow dim so that he could not see, was lying down in his room; the lamp of God had not yet gone out, and Samuel was lying down in the temple of the Lord, where the ark of God was. Then the Lord called, “Samuel! Samuel!” and he said, “Here I am!” and ran to Eli and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” But he said, “I did not call; lie down again.” So he went and lay down. The Lord called again, “Samuel!” Samuel got up and went to Eli and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” But he said, “I did not call, my son; lie down again.” Now Samuel did not yet know the Lord, and the word of the Lord had not yet been revealed to him. The Lord called Samuel again, a third time. And he got up and went to Eli and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” Then Eli perceived that the Lord was calling the boy. Therefore Eli said to Samuel, “Go, lie down, and if he calls you, you shall say, ‘Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.’ ” So Samuel went and lay down in his place.

Now the Lord came and stood there, calling as before, “Samuel! Samuel!” And Samuel said, “Speak, for your servant is listening.” Then the Lord said to Samuel, “See, I am about to do something in Israel that will make both ears of anyone who hears of it tingle. On that day I will fulfill against Eli all that I have spoken concerning his house, from beginning to end. For I have told him that I am about to punish his house forever for the iniquity that he knew, because his sons were blaspheming God, and he did not restrain them. Therefore I swear to the house of Eli that the iniquity of Eli’s house shall not be expiated by sacrifice or offering forever.”

Samuel lay there until morning; then he opened the doors of the house of the Lord. Samuel was afraid to tell the vision to Eli. But Eli called Samuel and said, “Samuel, my son.” He said, “Here I am.” Eli said, “What was it that he told you? Do not hide it from me. May God do so to you and more also, if you hide anything from me of all that he told you.” So Samuel told him everything and hid nothing from him. Then he said, “It is the Lord; let him do what seems good to him.”

As Samuel grew up, the Lord was with him and let none of his words fall to the ground. And all Israel from Dan to Beer-sheba knew that Samuel was a trustworthy prophet of the Lord. The Lord continued to appear at Shiloh, for the Lord revealed himself to Samuel at Shiloh by the word of the Lord.

For the Word of God in scripture,
For the Word of God among us,
For the Word of God within us,
Thanks be to God.

***

Rob Bell noticed that his children had this odd habit when they called out for him. Instead of just saying, “Daddy,” to get his attention, they would always say, “Daddy, Daddy”—always three times.

Why three times?

He always wondered about this peculiar calling until one day he was at the playground with his kids. They were having a good time on the slides and the swings and they were playing with the other kids. And he was looking on and watching when suddenly his phone buzzed.

And he looked down, and he checked it, and sure enough—it was an email from his publisher. He’d been waiting for this response, and he opened it with great anticipation.

And as he was reading the email and making sense—not only of what it said, but all that it meant for him and his career and their future—he heard this strange noise off in the distance.

“Daddy…”

Then again, this time a little bit closer:

“Daddy…”

And then finally, full volume—realizing that one of his children was right in front of him, tugging on his shirt:

“Daddy!”

And that’s when he finally understood. It wasn’t some quirk of theirs. They had learned that it takes three times to get his attention. Because he has this habit of being there—but not really being there. Distracted by work, by his phone. His kids had gotten used to saying his name three times to get his attention.

Well, it took the Lord four times to get Samuel’s attention.

He called out, “Samuel, Samuel. Samuel…” and even then, it was Eli who realized what might be happening.

The first three times, Samuel thought that he was hearing his mentor, Eli, in the other room. He must be the one calling him in the night. Who else could it be? No one else was there. And yet he keeps hearing, “Samuel… Samuel…” until it’s so close that you can no longer deny it. It is like the voice is right there in the room with him.

And Eli, who has more experience with this sort of thing, says: “Go back. And if you hear it again, say, ‘Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.’”

Now, there are several things that we can take away from this exchange.

According to Amy Oden, she says:
Notice how this encounter happens at night. First, both Samuel and Eli are lying down—a posture of stillness and receptivity. A spiritual practice.

What listening practices do we have? What pauses or openings do we create in our daily lives for the holy?

Second, God calls Samuel by name. God addresses Samuel directly. Separately from messages that God sends more generally to the whole people, God is speaking here to just Samuel. There is an intimacy in God speaking Samuel’s name directly—and persistently.

It’s hard for most of us to imagine, isn’t it? Much less accept that God could be speaking to us personally—to our particular time and place, to our own biography, our own personality.

Have you ever thought about that?
Have you ever asked yourself:
Am I willing to let God speak personally to me?
To my particularity?
What does it sound like when God calls my name?

Third, Samuel doesn’t recognize the voice. It’s reassuring, isn’t it?

Even when God speaks his name directly, Samuel doesn’t recognize God’s voice. It takes someone else—his mentor Eli—to help him even entertain the possibility that it is the Word of the Lord speaking to him.

Professor Oden writes: that’s what the body of Christ—that’s the role that we can play. We need each other to help us pay attention and recognize when God is speaking in our lives. Sometimes it’s easier for our friends to notice it, right?

“Can you not see what God is saying to you?”

Fourth, God is persistent.
God doesn’t get fed up with Samuel not getting it.

This means the divine revelation does not depend on our spiritual quickness, but on God’s faithfulness to us. If we don’t get it, God will try again.
And again.
And again.

And last, and not least—we may not like what we hear.

There’s no denying the message that is given to Samuel for Eli is hard. Eli doesn’t want to hear it.

How do we receive what God is saying to us—and what sermon might come from listening to God—as we determine its meaning for our lives?

Now, anytime I start listing things, I always feel like I need to give the caveat: I don’t want it to sound like these are the steps for having a faith of our own. If only it were that easy.

There are no one-size-fits-all prescriptions for forming faith, nor is there a single outcome.

One of the things that this story shows us is that each of us has our own calling.
Each of us has our own story.
Each of us hears scripture in our own way.

They’re all different, and no two are the same—and that’s good. Because faith is not monochrome.

And the further I get in my own ministry, the more and more I am convinced that my role is not to teach the faith or espouse a particular set of doctrines.

Rather, it’s to help us—as individuals and as a community—to be able to articulate our own faith, our own particular beliefs and doubts. Questions.

Isn’t that an exciting vision of what church could be?

Barbara Brown Taylor writes:

“What if people were invited to come tell what they already know of God, instead of to learn what they’re supposed to believe?
What if they were blessed for what they’re already doing in the world instead of chastised for not doing more at church?
What if church itself felt more like a way station than a destination?
And what if the church’s job were to move people out the door, instead of to keep them in—by convincing them that God needs them more in the world rather than in the church?”

In other words, the church at its best is like Eli in this story—helping to discern God’s voice, not insisting that the next generation be a replica of the previous. Not viewing diversity of opinions as a threat, but as a blessing.

Eli is Samuel’s spiritual mentor and his guide. He’s not simply telling Samuel to walk the same path that he did, but he gives him the freedom and the support to find his own path.

Now to be clear—I’m not suggesting that one generation doesn’t have wisdom to share with the next. Clearly, each generation has wisdom to share. But each new generation also has its own path.

So I hope you hear what I’m saying today.
Because it’s really important.

You do not simply have to accept what has been passed down to you without your question or input.

Our faith is never set in stone. It is alive, and it is evolving.

You’re allowed—indeed, you’re encouraged—to bring your own thoughts, your own questions, your own doubts, experience to bear on this faith that we are trying to live out together. That’s both individual and communal.

Because that’s the tension that we live in.
We share our faith with one another, but without insisting that we all have to agree on every last little thing.

It’s been pointed out that you can insist on being right, or you can be loving, but you can’t necessarily be both.

Love of God and neighbor means that we hold onto our beliefs and our doctrines lightly.

What I mean by that is not that we don’t take them seriously—in fact, quite the opposite. We take them very seriously and realize that they can have great impact.

Which is why we also hold onto them lightly—because sometimes our beliefs can have unintended consequences. And if we find that our beliefs have caused harm to others that we did not intend, then we need to be willing to re-evaluate those beliefs, rather than valuing dogma over people.

Notice that it’s become popular once again to proclaim this hierarchy of love.

“I love—” you know, we’ll list them on a t-shirt or whatever—
“I love God first, then family, then my country, then my Honda…” I don’t know. Whatever it is. “I love this first, and then I love that.”

But where does Jesus ever talk about love in any kind of hierarchical way?

He very specifically says when asked:
Love of God and love of neighbor are not ranked.
They’re the same thing.

So if our dogma—if our beliefs—result in us harming our neighbor, whether we intend it or not, whether our neighbor be female, or queer, or foreign, or poor, or Black, or Brown, then it’s our dogma—our belief—that needs reevaluating, not the other way around.

Because as William Sloane Coffin reminds us:

“The time is always right to change our minds when to do so is to widen our hearts.”

Amen.

The post A Faith of Our Own appeared first on Roland Park Presbyterian Church.

Discussion Questions

1. Hearing God’s Voice

• The young Samuel hears God’s call repeatedly but does not recognize it until Eli guides him.
  o Have you ever felt uncertain whether something was “from God” or not?
  o Who or what helps you discern God’s voice in your life?
• The sermon reminded us that “God doesn’t give up.”
  o How does God’s persistence in calling Samuel speak to your own spiritual journey?
  o Where in your life do you feel God might be trying to get your attention?

2. Creating Space for the Holy

• Samuel and Eli were lying down, a position of rest and openness.
  o What practices help you slow down and listen for the holy in your life?
  o Where do you create space to be spiritually receptive—in your home, routine, or relationships?

3. Intergenerational Wisdom

• Eli didn’t push Samuel to copy his own path; instead, he supported Samuel in listening for God’s unique call.
  o What role does mentorship or spiritual friendship play in your life right now?
  o How can we as a church support different generations in finding their own voice?

4. Faith that Evolves

• Pastor Mark said, “Our faith is never set in stone. It is alive and evolving.”
  o How has your understanding of faith changed over time?
  o What questions or doubts are part of your faith right now?
• The sermon encourages each person to articulate their own faith.
  o If someone asked you what you believe, what would you say today?

5. Holding Belief Lightly and Lovingly

• The message reminded us that belief should never harm others—and if it does, it must be reexamined.
  o Have you experienced moments when belief was used in a hurtful way? How did you respond?
  o How can we as a church hold our beliefs in ways that expand love, not limit it?

6. Faith in Action

• Quoting Barbara Brown Taylor, Pastor Mark asked:
  “What if church felt more like a way station than a destination?”
  o How does this change how you think about the purpose of church?
• What might God be calling you to do or become right now?
  o What’s one small step you can take this week to follow that call?

The post Sermon Discussion Guide: A Faith of Our Own appeared first on Roland Park Presbyterian Church.

We have been, for the latter half of the summer, looking at the last book of the Christian Scriptures—the last book of the Bible—the book of Revelation. A very misunderstood book, a very misinterpreted book.

We have been reading Revelation, as Eugene Peterson says, not as prediction but as perception. It is a book about what the people of God at that time were experiencing, but it’s also a book of hope—that the way things are now is not necessarily the way they’re going to be, or that they have to be.

One of the reasons the book is so misunderstood is because it’s so heavy into the use of symbolism and metaphor. There are talks of dragons and lions and lambs and all of these kind of fantastical things. But these are really symbols that are pointing to realities that the people of that time would recognize and—as we’ve hopefully seen through this series—that you and I might recognize as well.

Just a quick word or reminder, as always—and I know some of you are like, “Mark, you say this all the time, we got it”—but our culture is so strong in the opposite message. And that’s just simply that this word apocalypse, this word revelation, it’s not a big scary word. It doesn’t mean the end and judgment and fire. It actually refers to—kind of just what I was joking about a little bit—those little miracles that pop up that we can claim, that give us a glimpse.

That’s what the word apocalypse means. It means kind of like—it’s the idea of pulling back a curtain to reveal something that you didn’t see. It’s been there, but you didn’t see it. So that’s literally what the word apocalypse means: a pulling back of the curtain or veil to show us something.

And so the idea is that these little miracles, these little things, are instances of us getting a glimpse of grace, a glimpse of God’s reality kind of infusing our own. And it gives us hope, even in the midst of some difficult circumstances, to keep on going.

And with that, we will be reading toward the end of the book of Revelation. This whole thing has been building—there have been battles and all of these things—and then it’s kind of a nice surprise ending.

Let us pray:

You are our God, and we are Your people. And in Your kingdom, every place is holy. We pray for hearts open to see Your face reflected all around us, not only here. Even now, already, Your glory shines, and You bid us taste and see that You are good.

Give us a glimpse—even a moment—that we may be strengthened for the living of these days. Amen.

Revelation 21:1–6, 22:1–5

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, 

“See, the home of God is among mortals.

He will dwell with them;

they will be his peoples,

and God himself will be with them and be their God;

he will wipe every tear from their eyes.

Death will be no more;

mourning and crying and pain will be no more,

for the first things have passed away.”

And the one who was seated on the throne said, “See, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this, for these words are trustworthy and true.” Then he said to me, “It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life.

Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city. On either side of the river is the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, producing its fruit each month, and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. Nothing accursed will be found there any more. But the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him; they will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. And there will be no more night; they need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever.

For the Word of God in scripture,
For the Word of God among us,
For the Word of God within us,
Thanks be to God.

***

The very first verse of the very first chapter of the very first book of the Bible—Genesis—reads: “In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth.” In Revelation, the last book of the Bible, we read about a new heaven and a new earth. In Genesis 2, we read about the Garden of Eden, the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, the river watering the garden flowing from Eden. In Revelation, we read of the river of the water of life flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb, and the tree of life on its shores. Clearly, the author of Revelation wants us to hearken back to the beginning—that original vision of paradise.

In many ways, that is the story of the Bible. It’s the story of getting back to the Garden of Eden. That first ideal. That original wholeness and completeness. Generations have been asking, “How do we get there?” Is it through power and might, by conquering neighboring kingdoms? Is it through obedience and faithfulness? How do we get there?

And it almost seems like the harder we try, the worse it gets. First there’s the flood—where things are so bad, God wants to restart. Just like a malfunctioning computer or device: “Have you tried turning it off and on again?” Now, initially this seems to work, but then more trouble comes. In Egypt, the golden calf. Wandering in the desert. Exile in Babylon. And on and on.

But then for us Christians, eventually Jesus arrives on the scene with a direct link to the divine. And he shows us what is possible: loving God and loving neighbor, sharing our bread, caring for the widow and the orphan. But these are the very things that put him in opposition to the empire. His message of love and justice is a direct threat to the status quo and the powers that be. So eventually, they arrest Jesus, and they put him on trial for sedition. And at this, the crowds—who had once gathered to hang on his every word and welcomed him into town with shouts of “Hosanna!”—lose hope yet again. Their shouts of praise turn to cries of “Crucify!” As one hymn puts it: “A murderer they save, the Prince of Life they slay.”  All of our attempts to return to the Garden—to get to God—fail. In large part because we prefer the empire and the status quo to the Kingdom of God.

One way of understanding the book of Revelation is that it is kind of a retelling of this biblical narrative. A fantastical reworking of salvation history, with the Roman Empire as the beast and with Jesus as the Lamb, and the people of God caught between these two ways of being in the world. Revelation portrays the battle between these forces, where everything seems to be at stake.

And this is the thread most often picked up from Revelation—this eternal battle between good and evil, along with its vivid imagery. This is why Revelation is such an inspiration for so much art—for paintings, for music, for movies, for novels.

Though it’s interesting that many of these artistic interpretations—as well as regular interpretations—suppose, like those first crowds who followed Jesus, that love and justice are ultimately no match for the ferocity and power of the empire. We just—just cannot imagine, in the language of Revelation, the Lamb outlasting the beast. If this were a video game, the beast wins 100 out of 100 times.

And I’m guessing that most of us, if asked about Revelation, might say something about the final judgment, about the end of the world. But as we’ve hopefully learned over these past several weeks, Revelation is not about the end of the world. Rather, as the band R.E.M. put it in the ’80s—maybe early ’90s—“It’s the end of the world as we know it.” To get that distinction—it’s so important. It’s not the end of the world. But it is the end of the world as we know it.

As we just read, Revelation doesn’t conclude with destruction, but new birth. New creation. It is about that return to the Garden. The reunion of God and humanity. But instead of us finding our way to God, God comes to us. “Behold, the home of God is among mortals.” Turns out we’ve had it wrong all along.

Richard Rohr describes this theological reality when he writes: “Most of us have been taught that God would love us if and when we change. In fact, God loves us so that we can change.” Turns out we don’t need to prove ourselves. We don’t need to earn God’s love. It’s been with us all along. We just have to trust that love to guide us. And most of the time, you and I do not believe that it’s powerful enough to overcome all that we face.

Throughout this series, I’ve made some unusual comparisons to help us dive deeper into the message of the book of Revelation—and maybe to demystify it a little bit. You might remember in one of the first sermons in this series, I said that Revelation was like the children’s book Goodnight Gorilla. A few weeks ago, I equated it to a New Yorker cartoon that appeared in the magazine shortly after 9/11, in which a man was standing on a street corner holding a sign—and instead of “The End Is Near,” he proclaimed the message: “It’s All Going to Be Okay.” Then last week, I used the example of an uptight college admissions counselor from an elite private college to remind us that God’s grace is not stingy, but sweeping.

Today, in my final sermon in this series, I want to offer one last comparison: The book of Revelation is like one of those Hallmark movies that my wife loves so much. She agrees with me that they’re a bit cheesy and predictable. In fact, that’s the reason that she loves them. With so much in our world that is complicated and depressing, it’s nice to escape from that reality to one in which love does, in the end, always win.

I sometimes tease her about how predictable these movies are. Here’s the typical plot:

Two people meet in some unexpected fashion, right? And there’s a spark—an attraction—but it can’t be. Circumstances are preventing it. They’re from two different parts of the world. Perhaps one’s already in a committed relationship. Inevitably, one’s from a small, quaint, picturesque country town, and the other is from the big city. Am I doing okay so far? Yeah? I’m doing okay.

The person from the big city has big dreams. But the person from the small town also has big dreams—although they seem a little bit more humble and quaint. Despite these differences, circumstances just keep somehow bringing these two people together—until eventually they can no longer deny their attraction. But still—still—their circumstances prevent them from seeing a future together. But then, finally, in the end, something changes. The opportunity presents itself. And they can both live out their dreams together in some previously unforeseen way. And eventually, love wins. And the movie ends—usually with the two people getting engaged, or maybe there’s the beginning of the wedding—and almost always with a kiss.

Sometimes I lovingly joke with my wife that just once—just once—I’d like to see a sequel that goes back to this couple years later when they’ve been married for a while. Maybe when they have kids and a mortgage. Maybe when their careers don’t quite pan out the way that they had hoped. But that never happens, because of course, that would ruin the fantasy, wouldn’t it?

Did you notice that Revelation ends with a wedding? The wedding of the Feast of the Lamb.
It’s this metaphor that we’ve encountered many times throughout the Bible— The marriage, the unification, of God and God’s people. Ultimately, the book of Revelation is like a Hallmark movie. It’s about hope and the perseverance of love. Not hope that life is without struggle or that the battle is easily won. Not hope that the empire never wins anything—only that those wins are short-term. The long-term—the end—belongs to our God who loves us and promises never to leave us to our own devices. Hope that all of this is only the tip of the iceberg, and that beyond this reality, there is a benevolent way of being where truly love and justice do reign.

Hope, on the one hand, writes Walter Brueggemann, is: “An absurdity too embarrassing to speak about, for it flies in the face of all those claims that we have been told are facts.”

(This is on your bulletin cover, by the way.) “Hope is the refusal to accept the reading of reality which is the majority opinion, and one that does that at only great political and existential risk. Hope,” Brueggemann says, “is defiant and insists that God is not finished writing the story.”

Throughout this series, we’ve been saying Revelation is not about prediction, but perception. The truth of the matter is: the author has no special insight into the future.

Rather, he has a vision. And it is a vision that we, as fellow Christians, are invited to adopt as well: The belief that love is stronger than hate. That life is stronger than death. And that in the end, all will be well. So if it’s not well, it just means it’s not the end. And if it’s not the end, then you and I have work to do.

Now, it is my understanding that in the Jewish tradition, when they come to the end of a set of biblical readings, they always end by going back to the beginning, where they read the first sentence of the first reading of the next year. In this way, they remind themselves that the end is not really the end—but just a new beginning—and that everything is in this continual loop. Likewise, next week we will begin again at the beginning, in Genesis chapter 1, where God invites us to join in the work of creation—to be co-workers and co-creators with God—because God is not done with us yet. The story is still being written, and the promise is that the best is yet to come.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

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