Trail
Markers Jeremiah
33. 14-16; Luke 21. 25-32
It is that time of year again. Six nights a week when I settle into my chair facing the fireplace in the family room, I page my way through the pile of catalogs our mailman stuffed into our roadside mailbox. The other night I chanced upon a T-shirt which captured a bit of wisdom I have come to love. In white letters against a black background it announced:
Isn’t it amazing how the same
sight can lead people to jump to totally opposite conclusions or miss the
point entirely? Take the title of
today’s sermon, “Trail Markers.” It could refer to an axe blaze or a paint
splotch or a bottle cap nailed on a tree so people can find their way a-long a trail.
Or, it could refer to the people who took the time to swing the axe, paint the
splotch, or nail the bottle cap to the tree so that the squiggly line on a map
becomes a path one can follow. Then again, it might be a double entendre de-signed
to tease the brain to promote both looking for signs along the way and posting signs to help others coming
along later. By the time I’m done I hope
you’ll figure it out.
One
day during the last week of his earthly journey, Jesus was teaching in the
beautifully rebuilt temple that would be reduced to rubble a few decades
later. He told those who gathered around
to listen to notice the signs of God’s activity around them.
Minutes
before, he had pointed out a poor widow putting two copper coins into the temple’s
collection box, telling his disciples her simple gift was of more value than
the large sums others put in out of their abundance. Here is what Luke says happened next:
“When
some were speaking about the temple, how it was adorned with beautiful stones
and gifts dedicated to God, he said, “As for these things that you see, the
days will come when not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown
down.” They asked him, “Teacher, when
will this be, and what will be the sign that this is about to take place?”[i]
Today’s
reading from the Gospel come from the end of his answer. The words and images
stand in stark contrast to the sweet pictures we’ll sing about later in the
season. Instead of Phillips Brooks’
hillside vision of the “Little town of Bethlehem,” sleeping deeply as silent
stars make their nightly rotation across the sky,[ii]
we are offered distressing signs in the heavens, on earth, and in thundering
waves of roaring seas.
Like
the glass that is both half empty and half full, yet refillable, and the
different meanings of “trail markers,” the signs in the heavens Jesus spoke of
lead to three very different responses.
One commentator outlines them for us: “The nations react in
bewilderment” and “people faint from fear,” these first two responses are
inappropriate for God’s people. In his address to them, Jesus counsels [a third
option], confidence (standing with raised heads), assured of God’s
intervention. For them, the Day of the Lord is not an occasion for dread, nor
is it a day to be avoided. Rather, it is the realization of God’s good news:
“your redemption is near.”[iii]
Our
scholarly guide adds: “What makes the difference is not a different set of events. They
experience the same signs. They
experience those events and read those signs quite differently. They grasp their significance as people whose
frame of reference is guided by Israel’s Scriptures, particularly as these have
been interpreted for them by Jesus. Like
fig-tree farmers who can set their calendars by observing their trees, those
whose lives are shaped by Jesus’ proclamation of God’s reign grasp what time it
is by what is happening around them.
They see the same things as everyone else, but, formed in relation to
Jesus’ message, they see with different eyes.”[iv]
To see with different eyes requires training. To follow the trail markers up to the Lookout at Camp Lackawanna requires that you have become familiar with the signs that distinguish that trail from the others. Not only that, as you are walking along, you must look up and look ahead to spot the next marker, especially when another path presents itself or a game trail invites you to veer off course. Add adverse weather conditions like a thick fog or one of today’s forecast snow showers and finding your way gets more difficult.
Both
of our readings this morning were written at times when the way ahead was not
easily seen. Conditions on the ground made
it easy to conclude there was no possibility of God stepping in and stepping up
to show the way. The chapters of Jeremiah known as the Book of Consolation were
written while the people of Israel were living in exile. It wouldn’t have been
easy for people to see the prophet’s vision of a day when the Lord would make
good on the promises of old. A day when
all would be right again seemed beyond possibility.
When
Luke was writing his two volume orderly ac-count of the mission and ministry of
Jesus and the church that sprung up to follow his word and continue his work, the
people were in dire straits. The peaceful coexistence by which they had
survived under Roman rule had been shattered; the temple had been destroyed
just as Jesus had said it would. The
foreign power had dealt viciously leaving carnage and corpses across the
land. To read a book like Luke, that began
with Mary’s Magnificat promising
great reversals by which the mighty are brought low and the low-y lifted up,
contradicted what was going on right before their eyes. To hear Jesus begin his ministry saying: “the
kingdom of God has come near,” and near its end claiming “your redemption is
drawing near” was hard to hear.
Maybe it still is. A quick glance around our world reveals much that shows no sign of God’s kingdom come! Leaders can’t speak respectfully to or about one another. Lies, half-truths, and unmasked prejudice are rampant. A Christmas parade is transformed into a massacre by a driver fleeing after being involved in a domestic dispute. Unsportsmanlike conduct on a youth football field escalates to include parents and ends when one of them drives a car onto the field striking another. As the pan-demic ramps up once more, we hear warnings about the uptickin teenage depression and suicide.
Is
all this not an indication that we live at a time when a message of hope is
needed? Does this not make this a moment
in which to cry out, “O come, O come Emmanuel?”
Indeed
it is. Hear what one woman who has studied our text says, weaving the past and
the present together in way that calls us back to the Way:
“When the present reality includes wars and political tumult (distress among nations), climate catastrophe (signs in the sun, moon and the stars), global pandemic (breathless from fear and fore-boding), unemployment, hate crimes, racist ideologies, death-dealing illness, displacement by terror, or anything else that traps people in fear or despair (weighs down hearts), it is then that we look for the coming of the Son of Humanity, the Christ whose promised future makes all the difference today.”[v]
We might look at the signs of our times and conclude there is no reason to hope, that the downward spiral is unstoppable. Or, we might hear in them a call to look for the signs that God is at work around us. We can find in them a call to follow the trail that has been marked for us and to mark the trail for others. Presbyterian scholar Donald McKim puts the challenge before us this way: “We can live out God’s promise to Jeremiah, especially in Advent, when we look for signs of God’s reign in Christ around us, and when we plant signs of God’s reign in Christ with others.”[vi]
I
think he’s talking about trail markers; both kinds.
So let me share
some of the signs I’ve read about. The first is a story that hits home as many
of us lament that our children’s generation have distanced themselves from the
church. This story of hope comes to us
from Jeanne Donstad Olsen, a chaplain from Bettendorf, Iowa. Rather than
attempt to retell it, let me read it just as she wrote it in a submission to The Christian Century as part of The Buechner
Narrative Writing Project.
“He’s rude!” “He’s obnoxious!” “He’s
volatile!” “He kicked all of us out of his room, and it wasn’t pretty.”
Three nurses agreed, “You don’t want to go in there,
Chaplain!”
“So be it—I’ll be the next one
booted out—or not.”
When I entered, the shades were
closed and Butch was sitting on the edge of his hospital bed staring at the
door The urine jug sitting on the tray table was half full, and that gave me
pause as a possible weapon of anger. Butch was wearing a Harley Davidson
T-shirt. I looked at him and asked, “So, have you got a Harley? From what I’m
told they are the best motorcycles out there.”
“Yeah, I do,” he said.
“One of my sons has a Ducati and the
other a BMW,”I said as he frowned, “but that Harley name seems to have the most
followers.” This was almost all I knew
about motorcycles. “So which model do you have? How did you get started
riding?” I asked.
With a lot of colorful language, the
conversation began to unfold. He told me all about his Harley cycles, showing his
pride in the several models he owned, bragging about their tremendous power
and the thrill he experienced riding them.
“Have you ever been to Sturgis,
South Dakota, for the annual Harley gathering?” I inquired.
“You bet,” he said, “Have you?”
“As a matter of fact I have! Quite
the display of bikes and bikers.” I had been there for about 20 minutes among leather
jackets and roaring cycles, but when I saw a woman chained to her man’s cycle I
knew I was out of my comfort zone. Butch talked about his trip to the mecca of
Harley: “I should be out there tonight riding, drinking beer with my buddies,
meeting up with my gal. Instead I’m here.”
I nodded. “I hear you, Butch, and now you are fighting a disease you never expected to have.” He talked about how he got AIDS and the repercussions of that. “I lost 50 pounds, lost my job, take drugs that make me weak and nauseous. I don’t have the strength to party with my friends, and I had to move in with my parents. I am scrawny, gaunt, and useless. I hate being here! I am a walking shell of who I used to be.”
About 40 minutes into the visit, he
looked up at me and my name tag and asked, “Who the hell are you?” I held out my
hand to shake his. “I’m Jeanne, the chaplain, and it has been a de-light to get
to know you. There are a lot of things you have to do here to feel better and
control your disease, but my visits are optional. I will stop by tomorrow and
pop my head in, and you can say yes or no—your choice.” He continued staring at me and then said,
“You can come back.”
I visited Butch most days of his two
hospitalizations. He continued to share his story and his feelings of anger, longing,
and frustration. Once after a sleepless night, he whispered, “Do you know what
I do when the pain is so bad I can hardly stand it?” I held my breath, given his past coping
mechanisms.
“I turn to him.” He nodded toward
the Catholic crucifix on the wall.
“I didn’t know you knew him,” I
answered.
“Oh yes. I went to Sunday School as a kid. And he comforts
me. He does. I guess I’m returning to my childhood faith, aren’t I?” I put my hand on his thin arm, and said, “Yes,
Butch.” He nodded with a tear in his eye.
He died two days later. A nurse told
me that his last expression was a smile.”[vii]
A
sign seen. A sign planted. Hope bursting forth in an unexpected place. Here’s
another sign.
By
the end of the day we’ll probably hear about travelers behaving badly in
airplanes or airports. Jill Duffield, then the editor of The Presbyterian Out-look, found herself in the busy Atlanta
airport we’ve heard so much about lately.
She was awaiting the connecting flight that would bring her home. She was eating her dinner in the food
court. Behind her was a woman tapping
away on her laptop. A young janitor came
along to empty the trash can next to the laptop lady’s table. The woman looked up from her work and struck
up a conversation with the young man. The woman’s accent telegraphed where she
was from before she told him she was from Minnesota. She asked him if he was in school. He told
her “no,” and explained that he had to work because he had a son on the way.
“How exciting,” she exclaimed. “You have no idea how much your heart will
expand.” She told him she had an 18-month old at home. The two continued to
chat for a while, and before he moved on to the next trash can, she got the
fellow’s name and address so she could send him baby clothes her son had
out-grown. “Nothing fancy,” she said, “but good for every day.” He thanked her
and told her to have a good flight. She
wished him well, and they each got back to their work.
Jill
got up to go to her gate and on the way stopped to thank the lady with the
thick Minnesota accent. She told her she was moved by her kindness. The woman
replied, “We need to be kind to each other.” Jill agreed. Reflecting on those
moments, she later wrote: Neither earth nor heaven shook, nothing went dark,
but that small exchange brought about a seismic shift in my attitude. Their
shared humanity over impending new life bolstered my faith, and gave a glimpse
of love and unity that is too often unseen. It gave me hope that redemption
isn’t as far away as I feared.”[viii]
One
more quick story that struck me because it flies in the face of so much of the
divi-sive, us against them talk that has fill our airwaves:
Mindy
Douglas, pastor of First
Presbyterian-Durham NC put a picture up recently on the Facebook group, Happy to be A Presbyterian. It shows
members of her church sitting outside at tables pitching in to assist their
sister Presbyterian church, Iglesia
Emanuel, in their weekly food distribution to their neighbors. The caption reports:
“We made short work of repacking 3,000 pounds of beans and 3,000 pounds of rice
into 1-quart bags. Each week, this small, but mighty, church distributes
staples, including the beans and rice, fresh produce, milk and eggs to approximately
500 families that drive through the parking lot. It was a glorious, sunny day
of "work" with lots of laughter and joy in being together.”[ix]
Every day our redemption is drawing near. We
have to look for the signs; we’re called to plant them so others can see them
too. We are called to be trail markers in every sense of that phrase. Amen.
[i] Luke 21. 5-7
[ii] Phillips Brooks, “O LIttle Town of Bethlehem,” Hymn 121, Glory to God, The Presbyterian Hymnal, (Louisville, KY, Westminster John Knox Press, 2013)
[iii] Joel B. Green, Connections – A Lectionary Commentary for Preaching and Worship, (Louisville, KY, Westminster John Knox Press, 2018) p. 13
[iv] ibid.
[v][v] Audrey West, workingpreacher.com, commentary on Luke 21. 25-36 for 11-28-21, p. 2-3 of printout
[vi] Donald J. McKim, Connections – A Lectionary Commentary for Preaching and Worship, (Louisville, KY, Westminster John Knox Press, 2018), p.5
[vii] Jeanne Donstad Olson, “Return” in The Christian Century, November 21, 2018, pp. 23-24
[viii] Jill Duffield, from her blog, Looking Into the Lectionary, 1st Sunday of Advent, The Presbyterian Outlook, Monday, November 26, 2018, p. 2-3
[ix] Mindy Douglass, picture caption posted in Facebook group, Happy to be a Presbyterian, November 13, 2021.
