Rubble And Trouble
Stories
Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit
Series VI, Cycle C
Object:
"Wars and revolutions, nation against nation, kingdom against kingdom, earthquakes, famines, and pestilence ... betrayal, hatred ..." (Luke 21:10-11). Whoa! What season is approaching? What about "Peace on earth and mercy mild"?
Actually, both images are at play here. Yes, Christmas is coming -- a beautiful time. But juxtaposed against that is a life of great uncertainty for all of us, a time when our institutions, those entities in society upon which we have depended, our temples, are crashing down around us -- not one stone left on another. We are left with rubble and trouble.
In Luke 21, the last scene of Jesus' public ministry, he stands at the temple entrance and paints this stark picture of misery. What gets him started is somebody's innocent remark about the beauty of the place -- and it was gorgeous: huge blocks of green and white marble, the eastern front and part of the side walls covered with gold plate, flashing in the sun; the rest of it gleaming white, so that one seeing it from a distance might think it a mountain of snow.1 When a captivated pilgrim oohs and aahs out loud at the splendor of it all and starts up a chorus of "How Lovely Are Thy Dwellings," Jesus stops short. "Not one stone will be left on another; every one of them will be thrown down" (Luke 21:6).
Jesus did not have to be a prophet to say such a thing. Every temple is a doomed house. Every structure and system eventually will wear out; it will disappoint, and finally, it will die. Name any you like: a church, denomination, school, neighborhood, family, friendship, vocation, even a dream -- they all have a life span and they all come to an end. They may die of natural causes as we who inhabit them die or move on. Or they may die by the violent assault of outside forces, but they all die.
In our age the landscape is littered with once-beautiful temples now in rubble. Our values are wrecked. Every day we read or hear something to make us cringe. At the heart of those problems is our national understanding of what is right and what is wrong -- we no longer have one.
A colleague of mine once told of a friend of his, a prominent business executive, who received a great deal of fulfillment in acting as a "Big Brother" for several years to a young African-American boy. One day the man asked the boy, a sixth-grader at the time, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"
"I want to be a good person," he responded.
Terrific answer. "Okay. Then what do you want to do when you grow up?"
"I want to be a drug dealer."
Say what? A bit non-plussed by the combination of answers, the Big Brother pressed for more. "A drug dealer? Why?"
"Because they are good people. They treat people right. They make good money, and they can take care of their family and friends."
What is right and what is wrong? Perhaps that young lad was confused because in so many ways, all of us are confused. The temple that housed the answers was falling down. The mainline church was in terrible disarray. In the past generation there has been a hemorrhage of members and a concomitant loss of influence in society. About the only press the church receives these days is when some minister or priest is caught in a scandal or another argument breaks out about sex. The shame of that is that this mainline church for the first 200 years of America's history was the primary shaper of national values -- the church taught this nation what was right and what was wrong. But with the mainline church being roundly ignored these days, others are doing the teaching. The mantle falls on entertainers, sports heroes, and yes, even the kindly old, neighborhood drug dealer. No wonder we are in trouble!
For example, since ancient times, societies have understood a responsibility for caring for those who are the disadvantaged: in biblical language, the "widows and orphans." But now? We continually debate about how much responsibility we are willing to bear. All these "entitlements" (these programs that care for those who need assistance) cost money, and some are not sure we should be expected to spend it. Should people be provided housing and food if they have not earned it? (How about small children?) Should poor people be allowed to be sick, even to die, because they cannot afford the cost of their own medical care? Those are not simply questions of politics, they are questions of what is right and what is wrong. If we cannot answer them, the reason is the temple stones have come crashing down.
The temple of religion, the temple of government. Most of our cities are fallen houses, as is the family. The stones are crashing all around us. It is sad. Why do the things we love, the things we count on, always end up ruined?
We have reason to be sad when our temples are destroyed. But the message of Christ is that there is a reason that the temples are destroyed. History has a progression. This is not simply an occasion to feel sorry for ourselves. He says, in the midst of the ruins, "This will result in your being witnesses to them" (Luke 21:13). Even though we are surrounded by rubble and trouble, even though we suffer abuse and persecution for our efforts, we proclaim the gospel to a new generation and even in new ways to enable folks to hear and respond who have never been able to before.
How? Listen to Jesus. For starters, "Watch out that you are not deceived" (Luke 21:8); do not be drawn off the track. Do not get bogged down in theological details or worry about cosmic questions (such as "when will the end come") for which there are no human answers. In other words, do not have your eyes so firmly fixed on heaven that you are no earthly good! He says, "Do not be frightened." Remember who is in charge here -- the story of the scripture, from the "In the beginning" of Genesis to the final "Amen" of Revelation is that God is in control -- if you belong to God, you have nothing to fear. Jesus says improvise ("Make up your mind not to worry beforehand how you will defend yourselves" [Luke 21:14]), trust ("for I will give you words and wisdom that none of your adversaries will be able to resist or contradict" [Luke 21:15]) and, to borrow from Winston Churchill, never, never, never, never give up ("By standing firm you will gain life" [Luke 21:19]). This is how people in the midst of rubble and trouble bear witness.
Here is where we begin to get the convergence of those contradictory images we noted at the beginning. Even though we are surrounded by fallen temples, a time of darkness, we are reminded of another time, another place, another dark night. Bethlehem. Suddenly, in the midst of the darkness, the appearance of angels: "Fear not ... I bring you good tidings of great joy." Redemption. "Unto you is born this day ... a Savior" (Luke 2:10-11 KJV).
____________
1. Interpreter's Bible, Vol. VII (Nashville: Abingdon, 1954), p. 360.
Actually, both images are at play here. Yes, Christmas is coming -- a beautiful time. But juxtaposed against that is a life of great uncertainty for all of us, a time when our institutions, those entities in society upon which we have depended, our temples, are crashing down around us -- not one stone left on another. We are left with rubble and trouble.
In Luke 21, the last scene of Jesus' public ministry, he stands at the temple entrance and paints this stark picture of misery. What gets him started is somebody's innocent remark about the beauty of the place -- and it was gorgeous: huge blocks of green and white marble, the eastern front and part of the side walls covered with gold plate, flashing in the sun; the rest of it gleaming white, so that one seeing it from a distance might think it a mountain of snow.1 When a captivated pilgrim oohs and aahs out loud at the splendor of it all and starts up a chorus of "How Lovely Are Thy Dwellings," Jesus stops short. "Not one stone will be left on another; every one of them will be thrown down" (Luke 21:6).
Jesus did not have to be a prophet to say such a thing. Every temple is a doomed house. Every structure and system eventually will wear out; it will disappoint, and finally, it will die. Name any you like: a church, denomination, school, neighborhood, family, friendship, vocation, even a dream -- they all have a life span and they all come to an end. They may die of natural causes as we who inhabit them die or move on. Or they may die by the violent assault of outside forces, but they all die.
In our age the landscape is littered with once-beautiful temples now in rubble. Our values are wrecked. Every day we read or hear something to make us cringe. At the heart of those problems is our national understanding of what is right and what is wrong -- we no longer have one.
A colleague of mine once told of a friend of his, a prominent business executive, who received a great deal of fulfillment in acting as a "Big Brother" for several years to a young African-American boy. One day the man asked the boy, a sixth-grader at the time, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"
"I want to be a good person," he responded.
Terrific answer. "Okay. Then what do you want to do when you grow up?"
"I want to be a drug dealer."
Say what? A bit non-plussed by the combination of answers, the Big Brother pressed for more. "A drug dealer? Why?"
"Because they are good people. They treat people right. They make good money, and they can take care of their family and friends."
What is right and what is wrong? Perhaps that young lad was confused because in so many ways, all of us are confused. The temple that housed the answers was falling down. The mainline church was in terrible disarray. In the past generation there has been a hemorrhage of members and a concomitant loss of influence in society. About the only press the church receives these days is when some minister or priest is caught in a scandal or another argument breaks out about sex. The shame of that is that this mainline church for the first 200 years of America's history was the primary shaper of national values -- the church taught this nation what was right and what was wrong. But with the mainline church being roundly ignored these days, others are doing the teaching. The mantle falls on entertainers, sports heroes, and yes, even the kindly old, neighborhood drug dealer. No wonder we are in trouble!
For example, since ancient times, societies have understood a responsibility for caring for those who are the disadvantaged: in biblical language, the "widows and orphans." But now? We continually debate about how much responsibility we are willing to bear. All these "entitlements" (these programs that care for those who need assistance) cost money, and some are not sure we should be expected to spend it. Should people be provided housing and food if they have not earned it? (How about small children?) Should poor people be allowed to be sick, even to die, because they cannot afford the cost of their own medical care? Those are not simply questions of politics, they are questions of what is right and what is wrong. If we cannot answer them, the reason is the temple stones have come crashing down.
The temple of religion, the temple of government. Most of our cities are fallen houses, as is the family. The stones are crashing all around us. It is sad. Why do the things we love, the things we count on, always end up ruined?
We have reason to be sad when our temples are destroyed. But the message of Christ is that there is a reason that the temples are destroyed. History has a progression. This is not simply an occasion to feel sorry for ourselves. He says, in the midst of the ruins, "This will result in your being witnesses to them" (Luke 21:13). Even though we are surrounded by rubble and trouble, even though we suffer abuse and persecution for our efforts, we proclaim the gospel to a new generation and even in new ways to enable folks to hear and respond who have never been able to before.
How? Listen to Jesus. For starters, "Watch out that you are not deceived" (Luke 21:8); do not be drawn off the track. Do not get bogged down in theological details or worry about cosmic questions (such as "when will the end come") for which there are no human answers. In other words, do not have your eyes so firmly fixed on heaven that you are no earthly good! He says, "Do not be frightened." Remember who is in charge here -- the story of the scripture, from the "In the beginning" of Genesis to the final "Amen" of Revelation is that God is in control -- if you belong to God, you have nothing to fear. Jesus says improvise ("Make up your mind not to worry beforehand how you will defend yourselves" [Luke 21:14]), trust ("for I will give you words and wisdom that none of your adversaries will be able to resist or contradict" [Luke 21:15]) and, to borrow from Winston Churchill, never, never, never, never give up ("By standing firm you will gain life" [Luke 21:19]). This is how people in the midst of rubble and trouble bear witness.
Here is where we begin to get the convergence of those contradictory images we noted at the beginning. Even though we are surrounded by fallen temples, a time of darkness, we are reminded of another time, another place, another dark night. Bethlehem. Suddenly, in the midst of the darkness, the appearance of angels: "Fear not ... I bring you good tidings of great joy." Redemption. "Unto you is born this day ... a Savior" (Luke 2:10-11 KJV).
____________
1. Interpreter's Bible, Vol. VII (Nashville: Abingdon, 1954), p. 360.
