Pentecost 25, Year C

November 18, 2007

The Rev. Dena Cleaver-Bartholomew

Standing in the rubble is a daunting experience. Rubble can be literal, as in beholding the decimation of Hurricane Katrina, the charred remains left by the wildfires in California, or the flooding in Findlay, Ohio this fall. It can also be metaphorical, as in living through a major illness, divorce, job loss, or the death of a loved one. Suddenly the structure we knew, the order that shaped our lives, is no longer. We have survived, which alone may be an astounding gift. Yet the idea of figuring out how to rebuild can be overwhelming. Where does one begin? Do we build again on the flood plain? Do we need to learn new skills? Can we even face getting up in the morning?

When the Israelites returned from exile in Babylonia, their homecoming was not as they had hoped. They left the cultured existence of their captors, to which they had become accustomed, and found their way back to a wasteland. The primary symbol of the destruction of Jerusalem was the state of the Temple. It lay in ruins, quite literally rubble. Even after many years the Israelites had not experienced the renewal they had hoped for, either in the rebuilding of the Temple or the restoration of their own lives. They had grown discouraged and begun to follow the ways of other cultures and religions around them. Isaiah calls them to return to faithfulness, to a clear focus on being God’s people, even though the former structures were no longer in place. God declares: “For I am about to create new heavens and a new earth; the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind. But be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating….” The Hebrew word for “new” is hadash, which means “to renew, make anew, repair.” God is preparing the Israelites for transformation in this world, for a new thing to come from the crumpled remains.

When we turn to today’s Gospel reading we find ourselves once again standing before the Temple. It is not the first Temple, the one that the Israelites in Isaiah’s reading lamented. It is not even the second Temple, the one the Israelites eventually rebuilt. It is the third version of the Temple, the one that King Herod had improved and expanded. According to Josephus, an ancient historian, this Temple was as tall as a fifteen story building with white marble and massive plates of gold that reflecting the light of the sun. It was a magnificent structure. Yet Jesus states plainly, “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.” This was no metaphor; this was prophecy. The third Temple was destroyed in 70 A.D. when Jerusalem was conquered by the Romans.

It is difficult, and even painful, to imagine the end of our most treasured or symbolic structures. The attack on the World Trade Center and the collapse of the twin towers was a traumatic loss that was about much more than two buildings. It was about awakening to a new and hostile reality, about acknowledging a world that was no longer working according to our assumptions. Each time we witness the collapse of a part of our world as we have known it, we have a need to grieve for what was lost, to acknowledge its significance in our lives. We also have an opportunity, as we stand before the remnants, to reassess. What now?

In the movie The Jerk, Steve Martin plays a character named Navin R. Johnson. Navin lives up to the title of the movie. His life embodies the traditional rags to riches story much loved by Americans. At the pinnacle of his success Navin indulges in a lavish lifestyle which he shares with Marie, the love of his life. When he loses all of his wealth in a class action lawsuit, Marie begs him to see past what they have lost to what they have, saying: “I don’t want wealth. I just want you the way you were.” Navin, however, looks at the wreckage of their lives and starts grabbing at scraps:

Well I’m gonna go then. And I don’t need any of this. I don’t need this stuff, and I don’t need you. I don’t need anything except this...[picks up an ashtray]…And this paddle game…And this remote control…And these matches…And this lamp…I don’t need one other thing, not one—I need this…The ashtray, the remote control, the paddle game, this magazine and the chair.”

Navin, like so many of us, has trouble distinguishing what is essential from what is not. He stomps out on Marie, someone who truly loves him, with an armful of easily replaceable stuff.

So what happens when the structures we treasure tumble down? Can we find what is essential and let go of the other stuff? Are we willing, with God’s help, to move beyond the form to the substance? In today’s reading we have a clear picture of why those in the early church had to focus on what was essential. Persecution will do that. Yet here we are, gathered in a beautiful building, appointed with silver and gold, adorned with glorious needlework and fresh flower arrangements. We have a long tradition of great music, we enjoy the aesthetics of our own art gallery, we have amazing educational resources, and we have excellent food.

Given all of this, it would be easy to overlook the truth that in America, as in most of Europe, Christianity is on the decline. We live in a world that is now classified as not only postmodern, but postchristian. Gone are the days when the structure of our culture and the structure of our church were integrally intertwined, when churchgoing protestants were the dominant voice and population. We can continue to enjoy our beautiful enclave, or we can begin to acknowledge that there needs to be more than this. We need to reassess before we stand in the rubble. We are called to hold the beauty and traditions of this place lightly while seeking to determine what is essential. We can stand to learn a lot from Marie and both of today’s readings. The call of all three is the same: we need to return to a time of clarity and focus on what is foundational. For Marie, the foundation of what was important with Navin was love. For God and the Israelites the foundation of what was important is love and its expression in faithful relationship. For the early Christians what was essential was, once again, love as expressed by God in Jesus Christ. How are we sharing that love, teaching that love, proclaiming that love? Jesus was very clear that we are expected to do just that. His last words as he ascended into heaven were: “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you.” Are we doing that? How could we grow in our calling to live out and share the love of God? Now is the time to reassess. We need to move beyond our building, beyond our successes, beyond our comfort zone. God wishes “to create a new heavens and a new earth” with us participating in that process.

Amen