“Faith in the Face of Fainting, Fearing and Foreboding”
Original sermon given on December 1, 2024, written and delivered by Pastor Jeff Leininger at First Saint Paul’s Lutheran Church.
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“Faith in the Face of Fainting, Fearing and Foreboding”
Luke 21.25-36
Luke 21.25-36
In the name of the Living God and his risen Christ. Amen.
Let me set the scene for this section of Luke’s gospel — Chapter 21: Jesus is in Jerusalem, on his way to the cross. Jesus knows this. He knows his own end, can see it, walks willingly towards it — for us, and our salvation.
But in a prophetic pause, he takes a moment with his closest confidants to speak of the end for the temple and Jerusalem, the end for his followers, and the end of the world. Jesus weaves them all together in one eschatological passage. We find the Lord here sobering, reflective, filled with grief, even at times giving some last, desperate, practical advice to the people he loves — “flee to the mountains,” “get out of the city” — but he must remain honest and graphic about the horrific ends.
I use the plural “ends” here intentionally. There’s a series of ends Jesus predicts. Our particular pericope focuses on the Last Day, the end of all things, when Christ will come as judge and all people will stand submissive before him. But the key to understanding biblical prophecy, and indeed Jesus’ own words here in Luke 21, is to remember that there are layers of meanings. Like the good old-fashioned overhead projectors (remember these? Long before PowerPoint). You could layer the transparencies on top of each other, and they would project together to give the full picture. Or think of a series of mountain ranges: when you’re driving out west, and you observe them from afar, they look like the same range, don’t they? But as you draw closer, you can see each individual range and even each distinct mountain. We call this typology: that is, biblical prophecy is like a series of shadows that have a fuller, brighter reality behind them. Layers of meaning, layers of fulfillment.
Jesus, in Luke 21, layers predictions of the ends: for Jerusalem, for his disciples, and then the final end.
But his word of comfort amid each is the same — and this is what I want you to take with you this morning, as we begin the season of Advent — what is the comfort here?
You see, the most remarkable thing about this passage from Luke is not that Jesus predicts the destruction of Jerusalem four decades before it occurs — amazing as that is.
Nor is it the sobering description of wars and rumors of wars; earthquakes and floods and famines — all of which seem so real to us, even on this very day.
Nor is the most remarkable thing here the fact that Christians will be persecuted with growing intensity and ferocity as the end draws near — although this is certainly true.
Nor is the most remarkable thing in Luke 21 the dramatic description of Christ’s return on the last day — the fabric of the universe being torn apart, an earthquake in the heavens so to speak, the Son of Man descending in power and glory — even this is not the most remarkable thing described in Luke 21.
What is most amazing here is the response of God’s people to all of this: faith. “Straighten up, and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.” (Luke 21.28)
Amid all the powerful, frightening, unsettling, horrifying events which have taken place, are taking place, and which will take place with growing intensity as the end draws near, our Lord bids us to lift up our heads, and believe. We are to believe that none of this can separate us from his love, that he’s still in control, that he will preserve his people, and that the end will only mean our beginning.
When people talk about the end times, there can be so much fear and confusion. When will it be? How bad will it get? Could it be happening now? How much can we read contemporary events into these Bible passages about the end? All of this, at the end of the day, is speculation and won’t actually help us one bit when it finally does come.
Rather, the thing most needful amid it all is the same thing we so need every ordinary day our lives: prepare and repent, trust that God is bigger, his plan is better, and he will preserve us through everything. Straighten up, lift up your heads, your redemption is drawing near.
The greatest miracle of all is faith, Martin Luther said. Straightening up, rather than cowering in fear; looking up rather than looking down, or over, or in. Like Abraham, who’s older than dirt, wandering in a barren wilderness with a barren wife, God says, “Lift up your head. Look up at the stars. You’ll have more descendants than you can count.” And here we are, right?
Or like the people of Israel, who have the greatest army in the world raging on one side, and the Red Sea on the other, and God says, stand firm, be still, and behold your salvation.
Or like Mary — poor, peasant, virgin, an insignificant little pixel on the computer screen of the universe, yet the Son of God would be born in her to save us all. And Mary lifts up her head to the angel, and simply believes: “May it be so to me, as you have said.”
Or the other Mary, in the garden on Easter morning, weeping bitterly for the horrible loss of her teacher and friend, and the Living Christ stands before her in the full power of the Resurrection — death itself destroyed, once and for all — and when he calls her name, she lifts her head and believes.
And I must admit, as your pastor, probably the most inspiring thing for me is when God’s People, people like you, share with me those moments of tremendous difficulty, strife, sadness, confusion, and pain… which are also filled with faith. “It’s been so hard, but I know God is still here.” When we all still lift up our heads and behold Christ’s redemption amid everything.
We are enabled to believe, even when there are wars and rumors of war, and earthquakes and famines, and the heavens being torn apart, because the Holy Spirit through the means of Grace engrafts us into Christ. That’s why we’re here today. The Christ born for us in a barn and killed for us on a cross and raised for us on Easter morning, comes to us anew today veiled under these humble forms of water and word, bread and wine. And he will come again for us on the last day, unveiled in power and might and glory. We are his; he is ours; lift up your heads and behold your redemption is drawing near.
Know this when the dramatic end times come — amid the signs of the heavens and the roaring of the waves — but know it today too, when you feel the stones and structures of your life turned over and the future unclear. The same Lord Jesus who will come in the last day to bring you to himself stands over you today too. In a power above it all and a love deeper than it all. Lift up your heads.
Come soon Lord Jesus. Amen.