Rev. Eugene N. Nelson, Jr.
The Community Church of Sebastopol
May 2, 2010
Revelation 21:1-6
I don’t know if this is true for you, but I am accustomed to reading or hearing this passage from the Book of Revelation mostly at funerals or memorial services. “Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more…See, I am making all things new.” And why not read these words at a time of grief and loss? They are powerful words of hope, a strong affirmation of the power of life over death, of God’s power over death. Trouble is, I wonder if in confining this text to the time of death, the end of life, do we some how limit it? Do we so confine it that we fail to perceive its powerful and hopeful affirmation of God dwelling in our midst today? It is so easy to read this passage as a dream, a hope, a vision of something then and there. But what might it have to say to us about the here and now.
Preaching professor, David Buttrick, once told of a church that had, in his words, “a stained-glass window problem.” High above the sanctuary, set in glass, was a picture depicting this text, a picture of the Holy City, the New Jerusalem, dipping out of heaven toward earth. Some of the church members, being rational and progressive Christians, wanted to take it out, get rid of it. They said the window was too “otherworldly.” And maybe they were right. I mean, in a world of violence, terrorism, drugs, unemployment, pollution and any number of other ills, perhaps we need a faith that is more about what is happening here and now than the wild dream of some idyllic city in the sky.
And yet, the good folks of the church eventually decided to keep the window. For as they discussed it and examined it, they discovered that through the years, the glass in the window had faded to the point that through the golden image of the New Jerusalem they could see the towers of their own town – one city seen through the vision of another. It was as if their city had become a part of the vision of the heavenly city. So they wondered, could it be that they, their church, their city were included in the promise, “I am making all things new?” And could it be true for us?
Now I don’t need to tell you how hard it is to believe that. Just open the newspaper or turn on the news. Wars and disasters, poverty and illness are everywhere we turn. So often our expectations and hopes for mercy and goodness feel so futile. And not only in the events of the nightly news. We also know many smaller forms of pain, loss and grief. Relationships grow cold and end. Hurt and disappointment come from those we most love. Failure and discouragement accompany our noblest intentions. Life can begin to feel unfair and unjust. We know all too well the reality of tears and pain, darkness and death.
I am reminded of a classic Peanuts strip. Charlie Brown is lamenting his inability to get his kite air-borne. He is on his knees, beating the ground next to his fallen kite, crying out, “I can’t get this stupid kite in the air! I can’t! I can’t!”
Lucy walks by, observes the scene, and says, “Oh come on now, Charlie Brown. That’s no way to talk. The whole trouble with you is that you don’t believe in yourself. You don’t believe in your own abilities. You’ve got to say to yourself, ‘I believe I can fly this kite.’ Now, go ahead, say to yourself, ‘I believe I can fly this kite.’”
He thinks to himself, “I believe I can fly this kite.”
She says, “All right now, say it out loud, say it over and over again.”
And so he does: “I believe I can fly this kite. I believe I can fly this kite. I ACTUALLY BELIEVE I CAN FLY THIS KITE!”
“You do?” she says. “I’ll bet you ten-to-one you’re wrong!”
Well, in his own gentle way, in Charles Schulz’ unique style, Lucy really represents the voice which affirms the power of death over life – the voice of fear, futility, frustration, failure; the voice that insists this is as good as it gets, that all possibilities are exhausted, that there is nothing new under the sun. The kite didn’t fly yesterday, it won’t fly today and it won’t fly tomorrow. And woe to the fool who thinks it will.
Except, we have this text, and in it we hear another voice: a voice that insists God is in charge of the present, even if the present seems hopeless and out of control; a voice that affirms that God’s dwelling place is with God’s people here and now, a voice which dares to assert that even now we live in God’s transforming light. “See, I am making all things new.” Only a dream? What do you think? Is God at work, even now, creating a new heaven and a new earth of love, justice and mercy? Or are we truly without hope? Just fools dreaming foolish dreams.
In the very upscale town of Wellesley, Massachusetts, it was announced that the city was considering starting a home for adults with learning disabilities. And they wanted to put that home in a residential area. Well, the folks in that area objected. “Oh, we’re in favor of helping these people, for sure, but this isn’t the right place.” “Now not in my neighborhood. What about property values?” There was a lot of discord and anger about this in the town. A woman from First Congregational Church, UCC, in Wellesley, was very dismayed by this and decided that since she also lived in this neighborhood where they wanted to start the home, maybe she should invite the neighbors over and they should talk about this. So one afternoon she had a party. Wonderful hors d’oeuvres and drinks wonderfully served. Lots of people came and there was a lot of discussion about this. Still a lot of negativity. And then toward the end of the afternoon, she announced that the wonderful and gracious people who were serving the hors d’oeuvres and the drinks, were the very people who would be the residents of that home. Things changed with a little face to face contact. Nothing huge or earth shattering, and yet I think you could argue that for a moment in that living room there was a taste, in that wonderful hospitality and the growing acceptance, a taste of the new creation. Her living room, for a moment, became an outpost of a new heaven and a new earth.
Will there be a day when God, Alpha and Omega, actually closes the gap between what is and what ought to be? Will there be a day when God will make evident to all the making of a new heaven and a new earth? Imagine that day. On that day you won’t need the words of a preacher because the love, justice and mercy of God will be so visible, so tangible that you can put all the preachers out to pasture. Not a bad idea. St. Augustine once called the Lord’s Supper an “Hors d’oeuvres from heaven.” Just a little foretaste, an antipasto, for what God will someday make of this hungry and tired world – a world where there will be enough – enough love and food and hope – for us and for all of our human brothers and sisters. Imagine that day. Trouble is, it isn’t today…at least not yet. And so we are left wondering, have we exhausted our possibilities, the world’s possibilities, for transformation? Is adjusting to things as they are the best that we can do? I wonder what that woman in Wellesley would say about that?
That well-known theologian, Vince Lombardi, once said, “Good football coaches always have to have in the back of their mind a picture of that perfectly executed offensive play, the perfectly run defensive formation. Although the coach has never seen a group of players execute it perfectly, still the coach has it in his mind, a vision of what it would look like if everyone did it correctly. Because only when the coach has that vision can he coach the players toward it.” Maybe that’s why we read texts such as today, maybe that’s why I preach sermons such as this. We have to have a vision of a hopeful future so that we can move ourselves toward it.
I think of that church, seeing the silhouette of its own town through the golden image of the New Jerusalem. I think of the woman in Wellesley. I think of good ol’ Charlie Brown, daring to get up and try to fly that kite again. The greatest hope for the future is the hope that we dare to hold right now. Now can be the time of renovation; now is the time when God takes up residence with God’s people; now is the time when we live prepared, refusing to live yesterday over and over again and resisting the temptation to save our best selves for tomorrow. Now is when we live so that, in the words of Barbara Brown Taylor, “Wherever we are- standing in a field or grinding at the mill, or just going about the everyday business of life – wherever we are, we are ready for God, for whatever happens next, not afraid but wide awake, watching for the Lord who never tires of coming to our world.”
So don’t hesitate to dream wild dreams, wild, unimaginable and unmanaged dreams of God’s new heaven and new earth. And don’t hesitate to live lives that spring forth from those dreams. And in the meantime, in this in-between time, we will continue to gather and worship, to sing songs which keep us moving, songs which dare to speak of the in-breaking light even in a time of darkness. And in the meantime, in this in-between time, you will also have this preacher struggling to hope with you, urging you to dream, to stand on tiptoes for a glimpse of God’s promised city, and sharing with you this bread and cup, knowing that this supper whets our appetites for God’s real love and justice and mercy which will surely come.