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Begin At the End                        Luke 21:25-36                   November 29, 2009

Almost all of the movies I like to see over and over again have great endings. In fact, if I measure my enjoyment of a movie by my willingness to stop channel surfing and watch - a very difficult thing for a man to do, as all of you who are married to us most certainly know - I can only think of one film that I'll almost always stop and watch, through to the end, even though it has a poor ending.

In case you're wondering, the movie with a bad ending that, for me anyway, is still good enough to see again and again, is Cast Away. It features so many great moments - the frantic search for Wilson, Tom Hanks' missing volleyball companion, and the "Look what I have created! I have made fire!" scenes being the best of them all - that even the dopey, standing in the middle of the road ending is not enough to keep me from putting down the remote control.

In every other instance I can think of, however, the movies that stop me from surfing - as well as the ones I want to have in my DVD collection so I can watch them when the baseball season is over and there's no interesting football game being televised - all of my favorite movies keep me coming back because I want to see the ending.

It's not that I forget how these movies end. I just want to listen and watch, even though I know how things unfold. It doesn't matter that I'm picking up the story in the middle. I know how it ends and, still, I want to experience the story again.

Not all of the best endings are happy, though most are. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, for example, comes to a troubling conclusion, as does The Godfather.

But most of the time, the great endings of great movies either make me smile, fill my eyes with tears of joy or make me want to stand up and cheer.

For example, I never tire of watching the ending of Casablanca, as Humphrey Bogart walks down the airstrip with Claude Rains and says, "Louie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

And I could probably watch the conclusion of The Shawshank Redemption a thousand times and still be moved by its message of hope: "Hope," Andy writes to his good friend Red, in the letter he leaves for him under a particular rock that has no earthly business being in a Maine hayfield, "Hope is a good thing - maybe the best of things. And no good thing ever dies."

Our Gospel lesson, on this First Sunday of Advent, is also about hope. And it encourages us, every year at this time, to begin the re-wound, familiar story of the birth of our Savior by looking, first, at the end of the drama.

Most of us look forward to the Advent season each year. We look forward to singing the "Hosanna" chorus and seeing the star overhead, and we celebrate the arrival of our Advent wreath with its four candles. We excitedly await the appearance, next week, of the greenery that will decorate our Sanctuary, and we know that the poinsettias that will soon appear can mean only one thing - that we are edging closer and closer to Christmas.

Today, though, before we open our New Testaments at the beginning and begin to read the familiar story of the birth of Jesus of Nazareth, the Common Lectionary - the orderly set of readings shared by many churches throughout the world - the Common Lectionary kicks off the season of Advent with a reading from the gospels known as "the little apocalypse." It kicks of the Advent season with a passage in which Jesus speaks about the end of the world.

As Luke tells it, Jesus talks to us, today, of roaring seas and nations in distress. He describes a scene in which a great earthquake shakes all of creation - a cataclysm so terrifying that people are fainting out of fear.

"There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars," Jesus says, "and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see 'the Son of Man coming in a cloud' with power and great glory."

It almost seems cruel to plunge those of us who are getting ready to listen to a steady stream of pleasant Christmas songs into a reading that prompts us to think about the end of the world. But that is exactly what we are prompted to do.

And when we do what the text asks, a stark reality comes unmistakably into view: The Christ for whom we watch, today, is not just the little babe lying in a manger.

We will get to that expectation, but only as Christmas draws nearer.

As Advent begins, we Christians are asked to think about the end of time and the promised return of Christ. We are asked, very simply, to begin at the end.

On this first Sunday of the new liturgical year, we do not peer into a stable. Instead of beginning to prepare for Christ's coming with a Nativity scene, we begin by expressing hope in Christ's return.

Does that mean that we get caught up in all of the buzz about the end of the world? I don't think so.

Does that mean we fixate on predictions about theological constructs like the rapture and the tribulation and discussions about the Antichrist and when he will appear? Not if we truly understand what Luke is telling us today.

Luke is not interested in having us speculate about what will happen in the future. He is interested in telling us how to act in the here and now.

This doesn't mean we should ignore the second coming of our Lord. Not at all. "Watch!" Luke quotes Jesus as saying. "Heads up! Be alert!"

"Jesus says this," writes one scholar*, "because he knows that his return isn't an apocalyptic fireworks display. His return is the coming of the kingdom of God. It's the coming of justice in the earth."

"When the signs appear," says Jesus to a temple-full of listeners, "don't give up! Don't freeze up! When these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near."

The people Jesus is addressing when he tells them to be alert are people who know about redemption. They are a people who have a history of being squeezed by Egypt, Babylon and Rome. To these people, redemption is the longing of their heart.

They want Rome off their back. They want Caesar out of their hair. It's their dream. It's their passion. The coming of God's redemption means justice is coming, liberation is coming, the King of all the earth is coming.

Jesus' words are meant to raise our heads and raise our hopes. Could justice really come to the earth? Could the strong quit preying on the weak? Can the Prime Minister of Israel and the President of the PLO look into each other's eyes and see a brother? Could some of us who struggle with addictions or with diseases that trap us - could we be liberated by God and start to walk tall in the kingdom of God? Could Jesus Christ appear among us in some way that our minds can never imagine and turn our present-day reality upside-down?

If we believe in the kingdom of God we will pray, and we will hope - for those without much hope left.

And one more thing - one more tough, critically important thing: We will work in the same direction as we hope.

All this, when we begin, on this First Sunday of Advent, 2009, with an understanding of the end of the story of the life of the Savior whose birth we anticipate again this year.

The Second Coming of Christ, for me, is all about hope. Hope for justice and hope for peace. And if God's liberating, grace-filled justice and peace are to be made known more fully on earth, our actions will be a part of the mix.

So you and I must live toward this future as surely as we prepare for our retirement, plan next year's family vacation or prepare for our next meal. Because hope is not something you find in a recliner, it requires alertness, and it requires action.

To quote Andy Dufresne, the Tim Robbins character in The Shawshank Redemption, we have a choice. We can get busy living, or get busy dying.

Or to paraphrase the words of Jesus we read a little earlier: "If you want the Son of Man to come, then you'd best get ready right now. Do what you want to be doing when he comes. Love like you want to be loving when he comes. Live like you want to be living when he comes.

And above all else, hope. Because hope is, indeed, a good thing - maybe the best of things.

                                                                             AMEN

* This portion of the sermon is drawn from an article in Christian Century by Cornelius Plantinga

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