The Rev. Ann R. Lougee November 26, 2006 Wild hope and stubborn faith Revelation 1:4b-8 This is the last Sunday of the year in the Christian calendar. Next Sunday, the liturgical calendar by which the church tells time starts a new year with the beginning of Advent. It's said, you know, that real estate is mainly about "location, location, location." Likewise we might consider the location of this passage which comes after fifty-two Sundays of hearing about the work of God throughout history, in Israel, in the time of Jesus, and in the early church, reflecting on how our stories and that story come together, even though we live in a very different place and a very different time. Therefore the lectionary sees to it that we end the year as we should, acknowledging the eternal God in whom we live and move and have our being, who is our beginning and our end. We end the year extending the peace of the Christ who is Lord not only over us but over every human caesar who claims otherwise. So this Sunday has traditionally been called "Christ the King Sunday." In the last few years, however, it has been renamed "Reign of Christ Sunday," out of a wide-spread, growing discomfort with King language, but that language change just doesn't do it for me. It still makes me uncomfortable, with its aroma of triumphalist Christianity, conjuring up memories of paintings of Jesus holding a sword and wearing armor and looking like one more Roman or medieval warrior knight. It reminds me of the sad times in history when "Christ the King" meant that Christians should kill anyone who disagreed with them, and, as long as they were at it, keep their land, too. When you come right down to it, besides my discomfort with the name of this day, I am uncomfortable with the inclusion of this reading, too. The Book of Revelation is popularly associated with the series of Left Behind books, horror movies, and fundamentalist preaching, warning about end times, a version of Christianity that misinterprets scripture and has frightened many right out of the church. Happily, some of those have returned to church in United Church of Christ congregations, seeking hope instead of fear-mongering. The United Church of Christ (UCC) came into being fifty years ago next June, when representatives of the Congregational Christian Churches and the Evangelical and Reformed Churches gathered in Cleveland to merge into a new Protestant denomination. That uniting General Synod took place at a fateful time in human history, and required lots of hope. Nations that all professed to worship Christ had fought two bloody wars with each other during just the first half of the century. With the memories of Christians killing Christians still fresh, a cynic could understandably mock this new effort at Christian unity. Furthermore, only months after VE Day, the promise of peace in Europe vanished again when a new Cold War broke out between former allies–the Soviet Union and the United States. Now the ominous shadow of nuclear war hung over the world like a great dark cloud. At a time when the advent of the atomic bomb had convinced many Christians that the end of the world was near, it took wild hope and stubborn faith to create a new religious institution dedicated to ushering in the reign of God by uniting divisions of Christendom. But for those with eyes to see, there were glimmerings of hope in 1957. In April, Congress passed the first civil rights legislation since the distant days of Reconstruction. And the Cold War seemed to have "thawed" somewhat after the death of Stalin. Still, those who participated in the uniting General Synod in 1957 drew more courage from their deep-seated religious convictions than from current events. For those men and women sensed a new world opening within themselves as they resolved to bring people together through ministries of charity and prophecy, reconciliation and reform. So as we approach Advent, the Season of Hope, I am grateful for the founders of the UCC. I am grateful that human beings find hope in even the most terrible of situations, and always have done. Wild hope and stubborn faith. So I take another look at today's reading, through that lens, and I see that the Book of Revelation is both beautiful and full of hope. It is an amazing poetic work, written by a man named John, an exile on the island of Patmos during a time of severe oppression and persecution of Christians by Roman military forces in service of the Roman caesars. It is a daring and clever work of subversive literature, disguising its case against Rome in bizarre mythological images, making allegations while creating safety in the difficulty that a Roman accuser would have in discerning what it meant, much less being able to prove its critical intent against its author. Shining through all its grotesqueness and beauty is hope for liberation from the Roman oppressors, and a contrast of their limited worldly powers with that of the eternal, universal power of God. Again, location is important. This great letter is a poem, an ode to the New Creation that will follow such liberation, so it has been placed to end the Bible as it began, with God's hand at work making all things new and full of God's glory. But as one commentator has said, "No other book in the Bible has been interpreted at such cross purposes with the writer's original intent than the book of Revelation." The irony is that, written originally as a word of comfort and hope in the late first-century, it has become for many a word of fear and despair. Written to bring clarity of insight to readers hard-pressed to make sense of their lives in the hard circumstances of Roman domination, it is now read as a gloomy and confusing book that can only be understood – if at all – by those holding some secret key to unlock its mysteries. Written to be read aloud in late-first-century churches gathering in worship, it seems now to be read only in sectarian conventicles and the ravings of fanatics. Hence it's a surprising paradox that no book in the New Testament has inspired as many joyful and victorious hymns as has the book of Revelation, at the same time that no book in the New Testament has inspired as much destructive and even pathological behavior as has the book of Revelation. Another commentator has written, "not the least of the scandalous things about Revelations is that we ask for a diagram and get a mind-blowing picture; we ask for a logical explanation, and get a song." This book is indeed a letter addressed to the "fullness" of the church, represented by the number seven, and it addresses real, historical situations. But its language is the language of poetry and myth, and it can speak to us, today, too, if we will but let it. We are not as far from the situation of the late first century as we might think. Although we may not face persecution, we face many situations in which we must decide between being faithful and being successful – or between being faithful and being popular. Injustice and idolatry are still rampant both in our society and throughout the world. We are also part of a worldwide church that in many areas is living in dangerous circumstances similar to those of the first century. For these reasons, it is good that this Revelation, with its dire warnings against those who would rather be comfortable or successful than faithful, is part of our New Testament." And the warnings are still in effect, but not in the literalistic way many may think. So, where is the word of comfort and hope? This very historical book, written by a man of faith named John to communities of faith long ago, speaks to us of the hope in which he and they lived long ago because, as his Revelation reminded them, they knew who is really in charge of the universe instead of the caesars who pretended to be. We too know who the Lord of History is. We know that the same One in whom we live, and move, and have our being is the God of all time, of all that is and shall be, including our own little lives. How marvelous and full of hope it is to know that the eternity of God makes all the little caesars of the world look transient and foolish in their pretences of power. This was the hope and comfort of John, of the seven churches and the whole church, and of each of us today. Wild hope and stubborn faith! As we celebrate the fiftieth anniversary, not only of Pilgrim Church in Redding but of the whole United Church of Christ, and as we recall the histories of congregations going back hundreds of years, and as we know ourselves as part of a long line going all the way back through the medieval church, and the early church, and back to the first followers of Jesus, we can ask ourselves: who indeed is lord of our lives? Who is indeed head of the church? What comfort does that bring us, and what challenge? Wild hope and stubborn faith. So at this end of another church year, we may receive this author's blessing of grace with gratitude. Grace and peace to you, my friends. Amen.