SERMON 7 November 2004

 Readings:    Haggai 1: 15 – 2: 9        Psalm 98        2 Thessalonians 2: 1-5, 13-17        Luke 20: 27-40 

May the word of God dwell richly in our hearts, leading us to new life. Amen. 

One of my most treasured memories of theological college is of the noticeboard in the student common room late in first semester in 1993. It was the time of year when all the subject offerings for second semester were being sorted out and students notified about what was going to be on and what wasn’t. One morning we walked in and saw the latest batch of notifications. There was only one: ‘THL 212 Christian Hope has been cancelled.’ 

‘Indeed’, we all thought. It had been a hard semester. This was truly one of those times when the whole cosmos seems to line up with your own internal world.  

I was reminded of this wonderful moment when I read through today’s readings. For here we have hope and encouragement writ large. Far from being cancelled, they ooze from every sentence. We may be feeble on our own, these diverse Biblical voices tell us, but with God, all things are possible. Remain steadfast and faithful today and a future good will be delivered. 

Haggai’s message to the Jewish people was a bit like that of a football coach at half time when the team just isn’t getting on with job. The text is set in the period immediately following the second exile of the Jews in Babylon. Captive in Babylon since 587 BCE, their release came when Cyrus of Persia conquered Babylon in about 539. Cyrus not only published a decree allowing the Jews to return to Palestine, he also encouraged them to rebuild the temple at Jerusalem. 18 years later, however, no significant progress had been made. Into this breach strode Haggai, rousing the Jewish people from their lethargy and exhorting the governor, Zerubbabel, and the high priest Joshua, to assume official leadership of the reconstruction. At the same time, he urged the priests to purify the cultic worship.  

These twin projects were, of course, practical steps towards restoring the disrupted religious life of the community – a life which had been torn apart, first by exile in Babylon, and then by the return to Palestine. They were effective community building exercises, just as working bees, worship and building projects are today. And this was a community in desperate need of rebuilding after 50 years in exile. But for Haggai these projects had a longer trajectory and fitted into a much greater picture: they were necessary preparations for the coming of the Messianic age. Once they were completed, God would bless this people with fruitfulness and prosperity, overthrow the Gentiles, and establish Zerubbabel as the messianic king on the throne of David. 

The overriding message of this incredibly short book (only 2 chapters) is that steadfastness will bring a godly reward. Our hope is in God who will shower blessings upon us. Haggai says, “ ‘Once again, in a little while, I will shake the heavens and the earth and the sea and the dry land; and I will shake all the nations so that the treasure of all nations shall come, and I will fill this house with splendour’, says the Lord of Hosts.” 

Paul, writing to the Thessalonians, also offers hope and encouragement to a community that seems to have been in some strife. It appears from the text that the Thessalonians were wavering in their faith, confused by the fact that, contrary to their expectations, the day of the Lord had not yet arrived. Paul reassures them, reframes their expectations and urges them to stay faithful, maintaining their hope.  

The Gospel passage seems at first blush to be only tangentially linked to this theme but it points to one of the central hopes of our faith – that of the resurrection: the hope that we continue as individuals beyond death; the hope that death, which seems so final to us, is merely part of a far larger picture. However things may look from where we are now, to God, all are alive.  

These three passages call us to faith, to steadfastness and to hope. We are not to be daunted by the magnitude of the task ahead of us, as the Jews returning from Babylon were daunted by the rebuilding of the temple. We are not to be dismayed when things turn out differently from the way we expect, as the Thessalonians were dismayed when the day of the Lord didn’t come along on cue. We are not to believe that there is nothing beyond this life, as the Sadducees believed. 

This is all very well – quite inspiring in fact. But how are we to know that we are right? How reasonable is this? We might well be accused of folly. Looked at in the cold hard light of day, it doesn’t look too rational an approach. After all, look around - once again there is no temple in Jerusalem. The day of the Lord remains a future hope rather than a present reality and there are many who would line themselves up with the Sadducees on the question of resurrection. Are we just peddling false hope? 

Maybe, but I think not. We are part of a much larger picture – that of God’s relationship with humanity, from the moment of creation to the fulfilment of all history. We frail and finite human beings put a frame around the picture, thinking we understand it and can perceive the limits of truth. But that is not the case. Faith may seem illogical and to run counter to the evidence. But trust in the capacity of human reason to deliver answers to life is as much an article of faith as religious belief, and one which has much less historical warrant. Belief in the overarching power of human reason is a much more recent development in the history of thought than a belief that there is more to reality than we will ever be able to apprehend.  

Once we start to walk in this tangled wood that surrounds the intersection of mystery and reason we soon find ourselves caught in snares of our own making – we use reason to argue for irrationality and yet, underneath it all, the basis of whichever conviction we hold is probably a gut feeling rather than a closely reasoned argument. 

Ultimately, whichever path we take, we are stuck with mystery, we just have to live with it. It is exasperatingly and wonderfully part of being human. But it comes in tandem with hope. Faith in the God of love leads us to the hope that somehow, somewhere all is gloriously resolved in a way that we can only begin to guess at.  

As St Paul said, “Now we see but a poor reflection, as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love.” (1 Cor 13: 12-13) 

Sarah Macneil

November 2004