Pentecost +26 – The Wound that Heals

Sermons – St. Brendan's Anglican Church

Rev. Dr. Les Martin

Pentecost +26 2024
Rev. Dr. Les Martin
Daniel 12, Psalm 16, Hebrews 10:31-39, Mark 13:14-23

We have left undone those things which we ought to have done, and we have done those things which we ought not to have done; and apart from your grace, there is no health in us.

+ In the Name of the Living God: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Regarding this time in the church year, Episcopal priest and theologian Fleming Rutledge writes the following “If you know your Christian calendar, you’re getting goosebumps. Advent is close; the lectionary readings from scripture start getting apocalyptic in November.” This should be no surprise to us, having heard both from Daniel and from the little apocalypse of Mark in this very service. Both refer to a coming “abomination of desolation” that will bring to an end the sacrificial system, the Temple, and- if not the world- the world as the Jews had known it since they settled in the Promised Land. On August 30th, in the year 70 A.D. Roman forces who were combating a short-lived, rebel government in the province of Judea overwhelmed the defenders of the city, breached the final wall, and set fire to the temple. The Jewish historian Josephus describes the event this way:

“As the legions charged in, neither persuasion nor threat could check their impetuosity: passion alone was in command. Crowded together around the entrances many were trampled by their friends, many fell among the still hot and smoking ruins of the colonnades and died as miserably as the defeated. As they neared the Sanctuary, the partisans were no longer in a position to help; everywhere was slaughter and flight. Most of the victims were peaceful citizens, weak and unarmed, butchered wherever they were caught. Round the Altar the heaps of corpses grew higher and higher, while down the Sanctuary steps poured a river of blood and the bodies of those killed at the top slithered to the bottom.”

What was prophesied, had come to pass. I can’t imagine how it painful and devastating it must have felt to the people of God at that time. Nonetheless, what was a future event in the time of Jesus, is now for us ancient history. As tragic as it was, as monumental an historic event as it was both for Jews and the early church, we can nonetheless ask “Why spend a whole Sunday on it? What’s the point for us today?”

To answer this question, we need to refresh our minds about what exactly an apocalypse is. It is not primarily a prophetic description of the end of the world. In fact, although apocalypse may refer to future events, as is the case in today’s readings, to view it as talking exclusively about the future is to not get the concept quite right. The Greek word apokálypsis, from which it is derived, means a revelation, an unveiling of truth. Apocalypse tells the truth of the way things are. That is what is revealed.

This is why something else Josephus says about the destruction of the temple is perhaps more powerful than the graphic description I’ve already shared. Reflecting not so much on the event, but on the meaning of the event, he remembers an ancient saying, that “Jerusalem would be taken, and the temple be destroyed, when it had been defiled by the hands of Jews themselves.” When it had been defiled by the hands of Jews themselves. When viewed this way, what happened in AD 70 was not simply a calamity. The truth of the way things are is that it was a judgment. An external intervention by God resulting from the Jews defiling their own sacred space. Being a hospital chaplain, that got me thinking about sepsis.

When we commonly think about sepsis, what comes to mind is a systemic infection. That’s true, as far as it goes, but it’s not really the whole story. Sepsis is much more than that. It’s s a potentially life-threatening condition that arises when the body’s response to infection causes injury to its own tissues and organs, followed by suppression of the immune system. An initial infection, untreated, gets out of control, and the body becomes part of the problem. It literally works against itself. Without outside intervention, death will result. Unlike a simple infection, the treatment can be quite complex: IV fluids, strong, medicines, and commonly time in the intensive care unit. The treatments can actually be quite harsh, because sepsis is harsh. A harsh sickness, a harsh response.

Now, what does this have to do with the destruction of the temple? What does it have to do with the abomination of desolation? What does it have to do with us? I think one way of looking at how the truth of the way things are is revealed in our apocalypse today is through the lens of sepsis. Simply put, we’re really sick. Humanity, left to its own devices, is septic.

This is not to say that humanity is not good. The original design for all of creation was proclaimed by the Father to be good. Human beings, the capstone of that creation, were even proclaimed “very good.“ Made in the image of God, with two purposes: a worshipful relationship with their creator, and a vocation to superintend the creation he had given them in the ways he had commanded them. But then, the infection set in: our original parents exchanged the purpose God had for them, and the guidelines he had established for their relationship, for a lie. Essentially, they sought to become godlike on their own terms, not those of the father. Worship became idolatry, vocation became control, and humanity became septic. I suppose at one level it is easy to see the exile from the garden superficially – an angry God kicking out his children. But that’s an improper interpretation – the judgment of God on our parents was for the purpose of healing humanity, not condemning them.

It is the same with the Babylonian exile of the Jews – a painful intervention design designed not so much to punish, but to purify the Jewish nation, and ensure a healthy remnant. To stop the sepsis from obliterating the image of God in his people. It is the same with the destruction of the temple, as hard as that may be to see it first glance. By the time of the second temple, we do well to remember that the Jews, called to be a light to the nations, called to bring all God‘s people home, had again succumbed to sin. As NT Wright puts it: “ [their]… way of life… had failed, by the combination of injustice towards those inside and revolutionary violence towards those outside, [ and a failure] to obey God’s call to be the light of the world.” The nation and the temple, despite their original goodness, had become septic. For the sake of God‘s intent, and God‘s mission for his people, it all simply had to go. To move beyond seeing this merely as an angry punishment coming from a vengeful God, we do well to remember at this time that the sacrifices were not abolished, the temple was not destroyed, until on a hill outside Jerusalem, the final sacrifice was made, and God began to build a new temple of living stones: his body, the church. The types and shadows of the older way gave way to the reality of the new. The judgment of God on the temple was for the purpose of healing humanity, not condemning them. For expanding the reach of his mercy, not ceasing it.

The church. We see in it’s history the same process, again and again. Teachings, movements, practices, and even denominations rise up, only to be excised from the body over time, precisely in order to save the body. The continual process of reformation, the endless theological disputes can be viewed not so much as fractious brothers and sisters failing to get along, but as God‘s loving judgment. As with all that has gone before, he still fights against the infection in his bride, and the sepsis that results. He would have her pure, he would have her his and his alone. This is the truth of the way things are, of how God lovingly deals with his people. This is the apocalypse we are dealing with in our readings today.

Which brings us to you and me. To understand the truth of the way things are regarding God’s judgment of you and me, I think it’s best to begin with what we’re not saying. To that end, I think we need to be clear about what I’ve been saying in only in passing so far: about what the word judgment actually means. In our age, we tend to associate judgment with some degree of anger or punishment, but that’s not what the word means at all. The Cambridge dictionary defines judgment as “the ability to make decisions or opinions.” Notice that anger and punishment are simply not inherent in the idea of judgment. That’s emotional baggage – often quite understandable- that we bring to the word. But we need to simply let that go. The doctor makes a considered, medical judgment to intervene in a case of sepsis. He desires to save the body from itself. Yes, the treatments are sometimes difficult, painful, and downright harsh – I have seen them. But the judgment is not. The judgment is made to heal and to save.

So it is with the Great Physician of our souls, and with God’s judgment of us. As we come into the body and avail ourselves of the means of grace – the sacraments, the preaching of the word, the life of prayer and community– what we are doing is undergoing God’s treatment. As Daniel 12:10 says today “many will be purified, made clean, and refined.” Good things, all, but all these words also suggest a certain amount of discomfort- have you ever seen how they refine metals? There is a lot of heat! So it is with the encounter of God’s truth in a loving church. The way things are with us is revealed. Some of what is revealed is not pretty. We begin to see that we are infected with sin, in danger of spiritual sepsis. As I grow as a Christian, safe and surrounded by your love and God’s, I am again and again confronted with my disordered desires and passions. With my sin, God is continually inviting me to a healthier life, confronting me with what it really means to be a Christian disciple, priest, husband, father, and friend. And it often hurts to surrender my own desires and ambitions to better serve those whom God has placed in my life. Like an antibiotic administered intravenously, the means of grace are an outside intervention. They enter us to fight the infection of sin that is taken hold, to save our body- and the body of the church- from itself. This is not always comfortable. As Fleming Rutledge says elsewhere, “There is a link between suffering and the kingdom of God—a close connection. That’s what the readings about the end of the ages tell us.” The particular suffering we are focusing on today is not the senseless suffering of a broken world, or what we endure at the hands of others. Rather it is the suffering that comes from the deliberate, loving, intervention of God in our lives to help us grow up into him who is the head. It is the suffering of sanctification. What we need to hold onto, as we endure it, is that the suffering of becoming more fully conformed to Christ contains no anger, no punishment, but rather only love. Let me be clear: God loves you as you are. But he also loves you enough to not leave you as you are. The means of grace will confront you, conform you, and sometimes it hurts. It hurts in my life as well, as the truth of the way I am is revealed, and I am invited to repent. Josephus tells us that the abomination of desolation entered the temple because the Jews had already defiled it themselves. They were, in a sense, already the abomination of spiritual desolation. What happened in AD 70 was a judgment, yes, but not a punishment. Rather, God intervened to make sure that his reconciling mission would still be available in later years, for you and me. Walk with him for any length of time, and he will do it to you- and for you- as well. But, friends, remember: God’s judgment always has curative intent.