“An Anniversary Choice”
Joshua 24:1-3a, 14-25; I Thessalonians 4:13-18; Matthew 25:1-13
My grandfather fought in the First World War—the Great
War he always called it—the war to end all wars. He was an old Norwegian
farmer by the time I got to know him, who spoke sparingly about the war experience—especially
the trench wars of France in 1918. He spoke sparingly as most men who have known
the violence of combat. But he always stressed that I had to remember the importance
of November 11th. Actually the way he always said it was “The eleventh
hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month—the day peace came”
(and then he would shake his head slightly and add softly) “for a brief
moment.” Every time he spoke of the importance of remembering Veteran’s
Day he linked it to his memory of that moment of peace when to him for a brief
time the world made sense and everything about the future looked so grand and
glorious. With the signing of the armistice and the arrival of November 11 my
grandfather was sent back from France by way of England to the country farm
in southern Minnesota where his dearest friend was waiting. That’s how
he referred to my grandmother in his letters sent home from France and England—“My
dearest friend”—those Norwegians were such romantics.—He married
her and the rest, as they say, is history.
There are moments such as that for which we wait—moments which suggest a future that capture our hearts—minds—emotions—imaginations. My grandfather would always carry his memory of what it felt like to know peace—I believe he really felt that peace—for a moment. There would come a Second World War and then Korea and Viet Nam—and he would remind me again and again that there was something more then conflict and violence—more then the need to demonstrate power and might—for a brief moment he had felt it—known it—known the promise of peace.
There are moments in our lives that we want to believe will define the future in a new and more positive way. Most of the time our world is filled with the negatives—lots of negatives—the usual litany of war and violence—death and disaster—but each generation deserves moments that we experience as suggesting something that we want to believe transcends the ordinariness and routine patterns of our lives. Something so important—like a peace treaty that for a moment looks like it means a whole new world—a positive moment with meaning for a whole new way of life.
I think the closest I ever came to that was the evening of July 20, 1969 as I sat watching a grainy picture transmitted from some 240,000 miles away—where a black and white camera sent a picture from the lunar surface and earth heard the promise that this was “one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.” All my science fiction fantasies soared. Here began a new age of technology and space settlements. I would soon be moving to Mars. The world would soon be only a small part of the greater solar system and the emerging galactic community filled not with parochial concerns of nationalism and self interest but focused beyond itself.
Of course all that ended only three and a half years later when Astronauts Eugene Cernan and Harrison Schmidt lifted off the lunar surface on Dec. 14, 1972 Almost 30 years later no other human being has visited the moon or any other astral surface. Our galactic dreams never moved beyond our planetary routine of more wars and conflicts—death and disaster. So we wait—with visions and hopes for what might come next. That is the essence of faith—waiting in hope.
Jesus reaches for an analogy to help us understand—“It’s like this,” Jesus says, “the kingdom is like 10 young women, five of whom acted prudently and five who acted imprudently. Some ended up on the inside at the feast. The others were excluded. Keep watch. Keep awake.” It is not easy to stay focused on the vision or possibilities of what is to come when the coming event seems so delayed. Certainly the early church hearing Matthew’s Gospel some 50-60 years after the resurrection of Jesus struggled to stay awake—that’s one reason why the Gospels were written.. We—the people of the modern church—have never known a time other than that of the kingdom delayed. We proclaim that in Christ we have experienced the in breaking of God’s kingdom but not in its fullness and not in its completeness. So we wait. We have long since learned not to get too excited about the prospects of Christ’s coming. We have had 2000 years plus 2 to get used to the idea that our waiting is not likely to end soon.
Half of the women in the parable prepared themselves—procured oil for their lamps and were ready for the beginning of the wedding festivities. Half were caught unawares, off guard when the music began. Their cries of “Lord, Lord, open to us,” went unheeded. Jesus seems to be saying that Life is like that. We say we want God in our lives, that we desire God’s will to be done at last here on earth as it is in heaven. Yet when the alarm sounds—when the cry goes out—too many are found to be wanting.
Our lessons for today are intended to remind us of the fragility of life. In our first lesson for today we meet Joshua as an old man—Joshua who succeeded Moses as the leader of the Israelites—Joshua who led the people into the Promised Land. Now that had to have been a great day. Reflecting back on it years later Joshua had to recognize that fulfilling moment of God’s promise as filled with possibilities beyond all imagining. A new people in a new land—so now as he neared the end of his life Joshua wanted to do something that would truly matter—something with meaning beyond that moment. Joshua called the 12 tribes of Israel together at Shechem—there—in the verses not included in our reading for today—Joshua first lists all the mighty things that God had done for them—we have short memories of God’s blessings—we tend to forgot what has gone before and focus on the bottom line—what does it mean now?
So Joshua also turns to the bottom line and calls upon the people to choose this day—set forth their priorities—identify their gods—those things that are the center of their lives—those things and activities that have first standing in their lives—that which is their ultimate concern. Joshua says choose this day how you will prepare for the rest of your life but be careful of your choice.
One of my favorite movies is Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade—at the climax of the movie Indiana Jones finds himself in a room filled with chalices—not unlike the ones we use for celebrating communion—and Indie must identify the lost chalice of Christ's Last Supper—a chalice that by legend contains the promise of eternal life and healing powers to save his wounded father’s life. The evil and sinister figure of the film chooses from the hundreds of chalices first and when he drinks from the wrong chalice he dies. The only comment from the guardian of the chalices is, “He chose poorly” but when the right choice is made Indie is affirmed with the words that he “chose wisely.”
To choose wisely—that is what the parable Jesus told is all about. There are choices we must make each day that define us—that give meaning and purpose to our moments and shape our future. This past week Chris and I saw the musical Sunday in the Park with George which is about the life of the French artist George Seurat who painted the famous picture on display at the Chicago Art Institute. There is a line in the play repeated a couple times that stuck with me—It was a word of advice one of the characters offers to the young artist observing, “there are only two things worth leaving in the world when you die—children and art.” These, of course, are the words to an artist who died at the age of 31 years, but I find them suggestive yet incomplete. What the artist was really striving for was not eternal reputation or fame but the promise of a truth that endures. For George Seurat it is light. Helping others to see the beauty and power of light in the world around them—the play of light in coloring our world. He chooses to be the bringer of light and dies without wife or child.
Joshua says, “Choose this day.” The choices we make every day reflect our response to God’s blessings. Nothing is so fixed that we cannot discover in it moments of grace, wonder, newness and light. The other day I received a phone call from a woman whose marriage was failing—she asked me how long I had been married—I told her over 27 years. She asked, “How did you know that it would last—that she was the right person to marry?” I told her I didn’t—I told her there is nothing automatic about a marriage, that in fact I find I must decide every day once again for my marriage. I must decide that this is the one I really do want to spend the rest of my life with. Marriage does not magically transform you into a husband and a wife for all eternity. Each day I reaffirm that the future I saw once in a romantic moment is also the future I still want in the midst of harsh realities of passing years, disagreements and aging bodies. I told her that I do find this daily reaffirmation easier with each passing year because so much of what we have become as a couple is the result of the preparation of years of love and life together.
Martin Luther said of baptism that it is something we do in church one day but that takes the rest of our lives to complete. Life is filled with choices. Choose this day—Joshua said to the people. Prepare for the coming—was the advice given the bridesmaids. So today is November 10—Forty years ago tomorrow morning on another November 11th , 1962 a group of people gathered in the gymnasium at Half Day School only a short distance from here—and in that moment there were some who made a choice—they committed themselves to being a light to their neighbors and a witness to the community that there is more to life—there is God. And they chose that day to follow their God into the woods of Lincolnshire—there to build a place of worship—space to share the stories of Jesus with children and each other—a gathering place for fellowship, worship and service—guided by the promise of God’s grace—building the kingdom of God not only here by through out the world by offering their gifts of time, talent and financial contributions.
Over the years many have come to know the promise of this Gospel—members of the church have gone on to be emissaries of grace—some to answer God’s call to the ordained ministry. The homeless have been sheltered—refugees resettled—hungry fed—marriages have been celebrated—deaths grieved—babies baptized—children confirmed—the sacraments have been received again and again and again. Forty years are but a second in the great flow of eternity—but a glorious second it has been. We now are invited to prepare for the next second—to trim our lamps and keep the light shining. We are to choose once again as the ancients chose centuries before—as our predecessors gathered 40 years ago. Joshua speaks once again, “Choose this day” And then counsels us with his decision, “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” By God’s grace we are again looking toward the future—we choose because we have been chosen—chosen by God—chosen by grace—chosen to keep the Gospel light shining. We look to tomorrow—November 11—and we wait for the future.
Amen.