Trinity Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.)

Sermons 

Thinking back,

I don’t remember many of the babysitters

my brother and I had, growing up.

Except for the two or three who were neighbors,

and so we knew them in other ways –

most of the names and faces have simply faded over time.

But I remember Daria.

I may have told you before about Daria.

Daria was nuts.

In fact, she probably needed a babysitter

more than my brother and I did at the time.

My most vivid memory of her

is that the concept of "bedtime"

apparently had no meaning to her whatsoever.

As long as we were in bed

by the time our parents got home,

that was all she cared about.

I can recall at least once

when I, the law-abiding and worrying older child,

said to her, "It’s getting late,

shouldn’t we be in bed?"

and she said, "naaah, don’t worry about it."

Well, it was also Daria who taught us

how to play "Heart and Soul" on the piano,

and that’s what we were doing on that fateful night

when my parents’ car pulled into the driveway

and we were still up.

John and I raced down the hall to our rooms,

and threw ourselves into bed fully clothed,

and pulled up the covers

so hopefully our parents wouldn’t notice –

which, of course, they already had.

Much to our surprise,

we didn’t get in very much trouble over it,

but Daria never babysat at our house again.

If the babysitter had known

at what hour the parents were returning –

If the householder had known

in what hour of the night the thief was coming –

If we knew the time and the place

of Jesus’ return –

But she didn’t, and he didn’t, and we don’t.

How do we learn to live with not knowing?

Well of course, one way we all deal with the unknown

is not to think about it.

And within certain limits, that’s a healthy response.

When there’s nothing that can be done,

it’s useless to spend too much time and energy

worrying about it.

For example,

most of us don’t spend a lot of time each day

thinking about our own death.

It may come to mind occasionally,

like when some idiot runs a stop sign

and nearly plows into us,

or when we experience the death of someone we know,

especially if that person was our age or younger.

But under normal circumstances,

we don’t dwell too much on the thought of dying.

We don’t know when it’s going to happen.

And it’s unhealthy to worry too much

over something we don’t control.

On the other hand, of course,

not to think about it at all

is equally irresponsible.

For the most part,

people who drink and then drive

have really not considered the possibility

that they might die,

much less kill someone else.

But we do think about and prepare for death

when we do things like write a will,

buy life insurance,

pass along family stories and heirlooms

to the next generations.

Those are healthy ways of acknowledging that we are mortal,

and that we won’t be around forever.

But then, once we have done these things,

we need to go on and live

the life we’ve been given to live.

Beyond that, though … most of us, or maybe all of us,

think about the return of Christ, his "second coming,"

even less than we think about our own death,

if we think about it at all.

Sure, every time we celebrate the Lord’s Supper

we declare that when we eat the bread and drink the cup,

we show the Lord’s death until he comes again.

But do we really hear it?

Every year on the first Sunday in Advent,

the lectionary hands us one of these passages

about Christ predicting his own return.

But we’re often so busy already

preparing ourselves for Christmas

and the celebration of his first coming,

that the thought of a second time around

isn’t particularly compelling.

After all, we don’t know when it’s going to happen.

Jesus himself said he didn’t know.

How much time and energy should we devote

to this event we can’t control?

Wouldn’t it be simpler

just not to think about it at all?

Let it happen, when it’s going to happen;

after all, God’s in charge,

God will handle the details.

Up to a point,

that attitude is absolutely correct.

We can’t live quite like the earliest Christians,

who shaped their whole lives around the expectation

that Jesus would return immediately.

Many of them did not marry, did not have children …

there was no need to continue the human race

if the world was about to come to an end.

Some of the strange-sounding things in Paul’s earliest letters

make sense only if one believes

that Christ is going to return at any moment.

There is that sense of urgency

as we might feel if the doctor said to us,

you only have a few months to live.

Our priorities might change very quickly!

But it’s been almost 2000 years now,

and he hasn’t returned,

or if he did, no one noticed … which may be even scarier …

and we don’t live with the kind of

edge-of-our-seats expectation

that the early church had.

To a certain extent, we can’t afford to;

we have other worries that are important.

But not to think about it at all

is irresponsible, and un-faith-ful.

We need to live with the expectation of Christ’s return.

Let me be more clear about what I mean by that.

If I knew for a fact

that Christ was going to return six months from today,

there are certain things I would probably do.

I’d cash in my life insurance and my IRA,

and give the money away.

I wouldn’t bother to write the paper I’m supposed to present

at a conference in China next July.

I probably wouldn’t bother to finish my dissertation,

but don’t tell Van I said that!

I’d preach about different things.

We can all think of things we would do differently

if we knew that in six months the end was coming,

not only of our own life,

but of the world as we know it.

But we don’t know that.

And so, that’s not what I mean by

living "with the expectation of Christ’s return."

Barring information to the contrary, I have to assume

that I could live another forty or fifty years,

and I need to be responsible about anticipating that,

just as all of us need to plan for our futures.

But it seems to me that the return of Christ,

as distant as it seems,

needs to be a consideration in every decision we make.

Madeleine L’Engle, a wonderful writer and Christian person who recently passed away,

described in one of her books

a time when she and her husband had a decision to make.

If any of you ever used to watch the soap opera "All My Children,"

her husband was Hugh Franklin,

the actor who played Dr. Charles Tyler –

Anyway, in the early days of their marriage,

like for many of us, money was real tight;

neither of them was real successful yet …

and Hugh was offered a part in an off-Broadway play.

It would have helped their budget a lot,

but it was rather an awful play.

And the role that they wanted him for

was apparently a little risqué –

probably nothing by today’s standards,

but enough to make them both a little uncomfortable.

They needed the money,

and they knew that as Christians,

they had the freedom to choose either yes or no,

and not be somehow contaminated

or condemned by their choice.

But they finally decided no,

and the basis for their decision was one simple question:

Would we want the children to see it?

In a similar way,

I would suggest that there is a question we need to ask

when we have a decision to make.

Not, what would I do

if I knew Christ were returning tomorrow …

that’s unrealistic; we don’t know that.

Rather, ask yourself,

if Christ returned right this minute,

would I want him to see me doing this?

The difference between the two is subtle, but important.

If I knew Christ were returning tomorrow,

would I bother to finish doing the laundry

when we get home tonight?

Absolutely not!!

But I don’t know that.

If instead, I ask the question,

if Christ came, would it be okay with me

if he found me doing laundry,

the answer would be yes.

What about if he found me reading a book?

Depends on the book –

but yes, that would probably be okay.

What if he found me at the mall,

spending money for something I don’t need?

I’d be embarrassed –

I’d feel really bad in Christ returned and found me doing that!

And I’d be very glad that God is forgiving.

A grand sacrificial gesture

isn’t possible for most of us.

What is possible for us,

is to be faithful in the little things.

When Christ returns,

what will he find us doing?

Can we live with that?

If not, what will we do about it?

Amen.

© 2007 Julie Adkins (e-mail: DrJAdkins@trinitypresdallas.org)