Proclaim God in Christ!

The Rev. Dr. Karin J Ekholm, November 16, 2025

You may have heard that some time ago, NASA identified a giant meteor heading toward earth that was likely destroy all life. There is nothing like the literal end of life on earth to get people to church, and as a Baptist pastor, a Roman Catholic Father, and an Episcopal priest gathered Saturday morning for coffee, their conversation quickly turned to what they would preach the next day in the face of imminent end times.

The Baptist would preach on John 3:16—"For God so love the world that he gave his only begotten son that whosoever believeth in him shall not perish but have everlasting life”—Pastor Chuck would bring people to be born again!

Father Joseph decided on Matthew 16—"on this rock,” our Lord says to Peter, “'I will build my church.” What mattered most was to remind his Roman Catholic flock that there is one true church in Christendom and of the importance of being right with Mother Church.

Finally, when they turned to the Episcopal priest she replied without hesitation, 'I will preach on the lectionary readings of the day.'”*

This task, my beloved community, this task of confronting what the lectionary throws at us, is the challenge and blessing of how we as a Church encounter Scripture together week after week. Some blissful Sundays, all four readings instantly speak to us, warming our hearts and filling us with wonder, love, and praise. 

Other weeks, we might catch ourselves halfway through the Psalm wavering in spirit with a drastic shift from blessed assurance to vindictive cries. Our heart was in it, but suddenly we’re not so sure about the words we’re reciting. At times all of us half-heartedly mutter, “the Word of the Lord?” in response to perplexing or troubling passages that we struggle to reconcile with a God of love.

And then there are a string of Sundays as we approach Advent, when the lectionary throws one curveball after another. How is it that Jesus could promise to his followers who would be betrayed by love ones and persecuted, even to death, that not a hair on their heads would perish? 

And what message can we find in these prophecies that feel foreign and unrelatable to us in our DMV worries late in 2025? How do the prophecies and promises in these ancient readings offer assurance in the face of pain, suffering, and mortality? Especially of those who have no power and of those whom we love so dearly?

Jesus and his followers have completed their long journey to Jerusalem we’ve been following since Pentecost. He’s teaching in the temple and proclaiming the good news as religious leaders question his authority and seek to trap him. Within days he will be betrayed and arrested. The end is at hand.

But at this point, the crowds are still enthralled by his teaching, and detractors remain guarded. Jesus engages in confrontations, and he publicly criticizes local authorities for being preoccupied with status and exploiting the poor. It’s in the thick of these escalating tensions that we find Jesus’ companions looking about and admiring their flashy surroundings. 

By all accounts the newly-renovated temple really was magnificent. Herod had expanded the walled complex of buildings and plazas, and a contemporary, Josephus, relates that as the stones plated with gold reflected the sun, God’s dwelling resembled a snow-capped mountain. 

As Jesus’ followers sat listening in courtyards under colonnades, I picture them looking something like a flock of tourists at the Jefferson Memorial. They are a long way for home, it’s been a long day, and during a lull, some turn their attention to the massive stones that must have lent a sense of grandeur, stability, and permanence. 

Yet, as Jesus warns, these structures would soon be thrown down. Indeed, within decades, the Roman Empire destroyed Jerusalem to quash insurrections. On one level, Jesus’ prophecy that not one stone will be left upon another was soon be fulfilled, but on another level, his teaching is more universal. 

Those listening think that he is speaking of some form of deliverance from God, and their first questions are about signs and timing. But notice that Jesus doesn’t answer these queries, except to counter expectations that the time is near. When he speaks of kingdoms rising, plagues, famines, and celestial signs—he borrows language from apocalyptic literature—but this is not where he lingers. The end of the temple would not be the end of the world. As Eugene Peterson renders these lines in The Message, “When you hear of wars and uprisings, keep your head and don’t panic. This is routine history and no sign of the end.”

Here—as throughout his ministry—Jesus defies popular hopes for swift deliverance. He defies hopes that God would run interference to save his people from an oppressive and exploitative empire. In fact, Jesus confirms that imminent threats are at hand: the temple will tumble, persecutions will follow, and the closest of relationships will falter. 

Where is consolation or hope in any of this? What has become of the new heaven and new earth that the Prophet Isaiah heralded, where the sound of weeping or cry of distress shall be heard no more, where our work is not in vain, and the wolf and lamb shall feed together? 

Are these but empty pipe dreams to sooth the suffering? Was Marx onto something in identifying religion as “the opium of the people" that provides an illusory escape and prevents them from addressing the material cause of their oppression?

In our time, when church attendance is no longer a societal expectation, why do you keep coming? To be lulled into serenity by the beauty of the music and ceremony? To cling to a pacifying illusion? Or do you come because two millennia later, you recognize our world in Jesus’ prophecies: we are bombarded by news of wars, insurrections, and earthquakes. Hunger threatens. Dreams are shatter by diagnoses and job cuts. Relationships and plans fall apart. These are natural consequences, don’t look for signs here, Jesus says.

But in the midst of the uncertainty and heartache, I find it deeply reassuring that Scripture does not gloss over the agony but offers guidance in times of trial and tribulation. We are not promised smooth sailing, but we are assured that in the midst of the storm we are not alone. When the world seems to crumple we are given opportunities to preach in words and through deeds. 

The Baptist and Roman Catholic in the joke had clarity on the central message of hope they would convey as the meteor approached. While the lectionary requires us to wrestle with difficult passages, Scripture also calls each of us to “Always be ready to make your defense to anyone who demands from you an accounting for the hope that is in you” (1 Peter 3:15). When everything’s falling apart, what account of your hope might you offer? Where have you seen God, and what witness can you bear? 

While I give thanks that we are spared the persecution of the faithful in other times and places, make no mistake, we are inundated by voices that claim the authority of Christ while their words and deeds run counter to his message of radical love. Our Baptismal liturgy requires of us all, “to proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ” (BCP, 304), and in this time of clanging distortions of the Gospel, you are called to bear witness. 

If this terrifies you more than toppling towers, then I have good news for you:

I hear and see you proclaim God in Christ all the time. 

You proclaim God in Christ when you reach out to someone you do not know after services.

You proclaim God in Christ when you volunteer to hand out food to the hungry. 

You proclaim God in Christ when you proclaim that members of the LGBTQ+ community are made in God’s image and diversity are a reflection of his creativity and beauty.

You proclaim God in Christ when you gather at the bedside of the elderly and infirm to sing, pray, sooth, and laugh together. 

You proclaim God in Christ when you accompany each other through the valley of the shadow of death as you sit with the dying and those who weep, listen to stories, and bear witness to the blessed hope of everlasting life.

Do not be afraid, for when darkness encroaches Jesus provides words and wisdom as long as we keep showing up. His Spirit sheds light as long as we keep wrestling with Scripture. Proclaiming our faith is not a matter of erudite apologetics, but of discovering what keeps you coming to church. Through these practices you will prepared to counter distortions of the Gospel, offer an account of your hope, and by word and example testify of the Good News of God in Christ. 

* My version of a joke told by the Dean of Virginia Theological Seminary, the Very Reverend Ian S. Markham, PhD.