Dr. William A. Ritter
First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan
Scripture: John 16:25-33
Let’s start right out with the text. Let’s not dance around it, tiptoe into it, or build an anecdote-laden foundation under it. Jesus said it. All I am doing is repeating it.
In the world you will have tribulation
But be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.
If you trust the chronology of the gospel of John (and I see no reason not to), those were the last words Jesus spoke to his disciples, at the last supper of his life, on the last night of his life.
In the world you will have tribulation.
But be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.
* * * * * *
In the Greek Orthodox Church, when a child is baptized….and by “child,” I mean a real infant (literally, still damp)….after the baptism has been performed, the priest takes the large pectoral cross that is suspended on a chain from his neck and forcibly strikes the child on its chest. The blow is so hard that it leaves a mark….so hard that it hurts the child….and so hard that the child screams. Here we give the baptismal family a rose. There, they give the child a whack. What gives?
I’ll explain what gives. The symbolism of our Orthodox friends is clear. They are suggesting that any child baptized into Christ must bear the cross….and the cross is not a sign of ease, victory, prosperity or success, but a sign of sorrow, pain and even death.
Like those Greek Orthodox babies, we Christians should not be surprised when trial and tribulation bubble up in the normal ebb and flow of life’s river. Nor should we be seduced by phony versions of the Christian faith which suggest that once we have it (by baptism, confirmation or conversion), we are immune to trouble. “In this world you will have tribulation.” Yes, you. Not just those people who aren’t here this morning, because they couldn’t get up this morning, because they stayed awake into the wee, small hours of the morning sinning the night away. Yes, they will have tribulation also. Maybe sooner. Maybe deeper. But none of us has been dealt a “get out of tribulation free” card. None of us.
Which reality we rehearsed in the September 11 service which packed this place out last Wednesday. There was a lot of healing in that hour. But there was a lot of pain, too. Of all the things that were said (and mark my words, there were a lot of wonderful things said….and sung….and played on the cello), I was most powerfully affected by Jeff Nelson’s introductory remarks to his reading of scripture. Jeff Nelson is our 15-hour-per-week intern. He’s here for the year. He’s got a little longer to go in seminary. But his schedule allows him to live in Detroit (down around Military and Livernois), work here, take classes both here and in Illinois, and somehow manage to avoid becoming schizoid in the process.
Said Jeff (last Wednesday):
Last year was the hardest year of my life. No sooner had I cemented my call to ministry and commenced training for it full time, but the towers came down, the Market came down, the priesthood came down, the fragile accords in the Middle East came down, and a slew of little kids (now numbering two dozen and counting) began being shot down in the city that I love and on the streets where I live. Last year tried my faith, tested my calling and shook my soul.
I understand that. I’ve got 38 years on Jeff (vocationally speaking). I’ve not only heard Jesus say, “In this world you will have tribulation,” I have tasted tribulation, both from my plate and from yours. You didn’t know I ate from your plate, did you? But I do. And Jeff will, too, once we teach him that tasting tribulation from the plates of his parishioners is one of the inside secrets of ministry.
In searching for an image to characterize the year we’ve been through, I allowed a college preacher from Dover, Delaware (Susan Olson, I think they call her) to take me to the amusement park. Now you need to know that I am not big on amusement parks, given that I no longer do “high,” nor do I any longer do “fast.” But I’m not a total wuss. I still do a few scary things. I do flume rides, runaway mine cars and the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad at Disney World. And I still do the Rotor. Do they still have the Rotor? I hope so. Because it is so theologically descriptive, don’t you see.
The Rotor works on the principle of centrifugal force. It’s like a circular barrel. You ride it standing up with your back pressed against the barrel wall. Then it starts spinning….slowly at first….then faster and faster, until all that passes before your eyes becomes a blur. And the increasing speed of the rotation forces you against the wall….pins you against the wall, really. Which is a very good thing (being pinned against the wall, I mean). Because the floor drops away, leaving your feet with nothing to rest on but air.
So you can see how the Rotor becomes a mirror of real life. There you are, on the ride of your life, and suddenly the floor falls out. Things on which you stood with confidence suddenly aren’t there.
Of all the sermons preached on the Sunday after September 11 last year, every other one I read (and I read an entire book of them) quoted Psalm 46. That’s the psalm that begins: “God is our refuge and our strength, a very present help in time of trouble.” But note what the psalmist says next. He says that we will not fear, though the mountains tremble and shake. Now I’ve got to tell you, I’m not Carl Price. And I haven’t done a ton of mountains. But if I were walking on a mountain and it began to “tremble and shake,” I would suffer a crisis of confidence. I would suddenly find myself wondering: “Why is there nothing firm where my soles once rested….or where my soul once rested?”
In this world you will have tribulation.
But be of good cheer, Jesus said. In some of the more recent translations, the sentence reads: “Be of good courage.” Actually, either word is supportable. Some prefer “courage” to “cheer,” given that it sounds a bit less frivolous. But for the sake of the sermon, I’d just as soon stick with “cheer.” “Be of good cheer,” Jesus said, “for I have overcome the world.” Which is, on the face of it, an incredible promise. But the promise was kept, don’t you see….at least initially. For the very people to whom it was given faced tribulation, yet found cheer….and (over time) demonstrated courage. I’m talking about the disciples, don’t you see, following the death of Jesus.
For the promise was made to a group….not to a solitary individual. And I have got to believe that’s how Jesus intended them to receive it….collectively. The Christian hope has always been a “we shall overcome” kind of thing more than an “I shall overcome” kind of thing. We do Christianity a disservice when we over-individualize it. We are in this together.
Barb Plants told me a story the other day about Mother Teresa in heaven, shortly after her arrival. Came suppertime of day one and God gave Teresa two slices of bread and a can of tuna fish. Which she converted into a sandwich. And which was tasty enough and filling. Except on a video screen depicting life in the other place, Teresa could see people dining on platters of shrimp and lobster, with a couple of crab cakes thrown in for good measure.
Suppertime of day two, God again supplied Teresa with a can of Star-Kist and a couple slices of sourdough. But the video transmission from the other place showed a choice that evening between brisket and bouillabaisse. Still, Teresa ate without complaint. But when suppertime of day three produced more tuna fish for Teresa, but turkey and dressing for the residents of the other place, Teresa inquired of God (ever so gently, mind you) as to why it was sandwiches up here and smorgasbord down there. To which God answered: “Really, Teresa, you want I should mess up the kitchen for just two?”
The irony of that story is not that it depicts Teresa eating so poorly, but so singularly. As if the favored were really quite few. And as if earlier loyalists had forsaken and fled.
Elijah, feeling more than a little sorry for himself as God’s mouthpiece in a society that had gone to hell in a handbasket, tells God: “Look, I’m pretty much the only good guy you’ve got left. Everybody else has sold out and is worshiping your rival.” To which God says: “What are you talking about? Come out of that cave in which you’re moping and look around. When you do, you’ll see seven thousand….count ‘em….who haven’t so much as even bent a knee to Baal.”
My friends, the crisis of our time has produced both terrible pain and terrific people. And without the example and encouragement of the latter, we would have long since been done in by the former. That has been so well documented, and so widely experienced, that I need only mention it in passing. But just in case you’re moping around in some cave, or subsisting on a daily diet of tuna fish at a table for one, look beyond you and see the incredible things that God is doing with others around you….which should most certainly cheer you….that is, if you let it.
But the promise of Jesus is more than that. Much more than that.
Be of good cheer, for I have overcome the world.
So what does that mean….especially in a world that is teeming with tribulation?
Well, for the Christian, it means that September 11th was not the day that changed the world. Let me say that again. September 11th was not the day that changed the world. So when was the day that changed the world? Well, it was late in the spring of 29 or 30 AD….meaning that each and every disaster has to be evaluated in the light of the first and only Easter. To be sure, says Stan Hauerwas, this is easier said than done. But I think it will make sense to you if I set it in the context of something with which many of you are familiar.
I am not a very good historian. And I am a terrible military historian. But military historians tell me that in every war there is a battle that decisively determines the outcome of the war. It’s not necessarily the battle that ends the war. It’s just the battle that tells you who is going to prevail when the war ends.
In the Civil War, that battle was Gettysburg. In the Napoleonic wars, that battle was Waterloo. In World War II, it was D-Day….the day in which the Allies landed on the beaches of Normandy. Everybody knew that if the Allies were driven back into the sea, it could have been over for us. However, the Nazis knew that if the beach were taken and held, it would likely be over for them. So much so that, when we established the beachhead, Rommel joined in a subversive plot to assassinate Hitler because he knew that the Nazis could not win, and he knew that Hitler would never give up.
So the Normandy invasion….D-Day….was the decisive battle. But it must be pointed out that more people died in Europe between D-Day and V-Day, than before D-Day. After Normandy, the outcome of the war in Europe was never in doubt. But there was still terrible suffering, much death and great agony to be experienced.
While I do not fully understand all the implications of what I am about to say, I believe that in the ongoing struggle with evil….and I mean the evil that is an inside job every bit as much as the evil that is an outside job….the decisive battle has already been fought and won in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. One of the reasons I don’t believe in Armageddon is because I believe the tide has already turned and the outcome is certain. As I said one year ago today, I believe in the final triumph of righteousness. So waste not even one more box of Kleenex on the Almighty. God has the will to win. And God will win. As Paul said to the Philippians (1:6), “The one who began a good work in you will complete it.”
A couple of weeks ago, I stumbled across….or was led to….one of the most succinctly marvelous definitions of Christianity I have ever encountered. It was a favorite aphorism of one Georges Tyrell, a famous Catholic modernist from the first third of the 20th century. Listen to what Father Tyrell said:
Christianity is an ultimate optimism founded on a provisional pessimism.
Which is simply another way of saying:
In this world you will have tribulation.
But be of good cheer, for I have overcome the world.
Note: This morning’s sermon constitutes a reprise, one year later, of my post-September 11, 2001 sermon entitled “I Believe in the Final Triumph of Righteousness.” In preparing this material, I had the advantage of reading several sermons preached in response to September 11, one year ago. They are collected and available in a book by William Willimon entitled The Sunday After Tuesday: College Pulpits Respond to 9/11. Specific help was gleaned from Peter Gomes, Stan Hauerwas, Susan Olson and Tony Campolo. The quote of Georges Tyrell, reflected in the title, comes from Peter Gomes.
