Our Ultimate Destination
Sermon
Sermons on the Second Readings
Series II, Cycle B
On U.S. Route 40 just west of New Concord, Ohio, stands an S-shaped bridge spanning a creek on the old National Road. Standing uphill from that bridge a traveler can simultaneously observe five historic transportation links that helped to build a nation:
• The original trail blazed by Ebenezer Zane, also known as "Zane's Trace."
• The brick roadbed of the old "National Road" that followed.
• The train tracks of the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad, which nearly made that early highway obsolete.
• U.S. Route 40, built along the same route to accommodate the expanding automobile traffic of the early twentieth century.
• I-70 -- the first Interstate Highway commissioned to transect the nation.
A bit further west of that bridge on U.S. 40 is the Zane Grey National Road Museum, where panoramic scenes with miniature people and animals tell the story of how this first federally funded highway in the Northwest Territory united the cities of the east with the wilderness territory beyond the Appalachian Mountains and helped to forge a nation.
Miniature scenes depict those early trailblazers felling the timbers and laying a corduroy road that would later be traveled by farmers and traders moving their stock to eastern markets and also by pioneers and adventurers moving westward toward a new life. Another wing of the museum displays the wagons, bicycles, horseless carriages, and early automobiles that carried these travelers toward their dreams.
Today, one can make the journey from Wheeling, West Virginia, on the Ohio River to St. Louis, Missouri, on the Mississippi River with one full day's journey on I-70, or just a couple of hours by airplane. We seldom consider the long weeks and hazardous conditions faced by those early pioneers as they opened up the wilderness. With the threats of foul weather, wild animals, isolation, and occasional bandits and hostile natives, it was not a journey for the faint-hearted. Indeed, few would have dared the challenges were it not for the hopes and promises that waited on either end -- the prosperity of the city markets for those traveling eastward on the trail, and the open skies, cheap land, and new opportunities for those going westward.
From the time God blessed humanity to "go forth, be fruitful, and multiply" men and women have sought out new territory in which to live out our human hopes and dreams. We have climbed mountains, crossed rivers, traversed deserts, sailed oceans, and trekked through the heavens. We have fought weather, wild animals, and hostile enemies, and we have buried comrades along the path. Many have turned back to safer havens and countless others preferred to never venture forth at all.
Not all our human journeys are measured in miles; not all "promised lands" can be plotted out with map or compass; and not all obstacles blocking our progress have physical dimensions. Yet, whatever the journey or the hardships, knowing one's ultimate destination becomes essential to completing the journey. For that pioneering farmer in the "wilderness" beyond the Ohio River the hazards of the National Road were well worth the risk, and the tolls to be paid along the way were worth the cost because of the higher financial rewards to be gained in the urban markets. For the European immigrants coming westward during that same time, the hardships of the ocean crossing and the indentured-servitude that paid the cost of passage were made bearable by the hope of a new life and economic freedom in the untamed lands of the west. Though it's tempting to stay in the comfort of the inn along the road (and many, in fact, did stay and build their futures beside the trail), it is the hope and promise of the final destination that keeps the pilgrim focused on the journey. That hope and promise maintains the momentum, helps overcome discouraging circumstances, and keeps the traveler from getting sidetracked.
The trouble with many pilgrims of our present day is that we've lost sight of our ultimate destination. For far too many, the goal of life's journey is to disembark in the land of "retirement" and there enjoy a new home with a fancy car, and to pluck the harvest of a healthy pension plan. For others, fame and fortune signal "arrival" in the promised land. Some can only envision their fulfillment in a walk down the aisle with their perfect mate or through the achievements of their children. Some become so beleaguered in the daily battle for food, shelter, and human justice that any hope for a better world fades in the mists of despair and cynicism.
Throughout life's journey it is the vision of our destination that determines our course and direction, and either prods us to keep moving onward or stops us in our tracks. If we can imagine nothing better than the temporary comforts of the inn, we will build our future there. If we fear the uncertainties and dangers lurking beyond the horizon, we will lodge amidst the safe and familiar. But, if we believe the tales of riches from witnesses who have visited those far-off places, we will not be content to live only halfway there. We will journey onward until we find that place, no matter what.
When John, the elder, penned his letter to the churches of Asia Minor, his fellow travelers were staring at rough and hostile terrain just ahead. Under siege by local persecutions and empirical decrees, many were caught between divine allegiance and civic loyalties. The pagan culture of Rome embraced many gods, the emperor included, and viewed the Christian profession, "Jesus is Lord," as unpatriotic, even treasonous. They eventually saw the church as a threat to "homeland security" and began official measures to discourage its growth and practice. John, himself, was exiled on account of his faith to Patmos, a rather inhospitable island in the Aegean Sea. Many believers to whom he writes had experienced the loss of their jobs and property, some had been forced to sacrifice family relationships along with the economic security that went with them. Some had been beaten and others killed. Nearly three generations after Easter, Jesus had yet to return to put the world in proper order.
The trail ahead for Christian living did not look promising. Some had chosen to settle in the comfort and convenience of cultural accommodations and co-opted loyalties; others had simply turned tail and headed back to their old lives. Those who chose to travel onward were burying comrades along the trail. To keep his fellow pilgrims focused and moving toward holy terrain, John the Elder, needed to remind them of their ultimate destination. So he told them a traveler's tale of his own experience in the realm of heaven.
"I saw a new heaven, and a new earth," he says, "for the first heaven and earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God ..." (Revelation 21:1-2a).
Centuries after John's vision, explorers of the New World prompted a migration across the hostile Atlantic to the Americas with accounts of material riches and mysterious people in uncharted lands. Those who followed in search of their own wealth and political freedom often cut a wide swath of violence and destruction in their attempts to build the world of their dreams. But in the Revelation to John it is not material rewards but the glory of God's presence that awaits those "conquistadors" who persevere in faithful obedience. The abiding place of God's dominion is not built by human hands or ordained by human decree, nor won through human conflict; rather the holy city comes to us, a gift of divine grace, coming from heaven rather than arising from earth.
John does not give details about just how he got there to see that new heaven, for even that transport was divine gift, but he does bear witness to what was seen. It is a vision we need to grasp -- a traveler's tale we need to hear and understand. This world is not our ultimate destination.
Like the believers of John's day, faithful travelers on today's Christian journey even yet find themselves to be "outsiders" in modern culture. The world around us is increasingly shoving God to the periphery. Fewer and fewer people know the Bible or are interested in its teaching. It's okay to be religious we are told, but don't share your faith. It's nice to go to church, but don't let it interfere with the work schedule or the youth soccer league games. Speaking out on biblical values can be tolerated so long as we remain "politically correct" and don't "offend."
Historically, God's people have always journeyed with the tension of living in the world but not of it. At times we are able to live peaceably in our neighborhoods, to contribute to the welfare of the community, and to honor both God and country. Sometimes we cannot. Always we must keep in mind the true citizenship professed at our baptism -- our citizenship in God's domain.
In the words of the old spiritual,
I'm just a poor, wayfaring stranger,
traveling through this world of woe,
But there's no sickness, toil, or danger
In that bright land to which I go.
If we believe that the material possessions and comforts and success and approval of this world are the best we can achieve, we will invest our life's energy here, and never know our ultimate home. It is a poor investment, says John, because this world, and all that is in it, is temporary. It is polluted by human sin and rebellion and it is rotting away. Were that the final chapter in the human story, it would be a tragic story indeed.
But in its place, John assures us, there is a new creation, waiting to be spoken into existence by the Creator who brought life and order to the present heaven and earth. Human sin cannot thwart the plan of the Creator to make all things new any more than human cruelty and power could keep Jesus in the tomb. God will once again "tent" or "tabernacle" with human beings, and human beings will once again commune with God face-to-face with nothing to keep us apart: no tears, no mourning, no crying, no death.
When we are confident in the hope of "that bright land to which I go" we will not be deterred by the distractions along the way -- not by the temptations of safe and comfortable lodging on the side of the road, nor by the fears of rough terrain or hostile forces that stand in the way.
But in the meantime, we have to keep moving. We have to guard against losing our way, and we must daily commune with God and fellow pilgrims in order to sustain our strength for the journey. Whether newly baptized or going on to perfection, it is our job to encourage, admonish, and sometimes even carry our fellow travelers toward our destination. Staying immersed in scripture and connected to each other we are challenged to remind one another, joyfully and frequently, of our ultimate destination. This world is not our home, but we've "got a mansion, just over the hilltop."
Were we left alone to find our way to that mansion, the perils might indeed overwhelm us. But just like that old National Road, another has traced out the path, and generations of others have gone on before us, clearing the way and laying a foundation. Like the trails blazed by those early conquistadors in the Americas, the path to the New World is marked with blood -- but not the blood of helpless victims, or hostile enemies, it is the blood of Christ offered out of his love for us. Jesus, the "pioneer and perfector of our faith" laid the clear path when he came to dwell among us and to confront the wilderness of the human condition. With his life's blood he marked the trail to the dwelling place of God -- the path of righteousness, of love, and of radical obedience to the call of the Spirit.
With each year's celebration of All Saints, we recognize with gratitude the pilgrims of faith who have preceded us, and who by their own struggles and victories have made the path a bit smoother, a bit straighter, and a bit easier to follow. We name their names, recall their faces, and tell the best parts of their stories. Let's pause for a moment to examine our own journey, to make the necessary course corrections so we can faithfully follow. Then let's strive to leave our own markers of sacrificial giving and righteous living to point the trail toward the generation that will follow us.
With each day's travel in faith we strive to draw closer to Christ and to catch a glimpse of "the holy city seen by John." If we will but pause to listen we can hear those saints singing praises to God and calling out encouragement to those of us still on the trail. To quote the hymn, "Beams Of Heaven As I Go," by Charles Albert Tindley:
Beams of Heaven as I go through this wilderness below,
guide my feet in peaceful ways, turn my midnights into days.
When in the darkness I would grope, faith always sees a star of hope
and soon from all life's grief and danger, I shall be free someday.
I do not know how long 'twill be, not what the future holds for me.
But this I know -- if Jesus leads me, I shall get home some day.
• The original trail blazed by Ebenezer Zane, also known as "Zane's Trace."
• The brick roadbed of the old "National Road" that followed.
• The train tracks of the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad, which nearly made that early highway obsolete.
• U.S. Route 40, built along the same route to accommodate the expanding automobile traffic of the early twentieth century.
• I-70 -- the first Interstate Highway commissioned to transect the nation.
A bit further west of that bridge on U.S. 40 is the Zane Grey National Road Museum, where panoramic scenes with miniature people and animals tell the story of how this first federally funded highway in the Northwest Territory united the cities of the east with the wilderness territory beyond the Appalachian Mountains and helped to forge a nation.
Miniature scenes depict those early trailblazers felling the timbers and laying a corduroy road that would later be traveled by farmers and traders moving their stock to eastern markets and also by pioneers and adventurers moving westward toward a new life. Another wing of the museum displays the wagons, bicycles, horseless carriages, and early automobiles that carried these travelers toward their dreams.
Today, one can make the journey from Wheeling, West Virginia, on the Ohio River to St. Louis, Missouri, on the Mississippi River with one full day's journey on I-70, or just a couple of hours by airplane. We seldom consider the long weeks and hazardous conditions faced by those early pioneers as they opened up the wilderness. With the threats of foul weather, wild animals, isolation, and occasional bandits and hostile natives, it was not a journey for the faint-hearted. Indeed, few would have dared the challenges were it not for the hopes and promises that waited on either end -- the prosperity of the city markets for those traveling eastward on the trail, and the open skies, cheap land, and new opportunities for those going westward.
From the time God blessed humanity to "go forth, be fruitful, and multiply" men and women have sought out new territory in which to live out our human hopes and dreams. We have climbed mountains, crossed rivers, traversed deserts, sailed oceans, and trekked through the heavens. We have fought weather, wild animals, and hostile enemies, and we have buried comrades along the path. Many have turned back to safer havens and countless others preferred to never venture forth at all.
Not all our human journeys are measured in miles; not all "promised lands" can be plotted out with map or compass; and not all obstacles blocking our progress have physical dimensions. Yet, whatever the journey or the hardships, knowing one's ultimate destination becomes essential to completing the journey. For that pioneering farmer in the "wilderness" beyond the Ohio River the hazards of the National Road were well worth the risk, and the tolls to be paid along the way were worth the cost because of the higher financial rewards to be gained in the urban markets. For the European immigrants coming westward during that same time, the hardships of the ocean crossing and the indentured-servitude that paid the cost of passage were made bearable by the hope of a new life and economic freedom in the untamed lands of the west. Though it's tempting to stay in the comfort of the inn along the road (and many, in fact, did stay and build their futures beside the trail), it is the hope and promise of the final destination that keeps the pilgrim focused on the journey. That hope and promise maintains the momentum, helps overcome discouraging circumstances, and keeps the traveler from getting sidetracked.
The trouble with many pilgrims of our present day is that we've lost sight of our ultimate destination. For far too many, the goal of life's journey is to disembark in the land of "retirement" and there enjoy a new home with a fancy car, and to pluck the harvest of a healthy pension plan. For others, fame and fortune signal "arrival" in the promised land. Some can only envision their fulfillment in a walk down the aisle with their perfect mate or through the achievements of their children. Some become so beleaguered in the daily battle for food, shelter, and human justice that any hope for a better world fades in the mists of despair and cynicism.
Throughout life's journey it is the vision of our destination that determines our course and direction, and either prods us to keep moving onward or stops us in our tracks. If we can imagine nothing better than the temporary comforts of the inn, we will build our future there. If we fear the uncertainties and dangers lurking beyond the horizon, we will lodge amidst the safe and familiar. But, if we believe the tales of riches from witnesses who have visited those far-off places, we will not be content to live only halfway there. We will journey onward until we find that place, no matter what.
When John, the elder, penned his letter to the churches of Asia Minor, his fellow travelers were staring at rough and hostile terrain just ahead. Under siege by local persecutions and empirical decrees, many were caught between divine allegiance and civic loyalties. The pagan culture of Rome embraced many gods, the emperor included, and viewed the Christian profession, "Jesus is Lord," as unpatriotic, even treasonous. They eventually saw the church as a threat to "homeland security" and began official measures to discourage its growth and practice. John, himself, was exiled on account of his faith to Patmos, a rather inhospitable island in the Aegean Sea. Many believers to whom he writes had experienced the loss of their jobs and property, some had been forced to sacrifice family relationships along with the economic security that went with them. Some had been beaten and others killed. Nearly three generations after Easter, Jesus had yet to return to put the world in proper order.
The trail ahead for Christian living did not look promising. Some had chosen to settle in the comfort and convenience of cultural accommodations and co-opted loyalties; others had simply turned tail and headed back to their old lives. Those who chose to travel onward were burying comrades along the trail. To keep his fellow pilgrims focused and moving toward holy terrain, John the Elder, needed to remind them of their ultimate destination. So he told them a traveler's tale of his own experience in the realm of heaven.
"I saw a new heaven, and a new earth," he says, "for the first heaven and earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God ..." (Revelation 21:1-2a).
Centuries after John's vision, explorers of the New World prompted a migration across the hostile Atlantic to the Americas with accounts of material riches and mysterious people in uncharted lands. Those who followed in search of their own wealth and political freedom often cut a wide swath of violence and destruction in their attempts to build the world of their dreams. But in the Revelation to John it is not material rewards but the glory of God's presence that awaits those "conquistadors" who persevere in faithful obedience. The abiding place of God's dominion is not built by human hands or ordained by human decree, nor won through human conflict; rather the holy city comes to us, a gift of divine grace, coming from heaven rather than arising from earth.
John does not give details about just how he got there to see that new heaven, for even that transport was divine gift, but he does bear witness to what was seen. It is a vision we need to grasp -- a traveler's tale we need to hear and understand. This world is not our ultimate destination.
Like the believers of John's day, faithful travelers on today's Christian journey even yet find themselves to be "outsiders" in modern culture. The world around us is increasingly shoving God to the periphery. Fewer and fewer people know the Bible or are interested in its teaching. It's okay to be religious we are told, but don't share your faith. It's nice to go to church, but don't let it interfere with the work schedule or the youth soccer league games. Speaking out on biblical values can be tolerated so long as we remain "politically correct" and don't "offend."
Historically, God's people have always journeyed with the tension of living in the world but not of it. At times we are able to live peaceably in our neighborhoods, to contribute to the welfare of the community, and to honor both God and country. Sometimes we cannot. Always we must keep in mind the true citizenship professed at our baptism -- our citizenship in God's domain.
In the words of the old spiritual,
I'm just a poor, wayfaring stranger,
traveling through this world of woe,
But there's no sickness, toil, or danger
In that bright land to which I go.
If we believe that the material possessions and comforts and success and approval of this world are the best we can achieve, we will invest our life's energy here, and never know our ultimate home. It is a poor investment, says John, because this world, and all that is in it, is temporary. It is polluted by human sin and rebellion and it is rotting away. Were that the final chapter in the human story, it would be a tragic story indeed.
But in its place, John assures us, there is a new creation, waiting to be spoken into existence by the Creator who brought life and order to the present heaven and earth. Human sin cannot thwart the plan of the Creator to make all things new any more than human cruelty and power could keep Jesus in the tomb. God will once again "tent" or "tabernacle" with human beings, and human beings will once again commune with God face-to-face with nothing to keep us apart: no tears, no mourning, no crying, no death.
When we are confident in the hope of "that bright land to which I go" we will not be deterred by the distractions along the way -- not by the temptations of safe and comfortable lodging on the side of the road, nor by the fears of rough terrain or hostile forces that stand in the way.
But in the meantime, we have to keep moving. We have to guard against losing our way, and we must daily commune with God and fellow pilgrims in order to sustain our strength for the journey. Whether newly baptized or going on to perfection, it is our job to encourage, admonish, and sometimes even carry our fellow travelers toward our destination. Staying immersed in scripture and connected to each other we are challenged to remind one another, joyfully and frequently, of our ultimate destination. This world is not our home, but we've "got a mansion, just over the hilltop."
Were we left alone to find our way to that mansion, the perils might indeed overwhelm us. But just like that old National Road, another has traced out the path, and generations of others have gone on before us, clearing the way and laying a foundation. Like the trails blazed by those early conquistadors in the Americas, the path to the New World is marked with blood -- but not the blood of helpless victims, or hostile enemies, it is the blood of Christ offered out of his love for us. Jesus, the "pioneer and perfector of our faith" laid the clear path when he came to dwell among us and to confront the wilderness of the human condition. With his life's blood he marked the trail to the dwelling place of God -- the path of righteousness, of love, and of radical obedience to the call of the Spirit.
With each year's celebration of All Saints, we recognize with gratitude the pilgrims of faith who have preceded us, and who by their own struggles and victories have made the path a bit smoother, a bit straighter, and a bit easier to follow. We name their names, recall their faces, and tell the best parts of their stories. Let's pause for a moment to examine our own journey, to make the necessary course corrections so we can faithfully follow. Then let's strive to leave our own markers of sacrificial giving and righteous living to point the trail toward the generation that will follow us.
With each day's travel in faith we strive to draw closer to Christ and to catch a glimpse of "the holy city seen by John." If we will but pause to listen we can hear those saints singing praises to God and calling out encouragement to those of us still on the trail. To quote the hymn, "Beams Of Heaven As I Go," by Charles Albert Tindley:
Beams of Heaven as I go through this wilderness below,
guide my feet in peaceful ways, turn my midnights into days.
When in the darkness I would grope, faith always sees a star of hope
and soon from all life's grief and danger, I shall be free someday.
I do not know how long 'twill be, not what the future holds for me.
But this I know -- if Jesus leads me, I shall get home some day.
