A Glimpse of What Is To Come
Miller Chapel on the campus of Princeton Theological Seminary.
On Friday, September 26, 2014 I had the honor of leading the Princeton Theological Seminary community in worship and communion. Each senior student is invited to plan and lead one of our daily worship services. From the liturgy to the music to the message, you are given total freedom to plan worship as you want. It is an amazing opportunity, but also an amazing responsibility!
Below you will find a video of the entire service (32min), additionally you can listen to the audio of just the scripture and sermon on the player located just below the video. Below the audio you will find the transcript of my message.
“ By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to set out for a place that he was to receive as an inheritance; and he set out, not knowing where he was going. By faith he stayed for a time in the land he had been promised, as in a foreign land, living in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise. For he looked forward to the city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God. By faith he received power of procreation, even though he was too old—and Sarah herself was barren—because he considered him faithful who had promised. Therefore from one person, and this one as good as dead, descendants were born, “as many as the stars of heaven and as the innumerable grains of sand by the seashore.”
All of these died in faith without having received the promises, but from a distance they saw and greeted them. They confessed that they were strangers and foreigners on the earth, for people who speak in this way make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they had been thinking of the land that they had left behind, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God; indeed, he has prepared a city for them. ”
I had some strange habits as a kid. From reading every road sign out loud on long car trips to eating around the chocolate chips in my ice cream so I could save them for last, most of these habits were fairly short lived in the big picture of my life. One habit, however, persisted for longer than I care to admit. Every so often, usually after a not so good day at school, I would go into my room, close the door, and walk over to my closet. Pushing aside the sweatshirts and jackets, I would stretch out my hand to the back of the closet until I could touch the wall. Every time, when I ran my fingers over the old wood paneling, I felt the same, familiar sense of disappointment. So, I would push the clothes back into place and go back to life as normal.
When I was a kid, my mom would read to me every night before I went to bed. From Dr. Seuss to A Wrinkle in Time, we would journey together to strange and wonderful worlds. Of all the books that my mom read to me, the one that dove deepest into my soul was The Chronicles of Narnia. There were lots of reasons why these stories occupied such a prominent place in my childhood, but the most world-altering aspect of Narnia for me was the thought that one day something as ordinary as a wardrobe or a painting, or the back wall of my closet, might become doorway to allow me to leave this place behind, if only for a little while, to walk alongside the clear running rivers of a far-off country. Through ink and paper, I caught a glimpse of something that etched itself on my soul.
I think we all have moments that etch themselves on our souls. Maybe you, like Abraham, have heard the call and promise of God, and that call has become so irresistible that you have set out, even though you don’t know the way. Maybe your journey right now is taking you through a strange and foreign land, and it is only the promise of a homeland that keeps you going one more day. Maybe you, like me, have caught a glimpse of something holy - in the sunshine through the leaves, in the sparkle of an eye, in the fading memory of a dream - a glimpse that when you try to explain it to someone, when you try to recapture it and hold it tight, it slips away. Maybe you have sat in the hospital room or the pastor’s study or the coffee shop with a friend or parishioner or student as their world implodes - I know the only reason I can stand in that moment, or in this one, is that I have seen a glimpse of the promise from afar.
Of course, that isn’t what I want. It isn’t what I long for. I long for exactly what my younger self never found - I yearn for more than just a glimpse of God’s promises. I want to reach into my closet, push aside the shirts and jackets and find not drywall, but a new city. A city whose architect and builder is God. A city with solid foundations. A heavenly city where we no longer glimpse God in fleeting moments, but where we can linger in the presence of the holy.
However, that isn’t how God works. No matter how many times we stretch out our hands to the back of the closet, we are never going to find a passageway that will take us away from this broken and messy world. At least, not in the sense that I hoped for as a child. We, like Abraham and Sarah, are called to live in this land. This land that is not our home. For we, like those who have gone before us, are seeking a homeland. But even here, in this place where we live as strangers and wanderers, we are given glimpses of what is to come.
For me, when we come to the table, that is exactly what we are doing, getting a glimpse of what is to come. Out of something so ordinary, just some wood and glass, cloth and dye, bread and wine - out of these ordinary things comes a place where we can, if for only a moment, leave our world behind and experience the heavenly banquet in the kingdom of God. It is a place we cannot linger, no matter how much we may long to do so. We come from our lives, from our world and all its joys and sorrows, we come for a taste and a glimpse and another mark on our souls to remind us of our home.
Thanks be to God.