Grace to you and peace from our loving God, and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

Properly understood, the kind of literature in this part of Luke, and that we've been talking about for the past couple of weeks—apocalyptic, is written primarily to give hope and assurance to people in the midst of suffering. Those who live in extremely troublesome times need the truth of God's care and love to be expressed in very forceful and dramatic ways. Apocalyptic like this passage from Luke with its talk of chaotic celestial and terrestrial signs of God's powerful deliverance, is intended to stir even the most pessimistic hearts to hope.

And hence, the title of the sermon this morning, which is borrowed from the movie made in 1998. In that movie, "Hope Floats," Sandra Bullock and her family go to see her father in the Alzheimer's unit, and we're treated to the lines from which the movie takes its name: "Beginnings are scary. Endings are usually sad, but it's what's in the middle that counts. So, when you find yourself at the beginning, just give hope a chance to float up. And it will."

As I tend to remind you each year, Advent is a beginning-the start of the new liturgical year, marking this morning the shift from a year of focus on the gospel of Mark to this new year looking at Luke. Not only is this a beginning for our readings and proclamation; we also have before us a message from Luke about beginnings. And, indeed, beginnings can be scary:

There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see 'the Son of Man coming in a cloud' with power and great glory. Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near."

And endings, as the movie reminded us, can be difficult and sad:

Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighted down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life, and that day catch you unexpectedly, like a trap. For it will come upon all who live on the face of the whole earth.

"But it's what's in the middle that counts. So, when you find yourself at the beginning, just give hope a chance to float up. And it will."

Be alert at all times, praying that you may have the strength to escape all these things that will take place, and to stand before the Son of Man."

It is the message of Advent. If we cease being anxious about what is coming or grieving over what has been, if we keep ourselves alert to what God is doing in and with us now and at all times, God will be faithful. Our salvation will be accomplished. Christ will come. God's son will be born to bring us back to the God of love and hope from whom our hearts and lives have wandered too often and too far. Hope will float up.

Preparing for a bible study, I ran into a profound insight about this. Faith and hope are, it is important to recognize, more a matter of "being got" than "getting it"—more about God's faithfulness than our work. American philosopher of religion H. Richard Niebuhr put it this way: "We sought a good to love and were found by a good that loved us." ("The Meaning of Revelation", Macmillan, 1941, 138) The words of the hymn "Amazing Grace" put this truth to music: "I once was lost, but now am found...." Not, "I once was lost, and then found God myself," but "I was lost and then found." Hope floats; it rises from the abundant grace of God. We need not be scared, sad, or anxious.

During a British conference on comparative religions, experts from around the world debated what, if any, belief was unique to the Christian faith. They began eliminating possibilities. Incarnation? Other religions had different versions of gods appearing in human form. Resurrection? Again, other religions had accounts of return from death.

The debate went on for some time until C.S. Lewis wandered into the room. "What's the rumpus about?" he asked, and heard in reply that his colleagues were discussing Christianity's unique contribution among world religions. Lewis responded, "Oh, that's easy. It's grace."

After some discussion, the conferees had to agree. The notion of God's love coming to us free of charge, no strings attached, seems to go against every instinct of humanity. The Buddhist eight-fold path, the Hindu doctrine of karma, the Jewish covenant, and the Muslim code of law—each of these offers a way to earn approval. It may indeed be that only Christianity dares to make God's love completely a gift and unconditional.

Aware of our inherent resistance to grace, Jesus talked about it often. He described a world suffused with God's grace: where the sun shines on people good and bad; where birds gather seeds gratis, neither plowing nor harvesting to earn them; where untended wildflowers burst into bloom on the rocky hillsides. Like a visitor from a foreign country who notices what the natives overlook, Jesus saw grace everywhere. (Philip Yancey, "What's So Amazing About Grace?", Zondervan, 1997, 45)

Hope comes to us, like grace, in ways that surprise, that infuse our souls with warmth, that rise up seemingly out of nowhere. "Just give hope a chance to float up. And it will."

Let me pull out the parable from the reading this morning, for it is chiefly through parables that Christ taught about grace and hope; and it leads in a slightly different direction:

Then he told them a parable: Look at the fig tree and all the trees; as soon as they sprout leaves you can see for yourselves and know that summer is already near. So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near. Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all things have taken place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.

Inherent in the season of Advent is the consideration of time and its significance. We recognize that summer is near when the trees sprout leaves and the crocuses bloom. We might see the kingdom of God as near when we see certain things taking place. We will soon read together that for Mary "the time came for her to deliver her child" (Luke 2:6).

We all feel the press of time as Christmas approaches. We sometimes yearn to be free of the responsibilities and burdens of time's relentless domination, requiring that we act, decide, and stay ahead of what's coming.

Still, as Christians we know that even if we're late in deciding things, there is always grace. The parable in Matthew of a man who hires workers gives us confidence. He goes out at dawn and hires workers for his vineyard. Later in the day he hires more; and then, an hour or so before quitting time, he recruits still more. At the end of the day, they all receive the same wage.

We love that parable, because it suggests that there's still time. So what if we haven't gotten our lives together yet? We may still be among those 11^th-hour workers. But of course, such logic ignores the greatness of the gift of grace that is offered.

Jesus says that when you see the fig tree blossom, you know what time it is. As a Jew, he likely viewed history not as a never-ending circle but as a straight line with a beginning and an end. There is urgency in his invitation.

It is a difficult message. Even in Luke's day, the church had been waiting for 75 or 80 years for the return of Christ. It's difficult to maintain a sense of crisis for that long. And the once-expectant church relaxed, settling down into the routines of everyday life.

But to live as if there will always be a tomorrow is to live like a fool. I'm not all that taken with the apocalyptic views that abound these days. "The Late, Great Planet Earth" was among the best-selling religious books of all time, even though a rather shoddy piece of rehashed millennialism. Fifty million people paid good money to read Hal Lindsey's view of the end. It is not only people like Lindsey or Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins who think about the end. With the ecological crisis and global climate change, the threat of nuclear war, international economic crisis, and even ancient Mayan predictions of a momentous event in 2012, everyone seems to think in apocalyptic terms.

Jesus says that for us all there will be a day when there is no tomorrow. The invitation comes, the door opens, the word is spoken, and it is time.

William Willamon writes: When I was serving a little church in rural Georgia, one of my members' relatives died, and my wife and I went to the funeral as a show of support for the family. It was held in a small, hot, crowded, independent Baptist country church. They wheeled the coffin in and the preacher began to preach. He shouted, fumed, flailed his arms.

"It's too late for Joe," he screamed. "He might have wanted to do this or that in life, but it's too late for him now. He's dead. It's all over for him. He might have wanted to straighten his life out, but he can't now. It's over."

What a comfort this must be to the family, I thought. "But it ain't too late for you! People drop dead every day. So why wait? Now is the day for decision. Now is the time to make your life count for something. Give your life to Jesus!"

It was the worst thing I had ever heard. "Can you imagine a preacher doing that kind of thing to a grieving family?" I asked my wife on the way home. "I've never heard anything so manipulative, cheap and inappropriate. I would never preach a sermon like that."

She agreed with me that it was tacky, manipulative, callous. "Of course," she added, "the worst part of all is that it was true." ("Christian Century", December 3, 1986, 1085)

In Advent, we remember that hope is about to float up out of the chaos of the world and into our lives. May we spend this season also in contemplation of just how seriously we take this imminent and priceless gift of God. Amen.

May the peace of God, which passes all understanding, keep our hearts and minds through faith in Christ Jesus our Lord unto eternal life. Amen.