 By The Rev. Ted Thornton
The force fueling what we know as rapture theology was persecution, real and imagined. Paul’s little church in Thessalonika in northern Macedonia in 51 AD was undergoing real persecution by its religious opponents. Paul wrote his first letter in an attempt to counsel perseverance and hope. The key text is 4:17 (NIV). There we read, “After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever.” This text gained the nickname “rapture text” because St. Jerome in his Latin translation of the Bible used the Latin verb rapio - meaning to snatch away - to translate Paul’s original Greek. More about this in a minute. But, here’s the quiding question for today: Is rapture the right way to think about leaving this world? Well, I was once a member of a small group invited to be raptured up to heaven. Had I accepted, I might not be here with you today to tell the story. Nearly fifty years ago, I was a student in a seminar at Harvard Divinity School with theologian Harvey Cox titled “Contemporary Theological Movements.” Harvey is now ninety-five years young. He’s the most influential theologian of our times. He published his first best seller, The Secular City, in 1965, and he’s still at it: in 2022, at the age of 93, he published his latest title - A New Heaven. One day, as I and my dozen or so classmates entered Harvey’s seminar room, we noticed a pair of strangers already sitting at the conference table. They’d been invited by one of our classmates who introduced them as representatives of the “UFO religion.” UFO Religion” is an umbrella nickname that covers many groups. Their starting point is the belief that messengers from heaven like themselves will come down to rescue the faithful from this evil world and “rapture” them, or “snatch them up” to heaven, as Paul puts it. Our visitors claimed they were no longer living mortal, physical lives. They’d been raptured up to heaven, and then sent back down to earth to rapture new converts into the hereafter. After about half an hour, Harvey Cox, who’d remained silent up to that point, had heard enough. He slammed his Bible down on the conference table and said, “Okay, time to show me where in the Bible the word ‘rapture’ appears. I dare you to find it.” Well, they couldn’t do it because the word rapture cannot be found anywhere in the Bible. Harvey then rose to his feet and stamped out saying he was heading home to seek some “rapture” of his own (he lived just down the street from the “Div” School). And so, our professor deserted us. We continued the discussion with these two guys on our own, and - no - we did not accept their invitation to join the ranks of the raptured. Harvey Cox was right: the English noun “rapture” cannot be found anywhere in the Bible. The closest you can come to it is in St. Jerome’s translation of the Bible from Greek to Latin, known as the “Vulgate Bible” (Vulgate meaning “common tongue”), which he completed in the late fourth century A.D. Jerome translated First Thessalonians 4:17 using a form of the Latin verb rapio which means "to snatch up"). Our violent English word “rape” comes from this word. Jerome used a form of this word altogether twenty times in his Latin translation. Before we go any further let’s clarify some terms. Rapture theology is a way some Christians understand eschatology. Eschatology comes from a Greek word meaning “last things,” and refers to descriptions of what will happen when the world comes to its end, or its “eschaton.” The literary form by which descriptions of the eschaton are transmitted is called “apocalyptic,” coming from a Greek word that means “revealing.” That’s how the final book of the Bible, bearing the Greek title, Apocalypse of John, came to be called in general English usage The Book of Revelation. The actual event at which the end occurs is often called informally “the apocalypse,” but in formal theology (“God-talk”) it’s called the eschaton. Finally, another word associated with eschatological events is Armageddon, the place where some believe a final cosmic battle will begin between the forces of good and the forces of evil. This word appears only once in the Bible, yet it’s one of the most familiar words in Christian discussions of the eschaton. The single occurrence is in Revelation 16, verse 16 (“And he gathered them together into a place called in the Hebrew tongue Armageddon.”). Now, Armageddon was not just the stuff of eschatological nightmares; it was a real geographical place in ancient Israel (so by the way was hell, but that’s a story for another day). Armageddon was a city in ancient northern Israel named Megiddo, in Hebrew, Har Megiddo: “Megiddo Hill.” You can visit its archaeological remains. At its height during the reign of Solomon in the 900s B.C.E., Megiddo lay astride one of the busiest trade routes between Egypt and regions to the northeast, and as such was the scene of many battles as people competed with one another. It’s this history that led to the myth that at the eschaton, the final great battle between the forces of good and evil will occur there. Relatively speaking, no one paid much attention to biblical passages predicting the rapture until the nineteenth century in some parts of Europe and our own United States. Then, thanks to ministers like John Nelson Darby and Cyrus Scofield there was a surge of interest in Christian eschatological thinking, including rapture theology: the conviction that Christ will suddenly snatch “his bride,” the Church, and carry her off to heaven before the eschaton begins. Darby and Scofield were what we in the trade call “premillennial dispensationalists”: that’s a mouthful for people who believe Christ will return to the world at a particular place and time to prepare it for its final thousand years before it ends. The problem with this idea is that there isn’t a shred of support for it in scripture. The passage most often cited to tell us how it will really happen is Matthew 24, verse 36, where Jesus says, “But about that day or hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father (NIV).” The Trinitarian Congregational Church in Northfield, where I served as a Supply minister for three months during Covid, called Cyrus Scofield as its pastor in 1895. Unfortunately, he is remembered as a disagreeable bully who, apparently not busy enough with pastoring, strove to control what was being taught in D. L. Moody’s Northfield school just up the street. Those who knew John Nelson Darby remember him likewise as an ill-tempered, controlling, and scornful curmudgeon. In Massachusetts during this period, William Miller persuaded tens of thousands of his followers that the world would end on October 22,1844. Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882) was asked if he was prepared. He replied, “The end of the world does not affect me; I can get along without it.” A new surge of interest in the rapture and in eschatology began in the early 1980s, even reaching the White House. President Reagan once told a pro-Israeli lobbyist in 1983, 'You know, I turn back to your ancient prophets in the Old Testament and the signs foretelling Armageddon, and I find myself wondering if we're the generation that's going to see that come about.” Reagan’s interest in Armageddon prompted one writer to investigate the activities of Pantex, one of the nation’s nuclear bomb assembly and storage sites, located in Amarillo, Texas. Amarillo plays host to a number of evangelical sects who believe fervently in Armageddon, and some of them believe that Armageddon and the rapture of the faithful at the eschaton will come to pass by way of a nuclear holocaust. Such are the beliefs of some who divide the world between absolute good and absolute evil, between the followers of the Lord and the followers of Satan. For them, nuclear war is the Armageddon that the Book of Revelation predicts and Rapture is the vehicle by which they will be saved while all others are destroyed and damned eternally. Rapture theology reached its height in popularity with Hal Lindsey’s book, The Late Great Planet Earth, which was published in 1970, and which the New York Times called the best selling non-fiction book of the decade. A few decades later came the “Left Behind” series, sixteen novels authored by Jerry B. Jenkins and Tim LaHaye that began appearing in 1995. So far, sixty million copies of the Left Behind books have been sold worldwide. The thesis of these books is that just before the Second Coming of Christ all genuine Christian believers in Jesus will be raptured: they will go straight to heaven into God’s presence without first passing through death, like the two gentlemen who came to my seminar. Those who don’t believe in Jesus will be “left behind” on earth to suffer and perish at Armageddon. They made a movie based on these books: a kind of Christian “Home Alone” film. In the end, what’s most disturbing about rapture theology and what’s missing is any vision of spiritual community, any vision of shared humanity in which all God's children put their hopes in a peaceful and just coexistence. And, this is the point that so many miss about biblical apocalyptic expressions of the eschaton: they are not predictions of the destruction of this world but allegorical cries of hope for release from tyranny in this world and the restoration of peace and justice in the here and now. The Book of Revelation was written by a man named John, almost certainly not the author of the Gospel, but another John who was sent into exile on the Aegean island of Patmos during the persecutions of the Roman Emperor Domitian at the end of the first century A.D. John’s book is an allegorical cry, not for the eschaton, but for release from the rule of Rome and restoration of the rule of God in what the Book of Revelation calls a “new Jerusalem (3:12 and 21:2).” Likewise, the apocalyptic Book of Daniel in the Hebrew Bible stands as a Jewish protest against the extreme Hellenism of the Greek ruler Antiochus IV, who in 167 BCE profaned the temple in Jerusalem by setting up an altar to Zeus there and sacrificing a pig on it. This event is referred to in Daniel 11:31 as “the abomination that makes desolate,” a phrase repeated by Jesus in his prediction of the destruction of the temple in Mark 13:14 and Matthew 24:15. Jesus thought the temple priesthood had been taken over by men whose principal loyalty was to Rome, not to God. And finally, Paul’s aim in his First Letter to the Thessalonians was to encourage his little church there to persevere in the face of persecution from far more numerous rival religious groups. But, let’s return to our guiding question: is rapture the right way to be thinking about leaving this world? As bad as things are in our world, you and I have not lived as members of a persecuted religious minority. The holy spirit speaks to us in different voices than it did in the first centuries of Christianity. I take that to mean that we should not read some parts of the Bible so literally. The rabbinical approach to the Jewish Torah has long been as follows: read a portion every day, pray about what you read, then behave according to the principle Jews call in Hebrew, chesed: doing “acts of loving kindness.” That’s very different from reading scripture with your hands tied behind your back. All of us want a future. Will it be an inclusive or an exclusive future? Will it be a future where some are damned and “left behind?” Does that vision make any sense to people who say they believe that God is love? Will it be a “meeting in the air,” as the old gospel tune has it, or a meeting here on the ground of God's creation, the good earth, where we can together - all of us - work to establish a healthy, sustainable present and future for all? It’s a choice between fatalism and hope. Which will we choose? Never give up on this beautiful world God created for you and me. Repent of the harm we do to it daily and to one another. Take a lesson from Harvey Cox. Look to the here and now for your rapture. Look for it in a gorgeous sunset. Look for it in beautiful music. Look for it in the faces of your friends and loved ones. Don’t let people like Tim LaHaye and those who are building nuclear weapons in Texas have the final say on rapture. Amen.  By Rev. Heather Blais
As I wrote in my letter to you on Friday, we knew going into this week that our national election would be one of great consequence. No matter who we elected, we would ultimately remain a nation divided. Some of us would be left feeling relieved and grateful. Others of us would be left feeling angered, grieved, and scared about the future of our democracy. Many of our neighbors have been feeling left unseen, unheard, and undervalued; carrying a deep worry about the economy and the direction our country is headed. Other neighbors have shared similar concerns, but as a result of the policies promised by our President-elect, are now deeply worried about international relations; the future of gender equality and reproductive rights; climate change; the safety and rights of the LGBTQI+ community; and of course, the deportation and separation of immigrant, migrant, and refugee families. Let me just say: No matter who each of us voted for this week, no matter how we have been feeling these past few days - I am so glad to see you here today. As the Church, our values are defined by the holy scriptures, particularly the Gospel. These values are often at odds with the values of the world. So we know something about living in the tension of division; the tension that comes from advocating for God’s dream. We know what it means to stand up to earthly rulers - of every political party and persuasion - and do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with our God. Which is why it matters so much that we gather today and every Sunday. Here we give all the joys and sorrows, all the anger and angst of our lives to God. We lay it all on God’s Table, knowing God can handle anything we send their way. In turn we need to receive the strength and courage that the Holy One offers us in the nourishment of worship, scripture, prayer, community, and sacrament. Because as the Church, we have important work to do - and the mission remains the same yesterday, today, and always. Irrelevant of any and all political candidates or parties, the Church’s work is clear. God demands that we stand with those on the margins. We see this most clearly in today’s scripture when we look to the widows. Widows were one of the most vulnerable populations in the ancient world. God’s law required that society ensure their care, yet so often they were neglected. More troubling still, unjust rulers and corrupt leaders maintained public policy and practices that made conditions exponentially worse for the poor. Widows were what we might think of as the poorest of the poor. In our reading from 1 Kings, we enter the story mid-stream. Israel had recently acquired a new leader - King Ahab. Right from the start, Ahab sets about misusing his power and authority. Worst of all, he abandoned his sacred duty to the God of Israel by worshiping and serving the Canaanite God Baal. The scripture says, “Ahab did more to vex the Lord, the God of Israel, than all the kings of Israel who preceded him”(1 Kings 16:33). God sent the prophet Elijah to inform Ahab, that due to his actions, God would bring about a drought that only Elijah’s word could end. Then God sent Elijah into hiding, providing him with food and water, until the water source ran dry. We pick up the story in our reading. God instructs Elijah to go to a foreign land, where a widow and orphan would provide for him. Elijah goes and discovers this widow and orphan have almost nothing. In fact, she was preparing to make a final meal, before what she could only assume would be their death from starvation. Society had all but forgotten this woman. Elijah tells her not to be afraid. He asks her to make a small meal for him, and then for herself and son. If she does so, the God of Israel will ensure her jar of flour and jug of oil should not run out, until God sends rain again. When the widow hears God’s promise of sustenance, she responds faithfully, doing as she has been asked, and God does indeed provide for them. The widow we encounter in Mark’s gospel is living many years later, but is also struggling to survive, and has been impacted by corrupt religious leadership. The text tells us that when the widow entered the temple to make her offering, she put in two lepta.**A lepta is the smallest Greek copper coin and is worth 1/128th of a single day’s pay.** An impossibly small amount. The scene comes moments after Jesus had told his followers to beware of the scribes - religious leaders in the temple - who ‘devour widows houses’. These scribes were financially exploiting vulnerable women, for their own glory. In reality, their role was to help ensure these widows were provided for, according to God’s law. Jesus was not lifting the widow up as a model of sacrificial giving, so that we might ask the poorest of the poor amongst us to give the very last of their resources. Instead Jesus is pointing out a corruption of God’s law, and in a way that would vex our Liberating God. Jesus is asking his disciples, and us, to see how easily it is to misuse power and authority, and the horrific impact it has on those already living on the margins. Those on the margins always are asked to pay the highest price, and that goes against everything the God of Love stands for. These two widows trust in God as their Liberator. In both instances, we see how the actions of Elijah and Jesus are meant to help us grasp the true impact of unjust leaders, rulers, politicians, and systems. These two know intimately that it is the work of God to liberate those being stomped on by the system. Womanist theologian Wil Gafney reflected on the role of the widow and wrote: “...God reveals her presence, power, and providence to whom she will. Often she chooses the most vulnerable, the outcast, and the overlooked to bear witness to her mercy and majesty. In these lessons, widows and their children are the primary concern of God in each lesson…God communicates through Elijah and Jesus that neither nationality nor ethnicity disqualify anyone from concern and caretaking. God’s love is for all peoples of earth and Jesus is the embodiment of that love; the scriptures have borne witness to that love across time.”*** Our psalm continues to tell us about the nature of our Liberating God, and because it is written without context, it can be heard clearly in our own time and place. The psalm tells us not to put all our trust in earthly rulers: “...for there is no help in them. When they breathe their last, they return to the earth, and in that day their thoughts perish” (Psalm 146:2-3). The psalmist reminds us that it is the Holy One alone who is our hope. It is God: “...who made heaven and earth, the seas, and all that is in them; whose promise abides for ever” (Psalm 146:4-5). The psalmist proclaims that it is our Liberating God who: gives justice to those who are oppressed, and food to those who are hungry; sets the prisoners free, and lifts up those who are bowed down; cares for the stranger, and sustains the orphan and widow. The psalmist also warns anyone listening: God will frustrate the hell out of the wicked. More importantly, the Holy One is not only offering liberation to the people of Israel, but rather is talking about everyone: people of every gender, every orientation, every age, every race, every nation. God stands with those on the margins, and so must we. It is the work of the Church to put our trust in our Liberating God, and be agents of change and love as the body of Christ. One of my favorite theologians, Walter Brueggemann wrote this week: “So it is with us! Like the ancient prophets, we are dispatched back to the good work entrusted to us. It is the work of peace-making. It is the work of truth-telling. It is the work of justice-doing. It is good work, but it requires our resolve to stay [at] it, even in the face of the forces to the contrary that are sure to prevail for a season. We are in it for the long run, even as the Holy One is in it for the very long haul, from everlasting to everlasting. We do not ease off because it is hard. We are back at it after the election.”**** In the week ahead, I invite you to double down in your prayer life. Pray for the nation, pray for the Church, and most of all, pray for God’s world. And to help prepare us for the work that lay ahead, I invite you to join me in renewing the promises of our baptism. These promises embody the values of the Church, the values that we live our life by. Let us reaffirm our faith, and promise once again to live faithfully. Amen. Lessons 1 Kings 17:8-16 Psalm 146 Hebrews 9:24-28 Mark 12:38-44 * 1 Kings 16:29-17:16 ** Gafney, Wilda C. A Women’s Lectionary for the Whole Church: Year B, p. 236. *** Gafney, Wilda C. A Women’s Lectionary for the Whole Church: Year W, p. 60. **** Walter Brueggemann, https://churchanew.org/brueggemann/beyond-a-fetal-position  Today we celebrate the Feast of All Saints.
On this day we remember the communion of saints. In the prayerbook, it is described as, “...the whole family of God, the living and the dead, those whom we love and those whom we hurt, bound together in Christ by sacrament, prayer, and praise.” Sometimes we call this communion, ‘a great cloud of witnesses.’ We remember all of the faithful Christians who have gone before us; the holy people we have known during our life of faith. Including members of our faith community who died this past year: Carol Johnson, John Bednarski, Jane Gardner, Ced Bannister, Felicia Finck, and Rick Gwosch - just to name a few. We remember all of the great saints canonized and/or commemorated by the Church, like Mary, James, and Andrew. People who lived exemplary lives of faith, and who will continue to inspire the faithful for generations. We also remember all souls, faithful Christians or not. From the very beginning, God made it clear that each and every person is made in their image and likeness (Gen 1:26 NRSV). In that same spirit, God has a place for everyone at their eternal table, where the great cloud of witnesses feasts on God’s abundant love, mercy, and grace. No matter how long or short our lives may be, how well or poorly we have lived, God has been with us, and does not abandon us, even at the grave. So today we remember. We remember our loved ones and the many ways they inspired, challenged, and changed us. We give thanks for them and honor them. In those relationships that were trying, we continue to seek to forgive them; to learn, be changed, and somehow use those experiences for good. On this day we are asked to remember with our whole bodies. We recollect these saints in our minds and in our hearts through stories. They come alive again in our eyes through photographs, momentos, and icons. When we let ourselves slow down enough to be in touch with the space around us, we can physically feel the thin veil that separates us from those in eternity. This visceral experience connects us to our ancestors in faith, as well as, our familial ancestors. We recognize they are here with us, helping us to live out our life of faith as best we are able. This connection provides sustenance and courage, and helps us to lean more deeply on our Creator, on Christ, and on the Holy Spirit. We need the sustenance and courage of our ancestors now more than ever. As we head into this week’s general election, there is a palpable anxiety that crosses every socioeconomic and political line in our nation, and that ripples out beyond our borders into the rest of the world. Neighbors may not agree on politicians or policies, but we share a sense of uncertainty, angst, and at times, despair. When we look back on our ancestors we see people who lived through incredibly challenging times and demonstrated resilience and perseverance. They embodied a devout and robust faith that continues to inspire long after. No matter what they faced, these faithful continued to see each and every person as a beloved child of God, when it would have been far easier not to. Their faith deepened at times when others would have abandoned faith altogether. In the spirit of drawing on the strength of these courageous saints, I’d like to reflect on two saints that I am particularly thankful for on this All Saints Day. I give thanks for Saint Benedict of Nursia, a devout man of faith who introduced monasticism to the Western Church. Monastics are people who devote their lives to God by committing to a religious order and life in community, typically holding their possessions in common or in trust, and living by certain vows. These vows often include poverty, chastity, and obedience. Saint Benedict lived in Nursia, Italy during the early sixth century. Benedict was deeply troubled by the political instability and the injustices playing out within the remains of the fallen Roman Empire. He withdrew to the hillside where at least one other monk was already living. A community of monastics grew up around him, and eventually he and some of his disciples moved further south and formed a second community of what we would now call Benedictine monks. Near the mid-sixth century Benedict published his Rule of Life. Benedict’s Rule instructed those in the order to break their day into a routine structure which led to roughly four hours of liturgical prayer, five hours of spiritual reading, six hours of work, one hour of eating, and about eight hours of sleep. This text would go on to form the basic guidelines of monastic life, of which many other orders would eventually base their own Rules. More recently, the idea that any of us might live by a personal Rule of Life has taken root, and many find this to be a meaningful spiritual practice. I first encountered the teachings of Saint Benedict when I traveled with a high school boyfriend to visit his uncle, who was a monk at Saint Anselm Abbey and College in Goffstown, New Hampshire. When we arrived on the campus, I felt like I had come home. The air of the grounds felt as sacred as walking into a magnificent cathedral. The brothers' devotion to that physical place, daily prayer, and community life had hallowed the grounds over the previous hundred and twenty years. I would eventually learn that the Benedictine brothers at Saint Anselm took a vow of stability, committing themselves to that place and community for the rest of their lives. They felt called to invite others into their sacred space - their home, and provide higher education to those with the least access to it, the children of millworkers in nearby Manchester. I went home from that visit determined to spend my college years living amidst that community, and a couple of years later I began my time as a student there. The teachings of Saint Benedict infused community life for the brothers, and in turn they infused the teachings and values of Saint Benedict into the wider community. Their values of daily prayer, study, and work shaped us as students, and provided us with the opportunity to approach our own lives in the same way. When I eventually left the safety and comfort of that communal life, I became curious if the Episcopal Church had monastic orders and discovered our own Society of St. John the Evangelist in Cambridge. These brothers are in our backyard, and similarly, invite us into their space for prayer and retreat. Whether I am with them on retreat or here living out my life reading one of their reflections, I experience their devotion to daily prayer, worship, and community life inspiring and healing. Benedict and the faithful brothers and sisters of many religious orders continue to shape and guide, and their devotion models what it looks like to be people of prayer. They give us courage and help to dig into our prayer life, and they prove again and again that prayer shapes and changes us for the better. Their modeling shows us how to keep going, to keep walking in faith, no matter how much uncertainty may lie ahead. The second saint is the one that most influenced my understanding of the Gospel: Gustavo Gutiérrez Merino, a Peruvian Catholic priest and philosopher who died last week. Gutiérrez is considered the grandfather of Liberation Theology, a movement that took root with the publication of his 1971 book, A Theology of Liberation. This theology proclaims that our first responsibility as Christians is to care for those enduring poverty, injustice, and marginalization. God stands with the poor first and foremost, and so should we. Gutiérrez wrote alongside other similar thinkers, and together they shaped the local Roman Catholic response to injustice across Latin America in the 1960s, 70s, and 80s. One of the most well known early practitioners of liberation theology was Saint Oscar Romero, Catholic Archbishop of San Salvador. Romero protested the El Salvadoran government’s unjust treatment of the poor and their policies of torture. He used his leadership position to inform the Pope of the government’s acts of terror and assassinations, and pleaded with the American government to stop military aid to his country. While his request was ignored, Romero stood beside the poor, and it ultimately cost him his life when he was murdered while celebrating the eucharist in March 1980. Romero was one of many martyrs who died while standing beside the poor, and he has inspired generations of faithful since to embrace the teachings of liberation theology. Since then liberation theology has evolved and spread across Christian denominations. There are now many different branches, including: Black; Feminist; Womanist; Native American; Queer; Eco Justice; and Disability liberation theology. These theologians demand that we never stop exploring what it means to walk in love, to examine the injustices of our world, and prayerfully reflect on how God calls us to respond to those injustices. They show us what it means to dig in when times are tough, and that the Good News of God’s Love will always persevere, no matter how hard things get. They remind us that our calling as the Church is to join God, literally and metaphorically, in standing beside those enduring poverty, injustice, and marginalization. Because together, anything is possible. When we look back and see all the progress that has been made through Gutierrez and other liberation theologians and practitioners, it brings to mind what Saint Martin Luther King, Jr. knew and preached, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.” In preparing to write this sermon, I made a mental list of the saints that touched my life. It was startlingly long, but it also left me with a heart full of gratitude. The exercise reconnected me to the depth and strength of their faith, giving a much needed boost of courage to keep walking in love, no matter how difficult things may be. Today, I invite each of us to go home and make a list of the saints that have most influenced our lives. As we navigate through the week ahead, I would invite each of us to draw strength on those saints by spending a few minutes each day reflecting on one of them. To ask ourselves:
* A Great Cloud of Witnesses, 2016. |