We did it!  We made it through another liturgical year.  This has been a year of progress, of “getting back to normal”—not needing to wear masks in most places, gathering without worry a good bit of the time, going to school and participating in social activities pretty much the same way we did before the pandemic.  We are all so thankful for the ways we have been able to return to our familiar routines in the last year.

But today is Christ the King Sunday, and on this day every year, we celebrate that one day, all of our familiar routines will come to an end.  They might come to an end because Jesus makes his second coming, as we read in our scripture lessons today.  The word advent means coming, and every week in worship, we light two candles on our altar:  the first one to symbolize how Christ came, over 2,000 years ago, a vulnerable baby born in Bethlehem; and the second candle to symbolize how Christ will come again, we don’t know when, with power and healing in his wings.  The collective power of our imaginations can’t make a dent into picturing how this is going to happen, but God promises that the whole world will be made new.  Our faith, which has carried us through all these years, will be transformed.  When Christ comes again, we will no longer have faith.  We will have certainty!

Of course, there is another way all of our familiar routines will come to an end, and that is through our death.  On the day I die, on the day you die, Christ will come again, for each of us, with power and healing in his wings, to transform us from earthly bodies and daily life, to spiritual bodies and eternal life.  Our faith, which has carried us through all these years, will be transformed.  On the day we die, we will no longer have faith.  We will have certainty!

But until that day comes, certainty eludes us.  The best we can do is practice our faith, over and over again.  We have been talking for the last month about simplicity, and how true joy comes not from accumulating wealth and possessions, but from cultivating contentment and generosity.  We have been talking about living well within our means, putting God first in our living and giving, and distinguishing our wants from our true needs.  At the heart of all of these ideas is death and resurrection.  Every time we choose to tithe instead of buying a new sweater or going out to dinner, we are dying to ourselves and rising to Christ.  Every time we choose to help someone else in need instead of satisfying our own wants, we are dying to the old and rising to the new.  Every time we make a difficult budget decision, we have the opportunity to practice our faith.  Christ has come into our lives in such a way that even something as mundane as what we do with our money can prepare us for what will happen to us when we die.

Remember I told you last week about John D. Rockefeller, Sr., who at age 53 was a millionaire many times over, but was struck with a disease and given only a year to live?  He realized he had missed the point of living.  It’s not to accumulate.  It’s to give.  He got up one morning and, despite his sickness, began working on a plan to give away money to hospitals, universities, research institutes and missions.  All of this giving away gave him a new lease on life, and he lived to be almost 98 years old.  When he died to his love of money, he was raised to a much healthier and joy-filled life.

You may have seen that old bumper sticker, “He who dies with the most toys, wins!”  It’s a pithy saying that makes us chuckle, but it is not in the Bible!  As we look at our passage from Matthew today, Jesus almost says the opposite.  Who is that wins—the person who has the most, or the person who gave the most?  The person who gets for himself—or the person who helps others?  Our life does not consist in the abundance of possessions, but in the abundance of connection and communion.  As we give of ourselves to help others, we align ourselves with God’s eternal love.  We build for ourselves treasure that lasts.

And just as we have been taught not to hoard possessions and wealth, we would do well to remember that we don’t need to hold on to painful experiences, either.  The last couple of years have worked a collective trauma on all of us.  We have lost loved ones, we have missed out on opportunities to do important things, we have seen incredible change.  It took a ton of energy to adapt and survive the pandemic.  Now we find ourselves “getting back to normal”—except a lot of us don’t feel normal.  We feel tired.  We feel worn down.  We don’t have the steady grip on the good cheer we may have had in the past.  We’ve been reading all these scriptures about how it’s more blessed to give than receive, and real life is found not by accumulating but by giving, and eternal life is found by giving as well.  But how are we supposed to be generous when we feel depleted?  How are we supposed to give to others when it feels like we have deep needs ourselves?

I heard a story recently from a clergy colleague in another part of the country, about a man named Albert who took great pride in his flower beds, and in particular, his rose garden.  People from his neighborhood made a point of walking past his house to admire Albert’s landscaping.  Albert’s flowers were a source of pride for the whole community.

Neighborhood dogs going on walks also liked Albert’s flower beds.  His neighbors were usually really good about picking up after the dogs, but once in a while, he found a present left behind by a dog that the owner missed.  No big deal.  He still enjoyed his flower beds immensely and took great pride and joy in them.

But Albert told his pastor that lately, he hasn’t been able to enjoy his roses.  It’s not that neighbors aren’t cleaning up after the dogs like they had before, it’s that whenever Albert finds something in his flower beds that shouldn’t be there—dog dirt, litter, even leaves that blew over from the park nearby, he gets very upset.  What used to be no big deal became an obsession.  He could no longer enjoy the roses–all he saw was the litter.  The one thing in his life that Albert expected to give him comfort during after the pandemic has turned into a source of resentment and frustration.

Albert asked his pastor for advice, and like pastors often do, he responded with, “I don’t know, Albert.  What do you think?”  Albert knew that ruminating wasn’t getting him anywhere.  Complaining wasn’t helping.  He was missing out on all that beauty and joy.  Finally he said, I think I’d like to start sharing cuttings of my rose bushes with people who have admired them in the past.  Maybe if I do something positive and hopeful, I will start to feel more positive and hopeful.

Two months later, Albert stopped in to see his pastor again to give an update.  Guess what Albert had to say?  Yup, he was feeling better.  He had given away dozens of cuttings, and in the process, turned acquaintances into budding friendships.  And he had begun to really enjoy his garden again.  He still had to pick up litter occasionally.  But it no longer bothered him like it had.  He was able to focus on the roses and not the dog dirt.  He was very pleased to share this good news with his pastor.

This story is an example of a concept called “synchronicity”.  It is the idea that, if you take one step in a positive direction, the universe will move, too.  Think about it.  If you take one step in the direction of love, generosity, peace, justice, compassion—you are moving in step with God!  When we take a step in the direction God is already moving, we have the full force of the Holy Spirit at work with us!  I am not saying things will get immediately better—that at least has not been my experience.  But I am saying that, if we are moving in the same direction as God, sooner or later, something good is going to happen!  Something really good.  I think this is how the sheep in our gospel lesson today got to be sheep.  The moved in the direction God is moving, directions like compassion and generosity and peace.

So on this Christ the King Sunday, my message is:  keep it moving.  Keep moving in the direction God is moving.  Even if that seems difficult.  Take one step in the direction toward generosity, justice, love—and God will meet you there.  Because if we don’t—well, I think that’s how the goats in our gospel lesson got to be goats.  They didn’t want to be where God is.  They didn’t want to move in the same direction as God.  They chose instead to stay stuck.  Stuck in their fears, stuck in their pride, stuck in their irritability.  Stuck on the litter instead of open to smelling the roses.

Here we are, at the end of another liturgical year.  We did it!  We got through a very difficult year together.  But it’s hard to celebrate when we are feeling worn down.  Recently I went to a clergy meeting hosted by Bishop Schol.  There were probably 200 clergy there, and they took a poll.  On a scale of 1 to 10, rank the level of burn out amongst your colleagues.  The average answer was 7!  I think if we took a poll of laity involved in leadership in their local churches, the number would be similar.  And if we took a poll in general, of all people, what do you think their stress level is these days?  I imagine pretty high.  We are hard pressed.  But like Paul wrote, we are not defeated.  We’re going to keep it moving.  One step at a time, in the right direction, trusting God will meet us there.  And if we are moving in the direction of God, we can be sure that sooner or later, good things will happen!

Today we remember that someday, Christ will come again, for each of us individually, and one day for the whole world.  From there on out, only good things will happen.  There will be no more pain, no more conflict, no more tears.  Our daily routines will be replaced with only praise and joy.  We prepare ourselves for that day by practicing our faith—by dying and rising daily. Dying to our will and choosing God’s instead.  Dying to our fears. Dying to our stubbornness.  Dying to the old, and rising in the new.  So keep it moving!  Even when we are in pain, even especially when we are in pain.  Take that one step in the direction toward peace, justice, generosity, compassion, wholeness—and the whole power of God steps with you.  Amen.