Out of the ruins

Sermon by Pr. Craig Mueller on the Second Sunday in Advent + Sunday, November 16, 2025

Tourists are fascinated by ruins. The ruins of ancient Rome and other civilizations. I think of all the archeological sites and ruins I have seen in the past decade, especially in the Holy Land, Greece, Turkey, and Italy. 

Of course, our country has ruins. Being from Colorado, I have to name Mesa Verde National Park. These cliff dwellings are the largest archeological site in the United States. They date back to the Ancestral Puebloan people that built these structures in 1000-1100 AD.

In our day, the ruins of warfare are heartbreaking and devastating. In Gaza the current estimate is that 80% of the buildings have been damaged or destroyed since the beginning of the war.  Warfare is as old as humanity itself. We make advances in science, medicine, and technology. But what still remains is the never-ending hatred and conflict due to ethnicity, nationality, and religion.

When the disciples are dazzled by the wonders of the temple, Jesus sees ruins. All will be thrown down, one stone upon another. It is the nature of things. Nothing lasts forever. Life is fragile. Whether institutions or edifices or human flesh. Whether by decay or natural disasters.

As we hear this gospel, we imagine Jesus and his disciples looking at the wonders of the temple. And then Jesus predicts its downfall. All will be ruins. Of course, what is ahead for Jesus is his impending and devastating death. The hopes and expectations of his followers will be in ruins.

But consider this! When Luke passes on this story to his community, it is after 70 AD. The temple is actually in ruins. The siege of Jerusalem by the Romans occurred in 70 AD. After months of intense fighting, the fall of Jerusalem led to death, enslavement and displacement of much of the Jewish population.

We hear the apocalyptic words in today’s gospel and cannot help but think of the ruins of our time. And the ruins of our own lives—the disappointments and the dashed dreams.

There are always those predicting the end of the world. And sometimes using the Bible to extract an exact timetable. Nonetheless, many nonreligious people wonder if we are living through the end of days, the end of the world. Can we survive the ruins—the sense that things are falling apart all around us? How will we endure?

Some scholars use the term polycrisis to describe what we are living through now: multiple factors that are significantly worse when added together. The effects of the pandemic. Wars in Ukraine and Gaza. Climate change. Political and social unrest. Partisan vitriol. Global economic and energy instability.

Enough bad news for the day! Is there hope amid the ruins? 

In Malachi we hear that the day of the Lord will burn like an oven. The arrogant and evildoers will be stubble, ruins. But for those who revere God, the sun of righteousness will arise, with healing in its wings.

And St. Paul urges us to not be idle, to never tire in doing what is right.

Out of the Ruins is a title of a book of apocalyptic fiction, not something I read much of. The editor, Preston Grassman, leads with this question: what will save us from the fire? Grassman portends that beauty can be salvaged from the relics of the past. As is true with all cataclysms of history, when things fall apart in our world, we survive through our creations. The remains of our past are salvaged to build something new. This is even true in our private ruins. No matter how dark our personal stories, each of us can excavate something of value from the ashes of our lives and create something new.

Those words ring true for our faith as well. Out of ruins God creates a new thing. Out of despair, hope. Out of death, resurrection. Christ crucified and risen: the pattern for our lives.

Following the 2016 election an anthology of poetry and readings was published under the title How Lovely the Ruins. In the preface, African American poet and writer Elizabeth Alexander writes that the poems remind us that the world has always been broken—and has always been whole. She adds: “Sometimes, when times are tough, we may think we have nothing, when we actually we have everything. Because we are the survivors, and in [poems] we have all the ancestors have given us.”

One poem, by Jamaal May, is called “There are Birds Here.” When Detroit and other cities are called war zones by some, May pens, “how lovely the ruins, how ruined the lovely children must be in the birdless city.”

Advent reminds us that out of the ruins, God creates beauty. The seasons come and go. There is always change. There are always transitions. In some ways, it is always the end of the world. Yet in our common humanity, we hold one another close. Not a hair of your head will perish, Jesus tells the faithful. By your endurance you will save your souls.

How lovely when illusions fall, and we see ourselves as we are. As God sees us. Advent reminds us that nothing lasts forever. So make your life count.

God gives us strength to endure and to persevere. And gives us words to testify to a gospel that welcomes rather than excludes. A message of hope rather than one of retribution and hatred. That is why the mission of this congregation matters and why I hope you will join me in making a financial pledge for 2026.

Breathe in again the powerful words of our gathering hymn: Through change and chance, God guides us. “Mortal pride and earthly glory, sword and crown betray our trust. What with care and toil we fashion, tow’r and temple fall to dust.” Ruins, ruins, ruins.

And then words of healing, words of endurance: “but thy power, hour by hour, is my temple and my tower.”

God is doing a new thing. From the ruins comes beauty. From the ruins come hope. And everything we need for this time, for these days.