Sermon:
December 31, 1999
New Year's Eve

Scripture:
Psalm 90

I don't know about you, but it feels kinda good (at least to this old "sanctuary salt") to end one millennium and begin another by hanging out in a worshipful place, doing a worshipful thing, with a group of worshipful people. For one thing, it means I will never have to flinch (or fabricate some wild story) when anyone asks: "Who were you with, and what were you doing, when the clock struck midnight?" Instead, I'll be able to answer: "I was with the friends of my Father ... in the house of my Father ... doing the business of my Father." All in all, it has a biblical ring to it. And there'll be calligraphy on the wall to prove it.

I met my wife in church. For which both of us have always been glad, given that we could have met in any number of less-saintly places. Which, had we owned up to them, would had led you to say "Oh" (as in mock disgust), rather than "Oh" (as in sweet delight).

We could be elsewhere tonight. Like on a mountain, waiting for the spacecraft. Or in the basement, hiding from the Avenger. I am intrigued by the guy from Australia who flew, earlier today, to the Republic of Tonga. Which has one golf course. And which is where he planned to stand ... on the first tee ... precisely at midnight ... ready to hit the first drive of the millennium. More power to him. Here's hoping he smacked it sweet and straight. I mean, you wouldn't want to "slice" the first one, would you? Who knows if they grant "mulligans" on Tonga. But even if he hit it straight, how did he ever find it? It being midnight, don't you know.

This is a good night ... whatever it means. Yes, it's probably a year early. Yes, if you're measuring from the birth of Jesus, it's probably several years late. And, given the vagaries of calendar making, every last one of us could be wrong. The practice of numbering years (consecutively) from the birth of Jesus didn't take hold in western Christendom until the eighth century. Even then, there were various ways of reckoning the start of the year. In England, for example, the year began on December 25. But from the 14^th to the 18^th century, it began on March 25. It was Pope Gregory who declared January 1 to be the year's beginning. That happened in 1582. But Great Britain didn't say, "Sounds like a great idea ... let's do it," until 1752.

Meanwhile, our Muslim friends keep their calendar in Saudi Arabia ... dividing their years into 354 days, starting each year on the first day of Muharram (which, last year, occurred on April 16). In total, their years number from Mohammad's flight to Medina. Meaning that for Muslims, this is 1420.

For Jews, it's 5761. We are about a third of the way through their most recent year ... the one that began on Rosh Hashanah, September 11-12.

For the Chinese people, this is simply the 17^th year of the 78^th cycle ... meaning that this is yet one more "year of the dragon." But those of you who ate "Chinese" earlier this evening already know that.

All that aside, this is a big deal. We have collectively agreed to make it so. And since we have to pick a moment in time ... sometime ... why not let this time be that time (and collectively agree that it feels, for all the world, like the right time).

Donald Ottati writes:

Reaching January 1, 2000, reminds me of the day the odometer reached 100,000 miles on my `73 VW. At a little past 99,998, I parked it in front of the house until my kids got back from school. Then we went for a ride. We hit 99,999 near the corner of Brook and Claremont, turned right onto Laburnum, and right again onto Hermitage. Then, almost precisely at the corner of Hermitage and Nottoway, we experienced the big event. We cheered. We got ice cream. We drove home. My daughter asked: "Where did we live the last time this happened?" My son asked: "Gee, Dad, where are we going tomorrow?"

It sounds like what we're doing, doesn't it? Watching the numbers turn. Looking backward. Looking forward. Looking for ice cream. Wondering where we're going tomorrow.

The backward part has been fun. It's amazing what you can see ... and sort ... in the rearview mirror. Time Magazine didn't just give us a man of the year. Time gave us a man of the century. Here's to you, Albert. While everybody, it seems, gave us an athlete of the century ... except that nobody could agree as to whether that individual was a grand slammer, body slammer or slam dunker. So here's to all of you guys, too ... Bambino, Muhammad, and Michael J. (as in Jordan, not Jackson).

It's been so much fun, putting the kaleidoscope of history up to the naked eye, then turning it to see what (and who) shakes out:

Test your memory, my dearie,
Do you remember when we waltzed
to the Sousa band?
My, wasn't the music grand ...

Yet what we saw was just a pittance, really, in comparison to all there was to see. Even with our eyes wide open, we missed most of it. And forgot even more. What's more, when you start talking "millenniums" instead of "centuries," how could we be expected to retain more than a mental thimble-full of that great river of events that went surging past our door. I can fathom what the world was like 100 years ago. But a thousand years ... no way.

So let me tell you ... just so you'll know. A thousand years ago ... the last time all four numbers changed:

• The Song Dynasty governed China
• The Byzantine Empire occupied Turkey and parts of Greece
• The Holy Roman Empire was ruled, not by Italians, but by German kings
• Vikings dominated in Scandinavia
• Mayan city states had fallen in Mexico, to be replaced by the Toltec Empire
• Islamic Caliphates stretched from India to northern Africa (and up into Spain)
• Feudalism still dominated France, England and even Russia
• While the Aborigines in Australia and the Yakut Reindeer Herders in northern Asia dominated their respective regions in ways that were still largely unstructured and apolitical

One thousand years ago, the world's largest and most prosperous city was Cordoba (in Moorish Spain), closely followed by Kyoto, Baghdad and Constantinople. And there's not a person in this room, tonight, who could have named two of those four, let alone all four.

My point being, if we can't see backward with any degree of clarity and understanding, what makes us think we can see forward with any greater measure of effectiveness? Not that we won't keep trying. There are far more people (this New Year's) who are into prognostications than are into resolutions. Standing in the supermarket looking at The Star, I saw it predicted (in bold print, no less) that we can expect to see Rosie O'Donnell grow thin, Ally McBeal grow fat, the Abominable Snowman, Big Foot and the Loch Ness Monster reveal their identities on the very same day, and learn that the Gypsies are really the descendants of the lost tribes of Israel.

Needless to say, I did not buy The Star, The Enquirer, or that wonderful little book, Exciting New Millennium Prophesies and How They Will Change Your Life Forever ... which was on sale for $1.49 (20 cents more in Canada). What will be, will be. And while, as a Christian, I will try to shape it ... I will not try to guess it.

As concerns "signs of the times," most of us see the same ones. But we weigh their importance differently. Personally, I resonate to Thomas Long's idea that we are living within the dual shadows of "the golden arches and the Uzi." The "golden arches" image comes from a New York Times essay by Thomas Friedman entitled "The Golden Arches Theory of Conflict Prevention." In his essay, Friedman notes that no two countries, possessing a McDonald's franchise, have every gone to war against each other. The theory being that a nation can support a McDonald's restaurant only when it has reached a sufficient level of economic development and political stability which, in turn, makes war unattractive to its people.

But over against all of that stands "the symbol of the Uzi" ... that automatic assault weapon which is the image of random and unsettling violence. My daughter, who has a lot of things "going right" in her life right now, said just a few short nights ago: "Dad, I can't remember a time in my life when I felt more certain about my situation, yet more unsettled about my surroundings." Whereupon she ... who fears nothing vocational, educational, relational or spiritual ... said: "Is it just me, or do other people worry about the randomness of other people's rage, and the aimlessness of other people's anger?"

Prosperity versus protest. Development versus disruption. Big Macs versus Uzis. We Christians don't know what the future holds ... at least, the short-run future. There are promises. And promised lands. But, as Moses discovered, a lot of us will still die on the wrong side of the river.

"But," cries the Gospel, "nothing ... not one sublime or stinking thing ... shall separate us from the love of God." Not death. Not life. Not spiritual stuff. Not physical stuff. Not random powers. Not muscled principalities. Not anything happening now. Nor anything which may happen tomorrow. Yea, nothing shall separate us from the love of God, in Christ Jesus our Lord.

So what do we do? We mark time and take steps. Just like we're doing now. But we do so with a confidence that the rest of the world lacks. That, wherever this is going, God is in it. And wherever we are going, God is in us.

"So teach us to number our days," says the psalmist. Not so as to prove that we are good at math, but to prove that we are good at life. The purpose of "numbering" is not to arrive at a sum ... but to arrive at something ... or someone. In a world where far too many count the hours, the secret is in living hours that count. And then enjoying them. Beyond measure.

I recall the fellow who scrimped, saved, then sailed to the Bahamas. Looking out of his hotel room on the first morning, he discovered that the sky was blue, the sun was shining, and the temperature was climbing into the seventies. Down to the beach he went, thinking: "This is living." Looking around, he saw everybody sitting on comfortable beach chairs and thought: "That looks relaxing. I wonder where you get one?" Whereupon a man came along renting beach chairs. "How much?" asked the vacationer. "Fifty cents," responded the retailer. "That's too high," said the man. "For fifty cents I can sit on my towel the way I intended to."

When he got back home, however, he couldn't rid himself of that moment. "That was a crazy decision," he said. "I spent a small fortune to make it to the islands, only to end up quibbling over fifty cents for a beach chair."

But I know people like that. And I've been people like that.

My friends, time is an incredible gift. And God is an incredible giver. So measure and calculate it if you must. But remember that measuring things is for the world of the flesh. Enjoying them is for the world of the Spirit.

I am told that one or two generations back, our ancestors (especially those who hailed from the South) used to enjoy a splendid Sunday afternoon activity they called "going marveling." They'd go to church. They'd come home from church. They'd cook dinner. They'd finish dinner. Then someone would say: "Let's work off all this food by going marveling." And into the countryside they'd go. Looking at flowers and leaves ... shells and streams ... stuff on rocks ... stuff under rocks. Then they'd come home and tell those who hadn't gone about the things they'd had an opportunity to see, but missed.

I remember Sundays like that when I was a kid. I always numbered myself with the ones who went, rather than the ones who waited ("Oh, you folks go; we'll stay here and do up the dishes").

Sundays are different now. And I can't remember the last time I went walking in the countryside. But I've learned that you can go marveling almost any place ... almost any day ... with almost anybody. Or alone.

But can you go marveling in a millennium?

For the life of me, I can't see why not. And for the life of you, I can't see why not, either.

Note: Debts are owed to Fred Craddock for his remembrance of "going marveling" ... to Donald Ottati for his description of the day his odometer passed the 100,000 mile mark ... and to John Killinger for his story about the man who wouldn't pay fifty cents for a beach chair. Much of the factual material in the early part of the sermon was also supplied by Donald Ottati in his excellent millennial essay in the year-end issue of The Christian Century.