Assumptions––

we all make them.

We all make them all of the time.

Flick the switch, and we assume that the light will come on.

Turn on the tap, and we assume that water will come out.

That is…

unless there’s been a blackout…

or the plumber has turned the water off to do some work.

But, even knowing that… 

sometimes, we may still flick the switch or turn on the tap…

simply out of habit;

simply because we live our lives on the assumption that it will happen…

simply because that’s what normally happens…

and that’s what has happened so many times before…

such that we have become accustomed to it happening without even thinking about it.

 

And yet, that sort of thing also functions on a much deeper level.

We all live with assumptions about the way that the world is;

and the way that it ought to be.

Some of those assumptions are formed and fostered by past experience.

Some come from the culture in which we have been socialised––

from the beliefs, values, expectations, and worldviews in which we are nurtured.

We make assumptions about the world in which we live.

We make assumptions about the people we encounter in our daily lives.

And we make assumptions about who we are;

how we are perceived;

and what we are capable of.

All of these myriad assumptions, and more, make up the taken-for-grantedness of life––

they’re simply there… 

in the background…

not normally contemplated or reflected upon…

but…

simply… 

assumed.

That is, until something happens––

a sudden bereavement;

a serious car accident;

a cancer diagnosis;

a bushfire destroying your home–– 

something that challenges those assumptions…

and the taken-for-grantedness of your life and your world.

Until something turns our world upside down––

and reminds us of the fragility and fickleness of life––

we don’t really question those assumptions.

We simply take them for granted.

 

In the first century, the Hebrew people took the Jerusalem Temple for granted.

It was one of the great wonders of the ancient world––

grander than any other temple of its day…

visited by pilgrims and tourists from across the known world.

It was an impressive symbol of Israel’s God––

a symbol of their confidence in God’s power and protection;

and a symbol of their hopes and dreams for the future.

It defined them, as a people, and it defined their reality;

it shaped their world and their faith;

it was something that they simply assumed would always be there.

After all, they were God’s chosen people––

so nothing bad would happen.

And yet, that Temple was utterly destroyed by the Romans in the year seventy.

The significance of that event is perhaps hard to comprehend from this distance.

But its impact would have been even more profound…

and even more lasting…

than the election of Donald Trump––

or the twin towers collapsing in New York––

and the effect that had on the American psyche.

It was an utterly devastating experience.

The centre…

the core…

the very foundation of their world and their worldview…

was shattered, along with its impressive walls.

Psychologically, symbolically, theologically, their world collapsed…

and with it collapsed each and every one of their assumptions;

each and every one of their taken-for-granteds.

 

This morning’s reading from Luke’s Gospel was written some twenty or more years after that event.

In it, the author has Jesus ‘predict’ the Temple’s destruction.

But, even more than that, Jesus also seemingly ‘predicts’ a range of further cataclysmic upheavals––

not just the destruction of the Temple…

but the appearance of false prophets and messiahs…

betrayals and persecution… 

wars and insurrections…

and devastating natural disasters–– 

of a kind that would make Hollywood proud.

And yet, this terrible litany of woe and destruction was never intended to be taken literally.

Rather, it served a symbolic function.

In effect, the author was painting a bleak picture of all that could possibly happen.

He was trying to say to his readers that…

even if all of this were to happen…

even if you were to experience more devastation than you could possibly imagine…

even if everything that you take for granted were to be rocked, shaken, or shattered––

such that it seems like the world was being torn apart…

or was crumbling around you––

God is still there.

Take heart. 

Do not be afraid.

Nothing bad is going to happen.

Trust in God.

 

Now, that’s a powerful message.

Amid the storms of life, we all yearn for a strong anchor.

When our taken-for-granteds evaporate…

when our assumptions collapse…

when our world seems to fall apart––

psychologically, symbolically, theologically––

it’s natural to yearn for a God who is strong and powerful…

a God who will protect us.

Of course, most of us know that God doesn’t work like that.

God doesn’t protect us from the pain and loss of living and loving.

God doesn’t prevent disasters from happening.

And God doesn’t spare us from all the brutality and evil of this world…

nor from the vagaries of mother nature at her worst.

God is not an interventionist deity.

And yet… 

enduring the worst that life can throw at us by clinging to the hope of some heavenly compensation––

or some utopian post-mortem existence––

is no better consolation.

It’s what led Karl Marx, rightly, to criticise religion as the “Opiate of the people”.

Inevitably, that leads to quietism and passivity.

 

So, what are we left with? 

 

Maybe, it’s the final word from this reading––

although it’s badly translated in most of our Bibles.

Literally, the author says, “through persistent endurance, take hold of life”––

as if, through persistence in the face of hardship… 

we actually experience truly authentic life…

and we actually, truly, experience God.

And I think Martin Luther King jr expounds that well.

Reflecting upon all that he had to endure, he noted 

(and please excuse the non-inclusive language): 

“The agonizing moments through which I have passed during the last few years have also drawn me closer to God. More than ever before I am convinced of the reality of a personal God. True, I have always believed in the personality of God. But in the past, the idea of a personal God was little more than a metaphysical category that I found theologically and philosophically satisfying. Now it is a living reality that has been validated in the experiences of everyday life…

In the midst of outer dangers, I have felt an inner calm. In the midst of lonely days and dreary nights, I have heard an inner voice saying, ‘Lo, I will be with you’…

I have felt the power of God transforming the fatigue of despair into the buoyancy of hope. I am convinced that the universe is under the control of a loving purpose, and that in the struggle for righteousness man has cosmic companionship”.

 

God is with us.

No matter what we face, we are not alone.

When your hopes and dreams lie in tatters at your feet… 

when your world has seemingly crumbled––

hold on…

hold on…

God is there.

And, in that, lies our ultimate hope.