Made for Community

Sermon 425 St. Martin’s 179 (Riverway) 5/17/26

Readings: Revelation 2:12-17 & John 15:5-17

Series Recap

We are wrapping up a three-week sermon series in which we’ve tried to find some gospel hope amid an uncertain future. It seems like we are in a unique moment in history, with a lot of things changing quickly.

We’ve been asking important questions about why we should continue to be creative and pursue knowledge, given that AI can write a poem, create images and movies, and answer any of our questions in just a few seconds (unless you’re asking about Astros trivia).

People are looking for meaning and purpose in this moment because there is so much that is unknown, which leads to asking big questions like: What are we to aspire to in our professional lives when we’re not sure which fields will exist in a decade?

Or bigger still, a question like: What was I made for? Billie Eilish summed up our collective angst in her song by that very same phrase just a few years ago. Thank you, Barbie.

This gets to the heart of our final theme: What is our hope for humanity's future purpose and identity? Especially as we rely even more on technology for our health, our knowledge, our warfare, and our potential to become a multiplanetary species. Science fiction is becoming a reality. What does this mean for us?

Should we just throw our phones in a lake and run for the hills? If not, then what’s the best way to engage both critically and faithfully with this strange new reality as followers of Jesus?

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The first place to start is that the Bible is clear that our present has a future, and that God is sovereign over both. The human story is marching towards something, a telos, a goal to which we will one day arrive.

That’s God’s promise to us: the human story will continue; we are moving towards eternal life with him into a deeper (and truer) reality.

St. Augustine said: Start preparing for your future with God right now. We cannot be ready for the next life unless we train for it in the present.

He said that our life on earth is marked by praise and a sense of yearning. We praise God for who he is and what he has done. This is the song of heaven, and we align our hearts with the angels when we praise God. 

But we also yearn for God to heal this broken world. All is not right in our lives and our society, and so we long for God’s justice and mercy to be made present now, on earth as it is in heaven. We yearn for God’s promise to be made a reality.

When God does appear, our yearning will melt away because it will have come to its completion, and all that will be left is our praise, so we must prepare for future glory by praising God in the present. 

Augustine wrote, “We have been promised something we do not yet possess, and because the promise was made by one who keeps his word, we trust him and are glad; but insofar as possession is delayed, we can only long and yearn for it.”

Maybe we should have titled this sermon series: Yearn for the Future, for it’s in the future that God will bring all of our hopes and longings to their perfect completion, and not just ours but all of humanity’s.

And so we should act as if God’s kingdom is already here in its fullness, knowing that God is true to his word.

Revelation

As strange as the Book of Revelation may seem, you could say that it has a similar theme to this quote from Augustine. It is reminding us that there is more to come. The trials we find ourselves in right now are not useless or purposeless. They stir up a longing in our hearts for God’s promises to be fulfilled. 

The church in Pergamum faced persecution, and many were tempted to abandon their hope in the Lord and to renounce their faith. Many remained faithful, but other temptations lingered within the community. There’s a stern warning to repent and flee from false teachings.

The text then says that those who are faithful (who are victorious) over this trial will be given a white stone with a new name written on it. Many folks—even those who haven’t read Revelation—likely have heard of this promise of a new name on a white stone.

The promise here is that if you persevere, your faithfulness will be honored by the giving of a name that is between you and God. It’s not that you will lose your identity, or that “the old you” will be forgotten, but rather that a new chapter has begun—a new chapter between you and God.

And let’s be clear, you don’t get to pick the name. You are given it as a gift, and that gift is wrapped up in a deeply personal relationship with the Giver of the name.

In all likelihood, we did not choose the name we go by right now. It was given to us by one who is greater than us (we relied solely on our parents as children). It was given to us by one who preceded us. Before we were born, this name was chosen for us for a special reason.

Part of the promise we have in the future is being given a new name by our Heavenly Father. It’s a sign of a deepening relationship with God. And so, humanity’s identity is wrapped up in relationship. Life, in both the present and future, can be boiled down to who we love and who loves us.

And yet, we spend so much time and energy trying to figure out who we are outside of the relationships we have. We go looking for other names and titles, and soon our pursuit for identity can quickly turn into idolatry.

We will do so much to ensure that we are perceived a certain way, and we might just lose ourselves in the process. It is easier for us to know where we stand among our peers by the neighborhood that we live in, the school or clubs we attend, you name it. We get fooled into thinking that attaining and possessing are our purpose in life.

We are tempted in the same ways that the church in Pergamum was all those years ago. But the warning is still there: don’t go running off with the idols of this world, because the Lord desires to give you the gift of a new name at the end of the age. A sign of a relationship that will continue forever. 

Knocking Ritual

There are few names as synonymous with European power and influence as the Habsburgs, who ruled various portions of the continent for over 600 years.

And yet, a profound ceremony happened when each emperor or empress died. In a grand procession, their coffin was brought to a crypt beneath the cathedral in Vienna. But before it could go down the winding stairs that led to the crypt, the Master of Ceremonies would first knock on the cathedral door three times.

A monk on the other side of the door would say, “Who is there?”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=snsX6o5zYZc

The Master of Ceremonies then gave the name of the deceased emperor, “Franz Joseph I, King of Hungary, King of Croatia,” and then he would read the 27 titles given to him. The monk would then reply, “We don’t know him.”

And so the Master of Ceremonies would knock again, and the voice asked, “Who is there?” And this time, he would list all the emperor's achievements, the battles won, the treaties signed during his reign, who he was married to, etc.

The voice from the other side would say again, “We don’t know him.”

So the Master of Ceremonies knocked one more time, and the question was again, “Who is there?” This time, he simply responded, “This is Franz Joseph, a poor sinner.” And the door would open. 

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Our identity is not based on our titles, our achievements; deep down, we know that is true, but it’s so hard to let go of the pursuit. Who are we as humans? A poor sinner in need of grace and forgiveness, destined for the praise of God and relationship with him. 

In all my years of sitting beside countless bedsides when someone is dying, they have never said to me, “I just wish I had worked more, or sent a few more emails in my life. I wish I had gotten a couple more followers on Instagram, or been able to fit into that pant size before I died.” 

Amazingly, all of that falls away in that moment, and we rediscover what matters most. We make time for others, and others clear their schedules and make time for us. We wake up and realize that our purpose, our identity, is wrapped up in our relationships with others, and most importantly, our relationship with God.

John 15

I think Jesus realized that as he gathered around his disciples and shared his Farewell Discourse with them the night before he died.

“As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love,” he said. Jesus was solidifying his relationship with them because they were about to go through hell…in very different ways. He was going to die, and they were going to have to live with the guilt that they had abandoned him to his death. 

All those years of investing in them, day after day, did not create courageous men, but he hoped that they would remember that he told them on this night that there was no greater sign of love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friend.

And then Jesus looked at them and said, “And you, you are my friend. You are no longer a servant. I chose you—don’t forget that—and I told you everything the Father has given to me. So remain in my love and love one another.”

This was Jesus’ own trial, and he did not flee the temptation by running for the hills. He remained faithful to his call, and he did so because he is rooted in the Father’s love. Come what may, he would remain in the Father’s love, and it would bring him through to the other side: from life to death to life anew.

The Church in Pergamum, and the church today, is called to remain faithful during the chaos of the present, as our Lord was faithful in his chaotic present. Relationship to the Father anchors us.

What should give us hope is that we are poor sinners who have been named friends of the Emperor of Life Everlasting when we abide in his love. No matter what comes down the road for humanity, relationships will continue to be a vital part of our life together.

We were created in such a way that we need one another; we need to love and be loved. We need that from God, and we need it within the family of faith.

What Jesus was doing that night was fortifying his disciples for a future that would look entirely different from what they expected, and he did so through teaching them, serving them, eating with them, and even singing a hymn of praise with one another.

In the Last Supper, we are given a model of seeing our purpose and identity linked to Jesus and to one another. “Remain in my love…love one another…for you are no longer slaves but friends of the Lord.”

Community of Delight

A way we have talked about this here in Riverway is inspired by St. Augustine, who described the church as a Community of Delight. If our future is to praise God and to yearn for him to set the world right, then we are called in the present to do what Jesus commanded: love God (or delight in God) and to delight in one another.

The more there is division in our country and the world, a race to cancel one another, to silence and shame those whom we mark as our enemy, and the more we are isolated from our neighbor, I feel, it is also the perfect opportunity for the church to offer a radically different way to live life that honors one another and glorifies God.

Our world is desperate for a community of delight, and so here we are!

The Last Supper reminds us that we were made to be in communion, in fellowship, with our Heavenly Father and with one another. We are to care for others as our Lord cares for us. We are for you—not because of anything you’ve done, but simply because you are a child of God, and a friend of the Lord of life.

And so, this church—and the church at large—offers a kind of community that the world simply cannot: relationships formed and sustained by God that will last in this life and the one to come.

This is our hope for the future, and by God’s grace, can be our present reality. May it be so.

Hope for the Future Sermon Series. Revelation 2:12-17. John 15:5-17.

Cover photo by Sercan Faiz on Unsplash.