Sermon – Luke 21:5-19
Sermon Preached by Reverend Tracey Gracey on Sunday, 16 November, 2025
Luke places the temple at the heart of his Gospel.
In Chapter One, Zechariah enters the sanctuary to offer incense to God, fulfilling his priestly duty. It is there, in that holy space, that the angel Gabriel appears and tells him that Elizabeth will bear a son.
Soon after, Jesus is presented in the temple as an infant, and Simeon and Anna recognise him as the one through whom God’s promise and renewal will come.
Years later, Mary and Joseph lose track of Jesus on their journey home, only to find him back in the temple, sitting among the teachers. Even at twelve years old, Jesus knows this is “his Father’s house,” the place where he most naturally belongs.
As an adult, Jesus returns again to the temple, this time to cleanse it. He overturns the tables and challenges those who had turned a house of prayer into a marketplace. His actions are not about anger for its own sake but a call to restore the temple to what it was meant to be — a place where people could seek God without burden or exploitation.
And then, in this morning’s Gospel reading, Jesus takes an even bolder step. Standing in the very place that held the heart, history, and hope of his people, he predicts that the temple will fall, a shock that would have shaken every listener who heard him.
For Jesus and for the Jewish people, the temple was far more than a building.
It was the centre of worship,
the heart of their identity,
the place where God’s presence was believed to dwell.
It was where sacrifices were made, celebrations held, covenants renewed, and forgiveness found.
Their festivals, their prayers, and their sense of belonging as God’s people all led back to the temple.
When Luke writes his Gospel, the temple has already fallen.
Jerusalem is in ruins.
People are scattered and grieving, wondering if God has abandoned them.
And it is into this painful space that Luke recalls Jesus’ words.
Words that may sound unsettling and scary, but were actually meant to reassure and steady a shaken people.
Luke places this passage within the tradition of apocalyptic language.
Some hear that and assume it must be about the end times.
But Luke isn’t talking about the end of the world.
In Scripture, apocalyptic language uses vivid, disruptive images
to help people see God’s presence when life feels unstable.
Apocalyptic language isn’t about predicting disaster.
It is about opening our eyes to God at work beneath the turmoil of our daily lives.
And that is Luke’s intention here.
He takes Jesus’ strong words and uses them to steady his community, not frighten them.
Jesus isn’t describing the end of everything. He is revealing what truly matters.
“Do not be terrified,” Jesus says.
Even when everything you’ve relied on gives way, God remains.
Even when our faith feels fragile, God remains.
Even when we cannot pray the way we used to, God remains.
Even when the future feels uncertain, God remains.
Even when we feel we have little to offer, God remains.
Even when we fear what comes next, God remains.
For many of us, war and destruction feel far away.
We live in a peaceful and privileged part of the world.
But that doesn’t mean everything inside us is steady.
Our inner worlds can feel just as unsettled,
as we navigate aging, illness, loneliness, grief,
or changes in what we once took for granted.
Today’s Gospel gives us permission to name those experiences.
Because the temple can symbolise more than a building.
It can be our expectations of how life should look, our health, our relationships, our belief that life will stay the same.
And when those “temples” crack,
it can feel as though “not one stone will be left upon another.”
But Luke’s Gospel promises that God is still present in the midst of the ruins..
In Isaiah’s time, people were also standing among ruins.
They had returned from exile and expected everything to be as it once was, but it wasn’t.
Which is why Isaiah speaks of God doing something new:
“I am creating new heavens and a new earth.”
Isaiah reminds us that God’s newness often begins among ruins.
Hope is not about returning to the past —
it is about trusting that God is already shaping the future.
And that’s what ties Isaiah and Luke together.
Isaiah imagines the renewal;
Luke invites us to live faithfully until that renewal unfolds.
We live between the two, holding hope in one hand and endurance in the other.
For those who feel their own temples trembling,
Jesus’ words come not as warnings but as gifts:
“Do not be terrified… I will give you words and wisdom.”
God’s presence is not lost when our temples fall;
it is often revealed more clearly there.
Throughout Scripture, we see this:
In Luke, the temple was destroyed — yet worship continued.
In Isaiah, the exile ended — yet the promise endured.
Even when everything shifted, God remained faithful.
So where does that leave us today?
Right in the middle — between what has fallen
and what God is making new.
We don’t stand in despair,
and we don’t stand in a denial of reality.
We stand in hope, a quiet, steady trust that God is not finished.
Not finished with our story,
not finished with our community,
not finished with the work of healing and renewal.
For when life shifts, God remains.
When structures fall, God builds again.
When we feel unsteady, God upholds us.
When we cannot see the way forward, God leads us.
When we have little strength left, God carries us.
And when we wonder what comes next, God is there.
Amen.