Isaiah has long been the voice of hope to those caught in a web of hopelessness. The single book we call Isaiah is really a collection of reflections offered to a people whose fortunes (as a nation) had fallen low. Leadership had been held captive. National treasures confiscated. Significant buildings repurposed. The centre of religious observance had been gutted. And through all this, Isaiah’s ‘voice’ offered words of correction, instruction, and more than a glimmer of hope.

Isaiah ultimately (and in this morning’s readings especially) urges his audience to a radical hope – hope that would seem to have no foundation in fact. Talk of ‘new heavens and a new earth’ is just pie-in-the-sky…isn’t it? The promise of old age for everyone – no weeping – no hardship; surely, we can dismiss this as nonsense…can’t we?

Isaiah looked to the end of an age of suffering with confidence, because God is bigger than the day-to-day concerns of this fickle, exiled people. And the people heard what Isaiah – and others – had to say; and sometimes, they believed. And over time, the fortunes of the nation change. They ebb and flow with the times – and maybe next year feels different, and maybe the next generation finds hope where none had existed, and slowly but surely, the signs of God at work in the world are more often seen and more readily appreciated.

And along comes Rome.

How long has it been since the return from exile? How long since Babylon was master race? How long have the people been able to make pilgrimage within the sacred boundaries described in the wake of the Exodus from Egypt? Yes, Rome is in control, but they are not keeping people from their regular routines of worship and sacrifice.

Religion can flourish, so long as it recognizes Rome as the ultimate authority. In the religious practice of the day, hope is muted – God is tamed. The rituals are observed, but ‘within reason’ for Caesar rules, make no mistake.

There are symbols though – and those symbols bring hope to the people. The temple is glittering – the institution seems to be thriving. A pilgrimage to Jerusalem to celebrate Passover is just the thing to restore the faith.

And the disciples are awestruck.

What beautiful buildings! These magnificent symbols of faith – evidence of an ordered universe with God only slightly off centre, for there are also signs of Roman dominance in Jerusalem, competing for attention and promising a different sort of ‘hope.’

Jesus says – ‘Don’t be fooled. These cannot last.’

What kind of hope is this? Jesus talks as though something is coming to an end. How does Isaiah’s optimism fit into this? How can this be good news for anyone?

Famously, the disciples – like most of us – would prefer to know when the disaster will occur. Some time to prepare – that’s what is needed. Jesus gives us nothing.

‘Be careful’ he says. ‘Many will try to fool you.’

The gospel lists a depressing array of tragic events. Wars and insurrections – great earthquakes, famine and plague, great signs from heaven…yikes! And still Jesus says (eventually) don’t worry – and don’t get caught up in the misery. Be ready to speak into the chaos, with words that will be given to you.

The hope is not that the times will be changed, or the disaster be averted. The hope is that some will be able to speak truth into the difficult times. Someone needs to be ready to remind the world that God is not the symbols (or the buildings), and the symbols (and the buildings) are not God.

Jesus disciples are called to be witnesses to God’s presence; to celebrate God’s activity; to identify God’s fingerprints in a world overwhelmed by bad handling and bad actors.

It Is hard to justify the optimism of Scripture in today’s crazy world. It is hard to hear Isaiah say ‘be hopeful’ for long life and comfortable living when surrounded by evidence of sickness and sorrow – injustice and inequality.

It is harder still to hear Jesus say that we should just stand firm and bring good news to those who will arrest, hate and persecute us for doing so. The final words of this gospel passage fall on our mostly deaf and completely skeptical ears – ‘…not a hair of your head will perish.’  Frankly, Jesus it’s not my hair I’m worried about.

But I want you to notice what Jesus doesn’t do. Jesus doesn’t promise an end to suffering. He does suggest that someone must speak up in opposition to that suffering. He does more than suggest that it should be us.

We are told that the decision to follow Jesus will result in our ‘salvation.’ Most often when we hear that (or say it) we are imagining an eternal reward for the soul at rest.

Now, a heavenly reward is all well and good, and if all you long for is a place in that heavenly city of gold, I don’t want to stand in your way – but following Jesus is not a shortcut to the end of things. It is our ticket to the middle of things.

Following Jesus engages us in the grand project of the redemption of all creation – not just the little bit that we care about – and that salvation / that redemption will be worked out, to borrow a phrase from the letter to the Philippians, with fear and trembling.

Not because we might not ‘make it’, but because the process of that salvation is gritty and complicated and the path to that promised glory is littered with challenges.

Following Jesus does not magically put an end to all suffering, but it can (should) put to an end our indifference towards that suffering. Our reward is a place in the kingdom being brought to birth in the midst of all that is chaotic and challenging in this world. Jesus doesn’t hide from the fact that the world is in turmoil. He does ask us to meet that turmoil head on – with God’s promised strength and the guidance of the Holy Spirit.

If we accept Jesus’ call – if we take up the challenge, it is likely that we will notice that something old has been crumbling, and that something wonderful and hopeful is even now taking its place.