New Creation

Revelation 21:1–5

Growing Season — Final Week

August 30, 2026

Something about the end of August feels different.

The calendar still says summer. The afternoons can still be hot. Tomatoes are still on the vine, and flowers are still blooming around us.

But you can feel something changing.

The mornings are a little different.

The evenings come a little sooner.

Some of the flowers that were brilliant a month ago are beginning to fade.

The garden is beginning to look tired.

And if you are a gardener, you know what is coming.

There will be a final tomato.

A final cucumber.

A final flower.

Eventually the garden that seemed so alive in June will become brown and quiet.

And if you didn't know any better, you might think the story was over.

But a gardener knows better.

Because endings in a garden are rarely just endings.

They are preparation for what comes next.

And maybe that is the perfect place for us to end our Growing Season.

We began this journey months ago with seeds.

And today we end with these extraordinary words from Revelation:

"See, I am making all things new."

Not, "I am making a few things better."

Not, "I am repairing some of the damage."

Not even, "I am restoring things to the way they used to be."

God says:

"I am making all things new."

That may be one of the most hopeful promises in all of Scripture.

We've Been in the Garden for a While

Think about where we have traveled together this summer.

We started with Seeds of the Spirit and Jesus' story about a farmer scattering seed.

Some fell on the path.

Some among rocks.

Some among thorns.

And some landed in good soil.

We talked about the soil of our own hearts and asked:

What is God trying to grow in me?

Then came the rain.

And we remembered that faith doesn't mean storms never come. Faith means we discover what our lives are built upon when they do.

Then came Pruning.

Jesus said:

"I am the vine; you are the branches."

And we discovered that sometimes God removes things not because God is punishing us, but because God is preparing us to grow.

Then we entered the Butterfly Season and remembered Paul's words:

"Be transformed by the renewing of your minds."

Transformation often happens where nobody can see it.

The caterpillar disappears.

The cocoon seems quiet.

But something extraordinary is happening inside.

Then came the Wildflowers.

Jesus told us to consider the lilies.

Look around.

Pay attention.

Trust God.

Stop worrying quite so much about tomorrow.

Then we talked about Dragonfly Faith—learning to change direction when the Spirit redirects us.

Then came Fruit.

Love.

Joy.

Peace.

Patience.

Kindness.

Goodness.

Faithfulness.

Gentleness.

Self-control.

We discovered that Christian faith isn't simply about what we believe.

Eventually something should grow.

Then came The Cardinal Reminder—those moments when something simple causes us to remember that we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses and that we do not walk this road alone.

Then we became A Garden for Others.

Because a garden that produces only for itself has missed its purpose.

God blesses us so that we can become a blessing.

Then came Harvest.

Jesus said:

"Look around you, and see how the fields are ripe for harvesting."

There are people all around us who need hope.

Who need community.

Who need somebody to notice them.

Who need somebody to love them.

Then we met The Gardener in the garden with Mary Magdalene.

She thought Jesus was the gardener.

And perhaps, in a wonderful way, she was right.

Then last week we talked about something considerably less beautiful.

Compost.

The scraps.

The leftovers.

The things we would rather throw away.

And we discovered that in God's hands, even those things can become soil for something new.

And now we arrive here.

Revelation 21.

At the end of the Bible.

And after all these weeks of growing, pruning, changing, blooming, harvesting, and composting, God gives us the destination:

New Creation.

John Sees Something New

John writes:

"Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth."

You need to understand where John is when he writes this.

He isn't sitting somewhere comfortable drinking coffee and watching the sunrise.

John is in exile.

The early Church knows persecution.

People are suffering.

The Roman Empire seems unstoppable.

Christians are wondering what the future holds.

And into that uncertainty God gives John a vision.

John looks beyond what is happening around him and sees what God is doing beyond it.

That's important.

Because sometimes what we see right now can convince us that what we see right now is all there is.

We see war.

Division.

Illness.

Loneliness.

Addiction.

Families struggling.

Communities changing.

Churches worrying about the future.

We look at our own lives and see relationships that aren't what we hoped they would be.

Bodies that don't work quite like they once did.

People who used to sit beside us who are no longer there.

Dreams that didn't happen.

Mistakes we wish we could undo.

And if we stare at those things long enough, we can begin to believe:

This is simply how things are.

But Revelation says:

No.

What you see now is real.

But it isn't final.

That's the difference Christian hope makes.

Christian hope doesn't pretend that everything is fine.

Christian hope says that everything is not fine—but God isn't finished.

God Is Not Finished

I wonder if somebody needs to hear that this morning.

God isn't finished.

Maybe you're discouraged about something in your family.

God isn't finished.

Maybe you're carrying grief that still catches you unexpectedly.

God isn't finished.

Maybe you're worried about what the future holds.

God isn't finished.

Maybe you've made mistakes and wonder whether you've gone too far.

God isn't finished.

Maybe you look at the Church and wonder what it will look like ten or twenty years from now.

God isn't finished.

Maybe you look at yourself and think, "At my age, I'm probably not going to change much."

Don't tell that to God.

God specializes in new creation.

Paul says:

"If anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation."

That means God's New Creation isn't only something waiting for us at the end of history.

It has already begun.

It began when Jesus walked out of a tomb on Easter morning.

Death thought it had the last word.

It didn't.

Rome thought it had the last word.

It didn't.

The stone thought it had the last word.

It didn't.

God did.

And God's word was:

Life.

"The Home of God Is Among Mortals"

Then John hears something remarkable:

"See, the home of God is among mortals."

Think about that.

Sometimes when we talk about Christianity, we make the whole story about us getting to heaven.

But Revelation ends differently.

The great movement isn't humanity escaping creation and going somewhere else.

God comes to dwell with us.

Throughout Scripture God has been moving closer.

In Genesis, God walks through the garden.

Then God dwells among Israel.

Then comes the Temple.

Then Jesus arrives.

John's Gospel says:

"The Word became flesh and lived among us."

And finally Revelation says:

God's dwelling is with humanity.

No more distance.

No more separation.

No more wondering whether God has forgotten us.

God is with His people.

That is what God has wanted from the beginning.

Not simply servants.

Not simply subjects.

Not simply people who follow religious rules.

God wants relationship.

God wants His children home.

And Then Comes the Part I Love

John says:

"He will wipe every tear from their eyes."

I've read those words at many funerals.

And every time I read them, they strike me.

Because Scripture doesn't say God announces from a distance:

"Stop crying."

God doesn't shame us for our tears.

God doesn't say:

"You should have more faith."

God comes close enough to wipe them away.

That image is incredibly tender.

Think about a little child who falls and skins a knee.

Someone who loves that child kneels down.

They don't stand across the room and shout:

"You're fine!"

They get close.

They hold the child.

They wipe away the tears.

That's the picture John gives us.

God close enough to touch your face.

God close enough to know every tear.

And perhaps that means something else.

For God to wipe away our tears, God must know why they are there.

Every tear you've cried that nobody saw.

God saw it.

Every night you've lain awake worried about someone you love.

God knew.

Every goodbye that broke your heart.

Every disappointment.

Every betrayal.

Every diagnosis.

Every grave.

Every moment when you smiled in public and cried in private.

God knows.

And one day God promises:

Enough.

No more death.

No more mourning.

No more crying.

No more pain.

The old order has passed away.

Imagine That World

Sometimes we have heard those words so often that we stop hearing how radical they are.

Imagine a world with no funeral homes.

No cancer centers.

No nursing homes where families watch someone slowly disappear.

No addiction treatment centers.

No children's hospitals.

No battlefields.

No cemeteries.

No domestic violence shelters.

No hunger.

No loneliness.

No phone calls in the middle of the night that change everything.

No parents burying children.

No children burying parents.

No dementia.

No ALS.

No cancer.

No tears at all.

Can you imagine?

John says:

That's where God is taking creation.

Not because humanity finally gets its act together.

But because God makes all things new.

Notice What God Doesn't Say

God doesn't say:

"See, I am making all new things."

God says:

"I am making all things new."

There is a difference.

God doesn't simply throw everything away.

God redeems.

God restores.

God resurrects.

That's been the story of this whole Growing Season.

A seed looks insignificant.

God grows something.

A storm comes.

God strengthens the roots.

A branch is pruned.

God produces fruit.

A caterpillar disappears.

God brings transformation.

A wildflower grows where nobody planted it.

God creates beauty.

Something rots in the compost pile.

God turns it into soil.

Again and again the message has been the same:

Don't judge God's work too early.

You don't know what God might do with this.

The Compost of Our Lives

That's especially important after last week's message.

All of us have some compost in our lives.

Things we'd rather not put on display.

Failures.

Regrets.

Disappointments.

Broken relationships.

Plans that didn't work.

Seasons when we wandered.

Choices we wish we could redo.

And we can spend years wishing we could erase them.

But perhaps God says:

"Give them to Me."

Not because the painful thing was good.

Not because God wanted it to happen.

But because redemption means the worst chapter doesn't get to write the ending.

God can take what was broken and grow compassion.

God can take grief and grow tenderness.

God can take failure and grow humility.

God can take disappointment and grow wisdom.

God can take loneliness and grow awareness of others who are lonely.

God can take an ending and plant a beginning.

That's New Creation.

A Church of New Creation

And that brings this message very close to home for us at Bethel.

Because if God is making all things new, then the Church should be one of the places where people can glimpse it happening.

When someone who is lonely walks through our doors and discovers a family—

that's New Creation.

When someone is hungry and receives food—

that's New Creation.

When a child discovers adults who know their name and care about their future—

that's New Creation.

When somebody who hasn't been in church for years walks in and discovers that there is still a place for them—

that's New Creation.

When churches work together instead of competing—

that's New Creation.

When we visit somebody who can't get out anymore—

that's New Creation.

When we carry Communion to someone who can't come to this table—

that's New Creation.

When we forgive someone—

that's New Creation.

When we welcome someone—

that's New Creation.

When we choose compassion over judgment—

that's New Creation.

These are little glimpses.

Tiny shoots pushing through the soil.

Signs that God's future is already beginning to grow among us.

Maybe That's What the Church Is Supposed to Be

Not a museum preserving the past.

Not a club protecting its membership.

Not a building where we come once a week and then return to normal life.

Maybe the Church is supposed to be a greenhouse for New Creation.

A place where God grows things the world desperately needs.

Hope.

Mercy.

Forgiveness.

Patience.

Generosity.

Community.

Courage.

Love.

Then God sends us outside these walls, carrying those things into the community.

The Growing Season was never just about us growing.

It was always about what God might grow through us.

The Elderly Gardener

I once heard a story about an elderly woman who loved gardening.

Someone asked her why she continued planting flowers every year when the work had become difficult.

She smiled and said:

"Every spring God lets me practice resurrection."

I love that.

Practice resurrection.

Maybe that's what we've been doing all summer.

Every seed has been practice.

Every flower has been practice.

Every butterfly has been practice.

Every harvest has been practice.

Every act of forgiveness is practice.

Every meal we share is practice.

Every time we welcome a stranger is practice.

Every time we sit beside someone who is hurting is practice.

Every time we choose hope instead of despair is practice.

We are practicing resurrection.

We are practicing the Kingdom.

We are practicing New Creation.

The Bible Begins and Ends in a Garden

Have you ever noticed this?

The Bible begins in a garden.

Genesis.

Trees.

Rivers.

Life.

God walking with humanity.

Then sin enters.

Relationships break.

Human beings hide.

The garden is lost.

But God spends the rest of Scripture bringing us home.

And near the end of Revelation, the garden appears again.

The river of life flows.

The Tree of Life grows.

Its leaves are for the healing of the nations.

The Bible begins in a garden.

And the Bible ends in a garden.

But this time...

The garden has become a city.

Because God doesn't simply restore Eden.

God brings creation to its fulfillment.

And Who Is Standing in the Middle of the Story?

Jesus.

The One Mary mistook for the gardener.

Maybe she saw more than she realized.

Because Jesus is still the Gardener.

Still walking among His people.

Still calling us by name.

Still turning soil.

Still planting seeds.

Still pruning branches.

Still watering dry places.

Still bringing life out of graves.

Still making all things new.

So What Do We Do Now?

Our Growing Season ends today.

But God's Growing Season doesn't.

Tomorrow morning, God will still be working.

When September arrives, God will still be working.

When the leaves fall, God will still be working.

When winter comes, and everything seems dormant, God will still be working.

And when spring comes again, we'll discover that God was working beneath the surface all along.

So perhaps our prayer today shouldn't be:

"Lord, thank You for a good sermon series."

Perhaps our prayer should be:

"Lord, keep growing us."

Keep growing this church.

Keep growing our compassion.

Keep growing our willingness to serve.

Keep growing our love for this community.

Keep growing our concern for children and young people.

Keep growing our ability to notice the lonely.

Keep growing our generosity.

Keep growing our courage.

Keep growing Christ in us.

Because there is still soil to tend.

There are still seeds to plant.

People still need hope.

There are still neighbors who need community.

There are still broken hearts that need compassion.

There is still a harvest waiting.

One Last Walk Through the Garden

So before we leave this Growing Season, take one last walk through the garden with me.

Look down.

There are the seeds we planted.

Listen.

There's the rain that once frightened us.

Look over there.

There's the branch that had to be pruned.

And there...

a butterfly.

A wildflower.

A dragonfly.

Fruit hanging from the vine.

A cardinal sitting on a branch.

A garden with room for others.

Fields ready for harvest.

And walking toward us...

the Gardener.

Behind Him is the compost pile—the things we thought were wasted.

But now something is growing there too.

And beyond all of it...

John sees something we cannot yet fully see.

A new heaven.

A new earth.

A city coming down.

A river flowing.

A tree bearing fruit.

And God dwelling with His people.

No more death.

No more mourning.

No more crying.

No more pain.

Every tear wiped away.

And from the throne comes the voice of the One who has been with us through every season:

"See, I am making all things new."

Friends, that's our hope.

That's our destination.

That's the promise toward which every seed has been growing.

The garden isn't finished.

Neither are you.

Neither are we.

God is still at work.

So keep planting.

Keep growing.

Keep loving.

Keep serving.

Keep hoping.

And when you find yourself in a season when nothing seems to be growing...

remember the garden.

Remember the empty tomb.

Remember the Gardener.

And remember His promise:

"See, I am making all things new."

The Growing Season may be ending.

But God's work has only begun.

Thanks be to God.

Amen.

Prayer Following the Sermon

Let us pray.

Lord of Creation,

Today we stand at the edge of one season and the beginning of another.

Over these past weeks You have gently walked beside us. You have shown us that faith begins as a tiny seed. You have taught us that rain has a purpose, pruning has meaning, butterflies emerge from struggle, and fruit grows slowly. You have reminded us through flowers, birds, gardens, and harvests that all of creation speaks of Your love.

Today You remind us of something even greater.

You are making all things new.

When we become discouraged by the brokenness of our world, remind us that Your story has not ended.

When we grow weary from caring for others, renew our strength.

When we carry regrets from yesterday, remind us that grace is always stronger than guilt.

Continue Your work within us. Remove whatever keeps us from becoming the people You created us to be. Plant compassion where there is indifference. Plant courage where there is fear. Plant forgiveness where resentment has taken root. Plant hope where despair has settled in.

As we leave this place, may others see not simply better people, but people who are being transformed by the love of Jesus Christ.

For we ask all these things in His holy name.

Amen.