From the first day until now. God will carry on his good work until the day of Christ. As often as we eat the bread and drink the cup, we proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes. Until is an important word.

Até is the Portuguese preposition that can mean, among other things, “until.” It is used in a variety of farewells. Até logo, until later. Até em breve, until soon. Até amanhã, until tomorrow. Sometimes Brazilians will just say “Até,” which might be equivalent to our “See ya!”

Often as we prepare to leave Brazil at the end of one of our mission trips, we bid our friends farewell with “Até proximo vez,” until next time. Or, “Até julho,” until July when we hope to be back with another mission group.

My trip to Brazil this past October was different than all the rest. Different than the first when everything was new and unfamiliar and we didn’t know if there would be a next time or not. And different from all the others when I said, “Até proximo vez,” with a strong certainty that not only would there be a next time, it would be proximo julho, if not sooner. But in October, as now, I didn’t know when “next time” will be. I pray and have some certainty that there will be a next time in Brazil, but with the call to Langhorne, all that is up in the air. And, for sure, next time I go to Brazil, it will not be as the pastor of Beaver half of the Belo-Beaver Partnership.

I told only a few Brazilians of our call to Langhorne and the changes it will bring. Robson already knew. Paulo and Mara, of course, and a couple others. And Leonardo, one of the meninos whose story is so intertwined with the partnership and who I was privileged to baptize four years ago. Leo is only 23, but his faith is deep and his love for Christ and the church is strong. We have talked a lot over the years.

Emma Varkonda and I sat with Leo in the pastor’s office at IPJA late Saturday afternoon, and we talked about many things. We talked about the Christian rock band, Vox Hagios, which is so important to Leonardo and Edvan and the others. We talked about Leonardo’s friend Fabinho who struggles with life. And then I told Leo about our decision to leave Park. Long silences were followed by questions and then more silence. Our eyes were red from the sting of tears by the time we left the church and walked into the cool of an early spring evening just outside Favela da Ventosa, where Leo has lived his entire life.

On Sunday night after worship, a service of bittersweet emotion for me, time came to leave the church. Those of you who have been to IPJA know about leaving the church for the last time each trip. It was late and I was going to have pizza with Paulo, Mara, Adriano, Davyane, Ronilton and Ednalva. Leo waited for me on the sidewalk and we said a few last words. We exchanged a final abraço, a farewell hug that lingered for just a few seconds speaking a thousand words, and then he said, “Até.” Only até. Until. I crossed the street to get in Adriano’s waiting car and took one last look back at the church where such much good has been done from the first day until now. Leonardo was standing by the iron gate, just outside the church door. Our eyes met and we raised our arms in a last wave. Até.

Like its English and Portuguese counterparts, the Greek word , a;cri,, “until,” is a no account little word, a preposition of time, except that it is crammed full of biblical meaning. Until connects the joy in our remembrances with the hope of our future. Indeed, Christians are called to be an “until” people – rejoicing in remembrances and confident in hope.

Paul uses this rich theological word in his letter to the Philippians. You may have heard it as Mary Beth and Becky read the text. First, in verse 5, he tells his friends that he thanks God for them and remembers and prays with joy because of their partnership in the gospel from the first day until now. There’s a past tense dimension to being “until” people. That’s the “from then until now” part of our lives. That past “then” may be when you first came to know God’s love for you in Jesus Christ. It may be the when you became a part of the fellowship here at Park Church. Secondly, in verse 6, Paul says that he is confident of God’s good working in the lives of the Philippians until the day of Christ. That’s the future tense of being an “until” people. It’s the “from now until then” part of our lives. Then until now and now until then.

From now until then. As he writes to the Corinthians, the Apostle Paul summarizes the gospel accounts of what we have come to call the Last Supper. “The Lord Jesus on the night when he was betrayed took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it, and said, "This is my body which is for you. Do this in remembrance of me." In the same way also the cup, after supper, saying, "This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me."

And then Paul adds a theological commentary: “For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord's death until he comes.” For now this is our “until” feast. We are called to feast at this table until he comes. You know, there’s no communion in heaven. We won’t need it then. But we do now. Until he comes. Like the Apostle and all the saints and martyrs, like all those who gather and have gathered at the “until” feast, you and I live in an “until” world. We are always living from now until then. We are waiting for then, for then Christ shall appear. We are waiting until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream. We are waiting until the wolf and the lamb feed together. We are waiting until we no longer see in a mirror dimly, but face to face. We are waiting until we know fully, even as we are fully known. We are waiting until there is no more death or mourning our crying or pain. We are waiting until Christ returns.

Now, Christian waiting is not hanging out on the street corner doing nothing, sitting at home playing computer solitaire. In our waiting we work for justice and insist on righteousness. We fight for reconciliation that goes deeper than a cheap “I’m sorry.” We seek the ways of Christ knowing that we’re always prone to wandering from his way. We grieve death and mourn loss and wipe tears from loved ones’ eyes. And we gather at this table to proclaim the Lord’s redeeming death until he comes. For nine and a half years, we have been waiting together, and I believe ours has been a good and full time of waiting, purposeful waiting – waiting, but not wasting time.

To be your pastor and his wife has been a profound joy for Becky and me. Last night was a great celebration of “then until now,” the past nine and a half years. Thank you for your partnership in the gospel from then until now. We will always thank God in all our remembrances of you.

More than once in the past nine and a half years I have quoted C.S. Lewis’ reminder that “Christians never say good-bye.” We will meet again. But in a more immediate way, in the daily-ness of our lives, one of our tasks yet remaining this morning is to say good-bye. Of course, we hope to see some of you, maybe many of you again, and not that long from now. This morning, however, we say good-bye to “then until now.” We say good-bye to our partnership in the gospel and our days of purposeful waiting together.

But coming to this table, we proclaim “now until then,” we proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes. We declare that because of Christ and him crucified, that because there is a redeemer, that because it is well with our souls and that because God will not rest until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream; we proclaim that in Christ we shall meet again, if not soon, then in the courts of heaven.

And so, good-bye to all that we done together from the first day until now. But to each of you, my friends, not good-bye, just “until.” Até, queridos amigos.