Mark 13:24-37 ‘But in those days, after that suffering, the sun will be darkened,and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see “the Son of Man coming in clouds” with great power and glory. Then he will send out the angels, and gather his elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven. . .
It's hard for us to identify with this scripture passage. It's difficult for us to connect with it.
This is not the typical, everyday faith language that we use, right? I mean, let's be honest here: How many of you can imagine yourselves sitting down in a nice, serene coffee shop with a good friend, and when that friend asks you, "What role does faith play in your life?" or even "How has Jesus changed your life?" how many of us could imagine taking a sip of that coffee. . . and then launching into the question with cataclysmic language about the destruction that is soon-to-be-awaiting the sun and moon? How many of us would do that? Or how many of us would lovingly reach our hand across the table and say, "Well, you know, for me, it's really been like a fig tree. . ."
It isn't as though this passage has nothing to teach us. It has much to teach us! But let's be honest from the beginning. It's hard to identify and connect with this scripture passage, at the very least, on a surface level. This isn't our typical, everyday faith language.
Then, of course, there's this too: When we hear or read scripture passages like this one, we often associate them with people and religious movements that teach about the immanent destruction of this world. Sometimes, these people and religious movements even put a date on that destruction. Just out of curiosity, I find myself wondering, how many of us thought of Harold Camping when we heard this scripture read aloud a few minutes ago?
Harold Camping and Family Radio recently ran a huge campaign to let people know that the rapture was going to happen on May 21st of this year, followed by the cataclysmic destruction of the earth and nearly all of us (after all, this rapture was going to be extremely exclusive, limited to those who believed that May 21st was the very date at hand). But to the embarrassment and dismay of Camping and his followers, May 21st came and went this year, and when Harold Camping recalculated his numbers and then pushed for an October 21st date, that day came and went too.
In response to these teachings and to this very visible campaign, many of us wanted to quote a sentence from today's scripture lesson and say, "No one knows the day or hour." And yet the very scripture we find ourselves wanting to quote is part of a larger framework that makes us a bit uncomfortable because we associate it with movements like these.
This scripture lesson has much to teach us, but it's hard to identify and connect with it. It's not our typical, everyday faith language. And perhaps we don't want to be associated with such language because we don't support how some people tend to use it.
And then, more honesty. There's this too: We just came out of one of our favorite holidays. Only a few days ago, many of us sat around tables filled with turkey and some of our favorite side dishes. And while some of our relatives may have annoyed us, many of us were grateful to experience several of our favorite traditions.
And then Thanksgiving suddenly rolled over into the Christmas season, at least as far shopping is concerned. I would say that this happened overnight, but if you've been following the news, you probably know it rolled over this year in a matter of hours, because stores began opening at 11pm on Thanksgiving night. We naturally want to bring this Christmas transition into our faith life too. So we come to church after this great transition, excited to begin Advent, and this is the scripture lesson? Seriously, Renee? Seriously, organizers of the Revised Common Lectionary? Really?
There are many reasons that it's difficult to identify and connect with this scripture passage this morning. But let's hang with it because this scripture passage does have much to teach us. And it is part of the language of Advent.
The Bible is a canon of scriptural writings - writings that use different voices, faith perspectives, and genres of stylistic language to give expression to who God is and how God claims us, loves us, and works for the ultimate good of creation. This passage is part of a genre in the Bible, and that genre is called Apocalyptic Literature. It might not be our typical, everyday faith language. It's not even the dominant language of the Bible, but it is a particular type of language that has been used at different moments within faith-history - within faith crises - to express deep convictions about who God is and how God cares for those who are enduring intense suffering.
The Book of Daniel in the Hebrew Scriptures contains large sections of Apocalyptic Literature. Revelation, the last book of our Bible, is classified as Apocalyptic Literature. And I guess that makes sense. The original Greek name of that book is simply "Apocalypse," taken from the very first word of the text. And then there's today's lesson - this chapter from the Gospel of Mark. This is Apocalyptic Literature as well. In fact, since it's just one chapter long, Biblical scholars like to call this chapter "The Little Apocalypse."
It may be cryptic language. It might be a bit foreign to us. But "The Little Apocalypse" makes big claims about God. And as we begin the Advent season, we can add our voices to these claims. We can add our convictions to this proclamation: God arrives. God shows up.
Apocalyptic passages of the Bible were often written centuries apart from one another, but in every case, the authors and the communities of faith behind these writings were experiencing political oppression or religious persecution. And most often, both were happening at the same time. The ability to practice one's faith was at stake. Human lives and human wellbeing were at stake.
So authors and communities of faith used cosmic language to speak to one another in symbolic terms. God is powerful and mighty, and though human powers of oppression and persecution are threatening to destroy us, God has not forgotten us. God will arrive. God will show up. God will save us. God will make all things right, transforming our lives - transforming the entire cosmos.
God is arriving. Watch. Wait. Endure. God is about to show up.
This is what the genre of Apocalyptic Literature conveys to us. Just when we think we can't endure any longer, God arrives, ready to make all things new.
Some of us have experienced political oppression and religious persecution on a large scale. Most of us have not. But we have all suffered. We have all wondered in dark times if we've been forgotten or if we're even going to make it one more day. The particulars may be different for each one of us, but as a community of faith, we are connected in that kind of experience.
We've probably all had a moment - maybe some of us are having a moment right now - where we've been in so much pain and confusion that it feels like our very cosmos is being torn apart and the world is ending.
It hurts. It doesn't make sense. But thanks be to God, the conviction of the Christian faith, is that God is arriving. God is showing up - God is willing to show up! - precisely in the messy, insecure places where we think we can't endure on more day.
God is arriving. Watch. Wait. Endure. God is about to show up.
That is the language of faith. That is the language of Advent.
With the Christmas shopping season encroaching other seasons of our lives and other holidays, perhaps it's helpful to say that the liturgical season of Advent is not Christmas. It's not. We're going to wait a bit longer for that, and we actually have a church-wide liturgical season for that. It's actually called Christmas. :)
Advent is connected, but Advent is its own autonomous season with its own language and its own questions to be asked of us. That's how we get scripture texts like this one in the lectionary. Advent says that the God who was, is, and is to come is the very God who loves us enough to make our lives new, the very God who is arriving into our pain and into the pain of the world, the very God who judges the oppression of this world so that it ceases and is no more. That's what Advent is about.
In 2007, when Advent was about to begin, I was in one of the most formative periods of my life. On one hand, it was such a rich time, but on the other, it was also one of the darkest, most difficult periods of my life. Months before in February, I had learned that someone deeply close to me was diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer, and the dreaded word 'terminal' was part of the diagnosis. The news of this impending loss was more than enough for me to carry, more then enough to make my last year and a half of seminary a challenging time. But on top of that, as many of you know, grief is often cumulative. A new wound sometimes brings up intense emotions of unresolved grief. And that's what happened to me. During that period, I remember telling one of my seminary professors, "I feel like this news has brought up everything that's ever upset me from any point during my life."
I brought those emotions with me one night into an Evening Worship service that was held weekly in our church for college and seminary students.
The sermon addressed much of what I needed to hear. There was a refrain of a few of a questions that was voiced several times. "Where will we see the Kingdom of God among us now? Who will be there when we see it, and where will it take us?"
It was our custom to share communion every Sunday in this Evening Worship service. On this night, as we transitioned from sermon to communion, my emotions felt heavy.
But then I overheard something. It was simple. It was such a simple moment that transformed where and how I was. I've never forgotten it.
"Will the communion servers please come forward?"
Laura and Amanda received the bread and the cup from the table and stood in front of us. We were all invited to come and receive. The person leading music approached them first, and Laura and Amanda voiced the typical liturgical words. "The Body of Christ." "The Cup of Salvation."
And since I was sitting in the front row, I overheard something. Amanda turned to Laura and asked, "Why do we always whisper it?" "I don't know," Laura said back to her, still whispering.
Then they started doing something very simple, but for me in that moment, it was transformative. They started speaking their words more substantially, as of they were something to actually proclaim, as if this moment of bread and cup was a gift of love that was actually meeting us in the present moment. "The Body of Christ." "The Cup of Salvation."
So when I went through the line and stood in front of Amanda, before she could speak, I said, "I want you to really say it."
"THE CUP OF SALVATION!!!!" she said. She practically shouted it.
Naturally, as I dipped my bread into the cup, my first response was to start snickering. Amanda wasn't trying to be disrespectful or silly, though the gesture was a bit playful. Like so many moments of play, the gesture carried meaning to me.
I sat down in my chair after that, filled with transformative joy. God had arrived. God had shown up. God had been there all along - not apart from my pain, but right in the midst of it. God wasn't far off, waiting to swoop in in some distant future. God was in front of me right now in THE CUP OF SALVATION of all places! God had encountered me with love and presence right in the midst of some playful but profound words.
How will God arrive for us in the season of Advent even now?
Watch. Wait. Endure. God is about to show up.
Let's walk the road together and see it for ourselves. Amen.
-Renee Roederer, Director of Young Adult Ministries, and the Community at Pasadena Presbyterian Church
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