Mark:13:24-37
“But in those days, after that suffering, the sun will be darkened and the moon will not give its light. The stars will be falling from heaven and the powers of the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in the clouds’ with great power and glory. Then he will send the angels to gather his elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven.
“From the fig tree learn its lesson. When you see its branches become tender and begin to put forth leaves, you know that summer is near. In the same way, when you see these things begin to take place you know that he is near, at the very gates. Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all of these things take place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.
“But about that day and hour, no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. Beware; keep alert, for you do not know when the time will come. It is like a man, going on a journey, who puts his slaves in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch. Keep awake, therefore, for you do not know when the master of the house will return, in the evening, at midnight, at cock-crow, or at dawn, or else he might find you sleeping when he comes, suddenly. Therefore, what I say to you, I say to all, ‘Keep awake.’”
I don’t think Jesus is coming back any time soon. I’m not sure if it’s more or less faithful to say that, but it’s how I feel and how I live much more often than not.
I had a seminary professor who claimed to love a cloudy day because he liked to look up and watch for Jesus to show up from behind the next cloud, at any given moment, like this Gospel reading suggests. He was – and I imagine, still is – one of the smartest Bible scholars I’ve known. He was – and I imagine, still is a level-headed, rational, wise, and faithful believer, too. And I imagine he’s still waiting on a cloudy day and watching for Jesus. More power to him, but I’m not that guy. And more on that in moment…
I don’t know how much is too much news to consume about the hostages in Israel and Gaza, but I suspect I’ve seen more than my fair share. I can’t fathom the fear of being held captive, in the dark, in those underground tunnels. I can’t grasp the anxiety of the loved ones who wait and worry and wring their hands for the next list to be announced and for their loved ones to come home.
And, even more, I can’t stop thinking about the kids. The infant boy who was still nursing when he was taken. The four-year-old girl who finally made it home – but only to her aunts, uncles and siblings, because her parents were both killed; and not really “home” because the house she lived in was destroyed and no longer exists.
But the one who gets me most is the 9-year-old little girl, named Emily, whose father was told had died very early on in the attacks, news for which he claimed to be grateful and relieved – because he believed her fate and suffering would have been worse as a hostage all of this time. It turns out she wasn’t killed, after all, and she made it out alive. But when she was returned to her dad, she would or could only whisper. For fear … or because of the demands of her captors over the course of her captivity … or probably both … this little girl couldn’t or wouldn’t speak in her normal voice. Her dad had to put his lips to her ears to hear anything she wanted to say. And the sadness and fear in his own voice as he described that was heartbreaking and terrifying in its own way.
So, I wondered what this Gospel reading might sound like to one of those hostages and to their family members.
“In those days, after that suffering, the sun will be darkened and the moon will not give its light. The stars will be falling from heaven and the powers in the heavens will be shaken.”
I wondered that because, this has always sounded like bad news to me … the sun extinguished … the moon dead … the stars falling like shrapnel … the heavens trembling.
But what struck me this time around in a new way, is the hope I wonder if Jesus intended by promising all of it, “In those days, after that suffering…” I wonder if those hostages – or anyone in a similarly desperate, terrifying, sufferable set of circumstances – would see a kind of hope in this, instead of the fear with which these apocalyptic passages are so often received. “In those days, after that suffering…”
See, I realize … and I need to remind myself … that I’ve lived a pretty selfish, self-centered, seemingly self-sufficient life for the most part. Most of the suffering I’ve experienced has been by proxy … alongside others … prayerfully and with, but not IN the depths of the suffering and despair I know others have known, and know as we sit here today.
Of course the hostages in Gaza and the prisoners in Israel – and the war and desolation, the destruction and despair connected with all of that – is one thing.
And there are so many other peoples and places consumed by suffering I feel like I can only watch from a distance, imagine, and pray about.
And I think about the devastating losses in our own community in just the last couple of weeks, too. The tragic, senseless, unnecessary, accidental death of young, beautiful lives full of so much potential and promise – like Lindsay Locker and Evan Neumeister – and what their families and friends suffer, still.
And I think about others we know and have loved who’ve suffered long illnesses – surgeries, medical treatments, mental decline, physical difficulty, chronic pain and all the rest. And the husbands and wives and families who have loved and suffered – and continue to love and suffer – with them through it all.
And, don’t get me wrong, this isn’t a contest. Our suffering is relative and we don’t need to minimize our own hardship and struggle because it’s not as bad as, or because it doesn’t measure up to, what others endure. The hope Jesus offers here is for all of us because the truth is we will all suffer in some way, at some point, and that Truth just becomes clearer the more time you spend on the planet and the more you pay attention.
Whatever the case, Jesus’ words today are meant to be a promise, not a threat, and I hope you hear them that way for a change, if you never have before – especially if you’re in the throes of some kind of suffering or grief or struggle at the moment.
Because listen carefully and remember... Jesus says, “in those days… after that suffering…” I think it means something better is on the way. It means that there’s an “after” to whatever suffering plagues you and surrounds us all.
And I think that’s also why Jesus says, “Beware … Keep alert … Stay awake … Go about your business … Live your life…” because you never know when God’s hope will show up in your midst – and you don’t want to miss it. Yeah, it may be this apocalyptic, second-coming sort of stuff, where the clouds part, the thunder rolls, and Jesus shows up like a Marvel super-hero with his band of angels to save the day.
But, in the meantime, it might also be as close and as simple and as quiet and as slow-moving as a fig tree, too, becoming tender, putting forth leaves, bearing fruit, and signaling that something better is on the way.
Beware… Keep alert… Stay awake… it may be as close and as simple and as quiet as a meal from a church member. Or a text from a friend. Or a prayer from your Pastor. A drink with a buddy, that look in your kid’s eyes, a hand from your partner.
And that’s why I’m not staring up at the sky, looking behind the next cloud, for a super-hero to save the day. I’m trying to find this hope, this presence, the nearness of God, in the eyes and hands and hearts of the people around me. And I’m trying to find it in the mirror more often, too … because these Advent days remind us that God comes in the shape of a person, after all… full of grace and truth ... never promising there will be no pain, no suffering, no struggle, no hardship in our lives … but showing up precisely because there has been, is, and will be all of those things too much of the time.
But there is beauty, too. And there is mercy, in this mess. And there is love. And hope. And plenty of reason to look for and to be those things, for ourselves, for each other, and for the sake of the world.
Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.
