Sermon: Beginning of the birth pangs (Nov. 15, 2015)

Pentecost 25B

November 15, 2015

Mark 13:1-8

            If you have been on social media or watched the news in the last week or so, then perhaps you are aware that the alleged “war on Christmas” has already begun, in the form of Starbucks coming out with plain red holiday cups instead of cups covered in snowflakes and reindeer. Spurred by one internet personality, a few people have latched onto this critique of Starbucks, and headlines have come out saying, “Some Christians believe Starbucks hates Jesus,” because their cups no longer have wintery, Christmasy pictures on them. Now, last I checked, snowflakes on coffee cups do not Christmas make, nor do reindeer or holly have anything to do with the coming Christ-child, and I think most people, Christian or not, recognize this. Still, it has been interesting to watch social media explode with strong, emotional reactions to this silliness.

This was my favorite response!

            What was so intriguing about the outrage was that, by and large, not very many people are actually worried about the cups themselves, but everyone seems to be interested in reacting to it, because, well, people love a good controversy. To achieve such a good controversy, things are often blown out of proportion – we see this every year when there is a “war” on Christmas. Suddenly, Starbucks’ well-intentioned attempt to offer a simple red canvas on which people can imagine whatever holiday spirit floats their boat becomes a huge ordeal in which the world as we know it is coming to an end.

            I have to wonder, as ridiculous things like this periodically take over news outlets, if the reason people fan the flames on contrived controversy is that it allows us to focus our attention and get out our emotions on something that doesn’t really matter, so that we don’t have to face what is truly troubling our hearts, whether it is deeply personal struggles, or large scale tragedies such as what happened in Paris this week, that make the world just seem so very chaotic. Claiming that Starbucks “hates Jesus” allows us to deny our fears that the Church is no longer a centerpiece of everyone’s life. Declaring a “war on Christmas” is less about coffee cups and more about feeling helpless in the face of legitimate world conflict. We do this even in the mundane ways of our daily lives – a wife may blow up at her husband about how he never puts his socks away, when her real concern is that she feels she’s lost control or her life, and this is one piece that can be tended to. Whether big ways or mundane, people naturally look for some outlet for their deepest emotions, because it is how we manage to make sense of the chaos around us.

            Apocalyptic literature is sort of like that, too. Apocalyptic literature is the category that our reading this morning from Mark falls into. We usually think of this biblical genre as being about how

Destruction of the Jerusalem Temple

the world will end, and generations of Christians have looked at passages like Mark 13 and tried to use them to predict when the world will end and how, but that isn’t really the intention of these writings. They are not some code to break. Really, apocalyptic writings are often an attempt to make sense of the current struggle, chaos, and emotion of our lives.

In the case of Mark 13, it is an answer to the particular struggles faced by the community for which Mark wrote. The Gospel of Mark is supposed to have been written shortly after the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple in the year 70. So Mark’s community is reeling after that siege and the devastation it left in its wake. Furthermore, they had expected, after the resurrection and ascension, that Jesus would return right away, and yet 40 years have passed since Jesus’ ascension and still nothing. They are losing hope. Their trusted leaders, like Peter and Paul, have, for the most part, died. Other teachers have come, claiming a greater truth and trying to draw these Christians away from Christ toward something they claimed was better, and in the midst of their confusion and lacking hope, it is hard not to be drawn toward them.

Their struggles are not unlike our own, in many ways. Their religious bedrock has been shaken – we, too, sometimes experience a crisis of faith. They expected Jesus to return immediately, but he hasn’t – they feel let down by hopes not fulfilled, something we have all experienced. They lack the guidance they need. They feel drawn toward things that can offer satisfaction, a fix, right now – they’d rather that than keep waiting around for something that doesn’t seem to be delivering in a timely manner. This community’s struggles are our struggles.

With all that in mind, Jesus’ words to the disciples in Mark 13 make perfect sense. They are not so much predictions as reflections on the current reality of the community for whom this Gospel was written. With this writing, that community can say, “Look, Jesus pointed to these things. As devastating as our situation seems right now, we can see that our struggles are a part of a bigger picture.” Now, was that a comfort to them? From our vantage point, it’s hard to say. Jesus’ words in this passage sound so doom and gloom, so hopeless, that it’s hard to imagine that they would hear much good news in them. Jesus even goes so far as to say that all the pain, fear, confusion and frustration that they feel is only the beginning: “This is but the beginning of the birth pangs.”

            Ah, but see, I think that is where the good news lies: in relating these current struggles to

those of birth pangs. Maybe it’s because that metaphor suddenly has a very real meaning to me, but viewing the struggles of our lives as birth pangs is laden with good news and potential. Every biological mother has a special birth story to share – sometimes shared with joy, sometimes with pain. In my birth story, I had to wait a long time for it start, two weeks longer than planned. When the labor pains started, they were mostly a discomfort. They woke me from sleep. Of course they got progressively more than a discomfort, and became full on pain. Of course there were brief respites between contractions, at least at first. But as labor progressed, there were no respites. Contractions were rapid fire with hardly a break from the pain between. At the height of the pain, shortly before Grace came out, I finally yelled into my pillow, “I can’t do this!” Yes, that, too, is a part of labor pains, literally and metaphorically. The self-doubt. The readiness to give up. The terrifying realization that there is no way out of this except to first endure more pain. Is that how Jesus’ disciples felt? Is that what Jesus was saying to his disciples? “You think the pain is bad now? You think your struggles now are difficult? Just wait. This will get worse before it gets better.”

            But of course, what comes at the end of all that pain? New life. One of my pastor friends said to me on the day that Michael and I went to the hospital to induce labor that childbirth was one of the most profound experiences of death and resurrection she had ever had. “It is pain with a purpose,” she said. “And at the end, you have this new and abundant life.” I have not forgotten that, and that is why I view Jesus’ words here as good news. “This is but the beginning of the birth pains.” It will get worse before it gets better. The struggles you face now are real, and they are difficult, and there is no easy way out. This feels especially true as we grieve with the world community about attacks and injustices and poverty and too many other tragedies, just as it may feel especially true in your own life as you manage broken relationships, painful memories, and difficult emotional processing. But our faith shows us that these pains are, in the end, birth pangs, and at the other end, God will show you new and abundant life. What that new life looks like, we cannot know – I am sensitive to the fact that not all birth pangs lead to a live birth. Sometimes they lead to a stillbirth, or a miscarriage, and the pain only continues to get worse. But our faith still promises us that eventually, life will come, however that may look. That’s what was promised to us by Christ’s own pain, struggles, death, and ultimate resurrection: that God will always take the pain we face and someday, somehow, turn it into newness of life.

            Let us pray… God of endings and beginnings and everything in between, we sometimes face struggles in which there seems to no end in sight. Give us the courage to be steadfast, to keep our eye on you, and to trust that you will always bring life out of death. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.