Pentecost 26B
November 18, 2018
Mark 13:1-8
INTRODUCTION
Always at
this, the end of the church year, right before Advent, we get texts that are
about the end of the world and the destruction of the Temple – stuff that falls
in the category of “apocalyptic literature,” about the end times. And every
year I think, “Man, these horrifying texts could be describing what we
experience today!” Well for Mark’s audience, they did exactly that. Here’s a
little church history lesson for you: In Jesus’s time, the Jerusalem Temple was
indeed a glorious accomplishment, huge and glimmering with gold. But this
Temple, and Jerusalem with it, were destroyed by the Romans in the year 70 –
which happens to be when Mark was writing about it. In other words, even as
Mark is writing that Jesus foretold the destruction of the Temple, Mark’s
audience was watching this happen right before their eyes. So while it seems to
us like Mark could be describing our world, he was, literally, describing his
first century world.
I find some
comfort in this, knowing that people throughout time have been dealing with one
crisis or trauma or another, and that through them all, God’s word has stood as
a solid beacon of hope. So as you listen to this collection of apocalyptic
texts today, know that we can seek solidarity with people of faith throughout
time, who have always looked to God in times of trouble. Let’s listen.
[READ]
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| Model of the Jerusalem Temple |
Grace to you and peace from God our
Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.
In a world
where the news is dominated by devastating fires, mass shootings, extreme
poverty, and any number of things we need to fear, I have to say that today’s
readings do not feel very welcome in my heart! Always these last Sundays before
Advent begins, we get a lot of doom and destruction from the Bible’s
apocalyptic literature. In fact, chapter 13 in Mark is known as Mark’s “little
apocalypse,” describing a horrific scene that must be endured before the final
and triumphant end of time.
That word,
“apocalypse,” brings up all kinds of terrifying images for us, doesn’t it?
Fire, brimstone, wars, famines – all the stuff described in Daniel and Mark.
Yet that’s not actually what the word means, exactly. What apocalypse actually
means, is an unveiling. It is pulling back the veil to reveal what has been hidden
underneath – which often ends up being a lot of really terrifying stuff, stuff
that we’d rather not have to deal with. We’d fooled ourselves into thinking
things were better than they were, and when we see that dark underbelly, we are
shocked and think, “What? I had no idea!”
I hear this
sentiment a lot in our world today, especially in our country. After people of
faith are shot in their place of worship, after yet another powerful man is
brought down by sexual assault allegations, after literal Nazis march down the
street chanting, “Jews will not replace us,” after another person of color is
shot and killed for no reason at all… I hear this lament: “Is this who we are
now?” And the answer is yes, but it’s also who we’ve always been. These
sentiments, if not the acts themselves, have long been present in our society,
it’s just that now, due to the 24-hour news cycle, or social media, or our leadership,
or whatever, it is becoming apparent to us in a way that it hasn’t before. And
we are shocked and appalled – by the acts themselves, as much as by the realization
that we have been unaware of this reality all this time.
There’s a
wonderful word for this: disillusionment. Preacher and theologian Barbara Brown
Taylor describes it this way: “Disillusionment is, literally, the loss of an
illusion – about ourselves, about the world, about God – and while it is almost
always a painful thing, it is never a bad thing, to lose the lies we have
mistaken for the truth.” Boy, painful is the word for it. I have tried to do
some self-reflection on this this week, in particular on the question, “What
lies and illusions do I mistake for truth?” and I find myself resistant to even
going there! Because if I spend some time doing that, I might discover that
something I have held dear, that has kept me safe, that even has helped to
define me, might in fact just be some illusion, some lie I have been telling
myself. I’d rather just keep up the illusion, frankly, and hold onto those
things that have brought me comfort and a sense of safety all these years, even
if they are mere illusions, because if disillusionment is anything like what
Jesus describes here, even if metaphorically, that sounds like a pain I’d
rather avoid, if possible.
Of course it
is not really possible to avoid, is it? We all have experiences, some small,
some significant, in which we were disillusioned, where we suddenly realize
something is not as we thought it was. For me, I think of an awesome internship
I applied for, for which I thought I was a shoe-in, and then I was not even
offered an interview, though several of my classmates were. I think of a
relationship with a guy I thought for sure was The One, only to discover he had
a whole other life I didn’t even know about, including other long-term
relationships. I think of when I was an invincible 15-year-old one day, and the
next, I was a cancer patient, and almost overnight I went from being healthy
and untouchable, to sick and fighting for my life. Each of those
disillusionments was painful. In each, I felt a sense of destruction – in my
heart, and in the way I saw the world around me. Each felt like a little
apocalypse in my life.
And really –
each was a sort of apocalypse, an
unveiling, because each one showed me something I thought was true was not, in
fact true. Each one caused me to doubt what I thought I knew about myself, and
try to find the real truth. And each set me upon a path I needed to be on.
Instead of that internship, I ended up here, where I got to work with all of
you, and where I met my husband and started a family. Because of my
relationship with that two-faced guy, I learned all kinds of important
relationship tools that equipped me to be in the healthy and honest
relationship I’m in now, as well as offer more effective counsel to others as a
part of my ministry. Having cancer taught me countless valuable lessons about
life, and perhaps even more, showed me with such clarity the power of the Body
of Christ, and of prayer, and in many ways it set me upon the path to become a
pastor. Each apocalypse, though incredibly painful at the time, was an
unveiling that led me back toward living the godly life God has in mind for me.
Did you
know, we actually experience a little apocalypse every time we gather to
worship. It happens right at the beginning… the confession. Here, built into
our worship, we have the opportunity to come before God and say, “Hey God, I’ve
been hiding my sins, from you and perhaps even from myself, and choosing to
live under the illusion that I am without sin. But now, I’d like to unveil my
sin, to you. Disillusion me, O God. Pull back the lies I have been telling
myself and others, and then help me deal with what is left there, so that I
would be set upon your path, heading
toward your will, rather than the
path my illusions would lead me down. Forgive me, renew me, and lead me, so
that I may delight in your will and walk in your ways, to the glory of your
Holy Name. Amen.”
And then the
rest of our worship is about the fruit of that disillusionment: it’s about
stepping into the new life that is possible because of the apocalypse we have
experienced. It’s about hearing the Word, the promises of God in scripture.
It’s about holding in prayer and in love all those around the world in need.
It’s about seeking peace and reconciliation between one another – between
nations and between individuals. It’s about sharing a meal together, in which
we remember and celebrate the incredible, self-sacrificing love of our God, as
we come forward with hands extended, asking for a taste of God’s immense grace
for us. It’s about being sent out into the world to share what we know about
this love, this grace, this peace… this God. And it’s about praising and
thanking God all along the way.
In the
middle of Jesus’ words in Mark’s “little apocalypse” are buried these words
that end today’s reading: “This is but the beginning of the birth pangs.” It
may at first sound sort of ominous – just the beginning? How long must we endure this pain, O Lord? Having
experienced the beginning of birth pangs a couple times now, I can resonate
with that sentiment! There is physical pain, and there is fear and anxiety and
uncertainty… but there is also excitement, and hope, and the palpable sense of
possibility. The best thing someone told me about labor pains is that they are
pain with a purpose. And so, as labor continues, there are inevitably moments
when the one giving birth thinks, or even says or shouts, “I can’t do this!”
Yeah, disillusionment, apocalypse, can be like that, too. But through it all
there is a purpose. At the end of all that pain… life. Newness. Everything
changed forever. A brand new path to walk, one that leads us toward God’s
intention.
And most
importantly, God is with us all along: in the initial awareness, in the unveiling,
in the realization of a new normal, and all the life that comes from that.
Disillusionment is no easy process. But as we approach the Advent season, when
we celebrate a God who promises to be Emmanuel, God-with-us, we can trust that
we will never be abandoned. As the Psalmist writes, “God will show us the path
of life; in God’s presence there is fullness of joy, and in God’s right hand
are pleasures forevermore.”
Let us pray…
God of grace, we would so like to feel
safe, even if it means living under the veil of lies we tell ourselves.
Disillusion us, O God. Help us pull back the veil so that through all the muck,
we can see your purpose for us, and then lead us lovingly toward fulfilling
that purpose. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
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