Full service can be viewed HERE and HERE (cut cut off in the middle of the sermon, ack!).
Pentecost 25B
November 14, 2021
Mark 13:1-8
INTRODUCTION
Happy apocalypse! Each year in November, as we prepare to wrap up the lectionary year and prepare again for the world-turning news of Advent and Christmas, the lectionary takes us through some of the apocalyptic texts in the Bible. And every year I think, “Man, these horrifying texts could be describing what we’re experiencing 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 either about to watch this, or had just recently watched this happen 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]
Grace to you and peace from the one who was and who is and who is to come. Amen.
Someone asked me this summer, “Doesn’t it seem like this is the end of the world? Why don’t Lutherans talk more about the apocalypse?” The answer is: yes, it does seem like this is the end of the world. But also, every generation says that. And people have been predicting the date of the end of the world forever, and so far, no one has been right. Not even Jesus knows! There have always been, as Jesus says, “Wars and rumors of wars, earthquakes, famines, nation rising against nation…” and if this is “but the beginning of the birth pangs,” well, then this is the longest labor in history! This is why people have always thought the end is coming.
As for what Lutherans have to say about this, there is a pithy quote attributed to Martin Luther that says something like, “If I knew that the world would end tomorrow, then I would plant a tree today.” I don’t know whether he really said that, but the sentiment rings true: Lutherans don’t spend a lot of time talking about the end of the world because the truth is, knowing the world is ending tomorrow wouldn’t really change the way we are called to live today. We are always working to bring about God’s reign, always living in the already-and-not-yet of that kingdom, catching glimpses of it already even as we long for it to come in its fullness. And knowing that Jesus is returning tomorrow wouldn’t change that. We live like the disciples we are, regardless. (Though I admit, if I knew the world were ending, I might at least forgo folding the laundry!)
Still, each year in November, Lutherans and all those who follow the Revised Common Lectionary get a chance to talk about the end of the world, as the lectionary takes us through some of the apocalyptic literature in the Bible. See, it’s not just Revelation that talks about end times. Daniel is known for it, for instance, and chapter 13 in Mark is known as Mark’s “little apocalypse.” So, hang on: we’re jumping in!
First, a definition of terms is in order. When I say, “apocalypse,” what do you picture? Maybe the stuff of the Left Behind series (which is, by the way, not very biblical!)? Or maybe zombies coming out of their graves? (That is actually somewhat more biblical – see the crucifixion story in Matthew!) Well, here is what the Greek word, apocalypse, actually means: it is a pulling back of the veil, a revealing or uncovering. The English word implies a disaster of some sort, and sometimes it is, but the heart of the word is less “end of the world” and more, “end of our world as we know it.”
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.” Oof. Boy, painful is the word for it. I have tried to do some self-reflection on that 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 pain, 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 once 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 sitting in my counselor’s office, and suddenly realizing that a pattern I had been living that I thought had been helping was in fact the very thing that was causing harm. 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 that I thought was true was not, in fact true. Each one caused me to doubt what I thought I knew about myself, and to 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 in Upstate NY, where I met my husband and started a family. Because of the work I’ve done in counseling, I’m able to be a better, healthier pastor, wife, daughter, mother, and human. 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 welcoming new disciples into this apocalyptic faith, baptizing them and assuring them of God’s love and forgiveness for them. 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 as awaiting the birth of my first child, 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.
No comments:
Post a Comment