Orchard Ridge United Church of Christ

preached by Winton Boyd on November 30, 2008
Text: Mark 13:24-37

At the beginning of Advent, many a preacher faces some predictable tensions when it comes to preaching the lectionary texts. While we think of Advent as the coming of the baby in a manager, the ancient church coupled the birth of Jesus and its celebration with the promise of a a second coming of God at the end of this age. Thus, while the culture within and outside our congregations are often ready to move into the story of shepherds, angels, stars, babies, mangers and dumbstruck parents – the tradition of the church begins us with these bizarre, often outlandish prophetic or apocalyptic passages like today’s text. It is a hard fall from the peaceful and graceful gratitude of Thanksgiving to some promise hidden in a story about a thief in the night and clouds of glory and power.

Of course, one doesn’t have to use the lectionary texts, but the preacher in me asks the question – why are these texts assigned to today? Is there something here worth paying attention to? Is there a deeper rhythm and reality that might be important?

So we read this text and recognize there is much we don’t understand, much about it we don’t know and that doesn’t seem to relate to our lives. But what do we know? Where is our starting point for engaging this text and our lives on this first Sunday of Advent?

We know this passage to be part of the genre in the Bible known as “apocalyptic” literature. Author Kathleen Norris reminds us that in Greek, the word apocalypse simply means “to reveal or to uncover” and thus it is a word of possibilities. The point of this literature is not to scare us into submission but as an injunction to pay closer attention to the world around us. It’s purpose is to teach us to think about what farmers in her native Dakotas call “next-year-country.” Next-year-country is a treasured idiom of the western Dakotas, which Norris writes is an accurate description of the landscape farmers and ranchers dwell in. “next year rain will come at the right time of year, next year I won’t get hailed out, next winter won’t set in before I have my hay hauled in for winter feeding. No one on the land uses the “next year country” as an excuse not to keep reading the earth, not to look for the signs that mean you’ve got to get out an do the field work when the time is right.

Therefore, the first invitation of this otherwise bizarre sounding text may be to journey through the season of Advent with our eyes open enough to ponder the real meaning of the coming of God, now and in the future.

The text begins with a recognition of darkness and shadows.

First of all, we are living in the earthly season of increasing darkness, increasing shadows. The sun is becoming increasingly short-lived in our sky. We know it is the time when light is scarce; and when depression and seasonal affect disorders increase and intensify.

But, the shadows are not just about the seasons; they speak to the realities of our lives. Every week, even this week, we come face to face with shadows.

A coordinated terrorist attack in Mumbai, India, 200 people of people are killed. But they aren’t numbers just to be reported on the evening news. They are people, sons and daughters, husbands and wives, fathers and mothers. The bombs exploded and the flames raged. In one awful instant, their lives were changed forever. Shadows, deep shadows.

A husband and wife whisper, “I love you, and good-bye,” to one another as the husband lies dying and the wife dreads his departure. Shadows, shadows laden with sorrow.

A corporation doesn’t know if it can stay financially solvent, so it takes drastic action. Lay-off notices go out. Thousands of jobs lost. Families struggle to survive. Financial pressures mount; bills to pay, food to put on the table. Shadows, heavy, hard shadows.

A wife was battered and abused last night. A partner came home from work only to find his loved one gone, and the prospect of how to raise their children alone lurks.

Shadows, gathering shadows.

A friend confesses an eating disorder, a chemical addiction, or a secret of self-medication. The silences and the demons that seek control from the edges of life suddenly seem overwhelming and unbearable.

Shadows, real and potent shadows.

Jesus prepares the disciples for such shadows. As you read this 13th chapter of the Gospel of Mark, it begins with the disciples and Jesus walking out of the temple. The disciples comment on the magnificence of the temple. Jesus turns to them and says there is coming a day when “Not one stone here will be left on another; every one will be thrown down” (v. 2).

The disciples and Jesus then journey up to the Mount of Olives, and a small group of disciples—Peter, James, John, and Andrew—gather near to Jesus and say, “Tell us, when will these things happen?” (v. 4). So Jesus tells them. He tells them about nation rising up against nation, and kingdom against kingdom (v. 8). He tells them about earthquakes, famines (v. and disasters, disasters like hurricanes that rip people’s lives apart. He cautions them about deception and falsity (vv. 6, 21-22). He warns of betrayal (vv. 12-13) and persecution (vv. 9-11). He informs them of a coming desecration of holy things, a time of sacrilege (v. 14).

“There is horror on the horizon,” Jesus warns. What is Jesus’ purpose in this litany of horrors? Does He like seeing the shock, fear, and dread on His disciples’ faces?

Or is Jesus preparing His disciples, trying to help them understand that life in this broken world is going to be difficult? Does Jesus want them to see that life in this world will be lived in deep shadows, as if the sun was darkened, and the moon turned to blood and failed to give its light, and the stars fell from the sky? (vv. 24-25).

The lesson may be less about getting our attention before it is too late and more about offering us a way through. In the midst of deep shadows, God comes to us.

Yes, there are shadows; but there is also one coming to us who is greater than the shadows.

Can we hear this? There is a greater reality than the shadows. It is the reality born in a manager in Bethlehem, God coming to in the midst of our struggles day after day in the presence of the Holy Spirit, and who is coming again. No matter how deep the shadows get, no matter how dark it may seem—the sun may be blotted out, the moon may no longer shine, all the stars may fall, there may be no light—but no matter how bad it gets there is a greater reality than the shadows. It is the reality of the coming of God.

One of the most hauntingly hopeful songs I know is the now famous “Prayer for the Children” – usually sung accapella (written by Kurt Bestor).  It begins,

“can you hear the voice of the children, softly pleading for silence in their shattered world?
Angry guns preach a gospel full of hate, blood of the innocent on their hands.

It was written in the context of the Serbian/Croatian conflict in the mid 1990’s – inspired by the face of a single child. However, it could be set in any number of conflicts in which innocent children are left holding the impact and tragedy of warring adults. Its words and haunting tune, often sung by deep male voices, speak to the raw nature of the “unveiling” or “unmasking” of our lives. As a prayer of longing, it taps into the deep shadows children of all nations live with, and we with them.

But, it doesn’t stop there…
“Cryin’ Jesus help me to feel the sun again upon my face. For when darkness clears, I know you’re near, bringing peace again.

The shadows of our lives are real. As the poet wrote, “But the seeds and signs of hope and faith are too. Seeds of faith planted with faith; Love nurtured by love; Courage strengthened by courage.”

In advent we acknowledge the “fruits of the struggling soul, the bitter and the sweet; For that which has grown in adversity, and for that which has flourished in warmth and grace…”

We have heard it before but we need to hear it again, the coming of God to our lives is not a wishy-washy hope.

We have seen it before but we need to see it again – the fig tree. When we look at the fig tree and see the sprouting leaves and buds on the tree, we know winter is over. Spring has come. Summer is coming. We don’t question whether it will happen. We have confidence in what is unfolding.

In a similar way, we can look at what’s taking place in our world—take note of the gathering shadows – they have gathered before and they will gather again – and know the Light shines in the darkness.

The shadows do not have to spark fear – we have been afraid before and we will be afraid again – for people of faith, they nurture confidence – for what happened before is happening again – God is coming near. Amen