Between what was…and what is not yet
The scriptural text for this Sunday was from the 13th chapter of Mark’s gospel, from a section known as the “little apocalypse.” This homily seeks to help us place our current situations–our hopes, our fears, our joys, and our anxieties–within the larger context of the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. I have drawn on a number of commentaries and resources, not the least of which is “Synthesis,” a periodical for preaching published by Sewanee in the 1980’s and 1990’s.
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Transcript
Help us, Lord, to be the masters of ourselves that we may be the servants of others. Take our lips and speak through them. Take our minds and think through them. And take our hearts and set them on fire for your love. Amen.
Tom Seaver to Yogi Berra: “What time is it?” You mean now? And Yogi’s question speaks for all of us living in the reality of the present, the point between what was and what is not yet. Today’s gospel might lead us to a consideration of this in-between time, the time of the present and of our relationship to the future.
It’s from the 13th chapter of the gospel of Mark, a section of Mark known as the little apocalypse. And it certainly sounds apocalyptic, doesn’t it? Apocalypse literally means things revealed, and the revelations put forth in today’s reading refer to two events. One, the desecration and destruction of the Jerusalem Temple, the temple built with such big stones, such an awesome big building. The temple, the very symbol and locus of Jewish identity. And Peter and James and John and Andrew and Jesus and the disciples were Jews. And this destruction and desecration of the temple did occur very soon after Mark’s Gospel was written. And the other event, the end of the world as we know it, marked by the second coming of Christ.
In Mark’s Gospel, these two profound crises of history are painted with dramatically prophetic strokes. I ran across the following observation about this passage, and I thought it was worth sharing: “It has frequently been noted that there is a kind of perspective in the point of view of prophecy, whereby crises of history are seen like mountain ranges portrayed upon a canvas, one behind another, without any cognizance of the territory in between.”
So the chapter from which today’s gospel lesson comes with its two great crises and the who knows how many years in between, seems to be an illustration of this principle. And, says one scholar, we would do well to keep this in mind when seeking to make sense of this. And so it’s to this in-between time, the time between what has been and what will be the space before the mountain range marking the end of the world, that our attention is being drawn.The time being.
“What time is it?” Yes, Yogi. We mean, now.
Somewhere within the framework of the beginning of the world and the end of the world, we find ourselves with many beginnings and many endings of our own, some large and life changing and profound, and some small and relatively insignificant. The poet Robert Frost once said, “In three words I can sum up everything I have learned about life: It goes on.”
And in the midst of it there is change. Our lives change. We have our own beginnings and endings and changes. Some welcome, some not so much. We grow older. Our bodies change. And ain’t that the truth? We may get sick. We will eventually take our last breath on this earth. We may change jobs, schools, move to a new city. Our relationships may change; the nature of our relationships, they change throughout life. The seasons change. The church changes and our society and our social and political landscapes change.
Change with its beginnings and endings is all over us. And sometimes that is unseen. That is unsettling and terrifying. And yet life goes on. There is a cartoon of a person with a poster that reads, “The world is not coming to an end. Therefore, you must suffer along and learn to cope.”
For a believer in that first generation or two after Jesus, the time when Mark’s Gospel was being formed, times were full of uncertainty and expectancy of change. Tremendous apocalyptic change. It was in the air. Tremendous change and drastic insecurity and dis-ease. Perhaps, like now. And to them, if we kept on reading, a few verses later in Mark’s gospel, we’d hear more of it. Jesus issues a warning. Beware of false messiahs and prophets who might offer facile answers and a quick fix of those who promise the gain without the pain. And to us also in this in-between time, the time still of beginnings and endings, of stability and change and growth and decay, with all of the hopes and fears that we bring to it, then that it brings to us, Jesus’s words might ring with equal clarity. And sometimes there are hard words to hear. Perhaps, but we do well to heed. Beware of false prophets and fake saviors. Beware of illusions and idols. Quick fixes don’t usually work very well. And change and growth does not occur ever without a cost. And as in any circumstance, in order for new life to begin, something old must pass.
Jesus tells the story of the seed that is planted in the earth, and it dies in order for new growth to come.
There is one thing. Jesus Christ. Two weeks ago was All Saints, and we remembered and celebrated with great fanfare and oh my, what fun we had! However, I must say, my wife Betsy and I celebrated with considerably less fanfare and fun in the hospital emergency department and later in the operating room. But we celebrated. Later. Through the internet. And it was wonderful. And the church gathered and all present were reminded that not only are we surrounded and supported by such a great cloud of witnesses across time and space on both sides of the veil, but we were also reminded that we too are incorporated, each one of us, into the mystical Body of Christ, which transcends the temporal bounds of life and is so much greater than we can imagine.We are part of something so much bigger and so much more real. In the body of Christ.
And last week, we reminded ourselves that as members of the Body of Christ, we navigate the trials and tribulations, hopes and fears, as well as the joys and the day to day living as Christians, as Christ bearers, by:
being led by the example of Jesus Christ and being empowered by the Holy Spirit. That’s a real thing. Supporting one another through prayer and formation and worship and service. And boy, how we do that here. And beyond these walls. We navigate by welcoming all. We navigate by being grounded in faith and relentless in compassion.
We navigate these times by continuing in prayers and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, by resisting evil, and when necessary, repent, turn back. We navigate these times by proclaiming by word and example this awesome good news that we are grasped by and that we can get glimpses of. By seeking and serving Christ in all persons. Oh my gosh, all persons. Yes. Loving neighbor as self; by striving for justice and peace among all people; by respecting the dignity of every human being. And left to our own devices, that’s an impossible task. But with God’s help, empowered by the Holy Spirit, this is how we will navigate these times and circumstances.
The late Frederick Buechner, a Presbyterian minister, novelist, writer, and speaker whose word and presence and profoundly influenced many people, lay and clergy of my generation. And many of you. We’ve had conversations about the Buechner books that we’ve been reading, or the thoughts that we’ve had. And some of us have exchanged books. Buechner, in a little book titled The Alphabet of Grace, has something helpful to say. I’d like to share it.
Buechner says: The alphabet of grace is full of sibilants – sounds that can’t be shouted but only whispered: the sounds of bumblebees and wind and lovers in the dark, of white caps hissing up flat over the glittering sand and cars on wet roads, of crowds hushed in vast and vaulted places, the sound of your own breathing. I believe that in sibilants life is trying to tell us something. The trees, ghosts, dreams, faces, the waking up and eating and working of life, are trying to tell us something, to take us somewhere. If this is above all a Christ-making universe, then the place where we are being taken is is the place where the silk purse is finally made out of the sow’s ear, and the word that life is trying to speak to us is that little by little, squealing and snuffling all the way, a pig either starts turning into at the latest the first primal, porcine version of a hero, or else is put out of his piggish misery. At the heart of reality – who would have guessed it – there is a room for dying and being born again.
When I went to this book, I wanted to mark it with a bookmark. So I opened my top drawer and the first thing I pulled out for a bookmark was a tag that was attached to a breakfast room table that Betsy and I bought when we moved into our new house. I want to read it to you. I mean, you can’t make this stuff up. “Reclaimed wood is restored from a previous life as old doors, staircases, railroad ties, etc. original nail holes, imperfections, knots, mineral staining, etc. are features of this organic material.”
The message of the gospel with a capital G is clear: In the world, and beneath and above and beyond our world, with its beginning and ending, and in our lives with our beginnings and endings, there is one thing: Jesus Christ…the God of Redemption and eternal hope and life.
May we renew our resolve, first and foremost, to trust in Christ who was and is, and is to come; and in the day to day business of living, be faithful to what and to whom we know. Amen.
Citations:
Frederick Buechner. The Alphabet of Grace. HarperCollins paperback edition. 1989. P.50.
I am happy to say that some of this homily is assimilated from information and content (and possibly the structure – I simply don’t remember) offered in a publication for preaching called “Synthesis” and published by Sewanee. The particular issue was probably published in the early 1990s.
I cannot recall exactly what I incorporated and how I used it. I do believe I know Good News when I see, read, hear, or say it and am humbled to be able to play a small role in the Church’s ongoing conversation and and proclamation.