Mark 13:24-37
November 30, 2014
“Get
your affairs in order.” Those are words
that I imagine most of us would dread hearing.
“Get your affairs in order,” usually means that the end of your life is
imminent, so do whatever you have to do to prepare. Settle whatever must be settled. Finish what must be finished. Get your affairs in order. A few years ago I heard a news story about a
man who heard that dreaded phrase. He
was diagnosed with a terminal illness, and according to his doctors, he had
only months to live. The man decided
that if this was it, he wasn’t going to sit around passively waiting for death
to arrive. However, he also didn’t seem
to understand what it meant to get his affairs in order either. It seems he went with the “you can’t take it
with you,” philosophy. He stopped paying
his mortgage. He emptied his bank
account. I don’t remember if he traveled, gambled, or just had a field day at
Target, but he spent every penny he had.
The man was misdiagnosed. He was not, in fact, dying. He did have an illness, but it turned out to
be curable. He could live for many more
years to come. While you and I might
find this incredible, miraculous news, I doubt that this gentleman was as happy
to learn he would live as we would be in the same situation. The last part of the story was that he was
suing the medical establishment who misdiagnosed him. Great, he was going to live, but he thought
he was going to die. Now, he was
completely broke. I do not know the
outcome, but one lesson learned is that even professionals make mistakes. A second lesson could be that “getting your
affairs in order” is not necessarily synonymous with “blow it all.” Perhaps the greatest lesson from this is none
of us knows when the end will come; whether it’s our own end or the end of
everything.
That seems to be the
basic gist of our passage from Mark’s gospel on this first Sunday of
Advent. No one knows when the end will
come. That is Jesus’ message to the
disciples. You can try to read the
signs, those in the heavens and those all around you, but you still don’t
know. Not even the Son knows the day or
time, only the Father. So you must keep
awake.
Chapter 13 in the
gospel of Mark is known as “The Little Apocalypse.” If you read through the chapter carefully, it
seems that Mark had two understandings of the end times. One is that they were imminent. The second is that they were still in the
distant future. Scholars believe that
Mark had access to two different accounts of the eschaton, so he wove them
together. I imagine that this confluence
of stories confused his original audience as much as it confuses us – well,
me. Those who were witnesses to Jesus
certainly believed that the end times were imminent, but history shows that
their belief that Jesus would return in their lifetime did not happen. So what does this mean and when will he
return?
I struggle with
apocalyptic stories such as this one.
Not only because the very idea of the end of the world is something that
scares me, but also because this kind of story always falls on the first Sunday
of Advent. Even after all these years of
preaching, and knowing that we will hear apocalyptic stories on this particular
Sunday, I am still jarred by them.
Especially in light of the fact that the theme of this first Sunday is
hope. Where can we possibly find a word
of hope in a passage that speaks of the end of the world – as we know it.
Another factor in this
chapter from Mark’s gospel is that is not only about eschatology, it is also
about farewell. It is Jesus’ farewell to
his disciples. The chapter marks a
turning point in the story of Jesus. His
ministry is coming to an end. Chapter 14
begins with the plot to kill him. From
this point on Jesus is moving inexorably to his passion, his death on the
cross. So in one sense these are his
parting words. Jesus wants them to have
some idea of what lies ahead for them.
He wants them to know that he will return to them. But while there may be many signs, no one
knows when his return, when God’s full glory will overcome them, so they need
to stay awake. As one commentator put
it, they need to “wait impatiently,” for Jesus’ second coming.
Here’s my real struggle
with passages such as this one. What
does it mean to profess that Jesus will come again? We believe it. It is in our creed. Today, we celebrate the sacrament of
communion with one another, and at the end of that I will proclaim Christ’s
return in glory. I take this seriously,
and yet I tend to scoff at the people who try to predict the end of the
world. I don’t agree with their
understanding of the rapture, and to be quite honest, I don’t spend my days
thinking too hard about what my profession of Jesus’ second coming actually
means. I should, but I don’t. According
to The Rapture Index, a website
devoted to the end times, the rapture index at this moment is high. It’s 183.
It’s too complicated to try and explain how the folks behind this index
arrive at this particular number. But
according to them, an index of 160 and above means “fasten your
seatbelts.” We should be ready for the
rapture, because it could happen anytime now.
Yet, this is exactly
the kind of prediction I dismiss, and it is the kind of prophecy Jesus speaks
against? No one knows. Yes, there will be signs, but no one on this
earth knows. That includes Jesus. So you have to keep watch, be ready and stay
awake!
I guess I could just
leave it at that. What we must take from
this passage, especially as we prepare ourselves for the birth of Jesus into
the world, is that we are called to stay awake.
We are exhorted to be in a state of constant vigilance and diligent
watchfulness. We have no idea when Jesus
will come again. We must watch for the
signs Jesus speaks of, but even then we won’t know. So keep awake.
However, before I offer
my final amen on these words from the gospel, I am struck by something in this
passage that I never noticed before. In
the very last verses, in the story of the man going on a journey and leaving
his slaves in charge, there is a foreshadowing of the passion to come. In verse 35, Mark refers to the four watches
of the night. The first watch is in the
evening, the second, midnight, the third at cockcrow, and the fourth at
dawn. Jesus shares his last supper with
the disciples in the evening. He prays
in the garden at Gethsemane and begs the disciples to stay awake with him, but
it is the middle of the night. Just as Jesus
predicted, Peter denies him by the second cockcrow. When morning comes, Jesus is betrayed and
arrested.
Why is this significant
outside of a literary device to alert us to Jesus’ betrayal and
crucifixion? It seems to me that in the
moment of Jesus’ death on the cross, when even the sun’s rays were overcome and
the world was cast into darkness and the curtain of the temple was ripped in
two, that the fullness of God’s love for his broken creation burst forth and
washed over the entire world. It was an
ending, but it was also a beginning.
That doesn’t make his
death any less horrific, but this end and this beginning reminds us that when
God was born into our midst, God cast his lot with every aspect of being
human. God suffered the pangs of
birth. God suffered the pains of
death. So when we hear these words of
the end times, perhaps it’s not so much about chaos and destruction, but about the
boundaries between God and us being finally and completely and forever more
struck down. Are these times that Jesus
tells his disciples of cataclysmic? Yes.
But I don’t think it’s a warning of just a terrible end. I think that it is ultimately a prediction of
a good end; a good end that opens wide the gates to a new and glorious
beginning.
Isn’t this what we prepare for? Isn’t this what we wait and long and hope
for? We prepare and keep watch for the
return of a God who loves us enough to be born among us, to die for us, to live
again so that we can fully be the people we were created to be.
A
fellow pastor related a story about Martin Luther. When asked what he would do if he found out
the world was ending the next day, he replied, “I would plant a tree.” Luther saw the end of this world as a reason
to hope, to trust that the tree he planted would not be wiped out but have time
and space to grow and thrive. May we
share his hope that the second coming, the return of Christ into the world, is
a good end that makes way for an even more wonderful beginning. Let us prepare for that good end with hope in
our hearts. Let all of God’s children
say, “Alleluia!” Amen.
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