Signs of the end times

Sermon for Pentecost XXVI, Delivered at St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Louisville, KY, 8 am service
Text: Mark 13:1-8

“My what big buildings there are here!” That was me, repeating what a disciple said to Jesus, but I was in New York City. There are tall buildings there, some really tall, so I can imagine the disciple’s reaction in Jerusalem. Instead of steel and glass, the buildings and the Temple in ancient Jerusalem were made of large cut stones, larger than the stones that houses back in Galilee were made of. And then Jesus throws water on the disciple’s wonder by saying something outrageous, that all of the buildings would be thrown down with nothing but rubble to remain. That alone could be the point of this morning’s passage, but these comments come immediately after Jesus calls attention to the widow and her meager contribution to the temple treasury. When you read this passage with the widow in mind, the context changes to one of destruction of gifts, and the possibility that what you contributed to will not last.

The rest of the passage is written in strong language with dire warnings and an explanation of what is happening in the world. This language was well known to Mark and to the disciples, because it came from the last half of the book of Daniel. In Daniel, there are chapters that describe the vision he had of the end of the age and the calamities that would lead up to the end. Mark borrowed that language to convey the horror of Jerusalem being destroyed by the Roman army about 40 years after Jesus was crucified. I have said this before, and I will say it again, because it is important: the trauma of the destroyed Jerusalem 2000 years ago is not our trauma, even if it appears in scripture. That is not to say that we don’t endure similar traumas in our time; we do, like 9/11, and like the current war that Israel is fighting on two fronts. This passage provides a perspective that we are not the first to suffer from some terrible event.

The strong language in this part of Mark’s Gospel can bring on strong emotions, and it appeals to us today when we are confronted by events that scare us and threaten our safety. And so we find comfort in that language, comfort that it is somehow part of God’s story for us. If God is involved, then we will be ok. If themes of rebirth and resurrection are included, then it becomes a time of tribulation like the one found in the book of Revelation, and we expect to be vindicated in some way. That is a short step over to positioning ourselves in this developing story as God’s people who will prevail in the face of calamity, and those we don’t like, or disagree with, will not prevail. We become polarized in our beliefs and perception. Self- righteousness emerges and is lit with the fiery language, and we focus on the language, not on the underlying message. We need to focus on the reason why we identify with the strong language, not that we are proved right by our emotions. We must be very careful when we assign events to God and to people, because most of the time it's people carrying out their will, not God's.

At the end of the Gospel reading, Jesus mentions birth pangs, leaving unspoken the knowledge that something old is coming to an end, and something new is on its way. We want to believe that that something will be better, but we fear that it will be worse. In fact, it may simply be different, which might be the worst outcome because “they,” the unrighteous, might not suffer or be cast off as we hope they might be. It is easy to fall into the trap of believing that the things to come in the new age will favor us because of our righteousness or the strength of our faith. There are always pivotal points in history where something new begins, some occurring in our lifetime that makes us think that righteousness will emerge. But those points that we experience are not the first, despite being the first for us, and not the last after we are gone. They may have happened more than once already, but we will often see ours only in hindsight.  

There are no guarantees that our contributions to the present will lead to the future we want, but what we contribute out of faith will let us carry out God’s desire. If we look at our faith and contributions as transactional, that is, I believe in you, God, and in return I expect you will fix the world to my liking, we have missed the whole point of God’s sovereignty over the world. If we look to the dismantling of our world to make things right as we see fit, then there’s no room for the compassion that Jesus showed the widow. There’s no reason to pay attention to Jesus’ call to us to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and house the homeless. The birth pangs will bring into the world a hollow, self-serving faith in our ability to dictate how God should order the world. But if we look to Jesus for new life, the birth pangs could bring a world where we love as Jesus loved others, serve as he served others, seek honesty instead of appearance, and value integrity over convenience. The widow didn’t give to the treasury expecting a favorable outcome for her sacrifice. She had faith and trust in God’s wisdom and followed that to do the right thing.

This passage and what it could mean for us comes at a time when several things in our world are changing rapidly, or falling apart, depending on your view. At the General Convention this summer, I saw a Church that looks different than the one I grew up in. I think that is a good thing, because what identifies us as Episcopalians is our prayers, not how alike we are to each other. A new government administration is coming to power that is reflecting the frustration and anger of a lot of Americans over failed promises. I think that is not a good thing, because we are focusing more on the rage, and less on what is causing the rage. It is tempting to tear everything down, expecting that destruction in the name of God will justify our actions and “fix” the things we think are problems. In fact what God is giving birth to, through our life in Jesus, will bring something different. The question for us is, can we accept “different” over our desire for satisfaction? Can we find something new among the old, instead of looking for it to be torn down to the ground?