On a walk this week, I heard a snippet of a passing conversation - like you do. Another walker was describing a spiritual vision-quest with an intention of opening themself to non-self-judgmental clarity about their feelings. That was all I heard as we passed one another.
That brief glimpse into another life reminded me of our human desire to know and understand life and ourselves. And the courage it takes to be present and aware of all the feelings we experience. There is something holy about softening the crusty protective shell around our hearts. About taking the risk to acknowledge our disappointment, shame, anger, fear, sorrow and all the other feelings we have when it seems like our lives and our world are falling apart and we are helpless to stop it. God knows what is in our hearts already - and loves us. Our wholeness and peace come when we also know and love who we are.
We talked last week about the three Advents we celebrate: the coming of Jesus the baby, the future Second Coming of Jesus into the new heaven and earth, and the presence of Jesus here and now in every human being. Christ who was and is and is to come. All of them God, coming to join humanity in the messiness of our lives.
Today’s gospel begins with Jesus telling a dire story of death and destruction. Mark’s audience would have found this a familiar theme. Mark likely wrote in the mid first century just after an unsuccessful revolt against Roman occupation of Judea. The Roman army had responded to the rebellion with brutal violence against the people and had destroyed the holy Temple in Jerusalem.
The Gospel according to Mark speaks to people who have known catastrophic loss and destruction. People whose whole world has been transformed into something barely recognizable. People wondering if God has abandoned them, and why. Bewildered and heart-broken survivors, traumatized soldiers, displaced refugees, exhausted healthcare workers, grieving families. This is Mark’s context, and the people to whom he proclaims good news.
Today’s gospel evokes the desolation and chaos of Mark’s immediate audience, and draws us into a constellation of feelings that includes despair and helplessness, sorrow and anger. One ancient response when the forces of death seem to have the upper hand is to envision a future in which God comes to the rescue, or an apocalypse. Apocalypse means “revealing.” An apocalyptic story reveals the hidden acts of God, rescuing humanity by ushering in a new way of living and being, offering an extravagant vision of hope when all seems lost.
But we do not know when God will be coming. Signs of destruction and chaos are all around us: wars and violence, natural disasters, social and political upheaval, and our own despair. And yet, only God knows the day and hour when the Son of Man comes in clouds with great power and glory.
Thus, Jesus admonishes us to keep alert and stay awake.
We enter Advent with a sense of expectation that God is going to do something. As Christians, we know the promise that God will be with us always. We sing, “O come, O come Emmanuel” inviting “God with us.” In anticipation, we dive into the cleaning, decorating, baking, gifting rush of December. And, yet, this anticipation focuses on the future, the celebration of the coming birth of Jesus.
What does it look like to stay awake to the NOW moments? To bring our focus back from December 25 and stay alert to December 3 through 24?
It looks like doing the holy work of cracking that crusty shell around our hearts. Noticing the anguish we feel, and its presence in our world. Opening ourselves to the desolation and chaos we typically ignore.
Noticing and praying and offering salve for the brokenness in our world. Offering an unhoused neighbor a cup of coffee so they can sit indoors for a few minutes on a cold day. Volunteering our time. Supporting organizations that meet the needs of the most vulnerable people. Advocating for basic human needs like safe and permanent housing, abundant food, clean water, accessible health care, available mental health and addiction services, alternatives to guns and violence. Holy waiting looks like BEING the Good News we anticipate.
In Advent, we begin a new year in darkness, aware of our need and desire for salvation, for God to be with us. We light candles for hope, peace, joy, and love - one each week - and we sing and pray and act to spread that light in the world.
We will be reading the gospel of Mark for the coming year so we will continue to hear these themes of God coming to people and a world that feels like it is beyond all hope. God who appears, faithful, compassionate, and generous, at unexpected times and in unlikely places. On this first Sunday in Advent, let us pray:
God of unveiled truth, faithful flame in times of darkened sun and waning moon, lift up our unknowing hearts, and waken our sleeping love to announce the coming dawn of unexpected peace; through Jesus the Christ, the one who is to come. Amen.
(Shakespeare, collect for Advent 1B)
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