A slight disclaimer: What follows is the basic text (minus the occasional digressions) of a sermon that I preached at Comox United Church, Comox, B.C. on November 14, 2021. It is not an essay. It is written to be spoken and in a manner that reflects my preaching style, which I suspect might be described as “informal.” Nor does it have the full assortment of citations, acknowledgements, and footnotes normally (and quite reasonably) expected in a more formal work. Please forgive the grammatical peculiarities!
Blessings
Phil Spencer
I became a fan of science fiction when I was quite young—I thank my brother for introducing me to that genre of writing—and my fondness has remained with me over the years. In fact, the week before last I nipped over to Vancouver to see the new movie Dune with my kids and their spouses—also Sci-fi fans—and it was a pretty impressive adaptation of the novel of the same name, which has now become one of the classics in that type of writing. I don’t read or watch “speculative fiction” (as the hardcore fans sometimes refer to it) in the same volume as I did when I was younger, but I find it still works for me in smaller doses.
One of the regular themes you’ll encounter in sci-fi is the post-apocalyptic story, a term referring to that particular category of dystopian fiction usually concerned about some sort of collapse of civilization, and often related to out-of-control technology or alien invasion or some such thing, and it’s really grown in popularity over the last half century or so. As best as I can tell, the first examples of this story-line can be found in the early 19th century, one of which is Mary Shelly’s novel, The Last Man, which was set 200 years in the future—our current century—and concerned a pandemic that spreads throughout the world bringing humanity to the brink of extinction. Let that sink in for a moment. Of course, later on in the 19th century there was H.G. Wells story, The Time Machine (a great yarn) which was followed by the novel, War of the Worlds, which later supposedly panicked a nation when Orson Wells broadcast the story as a pseudo-news report on the radio. I think my personal introduction to this type of writing was in reading John Wyndham’s novel Day of the Triffids—people of a “certain age” may remember that one—and then watching the films Failsafe and Plant of the Apes back in the 1960’s.
Today, as you know, the genre is in full bloom. Post-apocalyptic TV shows and movies abound and Mad Max has actually become mainstream, though I confess that I’ve grown less enamored with these stories. When it seems like “the world as I know it” might be really be ending, well, watching a TV show about it just isn’t as much fun as it was earlier on in my life. Yes, I’ll unpack that thought a little.
Our Scripture reading (which may in fact be the most discussed chapter in all of Mark’s Gospel) is sometimes referred to by scholars as “Mark’s Little Apocalypse,” the word “apocalypse” being derived from the Greek word apokálypsis, which means, literally, “an uncovering,” that is, seeing what was previously hidden from sight, a “revelation.” That term “revelation” will ring some bells with Christians because we encounter it in the final book of the New Testament: The Book of Revelation (no “s” on the end), a text that sometimes is referred to as The Apocalypse of St. John. From that word we also get the term “apocalypticism,” which is a bit different, in that it refers to the belief that the end of the world is in some way close. It’s that hand-painted sign you’ll occasionally see emblazoned on the side of somebody’s van: “The end is near!”
Now, to be fair, referring to our Gospel today as an “apocalypse” isn’t technically wholly accurate in that there’s none of the expected visions or “date setting” that often accompany an apocalyptic passage, but there’s no doubt that there’s some “drawing back of the curtain” in the text, that something’s being uncovered, something earth-shaking is being prophesied. This reading is located near the end of Jesus’ earthly ministry, and two chapters before we learn that he and his disciples are in Jerusalem, the largest city, and (as noted last week) the spiritual heart of Israel. And again as noted last week, if you’re in Jerusalem the “must see” site was the Temple. Every visitor would go there, just like when you’re in the Comox Valley you go to Mount Washington or Costco. Or something like that! But back in the first century, if you were visiting Jerusalem, particularly on your first trip, I’d guess, you’d be wanting to pick T-shirts for your friends back home with “I Heart the Temple” emblazoned on it. In Jesus’ day, the building wasn’t finished, but even still it was a pretty impressive construction. For a start, it was really, really big, and it was a shining bright white, and ornate, and had all this gold trim. It was awe-inspiring and breath-takingly beautiful and even their Roman conquerors, who had some pretty sharp looking buildings back home, they were readily conceding that it was remarkable.
The Temple was a point of great pride to the people of Israel and so it’s not surprising that Jesus and his country bumpkin friends from Galilee would tour the place because that’s what you did. Hence Jesus and crew visit the Temple, and he finds himself having some lively conversations with the religious authorities (yes, traps abound for this controversial preacher from the sticks) and as we pondered in the story of the widow’s offering last week, through observation of Temple life, he was able to offer critical teachings to his disciples. This morning they’re coming out of the Temple and one of his followers says something to the effect of, “Can you believe this place? It’s amazing! The buildings are huge—heck, even the stones they use to make the buildings are massive!”
In my mind, Jesus nods, points back to the Temple and then says (Sadly? Forcefully? Wistfully? Your call), “See those buildings? All of it’s going to be rubble—everything’s all going to get thrown down.”
That’s a bit of a downer and not quite what his friends were expecting after having done the grand tour. The group then move (my guess? now in silence) to the Mount of Olives, which is just outside of Jerusalem, and they’re now looking across the city where they can see the Temple in all its glory and splendor. Some of the disciples—Peter, James, and John, the three insiders and this time joined by the disciple Andrew—they take Jesus aside and they ask him nervously, “When’s this all going to happen, Jesus? Will there be a sign when it’s all going down?” And Jesus responds by saying, “You’re going to need to be careful—it’s going to be tricky seeing the signs—there are some who’ll try to lead you the wrong way and they’ll be claiming to be someone they’re not. You’ll hear all sorts of disturbing stuff so you’ll need to keep your head about you and don’t panic. This is just the way things are going to be—don’t be surprised—it’s just what it is. And some of the things are going to be very hard, but do know that this is all leading somewhere—there’s an endpoint to this.” He then goes on to describe all sorts of difficulties that will need to be faced: wars, and all sorts of worry about wars, persecutions, and even tells them that they’ll be taken to court in front of high officials, like governors and kings.
Remember also that these disciples were pretty ordinary “Joes and Janes”—while Israel had a high literacy rate compared to the rest of the world at the time, most people couldn’t read or write, and the thought of standing and speaking in front of that kind of august company was surely terrifying to the disciples, but Jesus anticipated that and he said, “Don’t worry about what you’re going to say. The Holy Spirit will give you the words, and you’ll actually proclaim the good news that the nations need to hear.” He then goes on to say that even families will be split and that they’ll be hated because of their association with Jesus, because they’re his disciples. It’s going to be hard, but you know what? If you endure to the end you will be saved.
As one reliable Biblical commentator noted, Jesus is trying to prepare his disciples “both for the worst and the best of what is to come.”1 And it did come—the things described all happened: wars and persecutions and—yes, the complete destruction of the Temple—it happened in 70 A.D. And after the Temple was destroyed the Romans really did pry the stones apart looking for gold that had melted in the fire.2 Not one stone left upon another. Prophecy fulfilled, and yet, there’s more. As Jesus declared, these are but the "birth-pangs.”
I’m going to declare this up front: as a guy, I’m always a little tentative about going too far into discussions about birth—"there be tigers” for males who tread here. I was, however, present for the birth of my own children, and I’ve attended, in different capacities, a goodly number of other births when I worked in the OR and elsewhere during my RN years. So, despite the obvious limits to what I know, I do know this: birth brings life and hope. It’s also traumatic. It’s hard and painful. It’s usually a lot better “after” than “during,” and during birth, for the main participants—even including drones like me—things can get a bit desperate, at times. It can seem like you’re trapped and powerless, and the “end,” that precious little baby, can seem far, far away as you wonder if all this discomfort is actually worth it. It’s just hard to endure to the end, even to a wonderful end.
A few minutes ago, I admitted that I’m less attached to apocalyptic films and literature than I once was, and a part of that is just changing taste, but frankly, when it seems like my world is really ending … well … it’s less entertaining. What I mean is that I can see at this age and stage (and some people know this much earlier on in their lives, so it’s not necessarily even an “age and stage” thing, I suppose) I can see how my belief that I have power and control is a bit of lie I’ve been telling myself. Seriously, have you ever had that realization, that the world is ending? Or at least, have you had that awareness that something that you thought was permanent, that was seemingly just going to go on and on, but then you suddenly realized that it has a life span, that it is transitory, is fleeting? You work hard, you save your money, you invest carefully for that retirement that will be filled with travel and winters, in Hawaii or Arizona or Mexico, or in my case, in the South of France (I love Provence) and then the economy tanks, or there’s inflation, and all those resources are reduced to the point that retirement becomes a dream. Or there’s an illness going around that brings travel to a virtual halt. I’m just making this up; no reason to be alarmed. You did everything right and yet, it’s like the world you imagined is ending.
Living where we do, in an earthquake zone, we’re always a little skittish about tremors, right? But maybe today’s tremor is the long-prophesied “big one” that could reduce our community, the Temple, to wreckage? Sometimes it’s as if we’ve experienced a spiritual or emotional earthquake and the ground beneath our feet shifts completely. That fabulous relationship with Mr. or Miss Right? This one’s a keeper, and it’s going to carry on until death do us part. Then death does part you. Or the relationship founders on the rocks—you never saw this coming—and it’s like the earth quakes and your world collapses. Or you exercise and eat right, take supplements, go to the doctor with regularity—never miss a check-up—get 8 hours of sleep a night (all the right things) and then there’s that diagnosis you never saw coming. Hey! I’m a guy with high blood pressure and atrial fibrillation! How did that happen? The carefully planned life—if it isn’t ending—is sure a whole lot different than hoped for. Or the kids you invested so much time into, just keep making those idiotic decisions and they get deeper and deeper into trouble. Or worse: you outlive them. Or the aging and ill parents who invested so much of their lives in you are proving to be a much heavier responsibility than expected, and it seems that your life—with all those glorious plans—now seems to revolve around bouncing from one emergency to another. Or you belong to a church, a denomination, a congregation, some part of the Body of Christ, that is suddenly—and quite unexpectedly—stumbling into a crisis, perhaps even of its own making. It’s gotten a bit lost and now what do you do? It’s always been there, but now it’s just kind of moved in an unexpected and disturbing direction. What you thought were the rules just seemingly got changed. It’s as if there was an earthquake and the ground beneath your feet shifted completely. When all is thrown down, what do you do?
Last week I asked you to reflect on the phrase, “Do you trust me?” when God seems to be repeatedly asking us just that. Well, Jesus has a not-unconnected statement that he repeats over and over: “Follow me.” It’s the very definition of a Christian, a disciple. I’d suggest that it is far more than simple intellectual assent to whom Jesus is—the great teacher, the example, the prophet, the 2nd Person of the Trinity—but it’s really just someone who follows Jesus. It’s someone who attempts (imperfectly, for sure) to “walk the walk,” who has a demeanor, who does, who acts, who lives in a particular way that’s inconveniently different from the rest of the world, because they have been changed by that encounter with the Risen Christ and are continuing to change.
Yes, following is about action, about a way of living, about an approach, and attitude, a world view. But I think our passage today also suggests that there’s more than “doing” and attitude to the Christian life. It’s also watching, paying attention to the signs of the times for indeed, the end is near! But which “end”? The preacher and teacher Darrell Johnson, right at the beginning of Discipleship on the Edge, his excellent study on the Book of Revelation, argues that the message of Revelation, despite its mystical language and otherworldly images, is actually quite simple and it’s this: God wins. In the end, God wins. The end is, and will be, God’s end, and existence is moving ceaselessly toward that end. When the world is ending, take heart—know that it also means God’s afoot—it means the marriage feast of the Lamb is closer. When the world is ending—the one thing we know with certainty is that Jesus is closer, he’s near. God is moving this project called the Church forward, and Jesus remains on the throne, the marks of his sacrificial love for us are still showing on his hands. I have not one clue when God’s going to sound the final trumpet and bring this thing to a close. I have not one clue as to when the new heaven and the new earth will be the reality that removes all doubts as to God. What I do believe, and have occasionally glimpsed in that terrible time, is that even as my world might’ve been ending, Jesus is close, and that God wins. Everything else is commentary. To which I say, thanks be to God. Amen.