Hope in Difficult Times

(The following is a sermon/homily I gave to the congregation of the North Ferrisburgh United Methodist Church via Zoom, on November 29^th, the first Sunday of Advent 2020.)

May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing to you, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer. Psalms 19:14

The scripture reading today is from the gospel according to Mark 13:24-37. (The complete text has been included at the end.)**

The following humorous piece by Frederick Buechner both informs and alerts me about my purpose today. He titles this Tourist Preaching. I promise I will do my best to make sure I don’t make this mistake.

              English-speaking tourists abroad are inclined to believe that if only they speak English loudly and distinctly and slowly enough, the natives will know what’s being said even though they don’t understand a single word of the language.
              Preachers often make the same mistake. They believe that if only they speak the ancient truths loudly and distinctly and slowly enough, their congregations will understand them.
              Unfortunately, the only language people really understand is their own language, and unless preachers are prepared to translate the ancient truths into it, they might as well save their breath.

The gospels according to Matthew, Mark, and Luke are called the Synoptic Gospels because they contain shared material. It is commonly accepted that Mark was written first and that Matthew and Luke used Mark’s writing as a source for their own accounts of Jesus’ life and ministry. This morning’s scripture reading from Mark, also referenced in Matthew and Luke, is chosen for the First Sunday in Advent’s liturgy because it eloquently states Jesus’ words regarding the Second Coming and offers Hope.

Hope that was needed because Jesus and his followers were living in troubled times when, polarizing views, political unrest, and inequity and injustice frequently ruled the day.

Jesus was sitting on the Mount of Olives opposite the temple when the disciples Peter, James, John, and Andrew approached him privately to expand on what the End Times would look like.

But before Jesus described those times he warned his beloved disciples of what lay ahead. In the words of Eugene Peterson, taken from his version of the New Testament, The Message, Jesus declared:

If anyone tries to flag you down, calling out. ‘Here’s the Messiah!’ or points, ‘There he is!’ don’t fall for it. Fake Messiahs and lying preachers are going to pop up everywhere. Their impressive credentials and dazzling performances will pull the wool over the eyes of even those who ought to know better. So, watch out. I’ve given you warning.

Jesus’ admonition to stay awake, be alert, and ever watchful must have instilled a sense of dread in the disciples, and in addition to a need for vigilance he spoke words of assurance to buttress their faith during the uncertain and unpredictable times they were facing. Today we share their lack of certainty, fear and even dread, but we also share in their hope as Advent begins, for within weeks we’ll celebrate the birth of the World’s Hope.

This morning join me on a short, twelve-minute reflective journey into what Jesus’ words, as recounted by Mark, mean for us as we struggle during this pandemic. This has been a months’ long struggle. A time during which we reluctantly but necessarily isolate from one another, grapple with our self-righteous and polarizing tendencies, and strive to keep the comfort of tribalism at bay.

Three words—fear, time, and hope—leap out at me as I read Mark’s words. They hold within them not only the darkness Jesus foretold but the wellspring of hope that he offered, and that we celebrate as Advent begins.

Depending on which scholarly texts we read, Mark’s gospel was written between fifty and seventy years after Jesus’ death. Regardless of the exact date of its writing, the author ends his narrative at the resurrection with these words in Chapter 16, Verse 8: Trembling and bewildered the women went out and fled from the tomb. They said nothing to anyone because they were afraid.  Verses 9 through 20 were added to the original manuscript later, perhaps an edit to lessen the feeling of fear and trembling conveyed in his final word—afraid.

Frederick Buechner writes that Mark was “a man in a hurry, with no time to lose because that too is how the people were for whom he was writing. The authorities were out for their blood, and they were on the run. At any moment of day or night a knock might come at the door, and from there to getting thrown to the lions or set fire to as living torches at one of Nero’s evening entertainments took no time at all.” Mark writes with an urgency befitting the times. Buechner adds: “’Immediately’ is one of Mark’s favorite words, and he uses it three times more than either Matthew or Luke, fifteen times more than John.”

The threats to our wellbeing in 2020, during this pandemic, have an immediacy to them too. Disease, death of friends and loved ones, job and income loss, persistent questions about injustices (racial and other), present and future economic uncertainty, isolation from those we love and care about, and ever-present feelings of anxiety and concern have become part of our lives. Though these factors may be less dramatic for us than similar concerns were for early Christians, they are no less compelling, and have torn at the fabric of life to which we’d become accustomed.

We can rightfully ask as Jesus declared in today’s scripture reading:

Has not the sun been darkened,
The moon lost some of its light.
Stars fallen from the sky,
and heavenly bodies shaken?

We answer, yes, and hope that God, The Great Mystery, will use time and us to heal our wounds and bring together what has been rent asunder.

In Henry Twells’ poem, Time’s Paces,  we’re reminded to live in the present. Twells writes:

When I was a babe and wept and slept—time crept.
When I was a boy and laughed and talked—time walked.
Then when the years saw me a man—time ran.
But as I older grew—time flew.
Soon, as I journey on, I’ll find time gone.

And so, because time is fleeting, we too feel Mark’s urgency, the immediacy of the moments when we are alert, watchful, and listening. We hope for a vaccine, that injustice and inequities become past tense, that people feel safe, and that our hope in the God who loves us prevails over our despair.

But that said, we may lack enthusiasm for the journey thrust upon us this calendar year. We are tired of being kept apart, a state of being we never asked for, exhausted by uncertainty and the exercise of vigilance we didn’t know we possessed. The Advent Season we’re used to is threatened by the rubble of this tumultuous year. How can we create anticipation and find hope when life for so many is in tatters? In these precarious times when we celebrate that all things are possible with God, so much in our lives feels impossible. We grieve and mourn unanticipated losses, and in the repetition of life from one month to the next we feel a suffocating longing but let us not lose hope.

The Apostle Paul encourages us with these words to the church in Corinth (l Corinthians l:3-9):

I thank God for your lives of free and open access to God, given by Jesus. There’s no end to what has happened to you—it’s beyond speech, beyond knowledge. The evidence of Christ has been clearly verified in your lives. Just think—you don’t need a thing; you’ve got it all! All God’s gifts are right in front of you as you wait expectantly for our Master Jesus to arrive on the  scene for the Finale. And not only that, but God himself is right alongside to keep you steady and on track until things are all wrapped up by Jesus. God, who got you started in this spiritual adventure, shares with us the life of his Son and our Master Jesus. He will never give up on you. Never forget that!

As I write these words my eyes leave the computer and are drawn into the landscape outside my office window where four deer are grazing peacefully, foraging for nutritious morsels on the forest floor. But they, like all of us, are wary, and alert. For them this is hunting season—a time for vigilance. For us, too, it is a time to be on guard. We seek the hope that will nourish our hungry souls amidst a life of uncertainty while we fight a rapidly spreading—and in many cases, fatal viral disease. I watch as a breeze scoops up dried leaves from the forest floor, tree limbs sway and the deer, interrupted, cease their grazing, and stand at attention. “Are you there, God?” I ask.

Perhaps the gentle rising of the leaves and the rhythmic motion of the pine trees is God’s answer. “Yes, I am here.”

Mary Oliver, in her poem “Mysteries. Yes,”puts in verse what we yearn for as we search for hope and the Great Mystery’s presence in our lives.

Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous
   to be understood.
How grass can be nourishing in the
   mouths of the lambs.
How rivers and stones are forever
   in allegiance with gravity
     while we ourselves dream of rising.
How two hands touch and the bonds will
   never be broken.

How people come, from delight or the
   scars of damage,
to the comfort of a poem.
Let me keep my distance, always, from those
  who think they have all the answers.
Let me keep company always with those who say
   “Look!” and laugh in astonishment,
   and bow their heads.

Advent 2020 has begun. May we be alert to the changes occurring, be accountable to each other and to God. May we listen with vigilance for hope, search successfully for nourishment and allegiance in unbreakable bonds, find forgiveness and practice mercy by opening ourselves to new and astonishing ways of being in community, trusting the Great Mystery to be our guide. And though there will be suffering mixed in with our celebration, there is also abundant hope in the risen Christ.

Amen.

** Mark 13:24-37 (complete text)

But in those days, following that distress, the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light; the stars will fall from the sky, and the heavenly bodies will be shaken. And then they’ll see the Son of Man enter in grand style, his arrival filling the sky—no one will miss it! He’ll dispatch the angels; they will pull on the chosen from the four winds, from pole to pole. Take a lesson from the fig tree. From the moment you notice its buds’ form. The merest hint of green, you know summer’s just around the corner. And so, it is with you. When you see all these things, you know he is at the door. Don’t take this lightly. I’m not just saying this for some future generation, but for this one too—these things will happen. Sky and earth will wear out; my words won’t wear out. But the exact day and hour? No one knows that, not even heaven’s angels, not even the Son. Only the Father. So, keep a sharp lookout, for you don’t know the timetable. It’s like a man who takes a trip, leaving home and putting his servants in charge, each assigned a task, and commanding the gatekeeper to stand watch. You have no idea when the homeowner is returning, whether evening, midnight, cockcrow, or morning. You don’t want him showing up unannounced, with you asleep on the job. I say it to you, and I’m saying it to all: Stay at your post. Keep watch.

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