In Luke 21:25-36, we get a vision of the end which usually trips our fears, but Jesus reminds us that he’ll be with us, standing against the fear.
In Advent, we begin with the end, because the end is only the beginning.
Advent 1C | Luke 21:25-36
There’s a saying: Begin with the end in mind.
I think the church takes that quite literally. We begin each new church year with a Jesus teaching about the end. And it always strikes as the least Christmasy option this side of the crucifixion.
But notice this isn’t the ultimate conclusion—this isn’t a depiction of an afterlife. No angels with harps, no many rooms with loved ones. That isn’t the end we’re to have in mind at the beginning of the church year. This first Sunday of Advent.
That end is the end of all this.
And that sets the anxiety a flutter and the hearts dropping to the floor. Because we don’t want Jesus talking about war and pain and suffering again. We shove those fingers in our ears or plead “can’t we hear about the good stuff? Not this depressing end of days junk.”
But that isn’t it either. That’s not what Jesus is really saying.
It’s something more subtle and interesting. He says that heaven and earth will pass away. Let’s not be so distracted by death that we fail to see what he’s really getting at.
Heaven and Earth will be no more — not because they are destroyed or we’ll be swept up into an eternal nothingness. But because the distance between God’s dream and our world will disappear.
And all will become one.
Which, by the way, has already happened long before 2018.
within a generation
Jesus says to these disciples it’ll happen within a generation. This isn’t so much saying “you know, sometime in the next 15 years” but this generation — this moment, era, this time we’re in. Which was 2000 years ago.
But I wonder if he isn’t always telling us that!
This generation. Like a beacon in the Dark Ages and North Star for the medieval period. An LED flashlight or the one on the back of your phone today.
The generation hasn’t ended. It’s all still going.
This is happening and we’re in the midst of it.
Don’t be afraid.
Jesus is giving us some pretty hard words to hear. We know they scared the disciples because they scare us. They’ve been scaring us for a long time. This and the book of Revelation are why we have premillennialist dispensationalism—the idea that Jesus is going to come in some big holy war like a warrior king in some Hollywood epic full of blood and gore.
The prince of peace proclaiming love mounted on a warhorse in white armor stained red.
Fear about this future, the apocalyptic moment, the eschatological unveiling of God’s dream for humanity has us climbing the walls. Not because we believe it, but because it sounds so much like what we already have.
But I think Jesus is setting the stage for us to hear the more consistent theme. The chord struck all throughout Scripture, recurring and reminding us over and over again.
Don’t be afraid.
Over 120 times, angels, prophets, voices of God strike the same chord.
Don’t be afraid.
Not like a command because we’re naughty.
Don’t be afraid.
Not because we haven’t heard it before.
Don’t be afraid.
Not because fear itself is bad.
Don’t be afraid.
God keeps saying it. Because we keep living it out and needing to hear it again.
Don’t cower in the corner. Stand up and I’ll be at your side. You have nothing to fear.
The trouble with fear is it makes us stupid.
Fear is not the way of love. It pulls us off track and encourages mistakes, from the smallest to the deadliest. Fear paralyzes the student taking exams and it justifies torture. It drives past the prefrontal cortex and parks itself in the amygdala. The lizard brain loves fear. It’s like candy to our brain’s sweet tooth. Only the sugar high throws us into fight or flight mode.
And if you look at what Jesus teaches the disciples time and again its ways to get them driving back to the prefrontal cortex. Stop, slow down, and pray.
When someone hits you like a slave, turn your cheek so they can hit you like an equal.
Simmer down, now. You got this. I know you’re afraid. You don’t need to be. You aren’t stuck. There’s another way to look at this. This isn’t the end. It’s really just the beginning.
catching people
Jesus doesn’t start with this same end with his disciples. When he started calling them way back in Luke 5, he didn’t scare them with apocalyptic talk. But he scared them in a different way.
He came to some fishermen, hopped into one of the boats and was like “let’s go out there.” And Simon, the one we know as Peter is in the boat. It’s his boat, and this crazy prophet/teacher seems to want to tag along with them, which is weird. But he goes with it.
And they have a terrible time of it. The fish are just not there. So this stranger who doesn’t look like he knows anything about fishing, tells Simon to try the other side. Of course, you know Simon’s only thinking about it because clearly what he’s doing isn’t working so he’s like “why not?” and throws the net over the other side.
What happens? We all know, right? Even if you don’t remember the story, you know how this is going to go. There’s only one reason we’d be talking about some fisherman out in his boat: he caught a boat-load of fish.
But it isn’t even that. There are so many, his nets begin to break, so he calls over another boat. And there are so many fish, that it fills both. It’s 2 boat-loads. But even worse, there are so many fish in the boats, they begin to sink!
So Simon throws himself down before Jesus like Jonah too tired from running away from God. It’s a moment of surrender — get out of here! I can’t take it.
But Jesus comes with them to shore and makes an offer:
“Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.”
The problem is we usually think Jesus is the antidote to our fear.
But he’s not. More often than not, when Jesus is around, there’s something we’re naturally going to be afraid of!
Going from no fish to tearing nets to a sinking boat to leaving home to walking through Samaria to preaching to Greeks to healing the sick and feeding the poor and housing the homeless and welcoming refugees. This isn’t a recipe of total comfort! This isn’t afternoon naps and binge-watching Netflix!
We’ve got it backward! When Jesus shows up there’s often a new reason to be afraid! Or, more precisely, there’s a new reason the old us would be afraid.
Don’t be afraid. Stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.
It’s courage based in presence.
Two of our own went to China and one will come back. But that one was with the other. To comfort her and support her; to take care of her and get her to safety.
But it isn’t only Jane who is there. Dorothy’s daughter Kathy came and was with her Mom in the end. They were both there, comforting her and honoring her. And two will come home again.
Jesus sends us out in pairs. And even more important than that, he promises to be with us. So we’re never alone. We have no reason to fear.
That’s the difference. It isn’t about what we fear, but moving beyond fear. Beyond the time, the moment, the division, or anything that brings the worst out of us.
It isn’t about the end, but the beginning.
Because Jesus keeps inviting us to turn. To turn away from the bad and toward the good, from the tearing down to the building up, from the violent to the reconciling, from the nihilistic to the hopeful, from the sorrowful to the joyful, from hate to love.
It’s like he’s saying to us today — stop waiting on the end. You’re actually waiting on the beginning. From the middle. Which really means there’s no waiting at all! It’s all new beginnings!
Like he’s already been with us out in the fishing boat. He caught us and brought us into this church saying
“Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.”
That ship sailed. But we’re always turning and returning to the beginning. To a new chance. There’s nothing to fear here.
“Stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.”
With Jesus, we always get a new chance. May it always be so.