The apocalyptic heart of Advent
Advent 1B | Mark 13:24-37
Happy Apocalypse, everybody! Yeah! Nothing says “ring in the new year” quite like
“But in those days, after that suffering, the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken.”
That’s a funny way of saying “Happy Holidays,” Jesus!
Actually, we’ve been dealing with dark apocalyptic-tinged teaching so long now that we probably aren’t feeling like this new season is all that different from the last one. We’re simply reading about it in Mark now.
There’s another reason we struggle.
With apocalyptic talk, I mean. Why we don’t like it. Aside from the obvious darkness and negativity.
We don’t actually know how to read it. Or, more precisely, we do know how to read it, but not what to do with it.
Apocalyptic literature, which has roots in ancient Hebrew writings, really is a lot like modern science fiction mixed with a bit of prophecy. And yet, when we read it in church, we also know we’re not watching an episode of Star Trek.
And yet, like Star Trek, we pick up on things. We know that Star Trek is a fictional TV show. And we know that we also take its events literally—people get beamed onto planets and use phasers—these are events that happen. And yet, we also get how it teaches us about our own cultures, people, and what it means to be alive.
These characters and their literal actions have dual reality in our minds. They are literal and metaphor to us in very conscious ways.
Apocalyptic literature does the exact same thing. We’re just more afraid of it.
Our Fear
When Jesus speaks of a darkened sun, we imagine it literally; and it horrifies us. And yet we also know this has a dual meaning. And we understand it with another layer of literalism. A kind of real that is assured.
We’re afraid of these images. They are frightening in ways they don’t frighten us in TV shows, movies, and novels. And not just because we’re afraid they will literally happen in our lifetime.
We fear them because of what we think they mean. A literally vengeful God doing harsh things to our ecosystem.
This, too, is why we misunderstand the purpose of the apocalyptic genre. It isn’t about violence or the end times.
It is about revealing what really is.
Which also means that it is about an end—an end to the world we know. Because revelations transform what we make of the world. They change us.
The Enlightenment was apocalyptic—and it obliterated the premodern world. Its greatest minds genuinely sought to destroy premodern thinking. So to premodern people, this was scary and violent.
Violence isn’t the only image, of course.
But it has a visceral response in the body. And it is the closest approximation to the physicality of fear. We manifest fear and anxiety physically, don’t we? Most famously in goosebumps. But it also does things to our minds. Anxiety makes us feel the same thing we feel when we think we’re going to die.
We’re called on in a meeting and we haven’t done our homework, asked to do some public speaking, or we’re asking someone out on a date. Our bodies try to tell us the same thing: We’re going to die here. I don’t know how. Probably the shame will literally kill us. Here, let me help—we’ll make it a heart attack!
And because we love to watch science fiction, scary movies, or even those magical Hallmark Christmas movies, it proves we really do understand all of this. Even if we ignore how it works within ourselves, we do get it. That we aren’t going to die of shame. And the coming of the Son of Man isn’t a destruction of the world.
It is apocalyptic. The Great Revealing.
When everything changes.
We might prefer a kinder image. Can’t we get a dog rescue video instead? One of those where a stray is picked up near a construction site and nursed back to health. Heartwarming, generous…you don’t scroll past that!
But the medium is also the message. Because it reveals what we are afraid of. That the Messiah is about changing things up. And we’re going to have to say goodbye to some of the things we’re used to.
And yet, do we come here surprised by this? Or ready for it? Surprised by the call to change the present or ready to receive the call? To pick up that phone. Or stand in front of the congregation and say “yes.”
Are we ready to say goodbye to the world we know?
Ready
The image Jesus uses in this teaching—as they have stopped on their way out of Jerusalem to stare at the Temple—is about being ready.
And while there is some curiosity with how literally to take this instruction to keep awake and to prepare in this lifetime, the meaning is quite easy to work with.
That we are to be ready to change. To be changed. And for our world to change around us. To prepare today for when this will happen.
And it has. For all of us. Obviously in 2020. But throughout our lives. Change is constant. Real. and normal. How we respond to it—with grace or with fear—is on us. But change can’t be avoided anymore than any of us gets to be 27 forever.
Look Busy
The counter image is super familiar. It’s what we do when we haven’t prepared for the meeting, done the homework, or we’re chatting with the person in the next cubicle when the boss shows up. We need to look busy. Like we’ve been doing the work the whole time.
Or cram for the test we haven’t been studying for.
We need to look busy. Because we’re afraid. Afraid of being found out. Of asking questions. Of actually being good at our jobs.
So when Jesus shows up, are we going to scramble to finish off the to-do list? To prove we’ve been good employees? Get him the report in a timely fashion?
Everything already changed.
That’s the thing. It changed when God decided to change it.
But it also always changes.
And will change again.
No amount of hating change or pretending or scrambling will keep change from happening.
The very character of nature is change. Birth, growth, decline, death, rebirth.
And Jesus encourages us to prepare. To change and for the world to change.
So what does that look like?
Preparing for Change
It is all about mindset. About how we relate to our world. To one another. And to ourselves. Particularly to our bodies and our conscious selves.
One thing we can do is to practice, rehearse.
We can intentionally change the things we say to ourselves. Preparing them in advance so that when the time comes, our brains have something to hold onto.
- Not the negative idea (“things are always going wrong for me”) but the positive one (“I can handle anything”).
- We can recast challenges into opportunities. “I have to” can become “I get to”!
Reframing our experience proactively makes it easier for us in the moment. Because we are prepared to experience it with less fear.
Another way to prepare for change is to shift our relationship to our environment. From an observer who reacts to the world to a participant who shapes it. This involves changing the way we look at ourselves and others.
- So this might be, say, starting a group at church when we feel lonely or participating in a different way to see how others experience it.
- I like to use a favorite Seth Godin phrase, “people like us do things like this,” to remind myself to exercise the values we profess.
This is at the heart of Advent.
To engage with the apocalyptic incarnation: the Great Revealing of the Messiah. The one who changed everything. And changes everything.
So our preparing ought to mirror that change.
May it be full of hope, opportunity, trust, and love.
We are blessed to join in that. To be entrusted with that work. And to embody those values in our lives. Sharing it with everybody.
So get ready. To be ready. For this apocalyptic change—full of excitement and joy. So filled with grace. Already. Almost. Here.