Apocalypse and Hope

A sermon on Mark 13:1-8 and Hebrews 10:19-25

[for an audio recording of this sermon, click here. Photo by Melissa Askew on Unsplah.com]

I’m not going to tell you the words that involuntarily slipped out of my mouth when I first looked at this week’s readings because I make a point of not swearing in the pulpit, but I will confess that I felt a bit betrayed by the lectionary.

I really didn’t want to have to preach from readings about anguish, and conflict, and false leaders, and birth pangs. Not this week.

This week feels too vulnerable for so many in our community. We need comfort, not confrontation.

And aside from that, apocalyptic passages are never my favorite, because they rarely feel like they were really written for the community I am preaching to.

Apocalyptic scriptures are written for actively persecuted communities.

These scripture’s exaggerated symbolism and assurance of divine retribution are meant to bring comfort to people who are suffering  abuse and injustice.

And that’s just not the situation of most middle-income American Christians.

Except…there was a conversation during last Sunday’s church Council meeting that is illuminating to the ways that we are feeling, maybe… if not actively persecuted then at least unsafe.

The conversation was initiated by a Little Library book-granting program that we could theoretically apply for (although the supervisory requirements seem too intensive to be workable).

The program would provide books from authors and featuring stories centering people of color and the LGBTQ+ community.

Everyone on our Council agrees on the value of making such books available to the community. They would be an amazing resource to offer.

But our conversation was about the potential for backlash.

It is a very real potential that is increasingly manifesting in personal attacks and harassment against librarians across our country and even in nearby Roxbury.

And my own experience earlier this year, after my Board of Education nomination, proved how quickly groups will mobilize to target anyone identified as too “woke.”

As leaders of this community, we don’t want to be cowed by potential threats or let prejudice win by default. At the same time, we don’t want to make the church a target and thus jeopardize our capacity to create a safe and welcoming space.

While I deeply appreciate the care, respect, and careful listening practiced by our leadership in the conversation we had, I also resonate with the sense of vulnerability, and of confusion about how to do what is right in this kind of context.

And it’s that confusion, that shared longing to just have a clear path that it obviously the right thing to do, that makes me wonder if maybe some apocalyptic scripture is more relevant to us than I assumed.

In the current social context, I think we might have some understanding of the longing for safety and certainty that is characteristic of the intended audiences for such readings.

Unfortunately, today’s gospel doesn’t exactly offer assurances of safety and certainty.

Rather, this apocalyptic passage functions more as a warning about what NOT to do, when we experience that vulnerability and feel that urge to look for a source of security.

The first warning is relatively mild, but it still communicates a clear message.

When a disciple expresses awe at the apparent strength and grandeur of the temple buildings, Jesus responds with a prophecy of destruction.

His response is a rebuke against the temptation to put our trust in shows of human strength and power.

Of course, the Temple was designed to impress visitors.

Walking past foundation stones nearly as tall as you are reminds you of your own smallness.

It cultivates a reverent attitude, to open the heart for worship.

But that worship should always be directed to God, not to the human creations that merely point to God’s power.

Unfortunately, that distinction is easy to blur when we confuse outward strength or power as a sign of God’s blessing.

Especially when flawed theologies reinforce that interpretation, and our vulnerability makes us vulnerable to any promise of security.

It’s easy to get confused.

But Christ’s power is made perfect in weakness. His way is the way of the cross, not the way of power.

Looking for security in the promises of power is a false hope.

The second warning is much more direct, although perhaps harder to apply: “Beware that no one leads you astray.”

It’s clearly a warning… but how do we follow its guidance?

Obviously, no one is going to knowingly follow a leader who is leading them astray.

And Jesus adds the description that these false leaders will come in his own name… but does that mean we should mistrust everyone who claims to follow Jesus?

Surely there are some faithful leaders.

God has always preserved a remnant among the people, even when most are following after false prophets and idolatrous kings.

So how are we to distinguish those who will lead us astray?

Well Jesus says they will say, “I am he!”

Notice the first pronoun. “I”

It’s a symptom of ego and self-importance. A claim that calls followers to focus their trust and hope on the speaker, rather than on God.

A promise that they are the only one who can fix problems and defend against threats.

It’s a powerful call when we are feeling unsteady and afraid, but it, too, is an idolatrous one.

And it is contrary to the example set by Jesus himself, whose preferred self-reference was Son of Man, a title that emphasized his similarity and solidarity with every other human.

But that brings us to the final warning, which I think is the most difficult to heed. It comes in the form of Jesus’ exhortation to “not be alarmed.”

How, exactly, do we manage that?

When he describes wars, and conflicts, and earthquakes, and famines…

When he says all of that instability and disruption is just the beginning of the birth pangs…

When he says that we will have every reason to feel vulnerable and confused but we are NOT to put our trust in the places of power, or in the leaders confidently promising protection…

How are we not to feel incredibly anxious?

I will confess that I do feel anxious… frequently. It is an instinctive, hormonal response to stress. It’s not something I can will or pray away.

But I am trying to follow Jesus’ warning by not leaning into my anxiety as a coping mechanism… because I honestly find that more of a temptation than trusting the promises of power or over-confident leaders.

My instinct can be to curl in on myself in a self-protective posture and nurse my fears as though ruminating on them will somehow keep them from coming true.

But that is just as misguided as following after false prophets… and it is a refusal of one of Christ’s most precious gifts:

the promise to give us a peace that is NOT the peace of the world; a peace not based on circumstances, but on God’s promises.

And I do find an invitation into that peace in today’s readings…although not in the gospel reading.

The gospel just promises us the birth pangs… the pain that goes into bringing forth new life.

But the reading from Hebrews gives us some positive instructions that teach us how to be the midwives of that birthing:

“let us hold fast to the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who has promised is faithful. And let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day approaching.”

When we see the Day approaching… when we feel vulnerable, or confused, or our circumstances seem beyond our control… we will not hold on to hope by searching for an external source of security or by collapsing into anxiety.

Things might be as bad as we think.

Things might even get worse.

But “he who has promised is faithful,” and God’s prophet has told us what we CAN do:

We can provoke one another to love and good deeds:

looking together for the actions we can take to foster caring community, and heal hurts, and live out our love for neighbors, strangers, and enemies alike.

And we can gather together:

multiplying our strength and commitment to being the messengers of God’s healing work in the world.

And we can encourage one another:

Literally infusing each other with courage for whatever comes.

It’s what faithful communities have always done when faced with challenges.

And they have succeeded, because the one who has promised is, indeed, faithful.

Thanks be to God.