Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood
First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS
November 22, 2015
Sermon Text: Mark 13: 1-8
Jesus and his friends were in
Jerusalem. They had just spent time at the temple there – the most holy of all
holy places in their faith. Jesus had been teaching there during the day and
after he finished up, the entourage walked out into the bright sunlight.
Shielding their eyes. Refocusing. His
disciples looked up at the big city around them and said, “Teacher, look at how
big these buildings are! Look how enormous the stones are!”
And Jesus, who may have been given
the nickname “killjoy” behind his back, also notices how sturdily constructed
the buildings are and how enormous the stones are. And he says, “Do you see all
these great buildings? Not one stone will be left standing. All will be thrown
down.”
To understand why Jesus is so cranky
about these big, beautiful buildings, we have to rewind a little bit. Go back
in time to the moment just before the disciples emerged into the bright
Jerusalem sun.
Jesus had spent the day teaching in
the temple. After he finished his teaching, he sat down next to the treasury –
the place where people deposited their gifts for the temple. A lot of rich
people came up and put some money in. And then Jesus noticed a widow – a woman
who had no financial resources – the widow came up and put in two small coins,
worth only a penny. And this is the part where you probably remember Jesus
praising her for her generosity. Pulling her aside and saying, “Well done, good
and faithful servant!”
Only that’s not what happened. Jesus
does no such thing. Lots and lots of preachers have praised this woman for
giving her all, but Jesus did nothing of the sort. Instead, he simply observed
to his disciples that the woman had given everything she had. He doesn’t say
whether this is good or bad.
But I have some theories about the
judgment Jesus passed on this act. And to guess about how he felt, watching
this marginalized person give the only thing she had left to the temple
authorities, well….we have to rewind again. Back to the part right before the
scene with the widow.
Jesus is teaching in the temple and
as he taught, he cautioned everyone to “Beware of the scribes, the religious
scholars, who walk around in fancy robes and set themselves apart from everyone
else, and keep for themselves the best seat in the house when they go out on
the town. They say long prayers…..but just because they like to have an
audience. And they devour widow’s houses. They will receive the greater
condemnation.”
They devour widow’s houses. They take
away marginalized people’s homes just so they can keep their fancy robes and nice,
big buildings. They turn away the refugee so they can keep their
carefully-curated illusion of safety.
I don’t think Jesus was praising the
woman who gave everything she had. I think he was sadly shaking his head, maybe
with a bit of anger, as he noticed the systems that were carefully maintained
to keep down. It’s likely that this unnamed woman was not freely giving her
offering, like we do each week when we pass the plates. Instead, she was
probably paying a portion of the tax levied on her by the religious
authorities. A required payment.
So when they came out of the temple
into the sun and saw the big, beautiful, awe-inducing buildings all around
them, the disciples ooohed and ahhhhhed. But Jesus saw something different. He
saw beyond the façade and the grandeur to the systems of his day that enabled
the construction of these buildings. He thought about the widow, giving her
last two coins to pay her temple tax.
And then he began to preach to his
disciples about the end times. He spins a tale of desolation and destruction
and terror and stars falling from heaven and a dark sun and earthquakes. Biblical
scholars refer to chapter 13 as Mark’s “Little Apocalypse” and the reason the
lectionary committee sneaks it in at this time of year is because we are on the
eve of the Christian new year. The Christian calendar begins again with Advent
each year, so it makes sense to talk about end times at the end of the year.
These texts about the “end times” are
usually not very comforting to those who live or work in big, beautiful
buildings – to those who have power. Because these texts weren’t written for
people like me – with a roof over my head and money in my bank account. They
were written for people like the widow. People sleeping on makeshift pillows in
refugee camps. These words were written to give comfort to those being
oppressed or living on the margins – to
say, “I know things are bad for you right now, but God is going to do a new
thing. God is going to tear down these big buildings, these systems that keep
you down – and God is going to make a new world with justice.”
Even though I know these apocalyptic
passages mostly weren’t written for people like me – with a warm coat waiting
to shelter me on the way to my warm car -
there are times when apocalyptic passages in the Bible do bring me
comfort. Not because I would actually welcome earthquakes and darkened suns and
stars falling from heaven, but because right about now I really REALLY need to
be reminded that we humans aren’t alone on this spinning ball that’s hurtling
through space.
Earlier this week, I mentioned to
some friends of mine that my concern about what’s happening on the global stage
right now is about as high as it ever gets. The whole world seems to be going
straight to hell in a handbasket and there are no easy solutions in sight. The
amount of pain that is zapped right into our living rooms, smartphones, and
hearts on a daily basis is increasingly difficult to bear.
My friend suggested to me that I
might need to go on a media fast – give myself a break from the pain of the
world and take a few moments to notice and appreciate the goodness that still
exists in this little handbasket called Earth. I do think that there are times
when we have to take a moment and recollect ourselves so we can refocus before
going back into the fray of humanity.
I also think that passages like this
one – with cranky Jesus threatening to bring all the powers and oppressive
systems of his day down in one big earth-shaking crash (and then rebuild it
again, with his own hands – that part comes in the next chapter)…passages like
this can give us some measure of comfort in the midst of very distressing
times. Because I think the truth contained behind these words is comforting.
In Mark’s Little Apocalypse passages
I hear:
“We
are not alone. We live in God’s world.”
God
will not forsake us or leave us….no matter how messy it gets here on Earth.
God
still hears the cries of the weary, the oppressed, the brokenhearted, the
widow, the orphan, the foreigner, the war-torn, the refugee.
God
is still working for justice – God is still working to tear down systems that
perpetuate poverty, racism, sexism, religious intolerance, fundamentalism that
harms and blind nationalism on steroids.
“In
life. In death. In life beyond death. God is with us. We are not alone.”[1]
Even all these thousands of years
later, I believe God is breaking into our midst. And Jesus is here, reminding
us to stay woke – stay awake! – because the good and the bad is always mixed up
together and we need to pay attention or we just might miss the good news when
it sneaks in right next to the bad.
In one month, we will celebrate –
once again – the incarnation of Emmanuel, God-among-us. The Spirit of Hope,
Peace, Joy, and Love came into this world in the most unexpected of ways. And I
believe we are still witnessing the in-breaking of God in our midst in 2015.
Where do we see God breaking in? When
we keep our awareness about us and “stay woke,” where do we still Christ in our
midst? On this Sunday when the world seems to be tilting just a little too
steeply on its axis and Jesus comes to us speaking of the end times and we
prepare to sit down to a Thanksgiving feast, can we express our thanks for the
places we see God in the midst of all this turmoil and strife?
There is an Aramaic word at the very
end of 1 Corinthians: Maranatha. It
can be translated as, “Come, Lord Jesus,” or “Jesus is coming,” or “Our Lord
has come.” It’s ambiguous. I kind of love that it basically means Christ has
come, Christ is still arriving yet today, and Christ will come again – I also
love that it’s a way of begging Christ to be more tangible. “Come, Jesus! We
need you!”
I’m going to list a few places I have
seen God breaking into the midst of the mess in the past few weeks and as I
list them, I would encourage you to respond with that one beautifully ambiguous
word, “Maranatha!”
· God is breaking
into the mess of this world in the voice of a 20-something parishioner of a colleague
of mine in New York City. She called her pastor earlier this week to say that
while she doesn’t have a lot of money to spare, she does have a studio
apartment she’d be willing to share with a refugee from Syria. Come, O Christ. Maranatha!
·
God is breaking
into the mess, packed lovingly into packages shipped across the United States
and later flown to Greece with a small group of mothers from California who
collected 3,000 baby carriers to give to parents fleeing war.[2] They saw
photos of parents carrying babes in arms and began to collect baby carriers so
these weary parents could have a better way to carry their young children on
their backs. Come, O Christ. Maranatha!
·God is breaking
into the mess in the actions of strong and savvy students of color at the University
of Missouri and other universities as they speak truth to power and make
themselves vulnerable with the hopes of helping those institutions better
understand and dismantle racism. Come, O
Christ. Maranatha!
·
God is breaking
into the mess in the voices of non-Muslims all over the United States who
immediately said they would personally register as Muslims if anyone in this
country attempted to make Muslims register themselves in a national database. Come, O Christ. Maranatha!
God is breaking
into the mess in the sweet and firm words of a father interviewed outside the
Bataclan after the attacks in Paris.[3] He was
there with his very young son, who was quite worried that they would have to
move away because the “bad guys” might harm them with guns. The father said to
his son, “It’s okay. They have guns, but we have flowers.” Come, O Christ. Maranatha!
Christ has come, Christ lives among
us, Christ is coming to us, still.
“O Come, Desire of Nations, bind all
peoples in one heart and mind;
Make envy, strife, and quarrels
cease; fill the whole world with heaven’s peace
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come
to you, O Israel.”[4]
[1]
Portions in quotations are from “A New Creed” from the United Church of Canada.
[2]
http://www.today.com/kindness/groups-volunteers-donate-baby-slings-syrian-migrants-t56056
[3]
http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x3e8rah_paris-attacks-november-2015-le-petit-journal-du-16-11_tv
[4]
From “O Come, O Come Emmanuel,” lyrics to verse 7 translated by Henry Sloane Coffin,
1916 and altered by the New Century Hymnal committee.
No comments:
Post a Comment