Mark 13:24-37 “The Cross Echoes in Advent”
November 27, 2011 – Caitlin Trussell
New Beginnings Church at Denver Women’s Correctional Facility
Mark 13:24-37 “But in those days, after that suffering, the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, 25 and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken. 26 Then they will see “the Son of Man coming in clouds’ with great power and glory. 27 Then he will send out the angels, and gather his elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven. 28 “From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near. 29 So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that he is near, at the very gates. 30 Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place. 31 Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away. 32 “But about that day or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. 33 Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come. 34 It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his slaves in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch. 35 Therefore, keep awake–for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn, 36 or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly. 37 And what I say to you I say to all: Keep awake.”
Tonight opens the season of advent. Advent is the beginning of how we tell time in the church, it is the beginning of what we call the church year. Advent is the four weeks before Christmas of waiting for the celebration of Christ’s birth – of the moment when God takes human form in a baby, in a person, who by word and action draws us into God. And advent is waiting Christ to come again – looking ahead to God doing something, anything.[1] In the act of waiting, space is created to pay attention to the here and now. So the theme of advent is both good news and not such good news.[2] When I say that I am waiting for the God to show up, I’m saying that, in this moment, I feel abandoned. Our texts from Isaiah 64 and Psalm 80 are both cries for God’s presence during terrifying and anxious times.
Think for a moment about being a child – about having a wild imagination that swims in the wonder, mystery and fear of really scary things. We hear our parents talking about things we have no hope of understanding. Frightening things seem like they can happen to us at any time, any place. And often do happen at any time, any place. As kids we keep ourselves safe with good luck charms that ward off the threat of the imaginary boogie man as well as real threats of dark and scary places. Think for a minute about how you did this as a child or how you even do this now. What shape does the charm of hope and protection take…?
In our text today, Jesus is speaking about a really scary thing – an apocalyptic time that is volatile and tragic and terrifying. So much so that when the text is read and the reading is closed by saying, “The Gospel of the Lord,” and the congregation replies, “Praise to you, O Christ,” that some of us might want to challenge each other and say “Really…this is gospel, this is the good news we need today? This is the message that inspires our praise as we head toward Christmas?!” And, to that, I say, “YES!” Jesus, through this good Word, gives us hope in the middle our hopelessness and points us in just the direction we should be looking and onto that which we should cling in our most troubled and anxious times.
Jesus says, “…you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn.” As we begin telling time at the beginning of the church year, Jesus’ words are telling time for us. What kind of time is he keeping? What is he saying? Evening…in a garden maybe, praying desperately, betrayed by a friend, arrested, hopeless. “…you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn.” Midnight…cross-examined by the high priest, in the cross fire of false testimony, accused as a blasphemer, hopeless. “…you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn.” Cockcrow, denied three times by a friend, hopeless. “…you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn.” And dawn, condemned by Pontius Pilate, convicted by the crowed, a dead man walking, hopeless. “…you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn.”
Jesus says, “…the sun will be darkened and the moon will not give its light.” This sunless time that Jesus links with suffering, where does this echo in scripture for us… just two chapters past our text, Jesus hangs on the cross, hopelessness personified in the light of day and then suddenly, “When it was noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon.” Jesus, the Word made flesh, the son of God, God from God, light from light, hung in darkness, nakedness, hopelessness…dead. The sun was darkened…and the moon gave no light.
As part of my seminary education to become a pastor I had to spend long blocks of time away from my husband and kids. Last fall I moved up to Saint Paul, Minnesota to complete the last of those courses and I lived away from home for months. Before I left, my husband was anxious, my son was anxious and my daughter was anxious. I was doing my best to be a non-anxious presence but it wasn’t working out so well…well…because I was anxious!
We could argue all the reasons for my having to be away from my family – God’s call, necessity, church rules, costs/ benefits and maternal ego-trip. We could argue a lot of things and believe me when I say that I argued them all. Regardless, as it came closer to the time of having to go, I was determined to bless my children before I left. I gave them each a journal to write down their thoughts to me, an inspirational bookmark to mark their page, candy to sweeten their days, handmade soap from our Colorado summer vacation to perfume their shower and treats for their brown-bag lunches. All so that they could be assured that their mother loves them and remembers them daily.
At the bottom of their gift bag was the BIG GIFT. It is called a Clinging Cross. It is gnarled in shape so that it is cradled in the palm of the hand with the bars sticking out through the fingers. I asked them to keep it under their pillows. My daughter told me before I left that her big worry was that she would be lonely.
I gave it to them so that when they miss me, or feel sad, or feel angry, or feel lonely, they cling to the cross. I told them both that God knows what sad and lonely are all about because the God that we believe in knows darkness and loneliness in the biggest way. My son told me he fell asleep with the cross every night. That’s a vision – my then 13-year-old clinging to the cross.
The cross is darkness, fear, loneliness, pain, betrayal, abusive power, oppression, hopelessness…and it is also apocalyptic revelation. The cross tormented and violated Jesus’ humanity and Jesus’ words point us to that very cross as he shoulders the crosses in our lives too – we all hang or have hung on crosses or watch and suffer with others as they hang on their crosses. Our crosses torment us. They hurt us and they leave us feeling walled off from each other and from God. But God says, “Not so fast…I’ve been there too …I who came in the form of a baby, who lived and walked the earth, who was put to death and who conquered death in rising again…I am God and I have the last word.”
God’s last word meets our hopelessness with hope. “Our hope rests not in what we have done, nor can do, but in all that God is”, has done and is doing.[3] The cross of Christ names our fear for what it is.[4] The cross also, at the same time, reveals the One who came under a star in skin and solidarity. The One who holds our fear so that we might cling to him even as he is holds onto us.
The cross of Jesus Christ is the “meeting of darkness and light and the final victory of light.”[5] As we cling to the humanity of Jesus on the cross, we cling also to the promise of Christ’s hope – the hope of all that God is yesterday in a living babe, today in a living Christ and tomorrow in an eternal God – the eternal God who turns a cross into resurrection and a baby in a manger into salvation for the world. And so on the breath of the Spirit, as we cling to the cross waiting in the hope and light of Advent, we confess the mystery of our faith that Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again…. [6]
[sing to close] Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come, come again…
[1] Rolf Jacobson, WorkingPreacher.com, “Sermon Brainwave 206.” Lectionary Texts for November 27, 2011. http://www.workingpreacher.org/brainwave.aspx
[2] Karoline Lewis, WorkingPreacher.com, “Sermon Brainwave 206.” Lectionary Texts for November 27, 2011. http://www.workingpreacher.org/brainwave.aspx
[3] W. Dennis Tucher Jr., “Lectionary for November 27, 2011: Psalm 80:1-7, 17-19.” http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx
[4] Frederick Buechner. Telling the Truth: The Gospel as Tragedy, Comedy and Fairy Tale (New York: Harper & Row, 1977), 17.
[5] Ibid., 90.
[6] Ibid., 91
[7] http://www.workingpreacher.org/brainwave.aspx
[8] The Living Pulpit magazine, check ATLA.
[9] Frederick Buechner. Telling the Truth: The Gospel as Tragedy, Comedy and Fairy Tale (New York: Harper & Row, 1977), 17.
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