Rev. Cn. Richard R Hogue Jr
Today, we begin the church’s new year, entering and going through the Gospel of Luke almost every Sunday from now until this time next year, though the mood is not celebratory. If we didn’t have enough to worry about in life, Luke’s Jesus seems to lay it on even thicker this morning. “There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken.”
Speaking for myself, between my father’s sudden passing just over a month ago, my mother’s health issues, and my perception of global events, the world seems shaken enough. How does Jesus’ message feel? Our feelings are what they are, a mixture of learned behaviors and synaptic reflexes to external pressures. In each of our lives, we can choose how to react even if we cannot change how we innately feel about such events. What we do with our feelings is what makes us who we are in relation to what’s going on around us.
I feel shook, I feel sad, I feel rage. The good news for me is that rage subsides to anger, I can channel that into forward progress. I am not afraid of what is to come, but I am in a place of anticipation. How Advent-y is that? When I hear these words of Jesus, and put them together with the rest of this morning’s gospel passage, and think about its context, I don’t see reason to be afraid. Quite the opposite, I am excited to see what is to come. It’s fair to ask how I get there from here, and I am happy to share.
Jesus is in Jerusalem at the Temple when he’s speaking. He’s in the final days of his life as the Passover festival is approaching. He’s on a bit of a rant about the desolation of Jerusalem and the Temple’s destruction according to Luke. Immediately before our passage, he says:
When you see Jerusalem surrounded by armies, then know that its desolation has come near. Then those in Judea must flee to the mountains, and those inside the city must leave it, and those out in the country must not enter it; for these are days of vengeance, as a fulfilment of all that is written. Woe to those who are pregnant and to those who are nursing infants in those days! For there will be great distress on the earth and wrath against this people; they will fall by the edge of the sword and be taken away as captives among all nations; and Jerusalem will be trampled on by the Gentiles, until the times of the Gentiles are fulfilled.
[I can see why that wasn’t included in today’s reading.] Jesus is vague about the times and durations of these awful events, but let’s be real, Jerusalem had been surrounded a lot in previous eras, and in living memory for some in the crowd listening to him that day. And no one can honestly tell us what “the times of the Gentiles” meant in this context. Suffice it to say Jesus seems to be trying to get people’s attention by scaring their pants off.
Yet fright is not the point, I feel, because Jesus goes on to use the image of the fig tree:
Look at the fig tree and all the trees; as soon as they sprout leaves you can see for yourselves and know that summer is already near. So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near. Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all things have taken place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.
What an odd, earthy, and naturalistic interjection into an otherwise doom and gloom focused monologue. The summer fruit of the fig tree is something sweet and delightful, in stark contrast to everything else Jesus is saying. It also takes a lot of water and sunlight, and a change in seasons to produce.
He then goes on to say:
Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life, and that day catch you unexpectedly, like a trap. For it will come upon all who live on the face of the whole earth. Be alert at all times, praying that you may have the strength to escape all these things that will take place, and to stand before the Son of Man.
To me, none of this is about sad or terrible things: why would Jesus want us to only be alert to misery? We can approach bad times essentially three ways, with denial—which doesn’t acknowledge reality, with defeat—which simply gives up, or with dreams—which allow us to hold reality and hope in tension. Like figs themselves, dreams offer us something to look forward to as they grow and ripen into something we can nourish ourselves, to sweeten life, and point a way forward.
To me, this entire passage is closer to the Transfiguration story of Jesus than it is to a message about fear and loathing the future. As a quick refresher, the Transfiguration of Jesus is where he and the disciples go up to a mountain top, and witness Jesus transform before their very eyes in a terrifyingly and sublime, yet unmistakably powerful way. It shows them Christ’s awesome beauty and power in a way they can’t ever put words to later. They are bewildered, and I think that’s what Jesus is pointing us to now. Tough times are certainly ahead, but Jesus prepares us to face them with prayer, alertness, and integrity, so that we can respond to the transformation all things that may be terrifying to start, but ultimately leads to something new and awe-inspiring.
It’s the transfiguration of the world, the possibilities of life, that must come through the loss of one thing to become another. Where one thing dies new possibilities are present. Seeds die to give plants life. Clouds of cosmic gas die to become stars, which in turn can die to form black holes that anchor our vast portions of universe and point to the unknown. My father’s passing will allow me to grow in new ways as grief born of love transforms me in ways I have yet to discover. We all experience apocalypse, though not in denial of life, but in its original meaning: revelation. This world and the heavens do pass, and are replaced by something new. It can be utterly terrifying to see one thing end, but Jesus asks us to be alert to the newness that awaits us on the other side of the veil.
Be alert church. A revelation is coming. Amen.
