Mark 13:24-37

Late in the autumn of 1990, a scientist predicted that a major earthquake along the New Madrid Fault would shake the ground from western Kentucky and Tennessee southward to the Mississippi Delta. Seismologists have discussed the possibility of such an earthquake for decades, but this prediction attracted an unusual amount of attention because it designated a specific date: Tuesday, December 4, 1990. By December, few newscasts, public assemblies, or private conversations in the area failed to mention the predicted tremors. People stowed away precious possessions, stockpiled groceries and kerosene, and learned how to shut off their gas and water lines. Schools and businesses announced that they would be closed that week and several residents temporarily left the area. Attorneys stayed busy as hundreds of people wrote their wills and "put their affairs in order." On December 2, 1990, the First Sunday in Advent and two days before the predicted quake, churches were packed. The mood neared panic. Many people stayed awake all night on December 3, some of them in churches holding candlelight vigils.

December 4, 1990, passed with no tremor. December 1990 came and went with no shaking of the earth. Winter turned to spring without seismic upheaval. Flashlight batteries drained. Extra food spoiled or was consumed. Fuel tanks sat empty once more. Only trained professionals continued to conduct disaster drills. Church attendance and life returned to normal. Sleep once again came easily. When a crisis seems imminent, we have no trouble keeping awake—paying attention. When the threat of danger seems more remote, our eyelids grow heavy and we sleep.

When Mark composed his Gospel, may Christians expected the messiah to return to earth at any moment. Indeed, many would-be messiahs appear to have declared that they had already arrived! Many believers considered the words "Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place" as a hard and fast promise that Jesus would soon return to establish the realm of God on earth. Most historical/biblical scholars actually see those words as referring not to the return of Jesus, but the siege and sack of Jerusalem and the destruction of the Temple which did in fact take place in A.D. 70. Although the text is confused by the fact that there seems to be a mingling of two issues . . . the destruction of Jerusalem and the end of the age. The apocalyptic language used here of sun darkening and moon turned to blood is the kind of language used in the Old Testament, however, for what the prophets understood to be God’s judgment on various nations. . . How much more, appropriate then, to describe the cataclysm of Jerusalem’s destruction with such powerful language . . . language that is metaphorical, not literal.

And yet, the time certainly seemed ripe for divine intervention. Relations between the Romans and the Jews soured daily. By the time Mark wrote his gospel, Roman legions probably had begun their long and devastating siege of Jerusalem. In fact, that siege may already have ended and Jerusalem may already have lain in ruins. To make matters worse, relations between Jews and Christians were moving from disgruntled tolerance to hostile rejection. Add to that double-digit inflation and frequent food shortages and we easily understand why many of the faithful felt certain that a day of divine intervention had drawn near.

Nearly two thousand years have passed since Mark composed his Gospel. We have yet to see "the Son of Man coming in clouds’ with great power and glory." (Mk 13:26). Few of us here expect to witness such an event. Some may have little patience with those who do. Others of us do not know what to make of predictions of a bodily return of Jesus to earth. God knows we have seen myriad military crises, natural disasters, and economic downturns, and the advent of the year 2000 certainly has prompted a flurry of predictions of the end of the world. A new one glares at us in the supermarket checkout line every week! But isn’t such talk mere fanaticism?

Our uncertainly over what to do with apocalyptic visions and predictions of the end of time do not give us permission to roll over, go to sleep, and ignore this text’s central call and Advent’s main message to "keep awake!" and pay attention.

Those words apply to far more than preparation for and anticipation of cosmic upheaval and cataclysmic destruction. They call us to awareness of the fact that God holds us accountable for what we do with our lives.

"It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his slaves in charge, each with his own work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch. Therefore, keep awake" (Mk 13-34-35). In other words, whether or not it makes us feel comfortable, God expects something of us. Grace is free, but it is not cheap. We cannot earn a relationship with God, but it costs something to have one. God’s involvement in our lives does not make us puppets. We have decisions to make, important, life-changing decisions. Jesus comes that we may have life and have it abundantly, but he does not force that life on us. He offers abundant life to us and we must decide whether we want it and whether we will accept it. We must decide.

Because the church relies on volunteers and often seems meek when competing with other demands on our lives, we easily drift into a casual approach to and attitude about who and what we are as people of faith. We go to sleep. This text and the season of Advent sound the alarm, "Keep awake!" They alert us to the fact that God entrusts us with sacred tasks in this in-between time. Theologians like to speak of the "already" and the "not yet." Gods reign—God’s commonwealth has "already" been inaugurated in principle, but it is "not yet" consummated in its fullness. The presence of Jesus in history 2000 years ago was the presence of the future—an expression I like. It is as if God came back into history from the future, and plopped down in the middle of history a foretaste of what the kingdom—the divine commonwealth of love and justice—is all about. And ever since God has been luring us—drawing us toward that future. In this in-between times, we are to be God’s agents—salt, light, leaven—in this culture. Not mere survivalists . . . not separatists . . . nor engulfed by and assimilated into the prevailing culture . . . but people who love the world as much as God loves it to the extent that we engage it in transforming ways.

At times all of us think we would like to see "the sun darkened . . . the stars . . . falling from heaven, and the powers that be shaken" by some cataclysmic act of divine judgment. We would like to witness an unquestionable and irrefutable sign that God is alive, powerful, and at work in the world.

Such signs come. "Keep awake!—Pay attention." Our faith challenges us to discover the presence, power, and ministry of God arriving and unfolding through us and in us, as well as around us and for us.

A group of central Kentucky youth jettison their spring break plans for a trip to south Florida and instead travel west for several hours to spend a week stacking sandbags for people they have never met previously and probably never will meet again. During one of the busiest times in the year, church members add to their already extensive shopping lists the names of people they do not know and

purchase presents they will not see opened. Someone with a longer "to do list" than anyone could do stops at an extended care facility and slowly feeds an aging friend. A person with no answers to give invites a co-sufferer to lunch and then to a worship service. Such actions do not shake the heavens—or do they?

"From the fig tree learn its lesson" (Mk. 13:28). Because we have received love, we have the responsibility and the opportunity to love. Because grace has touched us, we have the call and the potential to touch others. Because we have been given worth, we have the commission and the capacity to impart worth. Because time after time we come to the table as beggars and receive the loaf and cup, we have the mission and the possibility of preparing the way for other beggars to be fed.

At times all of us feel like praying with Isaiah in the words of today’s Old Testament lection: "O that you would tear open the heavens and come down, so that the mountains would quake at your presence . . . to make your name known to your adversaries, so that the nations might tremble at your presence!" (Isa. 64:1-2). We want the evil to know that they defy not only human standards but also divine dictates. Evil can appear so prevalent, so potent, and so predominant that we feel utterly helpless and hopeless. We fall asleep.

"Keep awake!" The justice of God works through us and in us, as well as around us and for us.

A Caucasian young woman ignores the scornful glances and disapproving stares of her racists peers to have lunch with an African-American classmate because she values principle above popularity. Busy people take the time to teach an adult to read because they know that the battle against poverty is waged with their presence as well as their words. A concerned teacher in desperate need of her salary puts her career on the line and files a report when the bruises on a child from an influential family look suspiciously unlikely to have come from "a fall." Actions like that do not cause the earth to tremble—or do they?

"From the fig tree learn its lesson." (Mk 13:28). Because we belong to the Prince of Peace, we have the call and the potential to be and to become peacemakers.

Because the God we claim and who lays claim to us loves justice and kindness, we have the responsibility and the opportunity to defend the innocent and protect the powerless. Because our God shows no partiality, we have the commission and the capacity to confront prejudice and oppression.

We may not feel comfortable in such roles. We may not feel adequate to such tasks. We may not want to take such stands. We may prefer to close our eyes and sleep. None of that changes anything and all of that changes nothing. "Keep awake!"

This may sound like too much. There is more. The season of Advent and this text seek not only to awaken us to our call and potential, but also to open our eyes to what God does in our midst. Sometimes the earthquakes and the heavens rumble, but most of our experiences of God are not that dramatic. God doesn’t just move mountains; God moves hearts. God doesn’t just part the waves of the sea; God crushes the barriers that keep neighbors apart. God doesn’t just raise the dead; God enlivens the living.

The season of Advent declares the mystery of the incarnation, God choosing to mingle divinity with humanity. Advent declares that God does not have to disrupt the natural order in some super-natural way to be with us, because God is with us in the natural order. The promise, "Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them" (Mt. 18:20), isn’t an excuse God gives churches with which to console themselves when attendance is low. It is a gift we receive from a God who chooses to participate in our lives, all of our lives. In the sanctuary we don’t merely worship God. We commune with God. We don’t merely serve God. We work with God.

We don’t have to wait until the end of the world to know God. Our relationship with God is not something we achieve by or at the end of life. Our relationship with God is something we discover in the midst of living. Divinity mingles with nature and humanity suddenly and often when least expected. "Keep awake!" Pay attention. Expect to hear prophetic words from the lips of a child. Anticipate receiving vision from eyes dimmed by age. Prepare to sense the sacred in the presence of a stranger. Get ready to feel strangely warmed in the commonplace and customary.

It is not easy to keep awake. Some fall asleep during worship every Sunday. Children leap from eight to eighteen. Marriage covenants dissolve into contracts. Friendships fade into acquaintances. Shining hopes lose their luster and become shattered expectations. In the bliss of joy, the boredom of the commonplace, and the numbness of disappointment, we sleep. We sleep.

"From the fig tree learn its lesson" (Mk 13:28). No matter what falls or fails—even the temple and the church—all around us are people in whom to see Christ and to whom to bear Christ, people to forgive and people from whom to receive forgiveness, people with whom to form the realm of God and people in whom to discover the realm of God. That hour and that time can and do come suddenly, unexpectedly, at any time.

"Keep awake!" That is a jarring command, because there is so very much to do. "Keep awake!" That is a gracious invitation, because there is so very much to see. "Keep awake!"