Apocalypse Now?
November 18, 2007
Luke: 21:5-19
"When you hear of wars and insurrections … Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom … there will be great earthquakes, and in various places famines and plagues; and there will be dreadful portents and great signs from heaven.”
I don’t know about you, but I really don’t need that just now. After all, it’s the Sunday before Thanksgiving, we’ve just celebrated the baptism of a beautiful baby, we’ve dedicated our pledges for the coming year.
Apocalypse now? Why? Who needs this today?
Apocalyptic literature always confuses me.
I can assure you of at least one true thing: when it comes to understanding “apocalypse” it does not help any to Google it! Oh, sure, you’ll get about 2.5 million hits, including hints for surviving a robot uprising, ten reasons why we’re the last generation, and 666 numerological reasons why Prince Charles just might be the antichrist.
OK. I made up that last part – not about Prince Charles being the antichrist according to some strange numerology, but the 666 reasons why.
Really. You can look it up.
Again, I wonder, who needs this?
We tend to hear in such literature portents of the end times – although the root meaning of the word “apocalypse” actually refers to “opening up” or “uncovering,” thus we translate the Apocalypse of John as Revelation.
Now matter how we translate such writing, though, it often seems to obscure more than it reveals.
The temptation is to believe that we know precisely what is being revealed in such writing, to believe that we are Nostradamus-like and can discern in these 2,000-year-old words warnings related to next Tuesday.
I suppose this tendency is fundamentally human, and is among the bags we carry because we have the gift of imagination and of time. I mean, my dogs don’t worry about next Tuesday. Indeed, if they experience worry at all it’s not about next Tuesday, it’s about the next dog biscuit – and they only worry about that when the dog-biscuit box is rattling right in front of their noses. Unless Jesus was standing in our kitchen holding the box of dog biscuits, my dogs are not going to be concerned with anything he – or any other prophet of apocalypse – has to say.
But we human beings can imagine next Tuesday, and Wednesday and the day after that and the one to come way on down the road. And we can worry about it, too: what will we wear? What will we eat? What will we be doing? Where will we be? Who will we have to be taking care of? Who will be taking care of us? What work will have to be done? What threats will we face? Who will be sick? Who will die?
We’d like all of that and more answered for us. Depending upon our personalities and preferences some of us would like nice neat memos in outline form, others would prefer pictures, still others like lists. We want to know because we want to be prepared because, ultimately, we want to be in control.
But the language of the apocalypse insists that we are not in control. There will be wars – and in wars, as the present reality so painfully underscores, chaos reigns and plans dissolve in the fog of brutality. There will be famine – and we will be at the mercy of weather. There will be earthquakes – and we can do nothing to stop them. And we might learn, if we are paying attention, that we are not in control.
We could toss up our hands and despair that we are at the mercy of forces beyond our power. We could turn to cynical detachment or selfish gluttony.
Or, we could rage, rage against the dying of the light, we could kick at the darkness till it bleeds daylight. That is to say, we can take responsibility without claiming control.
Acknowledging that we are not in control – that God is in control – does not lift from us the responsibility for acting: for working for peace, for doing justice, for binding one another up, for bearing one another’s burdens, for loving one another. But it does liberate us from the oppressive tyranny of expectations.
Faithful living in the world looks like that.
For example, when we witness for peace – as a number of folks will do this afternoon at 5:00 in Lafayette Park – we do not step into the public square under the oppressive tyranny of expecting a particular outcome. But, at the same time, we do not free ourselves from the responsibility of working for a just and peaceful world. We step into the public square to witness to a deep faith – even in the midst of nation lifting up sword against nation – our deep faith in the one who comes proclaiming “peace on earth,” the one who promises that the peacemakers will be the children of God.
For example, when we offer our pledges to the work of the church we do not step forward under the oppressive tyranny of expecting the church to be ours, of expecting its future to be dependent upon our work. But, at the same time, we do not free ourselves from the responsibility of being the church – of joining our lives to the fellowship of the body of Christ and of living as those called out to be disciples. So we step into this responsibility to witness to our deep faith – even in the midst of famine and economic insecurity – our deep faith in the God of abundance who has given richly to us that we might want to be those who find deep joy in giving of ourselves.
For example, when we baptized Isabella a few minutes ago and pledged to nurture her in the faith, we do not do so under the oppressive tyranny of expecting her salvation – no matter how we consider it – to be in our hands. But, at the same time, we do not free ourselves from the responsibility for loving her just because, in baptism, we acknowledge that she is first, last and always in God’s hands.
But we do experience a wonderful liberation – a freedom to love, if you will – at the very moment that we let go of the illusion of our own control. We are freed from the future, to love in this moment as if this moment is the only one we have. Even if this moment is one of terror and warfare and deep brokenness – for God has been revealed in this very moment as the God of love and the lord of history.
God is revealed in this moment as the one who is about to do a new thing: the one who is about to create a new heaven and a new earth, as Isaiah understood in the midst of his own apocalyptic moment.
This is the meaning of the apocalypse – what is revealed now, in this very moment, what is opened up in the midst of history, in the middle of the stream of time: that in the center of all that is there beats a heart of love that beats for Isabella – for one as small and fragile, as beautiful and powerful, as momentous and as temporary as a child. That same heart beats for you and for me and for each of us.
Join the beating of your own heart to the rhythm of the divine heart that beats with love for creation – that we might join ourselves to that rhythm and be peacemakers, joyous givers of our time, talent and treasure, faithful parents, loving friends, compassionate community builders, repairers of the breach, disciples of the living Christ. Amen.
Luke: 21:5-19
"When you hear of wars and insurrections … Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom … there will be great earthquakes, and in various places famines and plagues; and there will be dreadful portents and great signs from heaven.”
I don’t know about you, but I really don’t need that just now. After all, it’s the Sunday before Thanksgiving, we’ve just celebrated the baptism of a beautiful baby, we’ve dedicated our pledges for the coming year.
Apocalypse now? Why? Who needs this today?
Apocalyptic literature always confuses me.
I can assure you of at least one true thing: when it comes to understanding “apocalypse” it does not help any to Google it! Oh, sure, you’ll get about 2.5 million hits, including hints for surviving a robot uprising, ten reasons why we’re the last generation, and 666 numerological reasons why Prince Charles just might be the antichrist.
OK. I made up that last part – not about Prince Charles being the antichrist according to some strange numerology, but the 666 reasons why.
Really. You can look it up.
Again, I wonder, who needs this?
We tend to hear in such literature portents of the end times – although the root meaning of the word “apocalypse” actually refers to “opening up” or “uncovering,” thus we translate the Apocalypse of John as Revelation.
Now matter how we translate such writing, though, it often seems to obscure more than it reveals.
The temptation is to believe that we know precisely what is being revealed in such writing, to believe that we are Nostradamus-like and can discern in these 2,000-year-old words warnings related to next Tuesday.
I suppose this tendency is fundamentally human, and is among the bags we carry because we have the gift of imagination and of time. I mean, my dogs don’t worry about next Tuesday. Indeed, if they experience worry at all it’s not about next Tuesday, it’s about the next dog biscuit – and they only worry about that when the dog-biscuit box is rattling right in front of their noses. Unless Jesus was standing in our kitchen holding the box of dog biscuits, my dogs are not going to be concerned with anything he – or any other prophet of apocalypse – has to say.
But we human beings can imagine next Tuesday, and Wednesday and the day after that and the one to come way on down the road. And we can worry about it, too: what will we wear? What will we eat? What will we be doing? Where will we be? Who will we have to be taking care of? Who will be taking care of us? What work will have to be done? What threats will we face? Who will be sick? Who will die?
We’d like all of that and more answered for us. Depending upon our personalities and preferences some of us would like nice neat memos in outline form, others would prefer pictures, still others like lists. We want to know because we want to be prepared because, ultimately, we want to be in control.
But the language of the apocalypse insists that we are not in control. There will be wars – and in wars, as the present reality so painfully underscores, chaos reigns and plans dissolve in the fog of brutality. There will be famine – and we will be at the mercy of weather. There will be earthquakes – and we can do nothing to stop them. And we might learn, if we are paying attention, that we are not in control.
We could toss up our hands and despair that we are at the mercy of forces beyond our power. We could turn to cynical detachment or selfish gluttony.
Or, we could rage, rage against the dying of the light, we could kick at the darkness till it bleeds daylight. That is to say, we can take responsibility without claiming control.
Acknowledging that we are not in control – that God is in control – does not lift from us the responsibility for acting: for working for peace, for doing justice, for binding one another up, for bearing one another’s burdens, for loving one another. But it does liberate us from the oppressive tyranny of expectations.
Faithful living in the world looks like that.
For example, when we witness for peace – as a number of folks will do this afternoon at 5:00 in Lafayette Park – we do not step into the public square under the oppressive tyranny of expecting a particular outcome. But, at the same time, we do not free ourselves from the responsibility of working for a just and peaceful world. We step into the public square to witness to a deep faith – even in the midst of nation lifting up sword against nation – our deep faith in the one who comes proclaiming “peace on earth,” the one who promises that the peacemakers will be the children of God.
For example, when we offer our pledges to the work of the church we do not step forward under the oppressive tyranny of expecting the church to be ours, of expecting its future to be dependent upon our work. But, at the same time, we do not free ourselves from the responsibility of being the church – of joining our lives to the fellowship of the body of Christ and of living as those called out to be disciples. So we step into this responsibility to witness to our deep faith – even in the midst of famine and economic insecurity – our deep faith in the God of abundance who has given richly to us that we might want to be those who find deep joy in giving of ourselves.
For example, when we baptized Isabella a few minutes ago and pledged to nurture her in the faith, we do not do so under the oppressive tyranny of expecting her salvation – no matter how we consider it – to be in our hands. But, at the same time, we do not free ourselves from the responsibility for loving her just because, in baptism, we acknowledge that she is first, last and always in God’s hands.
But we do experience a wonderful liberation – a freedom to love, if you will – at the very moment that we let go of the illusion of our own control. We are freed from the future, to love in this moment as if this moment is the only one we have. Even if this moment is one of terror and warfare and deep brokenness – for God has been revealed in this very moment as the God of love and the lord of history.
God is revealed in this moment as the one who is about to do a new thing: the one who is about to create a new heaven and a new earth, as Isaiah understood in the midst of his own apocalyptic moment.
This is the meaning of the apocalypse – what is revealed now, in this very moment, what is opened up in the midst of history, in the middle of the stream of time: that in the center of all that is there beats a heart of love that beats for Isabella – for one as small and fragile, as beautiful and powerful, as momentous and as temporary as a child. That same heart beats for you and for me and for each of us.
Join the beating of your own heart to the rhythm of the divine heart that beats with love for creation – that we might join ourselves to that rhythm and be peacemakers, joyous givers of our time, talent and treasure, faithful parents, loving friends, compassionate community builders, repairers of the breach, disciples of the living Christ. Amen.
posted by David Ensign at
5:25 PM
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