Holden Evening Prayer – Advent Hope: Waiting and Watching

Mark 13:24-37

Jesus said, “But in those days, after that suffering, the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in clouds’ with great power and glory. 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.

“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. So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that he is near, at the very gates. Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.

“But about that day or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come. 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. 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, or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly. And what I say to you I say to all: Keep awake.”

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts together be acceptable in your sight, oh LORD, our Rock and our Redeemer. Amen.

Watch… Wait… These are the themes and tasks of Advent. Watch… Wait…Really? Haven’t we had enough waiting this year? I’m tired of waiting. Waiting for a time when it will be safe to be with all of the people I love. Waiting to learn more about COVID-19. How it behaves and spreads. How it impacts people. How it can be contained and, ultimately, defeated. Waiting for vaccines that will help us to move toward immunity. Waiting for life to return to something resembling normal.

Since November 3, we’ve been waiting. We waited for votes to be counted. We waited for totals to be shared and results declared. Still, we wait for concession and an end to the deep political division that has been widening for far too long. We wait and long for civility.

We each have other things we’re waiting for, too, and I, for one, am exhausted by all this waiting.

As if this waiting weariness wasn’t enough, we’re greeted with words of doom and gloom as our text begins: “in those days, after that suffering, the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken.” Seriously? Don’t we have enough doom and gloom right now? Do we really need to talk about the end of all things?

What I want right now are words of “comfort, comfort now my people,” words of peace, love and joy. The rough places being made plain. Lions and lambs living in harmony. Instead, we are called to watch and wait. Enough already! I’m growing impatient with this waiting. That is precisely why I need to be confronted with these words in this time and place. We’ve been having a pretty good wrestle the last couple of weeks, these words and I, and I’d like to share how they’ve begun to open me up.

First, a little context.

Today’s text is lifted from a larger section that talks about the destruction of Jerusalem and the temple, something that happened around the time the Gospel of Mark was written. Those frightening words about sun, stars and moon being snuffed out borrow language and ideas from the prophets of old, like Isaiah, when they spoke of times of exile and empires crumbling. These words are meant to signify that something of cosmic importance is happening.

In the next chapter, after another call to keep awake and be watchful, three of the disciples fall asleep while Jesus prays in the garden. Jesus is betrayed. Peter denies him. There is a sham trial, Jesus is crucified, and we’re left with a report that the women find his tomb empty and run away, telling no one.

For these people who were scattered to the four winds as their sun and moon were darkened by the destruction of the temple and by Jesus’ death, it no doubt felt like the end of the world. In truth, it was the end of their world, but it wasn’t the end of all things.

I’d say we have some things in common. It feels like the world as we know it is ending. Many of us have been working, teaching, learning and living within the confines of our homes for the last eight months. It hasn’t been safe to worship together for those same eight months. We’ve celebrated Easter and Thanksgiving connected but at a distance. We’ll be spending Advent and Christmas the same way, and we know it will be some time before we can gather in person to have a Bethlehem family reunion. It feels like our sun and moon have been snuffed out. It feels like our social and political fabric have been torn beyond mending.

In the sacred darkness of this unusual time, we are invited to watch and to wait, to reflect and prepare. In the midst of this text we are called to pay attention to the budding fig tree. I certainly don’t have one of those in my backyard, so how about a cherry tree, or an apple tree, or a pear tree with a partridge perched in it? Whatever your choice, I invite you to envision the way the branches grow supple, the way the buds grow plump and then burst forth with fragrant blossoms and new, green life, a promise of good things to come.

This growing tree is a symbol of God’s faithfulness, bringing about new life season after season. It is a reminder that God is always in our midst working to encourage us to enflesh God’s vision of shalom unfolding since the beginning of creation. That burgeoning tree bears witness to the truth that God took up residence in our midst, in the flesh, in the person of Jesus Christ; that God resides in our midst today; and that God will come to dwell in our midst again and again.

Waiting and watching can be messy, tiring business; yet, it’s the work to which we’re called right now. This work seems to come with all kinds of warnings. Beware! Keep alert! Be on the watch! Keep awake! Digging into the Greek text, I was pleasantly surprised to find other possible translations that sound more invitational to my ear. That first “beware, keep alert” could also be “see” or “perceive” and “care for.” Let your eyes be opened to what God is up to in our midst; join the call to care for neighbor. And the final “Keep awake” could mean “be alive.” These words point back to the fig tree and invite us to be filled with the same new life that the tree both offers and points to. They are active words that invite us to engage our whole selves as we live into this Christ-like way of being.

They also recall words from Isaiah 43, providing a counterbalance to the snuffed out celestial bodies. After talking about gathering God’s people from all directions, from the ends of the earth, we hear these words: “Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.”

There’s that fig tree again, reminding us of God’s faithful promise, those words of promise that Jesus assures us will outlast even heaven and earth. Words that invite us to perceive God’s active presence, to care for others and all of creation, to be alive in Christ. God is always in our midst, always working to bring about that next new thing that breathes hope and new life into even the most difficult of situations, even when we feel like our world is ending. Even when we are weary with watching and waiting. Always working to bring the Kingdom of God a little closer. Always inviting us into that already but not yet, new heaven and new earth place. That’s who God is. That’s what God does.

There are already many signs for us to perceive. Have you noticed how, from the very beginning, many of our political and civic leaders have talked about wearing masks and practicing physical distancing as ways of caring for your neighbor? That sounds like God’s work to me. We’ve all heard the good news about the efficacy of vaccines and the likelihood that they will be available for wide distribution over the coming months, bringing hope and new life. Perhaps you’ve noticed individuals or groups taking action to care for others. Could these things be signs of God’s faithful presence?

This is a mere glimmer of what God’s up to in our midst. As we prepare to welcome God incarnate once more, we are invited to watch and to wait. This watching and waiting is an active thing that invites us to open our eyes, our ears, and our way of being to God’s presence.

I have a personal invitation, too. Each year, I set out this little sleigh as a decoration. Using tools passed down from his grandfather, my grampa made this many years ago for my gramma. I’m told she set it out every year with a yule log on it. When she died, it was passed on to my mom who put greens and pine cones on it for many years; she gave it to me a number of years ago, and each year since, I’ve put this little parcel of wrapped packages on it.

This year, it will serve as my fig tree. The sleigh will remind me of God’s faithfulness, showing up to dwell with us season after season, year after year, and generation after generation. It will also remind me how faith and faithful witness have been passed down through the generations of my families. The packages will remind me of the good things yet to come, the new things that God is already up to in our midst, and the timeless words of Jesus. The Word that outlasts heaven and earth, sustaining us with hope drawn from the endless wellspring of God’s love.

I invite you to select something that’s part of your tradition to take on this new meaning, to bear witness in your home like the faithful fig tree. To accompany you in your Advent watching and waiting. It can be anything, as long as it’s important to you, and as long as you will see it. Whenever you look at it, you’re invited to trust that God is already up to something new and life-giving in your midst – even if you don’t yet perceive it.

Together, let’s open our eyes and ears, our hearts and minds, to perceive the signs of God’s faithful, life-giving presence in our midst. Let’s prepare to meet God in the flesh, born anew. Let’s prepare to bear witness, like the fig tree, to this good and hope-filled news:

Jesus came, God in human flesh, to dwell with us long ago. Jesus dwells in our midst still. And, Jesus will come again and again. All to bring the love of God so close that you might embrace and embody that love, sharing it with God’s beloved from the ends of earth to the ends of heaven.

That is worth all the watching and waiting.

Amen.