Time Change
November 14, 2021 + Lectionary 33b + Second Sunday before Advent + Mark 13:1-8 + Pastor Craig Mueller
We’ve come through another time change. The days were already getting shorter. But suddenly we went from sunsets at about 5:30pm to the always surprising sunset around 4:30. Research shows that these twice annual time changes can disrupt our internal clocks. Impair our sleep quality. Make us more accident prone. And affect our mood. But I don’t see changing the time change anytime soon. Some things never change, do they?
Speaking of time, do you feel disoriented trying to remember what happened in 2019, 2020 and 2021? February 2020 was only twenty months ago but doesn’t it seem like years ago? Our lives changed. Time changed. The world changed. And we’re not yet sure what the new realities will be. We’re not going back. What do we even call the past? The good, old days? Pre-pandemic? The way things used to be?
The times they are a changin’, so goes the song by Bob Dylan. As you move into unchartered territory, do you feel discombobulated, like I do? Out of sorts? From a faith perspective, we’re always living a kind of in-between existence. The reign of God come near in Christ, but not yet fulfilled.
Being caught in the in-between is like a trapeze artist who has let go of one bar and not yet grasped the next bar. One writer called it midair living. The identity we had is gone. And the next one has not yet arrived.
When the disciples point to the glory of the temple, Jesus sees a cracking foundation and a crumbling facade. Do they need a new infrastructure campaign? Mark is writing to a community living through their own apocalypse. The temple was destroyed in AD 70. Life as they know it is ending. The times are changing. There’s war, violence, persecution. An insurrection is in the making—with a promise to restore Israel and drive out Roman occupation. Yet Jesus urges non-violence and persistence.
As we hear in the apocalyptic reading from Daniel, in times of anguish, in times of suffering, be steadfast. Be filled with hope. Deliverance is on the way. The wise, the righteous, the faithful will shine like stars in the sky.
When Jesus speaks of doom and gloom, the disciples want to know when the times will change. When will these things take place, they ask. Think Glasgow this past week. The future of the planet is on our minds. What can we do? Is it too late?
For years scientists have warned of the effects of global warming. Plenty of doom and gloom. We need to change our ways. But now, we are learning we need to adapt to new realities. As one scientist notes, rapid temperature changes are part of geological history over eons. More time on earth was without polar caps than with them. Though climate change is normal, the author goes on to name that that doesn’t mean it isn’t dangerous. The uncomfortable truth is that extinction, death and suffering are the result. And we should get ready for these grim realities.
With this in mind, and with the lens of faith and a commitment to justice, the author urges us to “begin to create policies that open up our borders to climate refugees, to come up with new technologies that can grow more food on less land, and to help populations migrate away from coastal cities at risk of permanent flooding.” (Bethany Sollereder)
It’s harrowing, isn’t it? Jesus speaks of buildings that will not last forever. Like our lives. The changing times remind us of the Buddhist concept of impermanence. The shattering of illusions. Look more closely, Jesus seems to say. All this suffering and pain, loss and injustice, war and insurrection. It’s not the end. It’s the beginning of the birth pangs.
Speaking of births, for years I have loved the PBS drama, “Call the Midwife,” and now am watching the more irreverent but enticing Australian drama called “Offspring,” centered around a pediatric unit. All in all, I’m seeing a lot of mothers experiencing the pain of childbirth . . . all to bring forth new life.
The times are a changin’. We are on the verge of a new church year. The blue of Advent hope is making an early appearance as our liturgy and hymns pivot toward endings and new beginnings.
One definition of history is one damned thing after another. Amid the cynicism of our time, amid the message of doom and gloom that bombards us, in this place we proclaim good news, we proclaim hope for the future. Consider words by perhaps the most respected African American spiritual writer of the twentieth century. Howard Thurman was born into a culture of white supremacy, one generation away from his grandmother’s experience as an enslaved human being. An advisor to Martin Luther King, Jr., Thurman calls us to look at things through the eyes of hope. He writes:
All around us life is dying and life is being born. The fruit ripens on the tree, the roots are silently at work in the darkness of the earth against a time when there shall be new lives, fresh blossoms, green fruit. . . This is the basis of hope in moments of despair, the incentive to carry on when times are out of joint and men have lost their reason, the source of confidence when worlds crash and dreams whiten into ash. The birth of a child — life’s most dramatic answer to death — this is the growing edge incarnate.
This year I learned that even as the leaves drop from trees as they are doing right now, the buds for next spring have already appeared.
So do not be alarmed. As we hear in the Hebrews reading today, and I paraphrase: hold fast to the confession of your hope without wavering. For God is faithful. Provoke one another to love and good works. Do not forget to come together. Let communal worship be a priority for our week. Respond with financial generosity, yes, but also with renewed zeal to live your faith in the world.
Amid these changing times, do not tear down one another, but encourage one another with hope.
For the great Day is approaching. Christ is coming soon. And the birthpangs, they are bringing new life.