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Christ the King Sunday, 11/25/2012
Sermon on Mark 13:24-37, by Nathan Howard Yoder
24 "But in those days, after that tribulation, the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, 25 and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken. 26 And then they will see the Son of Man coming in clouds with great power and glory. 27 And 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.
28 "From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts out its leaves, you know that summer is near. 29 So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that he is near, at the very gates. 30 Truly, I say to you, this generation will not pass away until all these things take place. 31 Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.
32 "But concerning that day or that hour, no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. 33 Be on guard, keep awake. For you do not know when the time will come. 34 It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his servants in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to stay awake. 35 Therefore stay awake--for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or when the rooster crows, or in the morning-- 36 lest he come suddenly and find you asleep. 37 And what I say to you I say to all: Stay awake." ESV
The large willow oak that faces my parents' ancestral farmhouse is well over 50 feet tall. I helped my father plant it when I was five years old, and it has progressed from a sapling to the largest tree in the yard in just over 30 years. Looking at that tree now brings to mind another childhood memory of relatively the same era, a few years later. An August evening, suppertime; sitting in my father's old Volvo as he went inside a fast food joint to buy some hotdogs. A car pulled into the parking lot with a sign on top that read, "the world will end in 1988. Call this number to be saved. Signed, Uncle Bob." Dad returned to find me in tears.
It proved the perfect opportunity for my father to explain to his little boy the doctrine of justification, the article of faith by which the church stands or falls. My salvation, he explained, has been accomplished once for all by Jesus, who died for me: as the catechism instructs, "in order that I may be His, and live under Him in His kingdom." We hold fast to His promise alone, and don't need to call any telephone numbers. Dad also pointed out the promise of our Lord that "concerning that day or that hour" of His return, "no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father." "So," Dad said, "who are you gonna believe? Jesus, or Uncle Bob?"
Though this assurance was comforting, I remained unnerved during the ride home. Images of desolation haunted my thoughts, visions I would much later discover to be in accord with Jeremiah's description of the day of wrath: "I looked on the earth, and behold, it was without form and void; and to the heavens, and they had no light. I looked on the mountains, and behold, they were quaking, and all the hills moved to and fro. I looked, and behold, there was no man, and all the birds of the air had fled. I looked, and behold, the fruitful land was a desert, and all its cities were laid in ruins before the LORD, before his fierce anger." I asked my father what he would do if he knew the world would end tomorrow. He answered with a reply attributed to Luther. "I'd plant a tree," he said, "so that it would grow in God's kingdom."
That image of the tree, the action of planting it, was exactly what I needed to hear. It painted for me a picture of continuity and coherence between what is now and what will be: a seed falling to the earth passes away and becomes that which it is ordained to be. St. Paul describes this glorious transition in Christ as the passing of the "present form" of this world, and the illustration of the tree underscores the reality of fulfillment, final end as goal accomplished. And the absolute wonder of it all: this promise of fulfillment has been accomplished by one who was at one time a child, as I was. A little boy who grew into a man, who was nailed to a rough-hewn chunk of dead wood with our sin on him, suffered death, and was buried, for the sake of the world his Heavenly Father so loved. Christ compared His death to the seed, and His glorious Resurrection is the first fruit of the summer to come.
Jesus' description of His return in Mark confronts the scenes of annihilation described so vividly by the prophets, and He uses the fig tree as a focal point. "The LORD is enraged against all the nations," blasts Isaiah, "and furious against all their host; he has devoted them to destruction, has given them over for slaughter... All the host of heaven shall rot away, and the skies roll up like a scroll. All their host shall fall, as leaves fall from the vine, like leaves falling from the fig tree" (34: 2,4). So too Jeremiah: "When I would gather [my people], declares the LORD, there are no grapes on the vine, nor figs on the fig tree; even the leaves are withered, and what I gave them has passed away from them... The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved." (8:13, 20). In answer to this desolation, the consequence of our sin, Christ speaks from the withered tree. "It is finished." And the angel's declaration in the dawn, "He is not here. He is risen", echoes the strains of Solomon's delight: "The winter is past; the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth, the time of singing has come... The fig tree ripens its figs, and the vines are in blossom; they give forth fragrance. Arise, my love, my beautiful one, and come away" (Song of Solomon 2:11,13).
From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts out its leaves, you know that summer is near.
The juxtaposition of the blossoming fig tree in Mark 13 with the growing cold of year's end is masterfully timed by the lectionary. Barren limbs and waning light underscore the old, sinful self under the law. God created humanity in His image, to be in fellowship with Him in the garden. We rejected His gift completely and utterly, embracing instead Jeremiah's barren landscape. "What I gave them has passed away from them."
The season illustrates the wages of sin. The harvest has passed, the summer has ended. But salvation belongs to our God, and to Christ the lamb, forever and ever! The Risen Lord has come, and we who gather together in his name belong to Him in our baptism. We are joined to His cross, branches on His tree of life: forgiven, restored, and awaiting the fruit to come. He is with us, now: his Word in preaching, the direct continuity and source of all being connecting "Let there be light" to "it is finished". In Christ, all things cohere. His Word in preaching and the sacraments, life in our branches: forgiving us, strengthening us in the face of temptation and hardship. When we gather to receive His Word, His body and blood, we are celebrating our great summer commencement. The Holy Spirit is growing His fruit in us, now, and our future is assured in Christ Jesus. "Beloved, we are God's children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when He appears we shall be like Him, because we shall see him as He is" (1 John 3:2).
No one knows the day or the hour when we will see Jesus as He is, in glory. But this we do know: we anticipate His coming with absolute joy! He has accomplished our salvation. He has grafted us onto His tree, and we will grow in His Kingdom, "and serve Him in everlasting righteousness, innocence, and blessedness."
The summer holidays of our Lord's return are nearly here. Christ is risen, and His eternal Word speaks to us today: "Arise, my love, my beautiful one, and come away."