Mark 13:1-8

The Twenty-fifth Sunday after Pentecost, 11/14/21 | Sermon on Mark 13:1-8 | by The Rev. Dr. Ryan Mills |

¹As [Jesus] came out of the temple, one of his disciples said to him, “Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!” ²Then Jesus asked him, “Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.”
  ³When he was sitting on the Mount of Olives opposite the temple, Peter, James, John, and Andrew asked him privately, ⁴“Tell us, when will this be, and what will be the sign that all these things are about to be accomplished?” ⁵Then Jesus began to say to them, “Beware that no one leads you astray. ⁶Many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he!’ and they will lead many astray. ⁷When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. ⁸For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birth pangs.” (NRSV).

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son +, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

As the last greenery outside fades away, and as the days now darken at around 4 o’clock in the afternoon, so our Scripture readings today at this end of the church year are also a little cold and a little dark. This morning we focus on what has traditionally been called the four “Last Things”—death, judgment, hell, and heaven—the end of this life, the end of this world, the end of evil, and the beginning of the new and unending life of the world to come.

But how often do we go about our little lives like this will all last forever, how often are we shocked when anything changes with us or those we love, how troubled are we when the given-ness of this life and what we take for granted here is shaken, challenged, or taken away?   Those of you who drive to church will have noticed that “our” parking lot, which we have borrowed for free for many decades, is now suddenly closed.  Developers are moving the historic Pinto building closer to the children’s museum in preparation for putting up big new apartment complex in its place, with many new neighbors for us to serve. But the things we count on and are used to and comfortable with change before our eyes, and we can’t believe it—“How can this be” we wonder?

Today in the Gospel lesson we find the disciples admiring the building of the Jerusalem temple, the biggest building in the ancient world, so beautiful it was said, that everyone cried when they first saw it. Its foundation stones, which make up today’s Western, or Wailing, Wall are as big and as heavy as 747 airplanes. This building was so beautiful, so ornate, because it was considered to be the home of God on earth, housing the Holy of Holies, the most important place in the world where God himself dwelt.  “Lord, look how amazing this building is, how huge, how beautiful!” the disciples tell Jesus.  Ever since the tower of Babel we humans have thought that the works of our hands, that the world we’ve built will last forever.  “Do you see this great building?” Jesus says. “Pfft…not one stone will be left here on another, all will be thrown down.”

Sometimes it seems to us that we live in a time where not one stone is being left upon another, where all is being thrown down. I often think back to the fire at Notre Dame cathedral, as a living emblem of everything seeming like it is falling down around us, and as if that wasn’t enough, we can think about everything the pandemic has burned away or torn down in our lives. But it doesn’t really take a terrible disaster for us to feel this, since it’s often the things close to home the impact us the most: a diagnosis, a loss, a heartache, things just changing too fast for us make us feel like everything is being torn down.  We’re forgiven if sometimes it just feels like we’ve come to the End.

The disciples must have felt like this too, and they wanted to know the signs that would accompany the end of all things: “Is this it?” “Are we close?”  The disciples are like us, amateur Nostradamuses trying to figure out the secret signs of the end, and Jesus says, it will be like God’s good creation in reverse, it will be the unraveling of everything God has made good: instead of living in community together, nation will rise up against nation.  Instead of the good solid earth under our feet, with all creation linked in harmony, there will be earthquakes, with the earth in rebellion. Instead of the earth green and fruitful, with plenty for everyone, there will not be enough, there will be famine.  Instead of the One God and Father of us all and the One Lord Jesus, many pretenders and imposters will come saying, “I’m the one, I am he!”  And then there will be a choice, for the time for cynicism, the time of hedging our bets, the time for skeptical doubt will be over, and we will be left with a simple choice:  the choice of whether to despair, or trust.

It’s really the choice we are given every day—to despair of this world, to despair of our own sins, to despair of hope, to despair of love, to despair of those around us—or to trust, or to have faith, or to believe in the promises of a living God, Lord help our unbelief.  To trust that the God who made us, who gave his own Son to death out of love for us, has not abandoned us and will not let us go.  Hebrews tells us today that Christ offered for all time a single sacrifice for sins, for all people, for every one of us, and so we have confidence by the blood of Jesus, confidence, faith, trust that he who gave himself for us will finish what he started, that he who has promised us is faithful, that he will keep his promises, especially that last one, “Lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the world.”

Because, let’s be honest, in every age it has seemed to people like it must be the end of the world.  Catastrophe and disaster always make us think like this.  Jesus warns us to be careful about scheduling what he doesn’t even know—“for about that day and hour neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father knows.”  Jesus is clear that he doesn’t know when he’s coming back in glory, so why should we?  So while we don’t know “what,” we do know who, while we don’t know “when,” we do know who.  Every few years people embarrass themselves by thinking it’s the time, and that they know the “what” and the “how,” but Jesus says, “No, this is just the beginning of the birth pangs!”

The beginning of the birth pangs.  Labor pains!  I remember in the midst of one of Kathleen’s pregnancies we were at Ocean State Job Lots buying discount spices, when lo and behold some early labor pains, prodromal contractions began.  John was at school, we didn’t have any bags packed, or have a car seat, it was way too early, I just remember my heart falling to the floor, feeling like it was the end of the world, and then as quickly as they started they were over.  “It’s a good reminder,” Kathleen said with canisters of sale-priced cinnamon still in her hands, “that this is coming, that it’s getting close, that this little person is coming whether we’re ready or not, and that our life is going to change.”   Jesus says, this is coming, I am coming, life is going to change, but where you see the end, I see the beginning, where you see the terror and pain of labor, I see the joy and promise of my Kingdom being born.  Where we see death and the end on the Cross, God is working out Resurrection, and a new beginning, and life everlasting for us and all his people.

There’s a story told about one of the people converted by the preaching of the Apostle Paul, a man named Dionysius.  As a young man he was as astronomer, and he witnessed the sun going dark, the solar eclipse in the year 32 A.D., from afar he saw the moment when Jesus was crucified, and the sun’s light failed.  He is said to have remarked, “Either it is the end of the world, or the God of Heaven himself is suffering.”

We know that the God of Heaven did suffer on the Cross for each one of us, but in a certain kind of way that it was also the end of this world, because for Christians the end has already happened.  What could be bigger than God coming down to earth, than Christ purchasing your salvation with his blood, than him dying for the sake of the whole world, than him being torn down in order to raise up the body of his church, than him pouring out upon us his Holy Spirit?  I mean, let’s be honest, everything else after that is just kind of a footnote, is pretty minor league stuff, so just like in a movie, we live in the “credits,” the big drama is over, and we get to live now as we say in the Eucharistic prayer, “in this end of all the ages,” in faith towards God, and in fervent love towards one another, so that as everything is being torn down we might encourage one another, and build one another up.

Martin Luther was once asked what he would do if he knew the world would end tomorrow.  “Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would plant my apple tree today,” he said.  That’s what faith looks like, it trusts in God who has given us all things, and who promises not to abandon us. That’s what faith looks like, that even when things are being torn down, faith builds and plans in hope for tomorrow and for a hundred years from now.  That’s what faith looks like, that even in the dead of November, we trust that in God’s good time, the bare sapling will flower and leaf and give forth good fruit, enough for all.

So come now, you who live in a time of everything being torn down.  Come and receive the fruit of the Cross, the body and blood of him who gave himself as a sacrifice for you, who was torn down to raise you up.  “Don’t be alarmed, don’t be afraid,” he promises you.  “This is my body, given for you, this is my blood shed for you.”  All things pass away, but he never changes, and promises you again today, “Lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the world.”

And the Peace of God which passes understanding guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.

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The Rev. Dr. Ryan Mills

New Haven, Connecticut

Pastor@TrinityLutheranNH.org