Pentecost 25 B: Pretenders to the Throne
Dear Partner in Preaching,
Let’s just admit it up front: apocalyptic passages like this Sunday’s reading are more than a little weird, rather off-putting, and unfailingly difficult to preach to audiences unfamiliar with the genre. Actually, I should probably amend that slightly, as while our folks aren’t intimately familiar with the apocalyptic worldview, they have made its passing acquaintance. It was only a few years ago, after all, that most of us saw billboards or news stories carrying the predictions of Harold Camping regarding Jesus’ imminent return. And then there were articles and even big-budget films based on the Mayan calendar’s supposed assertion that the end of the world would occur on December 21, 2012. And if we stretch the category of apocalyptic just a little beyond its typical religious moorings, we might put the Y2K phenomenon and fear in the same category, as it also projected dooms-day scenarios and offered plenty of counsel for how to prepare for the end of the world as we know it.
So perhaps we’re more familiar with the apocalyptic worldview than we might at first think, even if we still find it rather odd and off-putting. The question we might ask, then, is what drives authors – in biblical times or today – to seek to peer into the future and describe the end of history. More often than not, the answer rests in the belief that knowing the future not only sheds lights on present problems but, indeed, provides a measure of relief from them. And this is especially true in confusing and uncertain times.
Which means, among other things, that the passage appointed for this Sunday was likely not intended to give us concrete hints about Jesus’ triumphant return and the end of the world, let alone a timeline for such events, as it was trying to frame and interpret some of the challenges Jesus’ followers were facing. These challenges may have included disappointment at Jesus’ delayed return, the immense social and religious upheaval caused by the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple, possible persecution by secular and religious forces, confusion among Jesus’ followers about whether they had missed his second coming, and conflicts between rival Christian leaders. In short, life was something of a mess for many of Mark’s community, and he employs the symbols and metaphors of apocalyptic traditions about Jesus that he inherits to place the struggles and questions of his people in a cosmic context and, in this way, offer a measure of both perspective and comfort.
All of which, I think, invites us to do something similar in our preaching this week: not so much to link our struggles to a cosmic clash between good and evil, but rather to allow the images Mark employs to name figuratively some of our own challenges and questions. While there are several elements of this passage that might serve in this way, the one that draws my homiletical imagination is Jesus’ warning that many will come claiming to be him in order to lead his followers astray. It’s an interesting caution, when you think about it, and may testify to the defection of some of Mark’s community to other teachers or traditions. While we aren’t likely to be tempted away from the faith from whatever groups or charismatic leaders lured some of Mark’s sheep from the fold, let’s be honest: there are still many things claiming our allegiance and promising us salvation.
Perhaps it’s the lure of wealth or possessions, the perpetual contender for our allegiance in a consumerist economy oriented to unending consumption. Or maybe it’s the possibility of a more prestigious position at work or acceptance by an appealing school or social group. Perhaps it’s the dream of the perfect relationship, or just being in a relationship with someone who values and cares for you. Or maybe it’s the “smaller” attractions of being super competent (and hopefully being noticed for that) or the ideal friend/sibling/child (again, with due attention to our achievement). Or maybe we find ourselves worshiping at the altar of providing our children with everything we never had but want to make sure they enjoy (with an emphasis on “making sure”). Or maybe…. Well, you get the idea.
And here’s the interesting thing that all these various claimants of our attention and allegiance have in common: there’s nothing inherently wrong with any of them – not wealthy or status or belonging or relationship or competency or wanting the best for our children. In fact, there is much to be admired about, and much good that can be achieved through, these various desires. Yet none of them can save. Moreover, none of them can bear the weight of meaning we unconsciously ask them to and for which we desperately long. And yet we are either so insecure or confused (or maybe a little of both), that like Mark’s community we so crave a level of certainty that we take these God-given gifts and turn them into, well, God.
Which is perhaps the human condition – worshiping the gifts of God rather than God the giver. And perhaps that’s what this tricky little passage is about: in times of confusion, challenge, and distress, we will not only be overly impressed by the symbols of power around us – “Teacher, look how big these stones are!” – but we will also take many of the delights and gifts of this life and seek to find our security in and through them rather than in the One who gave them to us in the first place.
Living with uncertainty was hard for the first century-followers of Jesus and it’s just as hard for his twenty-first century disciples as well. The promise God offers us in Christ, however, is not that if we just work hard enough, are pious enough, make ourselves acceptable enough, or attain enough we’ll leave all our uncertainties and insecurities behind. Indeed, the Christian faith does not offer an end to uncertainty or insecurity at all. Rather, it promises that we can discover who we are only in relation to Whose we are, as we receive our identity as beloved children of the God who created and sustains all things and loves us unconditionally. The antidote to uncertainty, it turns out, isn’t certainty, but courage; and the best response to insecurity is the confidence that comes from knowing that God esteems you worthy of dignity, honor, and love. Rooted in these promises, we are better equipped to resist all pretenders to throne and give our allegiance to the One who gave all things for us. Thanks to be to God.
And thanks be to God for those who proclaim these awesome promises. Keep up the good work, Dear Partner. I know how hard you work on your sermons and I am grateful for your faithful efforts.
Yours in Christ,
David
This reflection is so helpful for this difficult scripture. The point of this literature is not to rid ourselves of uncertainty or to create certainty about the future… but to remember whose we are as we live our life. This faithful assurance is larger than the stones in the temple.
I’m looking at this passage again in light of the attacks in Paris. Any insights, thoughts will be much appreciated as I try to find a way to Sunday.
Wayne,
I’m still working through that predicament myself (the text and Paris). But I was reading through a commentary Feasting on the Gospel of Mark and came across this observation:
“the Mount of Olives is a place where the bodies of Jewish people have been buried for more than three thousand years. Looking across at the temple site from the vantage point of the cemetery where victims of the persecution and destruction of 70 CE were almost surely lain suggests that all God’s people— those who have died, as well as those who are still alive— will be included in God’s coming reign.”
As if to underscore David’s above point about faith not bringing an end to uncertainty or insecurity but rather as call to courage. I think the lectionary in some ways does a dis-service by not having us read to the end of this little apocalypse (of course that would load us down with too much fodder) where Jesus summary point is “Keep awake”. For I think the whole of the piece is indeed (whether from Jesus or Mark) to encourage hope and courage in the face of whatever happens (no matter how just or unjust). That in the end God will reign.
(2014-06-12). Feasting on the Gospels–Mark: A Feasting on the Word Commentary (Kindle Locations 13762-13763). Westminster John Knox Press. Kindle Edition.
(2014-06-12). Feasting on the Gospels–Mark: A Feasting on the Word Commentary (Kindle Locations 13760-13762). Westminster John Knox Press. Kindle Edition.
Thank you. It’s where I was going before the attacks happened, and I’ve been reminded by several sources that Paris wasn’t the only place where terror took hold of life in just this past week. I live in an area that has lots of poverty, abuse of every kind, and has no problem finding hopelessness and despair. Beginning to turn the corner from anger and grief, and yes, fear is an endless task. I’m reminded of the 10th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks, and the many offerings of various Requiem choral works that weekend, then of seeing a NY Philharmonic live performance of Mahler’s Second Symphony, known as the Resurrection. It was as if someone finally flipped a switch and made it okay to step away from grief and begin living again, even while honoring and remembering those who were lost and what we all lost that day.