Proper 28B. 14 November 2021. The Rev. Pamela L. Werntz
1 Samuel 1:4-20. The Lord remembered her.
Hebrews 10:11-25. Let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds.
Mark 13:1-8. This is but the beginning of the birth pangs.
O Eternity, O Word of Thunder, grant us the strength, the wisdom and the courage to seek always and everywhere after truth, come when it may, and cost what it will.
We are nearing the end of our liturgical year. This is the last we’ll hear from the Gospel of Mark for another three years. It’s highly ironic to me to pray the beautiful words of the opening collect about scripture (to read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest) on a day when our appointed Gospel lesson is the beginning of the apocalypse in Mark. Episcopalians generally don’t like dwelling on the fact that we have apocalyptic scripture. We don’t know what to make of it, and we’d rather not have to try. Next Sunday, which is the last Sunday in our liturgical year, we will hear a passage from the Passion narrative of Gospel of John. It is a jarring lectionary move; you’ll have to keep your knees bent slightly so that you don’t topple over!
Back to this week. In today’s Gospel reading we hear a part of a speech, a kind of farewell speech, that Mark reports Jesus delivering in the last few days of his life. Like Jacob, Moses, and King David before him, Mark’s Jesus gave his hearers instructions for how to live, how to go on, to face whatever came their way after he was gone. Jesus predicted that things were going to get very difficult. Although his prediction, that not one stone would be left upon another at the great temple in Jerusalem, was something of an exaggeration, life as they knew it surely came to an end when Jesus died. And life as they knew it surely came to an end when the Romans sacked Jerusalem in 70 CE. This passage is one of the proof texts for scholars, who date the writing of Mark at about 70 CE.
Perhaps wondering how best to prepare, Peter, James, John, and Andrew interrogated Jesus privately about when the end would come and what the signs of the end would be. I hear them longing for certainty. (That’s a familiar feeling.) As is so often the case, Jesus’ response does not answer their questions. He seems to be saying again, without so many words, that they’re asking the wrong questions. Jesus seems to be much more about questioning the answers than he is about answering the questions of his followers in the Gospel of Mark! Instead, he says, “See that no one leads you astray by using my name.” Astray from what? Well my guess is astray from the feeding and freeing work that they are called to be doing: casting out polluted spirits and restoring health, widely proclaiming the love of God, and building up the beloved community. Don’t be led astray from provoking one another to love and good deeds as the author of Hebrews writes. Don’t be led astray from loving your neighbors, including your enemies. Don’t let wars and rumors of wars, earthquakes in various places, or famines disturb or startle you so much that they keep you from loving one another and loving God. People who use Jesus’ name will try to lead you astray.
The fascinating thing to me about this speech is that Jesus uses the metaphor of childbirth here, which really resonates with me! Jesus talks of birth pangs. Now pang seems a little light-handed, but his point is well taken: labor happens, and it’s painful. He’s not really addressing why labor hurts, just that it does; that it’s one of the signs of change, of a new life about to occur, about to be delivered through a process of suffering. And let’s be clear, birth is very risky for both the mother and the baby; survival is uncertain. His stated purpose in his farewell speech is to reduce emotional anxiety. Jesus’ followers are not to be alarmed; the pain is normal. It most assuredly does not feel good, and that can lead to fear, but “Do not be afraid!” is his refrain. Pay attention, keep alert, use your eyes and ears; and don’t worry, don’t be afraid. You have what you need; you know what you need to know. He’s like a birth coach!
People will come along and try to convince you that you don’t really have to love those people, that those people do not deserve love. Voices will try to persuade you that the message of love is thin and facile, that good deeds are too small to make a difference, or that unethical behavior is justified. Keep your hearts and minds in the love of God and of one another. Even in the midst of catastrophes, violence, and great suffering, his followers are to continue to live in love, knowing that love is always more powerful than death. Jesus’ followers are to remember that, as the Rev. Amy Butler has said, “Anytime the Bible is quoted to defend behavior that’s not motivated by the law of love, something is wrong.”
We know that Jesus is talking about love because of the part of Mark’s Gospel just before the farewell speech begins. The wise scribe says it, and Jesus affirms it. I’ll tell it to you, but I know that you already know it:
“Hear, O Israel: Listen, O my wrestling people (or, translated differently, Listen deeply, you God-strugglers): the [name that is too sacred to pronounce] is our God, the [Holy Name] alone. (When you listen deeply) you are going to love the Holy Name, your God, with all your heart, with all your life force, with all your mind, and with all your very-muchness. (When you do that) you are going to love your neighbor as your self.”
That’s it; that’s all you need to know; indeed, that’s all we need to know.
With that knowledge, we have the ability to do something great today – every single one of us. If you’ve already done something great this morning, fantastic! You probably still have time to do another great thing. If you are alert, if you use your eyes and ears, and you pay attention, the Holy One will provide an opportunity to put aside your worry or your fear of war or rumors of war, of earthquakes in various places, and of famine; to go with only the clothes on your back–yes, empty-handed, open-handed; and to share who you are, what you have, and what you know about the love of God, using words only if necessary. You can let your life speak, as the Quaker saying goes. (I met a couple one time: a man and a woman. The man told me he was a Quaker. His wife quipped, “Except when he’s driving.”) With practice, you can let your life speak even when you’re driving!
Friday night, the keynote speaker for our diocesan convention was Dr. Catherine Meeks, Executive Director of the Absalom Jones Center for Racial Healing. She implored us to interrogate ourselves to discover what God (or Love) might have in mind for us, as individuals and as communities. She reminded us that major disruptions and upheavals are inevitable; they will come whether we want them to or not, whether we like them or not, whether we expect them or not.
When will the stones come tumbling down? The thing is, they’re always coming down somewhere. If we could all be alert to the call to listen deeply to the Holy One, and to the love that comes as a consequence, nations might even stop rising up against nation and kingdom against kingdom. I want to believe that wars are not as inevitable as earthquakes. I want to believe that like famine, wars are preventable with just distribution of resources. I don’t know, but I want to try it. Jesus and his followers might have believed that wars must take place, but I don’t.
In his parting words, Jesus is making it clear that whenever the stones come tumbling down, it’s not the end with a capital E; it’s an opportunity for transformation. So, back to the words of the writer of Hebrews, “Let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds, not neglecting to meet together…but encouraging one another, all the more.” According to Jesus, God does not invite us into abundant life by urging us to play it safe.[1] Do not be alarmed; love one another.
You know, I often hear people say that they don’t believe in organized religion; and my quick retort is usually, “We’re really not that organized.” But you know, we are, when it comes to pooling our resources and leveraging our power, when it comes to advocating for and caring for those who are critically under-resourced. This past Wednesday, late morning, when I looked out my office window, I saw an ambulance near our main entrance. “Uh-oh,” I thought, “someone must be hurt or sick.” Wednesday is common art day, so the building is full of people who are extremely vulnerable, who are unhoused or marginally sheltered, who suffer from all kinds of ill health. When I went into the parish administrators’ office to get a better look, to see if I should go downstairs, I saw that the ambulance doors were open, and about a half-dozen folding chairs from the parish hall were set up on the sidewalk. In a flash of recognition, I realized that Boston Medical Center was providing a COVID-booster clinic for anyone in the building (or anyone else who asked for a shot). No appointment, no waiting–so we could all go back in the building to resume our artwork or office work while we completed the 15-minute, post-shot observation. People who were afraid of needles were having their hands held by their friends or the common art leadership. It was a little booster-shot party on the first block of Newbury Street on a beautiful day. It was a big sign of the power of Emmanuel, which means God with us.
God with us (Emmanuel) is both a great comfort and a significant challenge for us. Ministering with and for people who generally don’t believe in organized religion (at least not for themselves), whether they are housed or unhoused, healthy or unwell, over-resourced or under-resourced, is one way we offer the comfort and meet the challenge. Dr. Meeks ended her address on Friday by imploring us to have the courage to say yes to things that we can do, and the courage to say no to the things that don’t have our name on them. “Do what’s yours,” she said, “and leave other peoples’ work alone!” She left us with this blessing, and I’m going to pass it along to you: “May you always be half-a-shade braver.”
[1] Thanks to Bob Eldan at http://preachingtip.com.