Scripture: Mark 13:1-8
Given on 11/18/2018
Some 14.5 billion years ago, in some far off portion of space, there was a huge explosion of pure, unadulterated energy. From that split second, emerged all the matter that is found in the universe. In an instant, atoms started whirling and connecting to form more complex compounds like the air we breathe, the water we drink, the space that we occupy. Energy began to be thrust in every direction pushing the boundaries of the macrocosm to a shape and area that is unimaginable. Planets and solar systems and galaxies too numerous to count began to populate this immense and ever expanding space, the full extent of which we will never comprehend. In that eruption of uncontainable energy, our planet, one of the only planets that we know of that can sustain life, a relatively small planet in a relatively small solar system, one of thousands in our corner of the galaxy, with a fairly weak sun compared to other stars that power other solar systems, was also flung into place. On this planet, in this world, single-celled paramecium began to move about the cosmic sludge that made up most of the surface of the planet, driven by an unseen force towards complexity, those earliest forms of life would evolve into multi-celled creatures that swam about until they formed fins and then feet and legs and lungs that could exist above and below the water and eventually got out and onto land. Our ancient cousins, Australopithecus, driven by that same energy first released in the Big Bang began to display the ability not just to walk on two legs but also to create cultural markers suggesting that they lived in groups with the ability to communicate in a rudimentary fashion with something that resembled a language. Our planet and the first of our kind, too, was propelled across the expanse of time and space, enlivened by a power that is both never fully definable just as it is never stoppable. It is this force, the same force that could not be contained in that infinitesimally tiny and compacted ball of matter at the beginning of time, that has moved throughout the whole of our planet—a force that animates all of us to be and do and achieve and evolve and grow and sustain and exist and love. What followed after our original primate ancestors were, of course, increasingly complex tribes, cultures, societies, empires, and kingdoms before arriving at nation-states as we find ourselves now. It is a breathtaking line drawn from that initial eruption of unfettered and undefined energy that cuts across the light years from then until now. This dynamic, almost electric, force that emerged from that initial moment of propulsion continues to move and emerge and thrust and cast all of the universe into a future of unlimited potential and possibility. For all we know, in the future, we will learn more, we will make better educated speculation and we will harness more of the knowledge and that energy to do wondrous things. We will build taller buildings and race into space. We will colonize the moon and Mars. We will figure out more sustainable ways to live on earth without depleting the precious resources to which we now cling. We will cure diseases that threaten large swaths of the population. We will eradicate hunger and poverty. We will figure out what comes after the atomic bomb. We will fight and we will make up and we will do it all over again. We will have visions and dream dreams and reach for the stars and eventually we will be able to grab them. That is our story. A story that seeks to understand the past and boldly move into the future. But all of it, our story, time, space, the cosmos begins with a power that could no longer be contained in the confines of the densely packed ball of matter at the beginning. Energy, if it is to find its truest potential, can never be contained, never be walled off, never be content to remain where it is, but, must always be cast across the void of what has yet to be that it may touch that which has previously been untouched. Like light seeking out and destroying every crag and crevice where darkness may hide, true energy, the kind of energy that forms universes and enlivens the whole of time and space in its wake, must always explode in every direction, equally. Must always advance with no hesitation for where it is going. Must always simply be about the task of the next thing, the next moment, the next universe, the next cosmos, the next.
The disciples are walking along with Jesus one day and are traversing in and amongst the series of large stones and edifices that make up the Temple grounds in Jerusalem and they find themselves somewhat awestruck by the immensity and grandeur of the place and the moment and, it seems just wanted Jesus to share in that feeling and experience with them. And I think we can all understand something of what they were perceiving. A few years back, when I was living in Upstate New York, and having grown up in a little town in rural North Carolina, when our idea of going to the big city was going for a day of shopping in the next bigger city just up the interstate from our own, the concept of New York City was completely foreign to me. Now, the course of my life had allowed me to spend some time in other world capitals but really, there is nothing of which I am aware, in the world as immense and awe-inspiring as the city of New York. And so it was that I had been asked to be on a committee for the Synod that I was serving in and that committee met monthly at Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church in New York City and I remember my first trip there making my way by train from Albany, close to where I was living, to Grand Central Station in Manhattan, an overwhelming experience in and of itself, before catching a subway over to Fifth Avenue and stepping out in the midst of skyscrapers that would put the Tower of Babel to shame and in an instant, I was one of those stereotypical New York tourists overwhelmed by the size and grandeur of it all, being bumped around the sidewalk like a pinball by native New Yorkers who had neither the time nor the inclination to be moved by the scale of it all. That is something like the experience that I imagine the disciples had that day as they were passing through the Temple grounds with Jesus. “Teacher,” they said, “what large stones and what large buildings!” and surely they were for these rural fisherman from the Galilean countryside. Surely, the artistic accenting, the deep and rich heritage of the Temple Mount, the sheer size of it all must have moved the disciples. But just as quickly as awe and amazement arose in their souls, that feeling must have come to a screeching halt with the response offered by Jesus, “Do you see these great buildings?,” he said, “Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.” And, at least from the recording of this story, the conversation stopped there. But Peter, James, John, and Andrew must have been somewhat perplexed by the master’s words, because they privately asked him, what such an event would look like. And Jesus begins to speak of wars and rumors of wars, of nation rising against nation, of earthquakes and famines, and the pangs of labor and something new being birthed into this world. My ears always perk up a little bit when I hear someone talk about the pangs of labor because I have some experience with this. Not, you know, personally, but having three children, I know a little bit about the laboring experience, and one of the things that you experience when you watching your beloved bring new life into the world is the chaotic, and scary, and energy-ladened, and exciting, and exhilarating, and completely and utterly terrifying nature of bringing something new into this world where before it had not been. My initial experience of this moment was, of course, with Jameson and because I was in charge of the critically important job of ice-chip distribution to my beautiful bride, I had a front-row seat for the arrival of my firstborn. And what I can report is that the labor process, which took 25 hours, and the delivery process which seemed to take an eternity both were alive with the force that comes with creating life from seemingly nothingness and the process of moving that life from potentiality to actuality. By the end, the labor room resembles something of a war zone with doctors and nurses sweaty and tired and spent, with mother sweaty, and tired, and completely emptied out, physically, emotionally, spiritually and with me still clutching my styrofoam cup of ice chips and trying to wrap my head around what I had just witnessed. And in the midst of all of that is a newborn baby. And you don’t know what will become of her, or in my case, him. You don’t know what he will make of his life. You don’t know what his favorite color will be. Or when he will have his first kiss. Or how he will do in school. Or what sorts of challenges lay before him. Or what he will choose to do with the life that he is given. All you have is a little bundle of new energy and life that has been thrust into this world. Jesus, knew of this as well. He knew that sitting at the base of the Temple, looking at this gigantic structure that bore witness to the presence of God in the world, to the sustaining power of God’s love that dwelt within God’s chosen people, to the movement of God throughout the history of the world, he knew that in the midst of all that, something new was being formed, something new was being molded in the womb, something new was about to explode out into the world and nothing would be the same after that. No tradition, no history, no building, no curtain, no cross, no tomb could possibly contain the burst of spirit that was about to cover the whole of the cosmos in light and life and love. Not one stone would be left here atop another; rather all will be thrown down and completely obliterated.
Last week, in our Wednesday night bible study, we came to a passage in Matthew where Jesus sends the disciples out into the cities and towns that dot the Judean landscape and he sends them out with a mission to cure the sick, cast out demons, bring the dead back to life, and, most importantly, to declare the closeness of the Realm of God erupting all around them. So it was that Jesus had entrusted the mission that he, himself, was on, to a band of ragtag fisherman and tax collectors and blessed them with the same power and abilities that he possessed. And its easy to read that text and think of it as being from two millennia ago, in a far off region of the world, dealing entirely with a different people, doing a different thing. But to do so, misses our common lineage with those first followers of Jesus, to do so relegates the power of Christ back to somewhere in the recesses of history, long since covered by layers upon layers of Israelite sand and time, to do so ignores our calling to be cast out into the highways and byways of our own land in our own time, bringing about healing through our very touch, resurrection through the awareness that in Christ is found a life that is abundant and eternal, and a hope that transcends all the pessimism and and apathy and nihilism and despondency of the current era. We are called to join with them believing that the love of God that first birthed the universe 14.5 billion years ago, the love of God that ripped the curtain in the temple from top to bottom even as the building that housed it came crashing down, the love of God that was borne witness to on a Roman cross is the same love that emerged from an empty tomb, and is the same love to which we will all, one day, return. It is the power of that love that continues to enliven us today as we, too, are thrust out into our worlds to be conduits for light, proclaimers of the Realm, and sharers of the grace and peace and hope and faith and goodness and love that is found in God and God alone. Energy, when released in such a manner, can never be stopped, not ultimately. Like a universe birthed in the blink of an eye that is constantly expanding at the speed of light, so, too is the love of God offered freely and without condition in a world, too often, shrouded in darkness.
There is a theory in astrophysics that states that beyond a singular big bang of initial creation is actually a series of bangs. A hypothesis that argues that once the universe eventually runs out of energy to expand it will, in an instant, snap back to it original point of origin. But what happens next, is not termination, not death, not the end, but rather a new beginning, in which the energy that touched off the previous bang begins to grow and grow and grow until it can no long be contained in that tiny space and once again explodes in life and cosmos, a process which can, it is believed, repeat itself again and again and again. So, too, is it with the church. Times of stagnation, of retrenchment, of internal recessment, are always followed by new eruptions of life and love, of revolution and foment, of nation turning again nation and people against people, until a new and singular moment is birthed and the love of God is flung far and wide again and anew if we will simply allow the spirit of God to flow through us unencumbered by the weight of sin . We are at that time and we are those people. We are the ones who have to be enlivened by the force that is the love of God. We are the ones who must always shine light when the world is being covered in a gathering darkness. We must be the ones who always cry out, “Peace!,” when the whole of the planet would “Cry, ‘havoc’ and let slip the dogs of war." It must be we who grab our link in the unbroken chain of disciples and martyrs and saints and revolutionaries and believers in every time and place as we continue the difficult but critical work of redemption, of reconciliation, of reunion between God and creation until that glorious day when all the children of God are once, and for all, called back home. And we may allow our restless souls to finally find rest in God. And so glory be to God in the highest and, on earth, peace amongst all God’s children. Alleluia, amen.
The disciples are walking along with Jesus one day and are traversing in and amongst the series of large stones and edifices that make up the Temple grounds in Jerusalem and they find themselves somewhat awestruck by the immensity and grandeur of the place and the moment and, it seems just wanted Jesus to share in that feeling and experience with them. And I think we can all understand something of what they were perceiving. A few years back, when I was living in Upstate New York, and having grown up in a little town in rural North Carolina, when our idea of going to the big city was going for a day of shopping in the next bigger city just up the interstate from our own, the concept of New York City was completely foreign to me. Now, the course of my life had allowed me to spend some time in other world capitals but really, there is nothing of which I am aware, in the world as immense and awe-inspiring as the city of New York. And so it was that I had been asked to serve on a committee for the Synod that I was in and that committee met monthly at Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church and I remember making my way first by train from Albany, close to where I was living, to Grand Central Station in Manhattan, an overwhelming experience in and of itself, before catching a subway over to Fifth Avenue and stepping out in the midst of skyscrapers that would put the Tower of Babel to shame and in an instant, I was one of those stereotypical New York tourists overwhelmed by the size and grandeur of it all, being bumped around the sidewalk like a pinball by native New Yorkers who had neither the time nor the inclination to be moved by the scale of it all. That is something like the experience that I imagine the disciples had that day as they were passing through the Temple grounds with Jesus. “Teacher,” they said, “what large stones and what large buildings!” and surely they were for these rural fisherman from the Galilean countryside. Surely, the artistic accenting, the deep and rich heritage of the Temple Mount, the sheer size of it all must have moved the disciples. But just as quickly as it arose in their souls, that feeling must have come to a screeching halt with the response offered by Jesus, “Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.” And, at least from the recording of this story, the conversation stopped there. But Peter, James, John, and Andrew must have been somewhat perplexed by the master’s words, because they privately asked him, what such an event would look like. And Jesus begins to speak of wars and rumors of wars, of nation rising against nation, of earthquakes and famines, and the pangs of labor and something new being birthed into this world. My ears always perk up a little bit when I hear someone talk about the pangs of labor because I have some experience with this. Not, you know, personally, but having three children, I know a little bit about the laboring experience, and one of the things that you experience when you watching your beloved bring new life into the world is the chaotic, and scary, and energy-ladened, and exciting, and exhilarating, and completely and utterly terrifying nature of bringing something new into this world where before it had not been. My initial experience of this moment was, of course, with Jameson and because I was in charge of the critically important job of ice-chip distribution to my beautiful bride, I had a front-row seat for the arrival of my firstborn. And what I can report is that the labor process, which took 25 hours, and the delivery process which seemed to take an eternity both were alive with the force that comes with creating life where before there had been none and the process of moving that life from potentiality to actuality. By the end, the labor room resembles something of a war zone with doctors and nurses sweaty and tired and spent, with mother sweaty, and tired, and completely spent and with me still clutching my styrofoam cup of ice chips and trying to wrap my head around what I had just witnessed. And in the midst of all of that is a newborn baby. And you don’t know what will become of her, or in my case, him. You don’t know what he will make of his life. You don’t know what his favorite color will be. Or when he will have his first kiss. Or how he will do in school. Or what sorts of challenges lay before him. Or what he will choose to do with the life that he is given. All you have is a little bundle of new energy and life that has been thrust into this world. Jesus, knew of this as well. He knew that sitting at the base of the Temple, looking at this gigantic structure that bore witness to the presence of God in the world, to the sustaining power of God’s love that dwelt within God’s chosen people, to the movement of God throughout the history of the world, he knew that in the midst of all that, something new was being formed, something new was being molded in the womb, something new was about to explode out into the world and nothing would be the same after that. No tradition, no history, no building, no curtain, no cross, no tomb could possibly contain the burst of spirit that was about to cover the whole of the cosmos in light and life and love. Not one stone would be left here atop another; all will be thrown down and completely obliterated.
Last week, in our Wednesday night bible study, we came to a passage in Matthew where Jesus sends the disciples out into the cities and towns that dot the Judean landscape and he sends them out with a mission to cure the sick, cast out demons, bring the dead back to life, and, most importantly, to declare the closeness of the Realm of God erupting all around them. So it was that Jesus had entrusted the mission that he, himself, was on, to a band of ragtag fisherman and tax collectors and blessed them with the same power and abilities that he possessed. And its easy to read that text and think of it as being from two millennia ago, in a far off region of the world, dealing entirely with a different people, doing a different thing. But to do so, misses our common lineage with those first followers of Jesus, to do so relegates the power of Christ back to somewhere in the recesses of history, long since covered by layers upon layers of Israelite sand and time, to do so ignores our calling to be cast out into the highways and byways of our own land in our own time, bringing about healing through our very touch, resurrection through the awareness that in Christ is found a life that is abundant and eternal, and a hope that transcends all the pessimism and and apathy and nihilism and despondency of the current era. We are called to join with them believing that the love of God that first birthed the universe 14.5 billion years ago, the love of God that ripped the curtain in the temple from top to bottom even the building that housed it came crashing down, the love of God that was borne witness to on a Roman cross is the same love that emerged from an empty tomb, and is the same love to which we will all, one day, return. It is the power of that love that continues to enliven us today as we, too, are thrust out into our worlds to be conduits for light, proclaimers of the Realm, and sharers of the grace and peace and hope and faith and goodness and love that is found in God and God alone. Energy, when released in such a manner, can never be stopped, not ultimately. Like a universe birthed in the blink of an eye that is constantly expanding at the speed of light, so, too is the love of God offered freely and without condition in a world, too often, shrouded in darkness.
There is a theory in astrophysics that states that beyond a singular big bang of initial creation is actually a series of bangs. A hypothesis that argues that once the universe eventually runs out of energy to expand it will, in an instant, snap back to it original point of origin. But what happens next, is not termination, not death, not the end, but rather a new beginning, in which the energy that touched off the previous bang begins to grow and grow and grow until it can no long be contained in that tiny space and once again explodes in life and cosmos, a process which can, it is believed, repeat itself again and again and again. So, too, is it with the church. Times of stagnation, of retrenchment, of internal recessment, are always followed by new eruptions of life and love, of revolution and foment, of nation turning again nation and people against people, until a new and singular moment is birthed and the love of God is flung far and wide again and anew. We are at that time and we are those people. We are the ones who have to be enlivened by the force that is the love of God. We are the ones who must always shine light when the world is being covered in a gathering darkness. We must be the ones who always cry out, “Peace!,” when the whole of the planet would “Cry, ‘havoc’ and let slip the dogs of war." It must be we who grab our link in the unbroken chain of disciples and martyrs and saints and revolutionaries and believers in every time and place as we continue the difficult but critical work of redemption, of reconciliation, of reunion between God and creation until that glorious day when all the children of God are once, and for all, called back home. And we may allow our restless souls to find rest in God. And so glory be to God in the highest and, on earth, peace amongst all God’s children. Alleluia, amen.