Jeremiah 33:14-16
The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfill the promise I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah. In those days and at that time I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David; and he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land. In those days Judah will be saved and Jerusalem will live in safety. And this is the name by which it will be called: “The Lord is our righteousness.”
Luke 21:25-36
[Jesus said:] "There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see 'the Son of Man coming in a cloud' with power and great glory. Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near."
Then he told them a parable: "Look at the fig tree and all the trees; as soon as they sprout leaves you can see for yourselves and know that summer is already near. So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near. Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all things have taken place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away. Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life, and that day catch you unexpectedly, like a trap. For it will come upon all who live on the face of the whole earth. Be alert at all times, praying that you may have the strength to escape all these things that will take place, and to stand before the Son of Man."
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Sam has been really interested in space and stars and planets these last months, and it feels like we have checked out every book our library has on the subject. Most kids’ books on outer space focus on nice things: the different atmospheres of the different planets, pictures of comets, talk of satellites and space telescopes and Mars rovers.
There was one book, though…
I should have known better when we got to the pages that started talking about the death of stars (not the Death Star…that’s something different). In great detail, and with many pictures and drawings, the book showed us the way that some stars first expand to become red giants and then collapse into white dwarfs. And the way that other stars expand into red supergiants, and then explode into supernovas and finally come to rest as neutron stars or black holes.
Flip one page.
A detailed diagram of the burnout of the sun. Including the world’s bleakest comic strip about what will happen to the earth as the sun expands and then collapses. Spoiler alert: nothing good.
I rushed through that page and definitely didn’t read all the words, because I didn’t need to give my five-year-old nightmares about the destruction of the planet. I think I gave myself nightmares, though.
Because who actually likes to think about the world coming to an end?
I feel similar emotions of anxiety and dread when I read ongoing reports about climate change. And lists of animals on the brink of extinction. And news stories about massive natural disasters, like recent wildfires and earthquakes.
Not to mention all of the non-cosmic ways that the world feels like it is ending, whether wars or griefs or pains or cruelty - whatever stirs in us the deep suspicion that evil might be winning.
I don’t know what Jesus knew about the collapse of stars, from an astronomy standpoint. I do know, though, that Jesus, the creator of the stars of night, points to those very stars, and to all nature, as bearing signs and symbols of the end of the world.
The stars will fall. The earth will tremble. The seas will rage. Jesus talks about these things in the future tense. But Jesus is also naming the present reality. His listeners then and his listeners now - we are all already living beneath a crumbling sky. Because from its birth, there has never been a time when the world has not then been ending, when we have not feared for our lives or for our futures. There has never been a time when this fallen world has not been hurtling toward the unknown, in a volatile and ever-expanding universe.
And yet...
Despite the chaos around us, despite the stirring of a world not yet at peace...
The fig tree still sprouts leaves. The forest buds and blooms.
Summer yet draws near.
A righteous branch will spring up for David’s line. A shoot shall come up from the stump of Jesse.
Redemption yet draws near.
God’s kingdom yet draws near.
The world is ending but the world is not over.
There are new beginnings all around us.
These are the two stories Jesus tells in today’s gospel, the two separate timelines of nature. There is the march of this world toward its inevitable end. And in the meantime, there are the constants in nature that return and repeat in their faithful cycles - the turn of the seasons, the setting and rising of the sun, the trees that winter and then bloom again, according to their pattern and purpose, all symbols of God’s enduring faithfulness beneath and alongside and through whatever chaos swirls above.
This is how Advent time works, too. Each year, we circle back in this season to God’s promises of a redeemer. We hear promises of of a savior for the first time all over again. In the midst of the forward march of whatever the current chaos and grief of our world and of our own hearts, we remember and we return to the origins of our hope: the good news that God draws near to us. God draws near to us as the baby in the manger who has already come to us - God-with-us, Immanuel! - and also as the God who is yet to come back to us, the triumph of good and light and life over the destruction and end of this world.
Jesus names our fears and names our redemption in the same breath. He blesses the reality that our fear and our hope can coexist, just as the fig tree can bear fruit at the hands of a sun that will one day cease to shine.
In the same way, this season of Advent holds together disparate things - the end of the world and its beginning, the darkness and the light, the fear and trembling of the earth and the hope of Christ. The blue of Advent is both the color of the sky just before the first light of dawn and the color of the sky as the last light fades into the darkness of night. Meaning that Advent is just fine with you sitting in darkness and grief, if that is the current season of your life. And Advent is equally as fine with you lighting candles and singing songs of hope and deep joy, if that is your heart’s desire.
The only thing that Advent asks of us is to sit and wait and linger, to slow down, to breathe in rhythm with the signs and the seasons. To hold space for the unveiling of the deepest longings of our hearts, our fears, our despair, our courage, our hope. To hold the end of the world in one hand and to hold God’s new beginnings in another, with equal reverence and equal tenderness and equal sincerity. And to know that here, even at the edge of a world that has always been ending, there is blessing to be found.
So hear now these words of blessing, for this Advent time and space, where the end of the world and the beginning of hope meet together.
Blessing When the World is Ending
Jan Richardson
Look, the world
is always ending
somewhere.
Somewhere
the sun has come
crashing down.
Somewhere
it has gone
completely dark.
Somewhere
it has ended
with the gun,
the knife,
the fist.
Somewhere
it has ended
with the slammed door,
the shattered hope.
Somewhere
it has ended
with the utter quiet
that follows the news
from the phone,
the television,
the hospital room.
Somewhere
it has ended
with a tenderness
that will break
your heart.
But, listen,
this blessing means
to be anything
but morose.
It has not come
to cause despair.
It is simply here
because there is nothing
a blessing
is better suited for
than an ending,
nothing that cries out more
for a blessing
than when a world
is falling apart.
This blessing
will not fix you,
will not mend you,
will not give you
false comfort;
it will not talk to you
about one door opening
when another one closes.
It will simply
sit itself beside you
among the shards
and gently turn your face
toward the direction
from which the light
will come,
gathering itself
about you
as the world begins
again.
Amen.